In parts of Europe, rioting seems to have become a public ritual with a remarkably familiar sequence. A shop window is smashed. A car goes up in flames. A business is looted. Police officers are forced to defend themselves. Then comes the press conference, where the customary vocabulary is duly wheeled out: frustration, exclusion, social complexity, and the need for understanding. The shopkeeper who has lost his livelihood, the driver whose car was reduced to ashes, and the family now afraid to walk down their own street are sometimes conspicuously absent from the script.
An uncomfortable question deserves to be asked. Why do some people feel free to do, in the streets of countries that welcomed them, things they would scarcely dare attempt in front of the authorities in their countries of origin? There is no single answer that applies to every country or every individual. Yet one factor cannot be ignored: people are remarkably quick to learn where rules are enforced, where they can be stretched, and what breaking them is likely to cost.
In some countries from which migrants travel to Europe, confronting the authorities can lead to arbitrary detention, severe violence, or grossly disproportionate punishment. That is no virtue, and certainly no model for democracies to emulate. Violent protests occur in those countries too. Nevertheless, the contrast between fear of the state there and the perception that the limits of tolerance can be tested here demands a serious discussion about deterrence, responsibility, and law enforcement.
Europe opened its doors in the name of important principles: refuge for the persecuted, individual liberty, equality before the law, and human dignity. Those values are not weaknesses. Weakness begins when governments struggle to say, with equal conviction, that the right to live in a free society does not include the right to set it on fire. Immigration policy does not end when the paperwork is completed, just as integration does not end with a language course. It must involve a clear expectation of civic participation, respect for the institutions of the host country, and full criminal accountability for harm inflicted on others.
One distinction is indispensable. An immigrant is not synonymous with a rioter. The millions of migrants who work, pay taxes, raise families, and respect the law in Europe should not be made to answer for the crimes of others. Nor is street violence the exclusive preserve of immigrants. Following the riots in France in 2023, an official study found that most adults convicted in the cases it examined were French nationals. In Britain in 2024, violent anti-immigration riots targeted migrants and asylum seekers, with far-right activists among those involved. Anyone seeking a serious discussion must acknowledge these facts rather than select only the ones that suit a convenient narrative.
That is precisely why the test must be simple and universal. A person’s origins should not determine the response of the state; their actions should. Someone who sets a vehicle alight is an arsonist. Someone who loots a shop is a looter. And someone who attacks a police officer does not become a social activist merely by learning to dress his anger in political language. A democracy must never discriminate in enforcing the law. Equally, it must never apologise for enforcing it.
France also offers an opportunity for a particularly dark joke. Perhaps, one might suggest with a thoroughly cynical smile, if Paris were to restore the guillotine to its statute books, the number of burning cars might miraculously decline. This is satire, of course, not a proposal to execute rioters. France abolished capital punishment in 1981 and entrenched the prohibition in its constitution in 2007, rightly so. A free society does not need a guillotine to defend itself. It needs a system the public can trust to arrest offenders, bring them before the courts, and impose lawful, proportionate penalties.
Research on deterrence points to a lesson that should require no great philosophical effort: the certainty of being caught matters more than an extreme sentence that exists on paper but is rarely enforced. When someone throwing a petrol bomb believes he will not be identified, arrested, or made to face any meaningful consequence, there is little need to invoke elaborate cultural explanations for his behaviour. Institutional weakness is an invitation that criminals of every background can read, whatever language they speak.
There is another troubling layer to Europe’s predicament. Not every riot begins with immigration, and not every protest grows out of the same grievance. Some demonstrations originate in entirely domestic concerns: the cost of living, declining public services, political disagreements, or alienation from government. Yet in certain settings, these causes have become entangled with Palestinian flags, slogans about the war in the Middle East, and disputes that have no direct bearing on a country’s schools, public transport, or household bills. People have every right to protest the policies of another country and every right to express solidarity with Palestinians. Neither right, however, is a licence to smash a shop window in Paris, burn a car in Brussels, or assault a police officer in Rome. The moment a political cause, domestic or international, becomes violence against the public, the debate over slogans gives way to criminal responsibility.
Behind the noise on the streets lies another question Europe cannot afford to ignore: who is trying to fan the flames, and where are the resources coming from? European authorities have documented attempts by foreign states to interfere in public debate, deepen divisions, and conduct digital influence operations. Sweden’s Security Service, for example, identified an influence campaign it attributed to a cyber group acting on behalf of Iran’s Revolutionary Guards, intended in part to intensify tensions in Swedish society. These facts warrant vigilance, but they do not prove that every pro-Palestinian demonstration, let alone every violent incident in Europe, is financed from abroad. That is precisely why I believe there must be genuine transparency over funding, influence networks, and the connections between organisers and foreign interests wherever concrete evidence provides grounds for investigation. Respect for free expression does not require naivety towards those seeking to exploit it to destabilise a country from within.
Then comes the diplomatic irony. Following the massacre of 7 October 2023, Israel faced war and threats on several fronts. At the same time, European governments sharply condemned aspects of its military conduct, while some imposed sanctions on Israeli individuals. Israel’s actions may be criticised, and its compliance with international law scrutinised; such criticism is not inherently illegitimate. Even so, I cannot overlook the ease with which governments demand restraint of another country, compared with the complexity they suddenly discover when violence reaches their own streets. A war against armed organisations and civilian riots are plainly not the same circumstances. Yet the question of moral consistency remains. I am curious to see whether those governments will extend to arsonists, looters, and violent attackers the same patience, understanding, and restraint they urged upon Israel while watching comfortably from the sidelines. It is easy to deliver lectures on restraint when the flames are across the sea. It is rather more interesting to hear the same lecture when the fire reaches your own window.
This brings me to a country that, from my perspective, offers an impressive example of public administration: the United Arab Emirates. In my experience, the UAE has managed to combine international openness, modernity, business freedom and enterprise, convenience in everyday life, public security and professionalism across a wide range of sectors with an unequivocal expectation of personal responsibility and respect for the law. People can take advantage of the opportunities it offers, establish businesses, and build a future. But there is little room for confusion about where liberty ends and accountability begins. The law is not a recommendation, and the street is not a playground for anyone who decides to vent his frustrations at the public’s expense.
One fact makes the comparison especially interesting. The UAE’s workforce relies overwhelmingly on migrant labour. According to the International Labour Organization, the country hosts approximately 8.7 million migrant workers, equivalent to more than 80 percent of its resident population. Many come from South Asia and other regions that also send migrants to Europe. Here, then, is a country functioning with the contribution of millions of people from different national, linguistic, and cultural backgrounds, without treating arson, looting, or street violence as forms of social expression to be indulged. Why should destruction that would never be casually excused in Dubai attract an endless supply of excuses in Paris or Brussels?
There is, however, an important qualification. Not every feature of the Emirati model can or should be transplanted into European democracies. Significant differences exist in political rights, freedom of expression, and the circumstances of some migrant workers. Those issues deserve their own serious examination. My point is not that Europe should adopt another system of government. It is much simpler: absorbing a diverse population need not mean abandoning civic discipline, public safety, or consistent enforcement of the law. Those who obey the law deserve its protection, regardless of their origins. Those who choose to violate it through violence must face clear legal consequences, regardless of their origins.
For years, part of Europe’s public debate has presented a false choice: either be a tolerant society or be a resolute one. No such choice is necessary. Tolerance can survive only where the law also protects those who do not shout, smash, or threaten. Personal security is not a privilege reserved for any political camp. It is a precondition for genuine freedom. Both the sense of abandonment felt by longstanding residents and the blanket vilification of migrant communities corrode trust and risk deepening the crisis.
Europe need not apologise for wanting to remain open. It must, however, stop confusing openness with the abandonment of rules. It needs a realistic immigration policy, clear expectations for integration, swift and equal enforcement, and a justice system whose consequences the public can understand. It must defend the right to protest with no less determination than it defends the right to open a shop without seeing it looted.
The question is not whether Europe should become harsher than states that disregard human rights. It is whether Europe can remain faithful to its own principles when someone chooses to exploit them. Tolerance does not require surrender. Compassion does not require lawlessness. A state that cannot explain the difference risks losing more than order on its streets. It may also lose its citizens’ faith in the very values in whose name it opened its doors. It is time Europe’s governments held themselves to the standards they are so eager to demand of others.