Free Speech, Hate Crime, and the Limits of Tolerance: Rethinking the Quran-Burning Case

Free Speech, Hate Crime, and the Limits of Tolerance: Rethinking the Quran-Burning Case
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Head of IHRC Advocacy, Abed Choudhury, argues that media hysteria around the Qur’an burning case is undermining not just equality for Muslims, and the concept of equality before the law for all, but perpetuating discourses that target Muslims for hatred.

 

The recent prosecution of a man for burning a Quran outside the Turkish consulate has reignited debates around free speech, religious offence, and the reach of hate crime legislation in the UK.

Much of the commentary from self-styled defenders of free speech has treated this case as a straightforward example of “blasphemy laws by the back door.” Groups like the Free Speech Union, the National Secular Society (NSS), and others have suggested that prosecuting such acts amounts to privileging one religion over others—or worse, enforcing a kind of de facto Sharia law.

Their rhetoric is exaggerated to the point of absurdity—but the fact that it’s gaining traction makes it all the more important to scrutinise their framing carefully.

The defendant in this case—Coşkun—was not convicted merely for burning a Quran. He did so outside the consulate of a Muslim-majority country, shouting explicit anti-Muslim abuse. Section 5 of the Public Order Act states:

 

  1. A person is guilty of an offence if he—

 

                          (a) uses threatening or abusive words or behaviour, or disorderly behaviour, or

                         (b) displays any writing, sign or other visible representation which is threatening

                                          or  abusive,

 

         within the hearing or sight of a person likely to be caused harassment, alarm or distress thereby.

 

It is sufficient that the offending behaviour was likely to cause harassment, alarm, or distress to those who saw or heard it—particularly if motivated by religious hostility [as set out in section 31(1)(c) of the Crime and Disorder Act 1998]. In this context, performing such an act in a public setting, outside a symbolic site of Muslim identity, was more than merely provocative —the CPS clearly felt his actions met the legal threshold.

The presiding judge was clear: burning a religious text, in itself, may fall within the bounds of protected expression. What pushed this case into criminal territory was the context, content, and intent—as is the case with all hate crime prosecutions. District judge John McGarva said:

Your actions in burning the Koran where you did were highly provocative, and your actions were accompanied by bad language in some cases directed toward the religion and were motivated at least in part by hatred of followers of the religion.

Some of the claims now circulating in the media are not only legally inaccurate but also morally incoherent. There was no mass Muslim-led campaign for prosecution. Islam has no institutional church, no organised lobbying effort behind this case. The CPS is an independent public body—not a religious enforcement authority. This was a prosecution under existing UK public order laws—laws designed to protect all communities, religious or otherwise, from targeted public abuse and incitement.

Let’s be honest about what’s really being demanded here. If your definition of free speech includes the right to dehumanise minorities in public spaces without consequence, then you are not defending liberty. You are seeking immunity.

Criticism of religion is lawful in any free society, and rightly so. But inciting hatred against people—particularly in a targeted and inflammatory way—is not the same thing. This isn’t about censorship. It’s about recognising that there is, and must be, a line where speech ceases to be debate and becomes harm. That line is never easy to define. But pretending it doesn’t exist—like many are doing in this case—is intellectually dishonest.

To be clear: I’m not arguing that this particular prosecution definitively sets where that line should be drawn. Reasonable people can debate the specifics. But what cannot be ignored is the rhetorical sleight-of-hand taking place. Some so-called free speech absolutists—who opposed peaceful gestures like athletes taking the knee or sought to ban peaceful pro-Palestine organisations—now claim that Quran-burning with accompanying hate speech must be protected at all costs. This is not a coherent free speech position. It’s a demand for the unaccountable right to express bigotry against a particular community.[i]

Some, like commentator Rakib Ehsan, have offered a more careful and measured critique. Writing from within the Muslim community, Ehsan argues that prosecutions like these risk reinforcing the perception that Islam receives special treatment in British law. He warns this could provoke more Quran burnings and intensify anti-Muslim hostility.

This is not an unreasonable concern. Following the conviction The Spectator ran a piece titled “Brace yourselves for more Quran-burning trials in Britain,” echoing Ehsan’s prediction. But the logic behind his warning raises difficult ethical questions.

Should Muslims accept less protection under the law just to avoid the appearance of privilege—however baseless or misguided that perception may be? Should fear of backlash—particularly from those already antagonistic towards Muslims—justify a tolerance of public acts of hatred?

One reading of Ehsan’s argument is that, for the sake of social harmony, Muslims should tolerate a degree of public hostility, framed as free speech, and thus voluntarily accept an inferior legal status in British society.

That is a position I find deeply problematic.

We must resist calls—whether explicit or veiled—that suggest Muslims should be the exception to the rules that protect other minority communities. Equality before the law means just that: equality. For IHRC, it does not mean strategic silence in the face of escalating bigotry.

There is no contradiction between defending free expression and recognising that public incitement to hatred must be challenged. If we abandon that distinction—or pretend it doesn’t apply to groups we dislike—we undermine the very democratic values we claim to uphold.

 

Abed Choudhury heads IHRC Advocacy, where he focuses on challenging discrimination, political repression, and human rights abuses through strategic advocacy. With over a decade of experience, he has supported marginalised communities and made submissions to international bodies including the UN and the International Criminal Court. He is also a Director at IHRC Legal and can be found on LinkedIn @AbedChoudhury.

 

[i] This isn’t a case of being overly sensitive as a Muslim. The Telegraph ran a headline reading: “Protect freedom to criticise Islam in law, MPs demand” —a framing that makes clear this isn’t about defending the general right to criticise religion, but specifically about shielding attacks on Islam. Despite this being a prosecution under standard UK public order laws, the National Secular Society claimed: “The outcome of this case represents a troubling surrender to Islamic blasphemy codes.” Meanwhile, Robert Jenrick—who once suggested that Muslims saying “Allahu Akbar” should be arrested, has suddenly discovered his free speech conscience, arguing that the prosecution is smuggling blasphemy laws in through the “back door.”

 

Images: Creative Commons CC0 1.0  Pixaby

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