I was seven years old when I first delivered leaflets for this party on the streets of Yorkshire. Seven years old. Running door to door in communities I loved, for a party that told me, told us, that we belonged here – that this was our country too.
Last Thursday’s local election results were a gut punch to anyone who believes in a fair, open, and tolerant Britain. Reform UK gained more than 1,400 seats while Labour lost over 1,100 it previously held. But for me, the results that hit hardest weren’t the national headlines. They were the towns I know personally. The towns I grew up nearby. Towns whose names are stitched into the fabric of my identity.
In Dewsbury East, Reform UK swept all three seats. Across Kirklees as a whole, Reform took 29 seats, and Labour, which had held 23 going into the election returned zero councillors. Not one.
In Oldham, Reform gained 13 seats, leaving the council in no overall control.
In Rochdale, Reform seized 12 of the 14 seats up for election. In Burnley, Reform became the largest party on the council after winning 11 seats. In Bolton, the Labour leader lost his own seat.
In the days since, my phone hasn’t stopped. Messages from British Muslim friends. From British Asian neighbours. From people whose families have lived in these very towns for three generations, quietly, desperately asking: “Is it time to go? Should we just leave?”
My answer is absolute. No, we are not going anywhere.
And I’ll tell you exactly why, not as a soundbite, but as a statement of defiance rooted in something much deeper than politics.



I’ve been away for the past fortnight, mostly riding on trains, occasionally walking around small, but interesting, towns, many a bit off of the beaten path. This rather lovely piece of local government architecture is Tartu Town Hall, which has a carillon in its bell tower. if you’re in the area, I recommend dropping by.
