Do you think we're scared of police?
In Doncaster, the conviction of a mini-mart worker for the rape and grooming of underage girls — the youngest just twelve — has illuminated something long present but seldom named: the high street shop as a node in a network of exploitation, where the ordinary and the predatory have learned to share the same counter. BBC investigations spanning eighteen months reveal a pattern of illegal trade, money laundering, and child sexual abuse operating beneath the surface of everyday retail, sustained by enforcement that arrives, departs, and changes nothing. The case raises a question that communities already know the answer to — not whether the system has failed, but how long it has been failing, and for whom.
- A 28-year-old mini-mart worker used free vapes, cash, and alcohol to lure girls as young as twelve to his flat, where he raped and abused them — predation disguised as ordinary generosity on an ordinary street.
- A co-defendant fled the trial and remains at large, while the man who arranged both men's employment and housing has since been granted an alcohol licence by the local council.
- Raids on the same premises have been conducted repeatedly, yet within an hour of enforcement leaving, illegal tobacco, drugs, and counterfeit goods return to the counter — one shop worker told a local resident: 'Do you think we're scared of police?'
- Intelligence briefings from 2019 to 2024 suggest children as young as eleven were being targeted in high-street mini-marts across the West Midlands, yet no systemic intervention followed.
- Legal experts and survivors' advocates are now calling for a government inquiry to treat high-street retail as a formal vector for child exploitation — a blind spot, they say, that has been hiding in plain sight.
- Residents describe a community hollowed out by decades of inaction, where enforcement has become theatre, crime has become infrastructure, and faith in the institutions meant to protect them has quietly collapsed.
On Hexthorpe Road in Doncaster, two schoolgirls walk past the row of mini-marts with their heads down. They know the stories. What frightens them most is how ordinary it all seems — free vapes, cash, a little alcohol. This is just what happens here.
Bawan Harwe, 28, worked at Hexthorpe Mini Market and used that position to hunt. He lured underage girls with vapes and money, then took them to his nearby flat where he raped and abused them. The youngest was twelve. Sheffield Crown Court heard how he selected victims deliberately for their age, plying them with drink and drugs. A co-worker, Sharam Muhamadi, was convicted of facilitating travel for exploitation — then fled the trial and remains at large. Harwe is seeking asylum in the UK.
The conviction has pulled back a curtain on something long overlooked. Over eighteen months, BBC investigations documented mini-marts selling cocaine and cannabis across the counter, running money laundering operations, and enabling the sexual exploitation of children. When undercover researchers visited Hexthorpe Mini Market, they bought counterfeit cigarettes for four pounds. Police and Trading Standards have raided the location repeatedly. Locals report watching sacks of contraband carried out — and business resuming within the hour. One shop worker, challenged about the illegal trade, was direct: "Do you think we're scared of police?"
Behind both convicted men stood Karzan Hussein, who had arranged their employment and provided accommodation on the same road. He has since been granted an alcohol licence by Doncaster Council. There is no evidence he knew about the abuse.
The pattern is not confined to Doncaster. Intelligence briefings from 2019 to 2024 indicate children as young as eleven were being targeted in high-street mini-marts across the West Midlands. A solicitor representing grooming survivors calls these shops "a disturbing blind spot for police and councils," and has called for the government's independent grooming inquiry to examine high-street retail as a formal vector for exploitation.
On Hexthorpe Road, optimism is scarce. Locals report one mini-mart has begun selling prescription medicines illegally, adding another layer to the street's shadow economy. Those who remain speak of a community hollowed out — a place where enforcement has become theatre and crime has become infrastructure. The question now is whether this conviction will finally prompt the sustained, systemic intervention that raids and warnings have consistently failed to deliver.
On Hexthorpe Road in Doncaster, two schoolgirls walk past the row of mini-marts with their heads down. They know the stories. They've seen them circulate on social media—accounts of local girls targeted, groomed, lured away. "It makes you scared," one of them says. What frightens them most is how ordinary it all seems, how casually the bribes are offered: free vapes, cash, alcohol. This is just what happens here.
Bawan Harwe, 28, worked at Hexthorpe Mini Market. He used that position and that proximity to hunt. He would promise underage girls vapes and money, then take them back to his flat—also on Hexthorpe Road—where he raped and abused them. The youngest was twelve years old. Sheffield Crown Court heard how he selected his victims deliberately because of their age, how he plied them with drink and drugs. A co-worker, Sharam Muhamadi, originally from Iran, was convicted of facilitating travel for exploitation. Muhamadi fled the trial and remains at large. Harwe is seeking asylum in the UK, though the Home Office will not confirm his immigration status for legal reasons.
The conviction has pulled back a curtain on something authorities have long overlooked. Over the past eighteen months, BBC investigations have documented a pattern: mini-marts selling cocaine and cannabis across the counter, money laundering operations, immigration crime, and the sexual exploitation of children. The shops operate as nodes in a larger network of criminality, and they do so with striking impunity. When undercover researchers entered Hexthorpe Mini Market, they purchased a packet of counterfeit cigarettes for four pounds. Illegal tobacco was available at other shops on the same street. Police and Trading Standards have raided the location repeatedly. Locals report seeing sacks of contraband cigarettes carried out. Yet within an hour of enforcement leaving, business resumes as usual.
A local woman confronted Harwe about the illegal cigarettes. His response was chilling: "Do you you think we're scared of police?" A business owner who reported the shop's violations—illegal tobacco sales, under-age alcohol and vape sales, anti-social behaviour—expressed disgust at the abuse but also a deeper frustration: the system was not working. Raids happened. Nothing changed. The shops stayed open. The crimes continued. One resident described the area as having become "lawless." Another, who had watched the neighbourhood deteriorate over decades, said simply: "This community was destroyed a long time ago."
Behind both men stood a figure named Karzan Hussein. During the trial, the jury learned that Hussein had arranged their employment and provided them accommodation in his flat on Hexthorpe Road. When the BBC contacted him, Hussein confirmed he had given Muhamadi work and rented rooms to both men. Yet he denied knowing them well or being involved in tobacco sales. He claimed he was no longer a manager at the mini-mart, though his name appears on paperwork for two other businesses on the street, and he was granted an alcohol licence by Doncaster Council in May. There is no evidence he knew about the abuse.
The pattern extends far beyond Doncaster. In March, the BBC reported how a senior council worker in the West Midlands had repeatedly flagged to authorities reports of children as young as eleven being sexually abused on high streets. Intelligence briefings from 2019 to 2024 suggest children may have been at risk after being offered drugs, alcohol, and cigarettes in mini-marts. David Greenwood, a solicitor representing survivors of grooming and sexual abuse, calls shops "a disturbing blind spot for police and councils' Trading Standards departments." He has called for the government's independent inquiry into grooming to examine high-street retail as a vector for exploitation.
Yet on Hexthorpe Road, where some businesses have operated for decades, there is little optimism that anything will change. Locals report that one mini-mart has begun selling prescription medicines—anti-depressants, pregabalins, the weight loss drug Mounjaro—adding another layer of illegality to the street's shadow economy. Business owners who once thrived here have left. Those who remain speak of a community hollowed out, a place where enforcement has become theatre and crime has become infrastructure. The question now is whether the conviction of Harwe and the flight of Muhamadi will finally prompt the kind of sustained, systemic intervention that raids and warnings have failed to deliver.
Notable Quotes
Shops have been a disturbing blind spot for police and councils' Trading Standards departments.— David Greenwood, solicitor representing survivors of grooming and sexual abuse
This community was destroyed a long time ago.— Local business owner on Hexthorpe Road
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does a mini-mart become the centre of this kind of exploitation? What makes these shops different from any other retail space?
They're semi-legitimate fronts. A mini-mart can operate with minimal oversight—no security cameras required, no formal employment records, no real inventory tracking. A worker can hand out vapes and cash to children and no one's watching. The shop itself becomes a meeting point, a place where predators have access to vulnerable people every single day.
The BBC found counterfeit cigarettes being sold openly. How does that connect to the sexual abuse?
It's all the same ecosystem. The illegal tobacco operation proves the shop has no real compliance culture, no fear of consequences. If you can sell fake cigarettes for years despite raids, you can do anything. The same indifference that allows one crime enables the next. It's not separate—it's all one failure.
Karzan Hussein rented rooms to both men and gave them jobs, but claims he didn't know them. Is that credible?
He admits the core facts: he arranged their employment, he provided their housing, his name is on multiple businesses on that street. Whether he knew about the abuse specifically is a legal question. But he was the architect of their presence there. That matters.
Why do the raids not work? The council and police clearly know about the shop.
Because enforcement without closure is just theatre. You raid, you leave, they restock. There's no consequence severe enough to shut the operation down permanently. The business model is profitable enough to absorb the cost of occasional raids. Until you're willing to revoke licenses and prosecute the owners, nothing changes.
What does it mean that locals have lost faith?
It means people have stopped believing the system will protect them. When you watch the same shop break the law for years and stay open, you stop calling the police. You stop reporting. You move away if you can. The community fractures because the institutions that should hold it together have failed.