A chilling fear has gripped the town of Crowborough, a quiet community now fractured by escalating threats and intimidation. The source of the unrest? Plans to house asylum seekers at a local army camp, a proposal that has unleashed a wave of hostility and silenced dissenting voices.
Aaron Stevens, a father of four, describes a climate of terror where speaking out online can invite real-world danger. He knows individuals who have been threatened with violence – even acid attacks – for challenging extremist views on local Facebook groups. The atmosphere is so poisonous that many have felt compelled to erase their digital footprints, changing names and profiles to protect themselves and their families.
The silencing isn’t subtle. One man, known only as Andy, received a horrifying message: a threat of sexual violence against his wife, mirroring the potential fate of the asylum seekers themselves. He had been attempting to organize a volunteer group to offer support, but was met with brutal, explicit intimidation. He and others are being “attacked for being kind,” facing a barrage of online abuse and even threats to their homes.
The streets of Crowborough have become charged with tension. Residents report a palpable “hysteria” in town, with strangers shouting hateful accusations and threats. One resident has already invested in enhanced security – vibration alarms and reinforced doors – simply to feel safe in their own home. Intimidating messages, seen by reporters, reveal a disturbing level of vitriol, labeling those who offer compassion as “traitors.”
Caroline Coxon, a 70-year-old resident, bravely challenged misinformation online, only to have her identity exposed and posted publicly. Despite her fear, she refused to be silenced, determined to stand up for what she believes is right. But the experience has left her afraid to even shop in her own town.
The situation feels drastically different from the outpouring of support seen when Ukrainian refugees arrived. One anonymous resident, who previously worked with refugee charities, described a sudden, sickening feeling of dread when the asylum seeker plans were announced. A simple trip to the supermarket triggered a panic attack, fueled by the unsettling feeling of being scrutinized with hostility.
Despite the fear, a quiet resistance is forming. Aaron Stevens, recognized for his humanitarian work after the Grenfell Tower fire, believes a “silent majority” of Crowborough residents want to offer a welcoming hand. He’s establishing a community interest company to provide practical support and ensure the asylum seekers feel safe and valued.
Andy continues to gather essential supplies, preparing to offer aid and support through established charities. He hopes to provide not just material assistance, but also crucial mental health support and legal guidance. Their message is simple: kindness doesn’t require agreement, only compassion.
The Home Office defends its plan to utilize the army camp, framing it as a necessary step to reduce reliance on hotels and deter illegal immigration. They insist they are “furious at the level of illegal migrants” and determined to address the issue. The camp itself is now vacant, having ceased operation as a Ministry of Defence base.
But for the residents of Crowborough, the debate has moved beyond policy. It’s a struggle to reclaim their community from the grip of fear and hatred, and to reaffirm the values of compassion and inclusivity in the face of escalating hostility.
