Another Girl, Another Cover Up, Another Case of Lessons Never Learned

The people of Nuneaton first woke up to a few lines buried in a police press release updates. A name that meant nothing to most. And yet, behind those sterile headlines lay the kind of story Britain promised would never happen again.

A 12-year-old girl. A small Midlands town. A crime so horrific it should have shaken the country to its core. Instead, it was hushed, softened, and sanitised.

Unfortunately, Warwickshire Police failed to share with us the significance of the men they had charged. It took the Daily Mail to do that.

Two Afghan asylum seekers – Ahmad Mulakhil and Mohammad Kabir, both 23 – have been charged in connection with the rape and kidnap of a child. Mulakhil stands accused of vaginal and oral rape. Kabir faces charges of aiding and abetting rape, as well as strangulation and kidnap. Both appeared in court. Both will stand trial next month.

But that’s not the full story. The full story is what happened next. Or rather, what didn’t happen.

Because this isn’t just about a crime. It’s about a cover-up. And it’s about a silence that feels all too familiar.

The Whisper That Should Have Been a Scream

In Nuneaton, residents knew something had happened. Police were knocking on doors. There were patrol cars and hushed conversations. But there were no details. No urgent alerts. No frank warnings to protect other children.

Behind the scenes, councillors were briefed. But they weren’t told to inform the public. Quite the opposite. According to sources, Warwickshire Police advised certain officials not to disclose that the suspects were asylum seekers – men housed in taxpayer-funded accommodation managed by Serco under a £1.9 billion Home Office contract.

Why? Because the truth might “inflame community tensions.”

Read that again. The rape of a 12-year-old girl is not the outrage. The outrage, in their eyes, would be you knowing who did it.

This is Britain in 2025. And this is not an isolated mistake. This is a pattern.

The Pattern We Pretend Doesn’t Exist

We’ve heard the promises before. After Rotherham. After Rochdale. After Telford. After Oldham. “Lessons have been learned.”

But here we are. Another girl. Another silence.

Back then, they said they were afraid of riots. That revealing the ethnicity and background of offenders could “damage community cohesion.” And so, tens of thousands of children were sacrificed to protect an illusion.

And now? It’s the same language. The same instinct to suppress. The same belief that you – the public – cannot be trusted with the truth.

The grooming gang scandals taught us one thing: when institutions fear embarrassment more than they fear evil, children pay the price. And if you think that was a one-time failure, think again.

Behind Closed Doors: How the Silence Works

This isn’t about one police force. It’s systemic. National guidance says not to disclose ethnicity or immigration status once a suspect is charged. They call it “protecting the integrity of court proceedings.”

But let’s be honest. This isn’t about the courts. It’s about control. It’s about managing the narrative. It’s about preventing backlash, headlines, political fallout.

And yet, this secrecy does the very opposite of what they claim. It doesn’t calm tensions. It fuels them. It breeds distrust, anger, and division. Because when the truth finally emerges – and it always does – people don’t just feel outraged by the crime. They feel betrayed by the cover-up.

That betrayal is corrosive. It eats away at the fragile bond between public and police, between citizens and state. And every time, it pushes people into the arms of extremists who feed on that distrust.

What They Fear – And Why We Should Fear It More

The silence isn’t accidental. It’s a strategy. They fear that if you knew the truth, you’d demand answers they can’t give.

You’d ask why men who crossed the Channel in small boats – men housed, fed, and funded by the state – could prey on a child.
You’d ask how a system that claims to protect the vulnerable keeps putting communities at risk.
You’d ask whether the politicians who assured us asylum screening was “robust” have been lying all along.

And they can’t afford those questions. So they give you platitudes instead. “The victim remains at the forefront of our focus.” As if that means anything while they hide the facts that matter most.

The Reality We’re Not Allowed to Say Out Loud

Let’s state the obvious: the majority of asylum seekers are not rapists. That matters. But so does this: every time an atrocity like this happens, it hands ammunition to those who claim all asylum seekers are dangerous.

And here’s the bitter irony: the silence of our institutions is what turns that ammunition into a weapon. Because cover-ups validate the extremists’ narrative. They prove, in the minds of ordinary people, that the state is lying to them.

When you cannot trust the people who are supposed to tell you the truth, you start listening to those who shout the loudest – even when they’re wrong.

This is how communities fracture. This is how the far right grows. This is how extremism flourishes. Not because people hate the truth, but because they hate being lied to.

The Human Cost They Never Count

Somewhere in Nuneaton tonight, a 12-year-old girl is trying to piece her life back together. She is not a headline. She is not a statistic. She is a child who will carry scars for the rest of her life.

And what does she see? A system more concerned with “community tensions” than her suffering. Leaders who treat the truth as a threat. Officials who speak in whispers when they should be shouting from the rooftops.

If you think this is just about one case, you’re wrong. This is about what kind of country we want to be. Do we choose truth, even when it’s hard? Or do we choose silence, even when it destroys lives?

They Said It Would Never Happen Again. They Lied.

We’ve been here before. We know where this road leads. It leads to decades of abuse in towns across Britain. It leads to official reports filled with the same excuses. It leads to the words “lessons have been learned” echoing into the void.

Another girl. Another silence. Another betrayal. The question is simple: How many more?

For those new to me, I'm Raja Miah MBE. I spent six years leading a small team that exposed how politicians protected the rape gangs.

If my words have ever helped you make sense of a broken system, if they’ve ever made you feel seen, heard, or hopeful, please don’t scroll past.

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