Long before the trial concluded for two Muslim brothers accused of assaulting police at Manchester Airport two years ago, many in Britain's political and media classes had already made up their minds.
The viral clips were viewed millions of times. Television pundits denounced the defendants as "thugs" and "hooligans". Politicians weighed in. Social media erupted with demands for punishment.
The two brothers at the centre of the case ceased to be defendants entitled to a fair hearing. They became symbols in a wider culture war.
That is precisely why the ultimate verdicts matter far beyond the Manchester Airport case itself.
After hearing weeks of evidence, including bodycam footage, witness testimony and legal arguments unavailable to those consuming carefully edited clips online, jurors reached a nuanced conclusion.
Mohammed Fahir Amaaz was convicted of assaulting two female police officers and a member of the public. But jurors did not accept every allegation advanced by the prosecution, particularly those connected to the male officer whose conduct became the defining image of the case, following his violent response during the 2024 altercation.
Yet even once the verdicts were in, after an initial trial and a retrial, social media was flooded with claims that the brothers had somehow "walked free" or "got away with it". These claims were plainly false.
What appears to have enraged many commentators was not the absence of justice, but the refusal of jurors to endorse every aspect of a story that had become politically useful.
The Manchester Airport case revealed a growing inability within sections of Britain's political and media classes to distinguish between justice and vengeance.
This atmosphere did not emerge by accident. During the trial, with proceedings still ongoing, Reform UK leader Nigel Farage publicly described the case as an example of "two-tier justice". His comments were serious enough that Judge Neil Flewitt referred them to the attorney general for consideration as potential contempt of court, although no further action was taken.
One of Britain's most influential politicians was effectively declaring the defendants guilty before a jury had completed its work. But the hostility was not confined to politicians.
Jurors are not asked to determine whether multiculturalism has succeeded, or whether immigration is too high. They are asked to evaluate evidence
After prosecutors decided last month not to pursue a third trial, the brothers' solicitor spoke of an "orgy of race hate" directed towards his clients, with social media posts - viewed by millions of people - portraying the brothers as guilty long before jurors had reached their verdicts.
The language used throughout the affair was revealing, with Talk TV commentator Isabel Oakeshott declaring the brothers to be "thugs" and "hooligans".
Compare this to how the UK media reacted to the far-right riots that followed the Southport stabbings in 2024. There, mobs attacked police officers, injured scores of them, targeted mosques and terrorised minority communities. Yet the rioters were rarely presented as representatives of white Britain; no national debate emerged over the supposed values of the communities from which they came.
The contrast is impossible to ignore. When Muslim men are accused of violence, entire communities are expected to answer for their actions. When white extremists engage in violence on a far larger scale, responsibility becomes individualised and frustrations are understood to be legitimate.
For decades, Muslims in Britain have often found themselves subjected to a parallel form of judgment: trial by media. Long before courts hear evidence, television panels, newspaper columnists and social media influencers construct narratives in which Muslim guilt is assumed and entire communities are invited to answer for the alleged actions of individuals.
That is precisely why juries matter. Unlike politicians chasing headlines or commentators prosecuting culture wars, jurors are required to examine all available evidence, hear competing arguments and deliberate collectively. Their conclusions are often less dramatic than those demanded by public outrage because they are rooted in facts rather than assumptions.
Lost amid the fury is another important question: why has so much public sympathy been reserved for the male officer, yet so little attention devoted to scrutinising his conduct?
Police officers deserve protection from violence, but accountability matters most when it concerns those exercising state power. A society that celebrates ever-more aggressive exercises of state power, while dismissing scrutiny as weakness, risks creating conditions in which misconduct flourishes unchecked.
