About a month ago, I found myself in the UK, strolling through Manchester’s downtown commercial district. Hours earlier, the district bustled with tourists, businessmen, and travelers. But at around 9:15 p.m., the streets were deserted save for a lone woman fleeing for her life in a full-length robe and headscarf. Closing the distance, a man pursued while shouting her name at the top of his lungs. He looked briefly in my direction before continuing his pursuit, unconcerned by the presence of a bystander witness. He shouted her name, commanding her repeatedly in a language I did not understand. In no time, he gripped her arm and screamed in her face.

For a few seconds, she continued resisting and protesting. According to the map, she was in the United Kingdom with all its human rights and protections. In reality, she had no rights. The crowd trailing the man helped drag her back to the home she fled. Words stuck in my throat. I realized I wasn’t in Kansas City anymore. The police, if they ever came, might not take the side of the woman. I might be accused of Islamophobia. I might miss my flight in the morning and my juvenile son had no way home without me. With shame, I submitted to the situation as meekly as she did.

On the way to the airport, I got an earful from my cab driver. Manchester, like many British cities had “no-go” zones that exclude English common law’s representative, the police. He recommended against my returning to Manchester for safety reasons.

A month later, a child of Rwandan immigrants broke into a Taylor Swift-themed summer holiday camp in Southport and murdered three young girls, ages 6-9. In working class Britain and Ireland, officials hesitate to enforce laws against immigrants for fear of being accused of Islamophobia. Complaints are maligned and sometimes censored. In the United Kingdom, you can be arrested for observing that these newcomers often hurt people.