For more than a decade, Joseph Cohen was one of the most visible Jewish activists in Britain. Armed with a camera, a sharp mind, and a stubborn belief in free speech, he stood week after week at Speakers’ Corner in Hyde Park, the birthplace of modern public debate. He challenged Islamist preachers, confronted extremist narratives, and tried to show the wider public what was happening in real time.
But today, Cohen no longer calls Britain home. Sitting in Jerusalem with Visegrád24 founder Stefan Tompson, he explains why he decided to leave the country he once defended so fiercely: the threats intensified, the institutions failed, and the nation he grew up in gradually became unrecognisable.
Speakers’ Corner
For generations, Speakers’ Corner was a stage where anyone could stand and argue their politics, theology, or philosophy. It was chaotic, but it embodied a distinctly British confidence: no belief was too sacred to challenge, and no speaker too powerful to heckle.
Cohen recalls that by the early 2010s, however, the atmosphere had begun to shift. Dawah groups - well-organized, assertive, and media-savvy - increasingly dominated the space. Figures like Mohammed Hijab and Ali Dawah turned debates into spectacles aimed at winning viral clips rather than exchanging ideas. Their followers often arrived in large numbers, surrounding speakers, jeering them down, and creating an environment where dissenting voices felt less welcome.
Cohen initially believed the solution was more speech, not less. He tried to expose these tactics publicly, livestreaming his encounters so the British public could see the ideological battle taking place in a national park only a ten-minute walk from Marble Arch. His hope was that sunlight would bring accountability.
Instead, he found that few outside the niche world of online debate were paying attention. The police treated the chaos as routine. Local authorities seemed reluctant to intervene for fear of being accused of discrimination. And mainstream broadcasters avoided the topic entirely.
A Violent Confrontation
Cohen had faced hostility before, but one Friday night in central London crystallised his decision to leave. He describes seeing a group of Islamists begin to follow him, at first shouting the usual abuse, then accelerating, shouting threats, and closing in behind him. He had always been physically outnumbered at Speakers’ Corner, but this time there were no cameras, no other debaters, no police presence. Just an increasingly aggressive crowd and the realisation that he might not escape.
When the attack came, it confirmed a truth he had been resisting for years: whatever Britain once was, it no longer felt able, or willing, to protect people who publicly challenged extremism. The incident was not an aberration. It was, in his view, the predictable outcome of a decade of institutional abdication. He emphasises that the fear was not only physical. It was psychological: the sense of looking around after the assault and realising that no authority would take it seriously, that no senior figure would speak out, that the broader public would go on pretending everything was fine.
A Nation Losing Its Confidence
Cohen insists that his departure was not triggered by a single assault. It was the culmination of years watching Britain become increasingly fragmented, apologetic, and fearful. He had long warned that Britain’s approach to extremism, tolerating what it could not confront, would embolden the most radical voices. He saw community organisations and local councils hold endless “dialogue sessions,” make concessions, and avoid enforcing basic norms for fear of backlash. He watched Islamist groups build influence in universities, councils, and street movements, often with little scrutiny.
Then came the aftermath of October 7. For Cohen, the enormous pro-Palestinian marches that erupted across British cities were a watershed moment. The slogans he heard, the symbolism on display, and the sheer scale of hostility convinced him that antisemitism had moved from the fringes into the mainstream. What disturbed him most was not just who marched but who stayed silent.
To him, Britain no longer looked like a society uncomfortable with extremism. It looked like one adapting to it. This shift, he argues, is driving Jews out of the country. Not in dramatic waves, but in a steady stream of young families quietly emigrating to Israel, the US, or Australia because they no longer trust that Britain will remain safe for their children.
A British Jew in Israel
Cohen is careful to say that leaving Britain does not mean rejecting it. He describes himself as profoundly shaped by British values — debate, humour, bluntness, and the belief that ideas should clash openly rather than be suppressed. But he also believes that the Britain he loved has lost some of those instincts. Fear silences people. Institutions placate radicals instead of standing firm. Public life is increasingly defined by those who shout the loudest.
In Israel, he says, he feels something Britain has forgotten: social confidence. People argue openly, challenge each other, and take responsibility for defending their society. He feels safer there, not because danger is absent, but because the population confronts it without denial.
Joseph Cohen didn’t leave Britain lightly. He left because he no longer recognised it, and because it no longer recognised the threat he spent years trying to expose.
