People are smarter than this.
In the hemicycle of the European Parliament, a moment of conscience became a catalyst for something darker. Abir Al-Sahlani, an Iraqi-born Swedish MEP, spoke out against far-right chants calling for mass deportations — and in doing so, became a target herself, receiving threats that traveled from the chamber floor to her personal safety. The complaint she filed against a Danish colleague is not merely a legal matter; it is a mirror held up to a continent wrestling with who belongs in its institutions, and who is permitted to speak without fear.
- After Al-Sahlani condemned 'send them back' chants on the parliament floor, two far-right colleagues responded publicly with dismissive, racially charged remarks — and the online violence that followed was swift and severe.
- Rape threats and death threats flooded in, transforming a parliamentary disagreement into a direct assault on a sitting lawmaker's sense of safety and dignity.
- Al-Sahlani filed a formal police complaint in Sweden against Danish MEP Kristoffer Storm for racist hate speech, while both targeted colleagues denied wrongdoing and offered alternative interpretations of their words.
- Her Renew Europe group demanded disciplinary action, and Parliament President Roberta Metsola publicly acknowledged that a line had been crossed — signaling institutional pressure to respond.
- Beneath the personal targeting lies a structural crisis: far-right and populist MEPs now hold a quarter of parliament's seats, while minority representation remains vanishingly small, leaving few voices willing — or able — to absorb the cost of speaking up.
When far-right MEPs broke into chants of 'send them back' following a vote to expand EU deportations, Abir Al-Sahlani — an Iraqi-born Swedish MEP with the Centre party — chose to speak. She told the chamber she had never felt so unsafe in parliament, and called out what she saw as a new low for the far right. It was a moment of conscience. What followed was a reckoning.
Two colleagues from rightwing populist parties responded on social media. A Finnish MEP posted 'Cry more.' A Danish MEP told her she 'should go home.' The remarks were brief, but they opened a door — and soon Al-Sahlani was receiving rape and death threats online. The following Wednesday, she filed a police complaint in Sweden against the Danish MEP, Kristoffer Storm, for racist hate speech. He denied the accusation, claiming his remark was merely a suggestion she leave the chamber to reflect. Al-Sahlani was unmoved: 'People are smarter than this.'
Her hesitation before speaking had been real. 'People with my colour skin — there are not so many of us in that room,' she said. She had weighed the cost of visibility against the cost of silence, and chosen to speak. The targeting that followed, she argued, was not incidental — it was the point. The far-right had attacked people with no power, and that pattern, she warned, was a signal for all of Europe.
Renew Europe's leader called for disciplinary action against both MEPs, and Parliament President Roberta Metsola condemned the 'aggressive chanting, jeering, finger-pointing and filming' that had taken place, acknowledging that a line had been crossed. But Al-Sahlani's deeper concern extended beyond the far-right itself — to the centre-right politicians who had aligned with them to pass deportation legislation that Amnesty International called 'absurd, cruel and discriminatory.' That choice, she suggested, was not neutral. It was a legitimization of forces now occupying a quarter of the parliament's seats, with consequences the institution was only beginning to reckon with.
Abir Al-Sahlani stood in the hemicycle of the European Parliament and said something that would follow her into the weeks ahead. She had just watched a group of far-right MEPs erupt in chants of "send them back" after a vote designed to expand deportations across the EU. The chants were not abstract political theater. They were directed at people—migrants, asylum seekers, ordinary people who had done nothing but seek a better life in Europe. Al-Sahlani, an Iraqi-born Swedish MEP with the Centre party, could not stay silent. "I have never felt as unsafe in this parliament," she told the chamber. She called out the "fascists of the far right" for sinking to a "new low."
What happened next was predictable and still somehow shocking. Two MEPs from rightwing populist parties responded to her on social media. Sebastian Tynkkynen, a Finnish MEP from the Finns party, posted "Cry more" beneath a clip of her speech. Kristoffer Storm, a Danish MEP from the Denmark Democrats, told her she "should go home." The comments were brief, dismissive, designed to wound. But they opened a door. Soon Al-Sahlani was receiving rape threats and death threats online. The pile-on was swift and vicious.
By the following Wednesday, Al-Sahlani had filed a police complaint in Sweden against Storm, accusing him of racist hate speech. She focused on the Danish MEP rather than Tynkkynen because Swedish police were uncertain how to handle the Finnish MEP's social media post. Both men denied the accusations. Storm later explained to Politico that his "go home" remark was simply a suggestion that Al-Sahlani leave the chamber to reflect, not a racist statement. Al-Sahlani's response was direct: "People are smarter than this."
The incident exposed something deeper about the current state of European democracy. Far-right and rightwing populist MEPs now make up roughly a quarter of the European Parliament—a record. Yet people from minority ethnic backgrounds remain drastically underrepresented. Al-Sahlani, speaking days after the targeting began, struggled to articulate what she felt. "I don't know if I am disappointed or sad," she said. "I feel sadness for European democracy, like, really, this is the level of our politicians? But also disappointed because, really, c'mon guys. I'm your colleague." She had hesitated before speaking up at all. "People with my colour skin—there are not so many of us in that room," she said. "I hesitated for a very long time. Should I take the fall? What will they then scream at me?" But she had decided that silence was worse. The far-right had attacked people with no power, and that, she believed, was a warning sign for all of Europe.
Al-Sahlani's group in parliament, Renew Europe, rallied to her defense. Valérie Hayer, the group's leader, issued a statement: "Racism has no place in our institutions, and those who spread it must face the consequences of their actions." She sent a letter to the parliament's president, Roberta Metsola, calling for disciplinary action against both Storm and Tynkkynen. Metsola's office described the incidents as "regrettable" and said the parliament's services were investigating. Days later, Metsola addressed the full chamber, condemning the "aggressive chanting, jeering, finger-pointing and filming" that had occurred. "There is a line, and that was crossed last plenary," she said.
But the deeper problem, Al-Sahlani argued, was not just the far-right. It was the centre-right politicians who had enabled them. The deportation legislation that sparked the chants had passed because much of the centre-right chose to align with the far right rather than work with pro-European, pro-democratic parties. Amnesty International had called the legislation "absurd, cruel and discriminatory." More than a dozen UN experts had criticized it. "We could have had better legislation," Al-Sahlani said. "But they chose the most inhumane, undignified content for that kind of legislation and went with it." The choice to do so, she suggested, was a choice to legitimize the forces now occupying a quarter of the parliament's seats. It was a choice with consequences—not just for her, but for the institution itself.
Notable Quotes
I have never felt as unsafe in this parliament. The shouting of the far right was not against a political opponent, it was 'send them back'. It was about ordinary people who did no other 'crime' than looking for a better life in Europe.— Abir Al-Sahlani, addressing the European Parliament
They attacked people who have no power. And that should scare anyone in Europe, because if you start to attack the weakest people, then it's a slippery slope towards something much, much worse.— Abir Al-Sahlani
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why did you decide to speak up in that moment, when you knew what might come?
Because they were attacking people who have no power. And if you let that happen, if you stay quiet, it becomes normal. It becomes acceptable. That's how democracies die—not with a bang, but with silence from people who could have said something.
You mentioned hesitating. What were you afraid of?
I'm one of very few people who look like me in that room. When you're outnumbered like that, you calculate the risk differently. Will speaking up make me a target? Will they use my words against my entire community? Those are real questions.
And the "go home" comment—did you believe Storm's explanation that he meant it literally, about leaving the chamber?
No. People understand what they're saying. They know what those words mean, especially in that context, to someone like me. The explanation was for people who wanted to believe it.
What surprised you most about what happened after?
The support, actually. And the threats. Both came at the same time. But also—the fact that the centre-right politicians who enabled this legislation, they stayed quiet. That disappointed me more than the far-right's behavior. I expected them to be aggressive. I didn't expect the others to look away.
Do you think the parliament's response—the investigation, Metsola's statement—will actually change anything?
I hope so. But words are easy. What matters is whether they stop treating the far-right as a legitimate coalition partner. Until they do that, nothing really changes.