I am a senior social worker. For several months, I sat on Channel panels, the end point of the UK government’s controversial de-radicalisation programme Prevent, within my local authority.
I was uncomfortable from the outset, not only because of everything I had already heard about Prevent and Channel, but because of what I witnessed first-hand once I was inside the de-radicalisation process.
What a Channel panel looks like
A Channel panel is a large, formal meeting, usually involving around 10 to 15 people. This includes senior local authority staff, members of the Prevent team, Prevent engagement officers, and counter-terrorism police officers. Cases are discussed one by one.
An intervention provider (IP) or engagement officer presents the individual, outlines what contact they have had with them, and explains what they see as the person’s “vulnerabilities”. The panel then decides whether the individual should remain on Channel and what kind of “support plan” should be offered.
On paper, this is framed as safeguarding but in practice, it felt very different. The screening and referral process into Channel itself is not transparent, and much of the detail about how someone has reached Channel is withheld from the panel. This makes it difficult to meaningfully challenge decisions or understand how risk has actually been assessed.
Mental health reframed as security risk
What struck me almost immediately was that the vast majority of people were experiencing mental health difficulties such as isolation, distress, learning needs, or broader vulnerability.
As a Senior Social Worker, I recognise these issues as the precise kinds of issues for which social services exist to address.
Yet within Channel, these needs were routinely reframed as indicators of potential extremism. In almost every case I saw, mental health or vulnerability was the real issue, not ideology.
Despite this, the panel’s focus felt split 50/50 between “support” and “security”, but when in doubt it was security that was prioritised and that was in part due to the dominance of counter terrorism in the room.
Muslims assessed at a much lower threshold
The most troubling pattern I observed was how differently Muslims were treated compared to others. For Muslim individuals, the threshold for concern was extremely low.
“Vulnerabilities” could include mild or everyday factors such as becoming more religious, changing how they dressed, feeling isolated, expressing political views, or talking about traveling abroad.
I saw cases where wanting to visit Saudi Arabia or Syria, or dressing more conservatively, were listed as risk factors. Objectively, these are not indicators of a propensity for violence.
Within Channel, however, they were treated as such.
By contrast, when white individuals were discussed, particularly those linked to far-right ideology, the indicators were far more severe and concrete. There would be explicit behaviours such as Nazi memorabilia, carrying weapons, or serious mental health crises like hearing voices.
Even in those cases, I felt these were mental health issues and not something that should have been dealt with through Channel. Still, the double standard was stark. Mild, non-violent behaviours were enough to bring Muslims into Channel, while others required extreme actions.
“Vulnerabilities” shaped by Islamophobia
Panel members appeared entirely comfortable labeling ordinary aspects of Muslim life as vulnerabilities. I could not tell whether this was ignorance or outright Islamophobia, but it was clearly operating.
To give a parallel example, if a Black person dressing differently and developing an interest in grime music were framed as indicators of criminality, this would rightly be called racist. Yet similar assumptions about Muslims passed without challenge.
Islam was treated as inherently suspect, and as much as I would like to say it was the unspoken rule sometimes it was openly admitted.
How referrals and triage to de-radicalisation really work
What also concerned me was how informal and opaque the referral process was.
In one Prevent training session, a trainer who was also involved in triaging referrals told attendees to call him before making a referral. He would then decide whether it was worth submitting.
This was presented as a way of preventing unnecessary referrals. But to me, it revealed something more troubling – that Channel is not responding to need, it is looking for particular types of cases.
Rather than clear guidance, there was a form gatekeeping based on what fit Channel’s expectations. That alone undermines any claim that this is a neutral or robust safeguarding process.
A lack of genuine Muslim engagement
Channel plans sometimes involved talking therapies, employment support, volunteering opportunities, or services for people with additional needs. Despite theological “support” being an option, I saw very few experts in this area involved.
I recall only one Muslim intervention provider attending panels, but they did not say much.
There was no real effort to engage local mosques or Muslim communities. This distrust runs both ways. Many Muslims are well aware that Prevent is harmful, and involvement risks further suspicion or damage within their own communities.
The end point of a flawed system
Prevent, which funnels people into Channel, is fundamentally flawed. It asks professionals to intervene before any wrongdoing has occurred. That means referrals are inevitably shaped by ideology, fear, and bias.
Channel, as the end point of Prevent, carries those same faults. In my experience, it is underpinned by ignorance and fear of Islam and Muslims, and it normalises discriminatory assumptions under the guise of safeguarding.
That is why being part of it was so uncomfortable, and why I believe it needs to be challenged.
Photo by Andy Tyler on Unsplash
Related…
Shocking Prevent training ‘highlighted a swastika alongside a girl in hijab’
