For sixty years, the Ahmadiyya Muslim community has gathered in Britain to affirm its place in the life of the nation — and this year, against a backdrop of rising hate crimes and foiled far-right plots, fifty thousand people from over a hundred countries have again assembled in Hampshire. The decision to proceed is not defiance for its own sake, but a considered philosophy: that withdrawal concedes ground that presence alone can hold. In a country where a mosque is attacked every five days on average, Jalsa Salana stands as both a religious gathering and a quiet argument about how communities
UK's largest Muslim gathering proceeds with enhanced security amid rising hate crimes
You don't see my colour any more. You see the human being.
Why didn't they cancel? After what happened at the other gathering, wouldn't that have been the safer choice?
Safety and retreat are not the same thing. Hayat said canceling would mean the extremists had won—that fear had dictated the community's place in public life. They've been here over a century. They've weathered worse.
But the numbers are stark. Nineteen percent rise in hate crime. One mosque attacked every five days. That's not abstract.
No, it's not. And they're not ignoring it—they've added hundreds of security staff, coordinated with police. But Hayat's point is that security alone doesn't solve the problem. The real antidote is the opposite of isolation.
What do you mean?
Personal encounter. He told a story about a woman who was terrified to visit their mosque. Afterward, she saw past her fear. That's what he believes changes minds—not statements, not policy, but actual human contact.
That seems almost naive given the threats are real and organized.
Maybe. But he's lived through skinheads, Powell, the BNP. He's seen what happens when communities retreat versus when they invest in relationships. The Morden mosque took thirty years of monthly meetings. Now those same officials won't make decisions without them.
So this gathering—it's not just a religious event. It's a statement.
It's both. It's a convention for fifty thousand people. And it's a refusal to disappear.
Der Puls
- A far-right plot to attack a major Islamic gathering was uncovered just weeks before Jalsa Salana, leaving organizers facing a stark choice about whether to proceed.
- Anti-Muslim hate crime has surged 19% in a single year, and Ahmadi Muslims face the compounded threat of extremism from both the far right and within parts of the Muslim world itself.
- Hundreds of additional security personnel, coordinated police presence, and emergency services stationed around the 208-acre Hampshire site reflect the very real weight of that threat.
- Community leaders chose not only to continue but to open the gates wider — inviting MPs, bishops, and non-Ahmadi Muslims, insisting visibility is the only credible answer to fear.
- The convention's opening included the raising of a union jack at the site's center, a deliberate signal that belonging and security are claimed, not granted.
For sixty years, the Ahmadiyya Muslim community has gathered in Britain to affirm its place in the life of the nation — and this year, against a backdrop of rising hate crimes and foiled far-right plots, fifty thousand people from over a hundred countries have again assembled in Hampshire. The decision to proceed is not defiance for its own sake, but a considered philosophy: that withdrawal concedes ground that presence alone can hold. In a country where a mosque is attacked every five days on average, Jalsa Salana stands as both a religious gathering and a quiet argument about how communities endure.
The temporary city that rises each summer across 208 acres in Hampshire is, in its 60th year, proceeding under heavier guard than ever before. Jalsa Salana — the UK's largest Muslim convention, run by the Ahmadiyya Muslim Community — drew fifty thousand attendees from over a hundred countries this weekend, even as several hundred additional security staff moved through its grounds and police coordinated from stations around the perimeter.
The context is difficult to ignore. Just a month before the event, a major Islamic gathering elsewhere in Britain was shut down early after twelve arrests, three of them on suspicion of conspiracy to murder following the uncovering of a suspected far-right plot. Anti-Muslim hate crime in England and Wales rose 19% in the year to March 2025. A mosque is attacked, on average, every five days. When asked whether the community had considered cancelling, UK Ahmadiyya leader Rafiq Hayat was immediate: 'Not once. Not for a second.'
Hayat's certainty is rooted in more than a century of Ahmadiyya presence in Britain — a community established here in 1913, with one of London's first purpose-built mosques opened in 1926. He has watched the full arc of British far-right movements across his own lifetime. When BNP supporters protested the construction of an Ahmadi mosque in Morden in the 1990s, the community's response was to create a liaison group — monthly meetings at the mosque, chaired by a local councillor, bringing together church leaders, officials, and neighbours. The first gatherings were tense. Three decades on, those same officials consult the community before making decisions.
The threat, however, is not only from the far right. Ahmadi Muslims are also targeted by Muslim extremists — in Pakistan, where they face severe legal persecution, and in Britain itself. In 2016, Asad Shah was killed outside his Glasgow shop in a religiously motivated murder by another Muslim. Hayat acknowledged the painful complexity: it is sometimes, he said, easier to navigate hostility from the far right than from certain Muslim extremists. And yet, at a recent iftar hosted by the community, roughly 60% of attendees were young Muslims from outside the Ahmadiyya faith.
Hayat's prescription for the current climate is presence and encounter. He tells Ahmadi children not to be ashamed of their faith in Britain. He urges Muslims broadly to build relationships across difference. He recalled one woman who had shared her location with her husband before visiting an Ahmadi mosque, arranging check-ins every fifteen minutes — and who, after being welcomed warmly, wanted to return with her family. 'You don't see my colour any more,' she told him. 'You see the human being behind it.' The convention opened on Friday with prayers, speeches from the community's global leader, and the raising of a union jack at the heart of the site. The security is real. So is the choice to remain.
The temporary site sprawls across 208 acres in Hampshire. Fifty thousand people from more than a hundred countries have come for the weekend. Security staff—several hundred more than usual—move through the grounds. Police and emergency services coordinate from stations set up around the perimeter. This is Jalsa Salana, the UK's largest Muslim convention, now in its 60th year, and it is proceeding despite a climate of rising hostility toward Muslims across Britain.
A month earlier, another major Islamic gathering had been forced to shut down early. Twelve people were arrested at that event, three of them on suspicion of conspiracy to murder, after authorities uncovered what they believed to be a far-right plot against the gathering. The question hung in the air: would Jalsa Salana's organizers reconsider? Rafiq Hayat, who leads the UK chapter of the Ahmadiyya Muslim Community that runs the convention, was unequivocal. "Not once. Not for a second," he said.
The numbers tell part of the story. Anti-Muslim hate crime in England and Wales climbed 19 percent in the twelve months ending March 2025. Across the country, one mosque is attacked roughly every five days. The threat is not abstract. Yet Hayat's refusal to retreat reflects a deeper calculation about how communities survive and ultimately thrive in hostile environments. The Ahmadiyya community has been in Britain for more than a century—established in 1913, with one of London's first purpose-built mosques constructed in 1926. Hayat himself arrived in 1967 and has witnessed the full arc of British far-right movements, from skinhead violence to Enoch Powell's infamous speech to the rise of the British National Party.
When the Ahmadiyya community built a mosque in Morden during the 1990s, hundreds of BNP supporters protested at planning meetings. Rather than withdraw, the community did something deliberate: they created a liaison group. They invited church leaders, local officials, police, and community members to monthly meetings at the mosque, with a local councillor chairing. The first two gatherings were heated. Thirty years later, Hayat said, those same officials will not make decisions without the community's involvement. It is a model born from necessity and sustained by patience.
But the threat facing Ahmadi Muslims is not monolithic. They face persecution from far-right extremists and also from Muslim extremists, both internationally—particularly in Pakistan—and within Britain itself. In 2016, Asad Shah, an Ahmadi man, was killed outside his shop in Glasgow in a religiously motivated murder by another Muslim. "The saddest part is that it is sometimes easier to deal with the rightwing than with some Muslim extremists," Hayat reflected. Yet he also noted that when the community holds large events, many young Muslims who are not Ahmadi attend. At a recent iftar, about 60 percent of attendees were young Muslims from outside the faith.
Hayat's answer to the current climate is visibility, not retreat. He tells Ahmadi children they must not be ashamed of being Muslim in Britain. He urges the broader Muslim community to engage with people outside their faith, to counter misconceptions through personal encounter. He pointed to one woman who had shared her location with her husband before visiting an Ahmadi mosque, instructing him to retrieve her if she did not check in every fifteen minutes. After experiencing warmth and welcome, she wanted to return with her family. "You don't see my colour any more," she told Hayat. "You see the human being behind it. This is the key to peaceful coexistence."
The convention opened on Friday with prayers, speeches—including an address from the community's global leader, Hazrat Mirza Masroor Ahmad—and the raising of a union jack at the center of the site. MPs, bishops, and other public figures are expected to attend. The enhanced security is real and necessary. But so is the deliberate choice to remain present, visible, and engaged in the life of the country.
Bemerkenswerte Zitate
Not once. Not for a second—the community did not hesitate to proceed despite the threats.— Rafiq Hayat, head of the UK Ahmadiyya Muslim Community
The saddest part is that it is sometimes easier to deal with the rightwing than with some Muslim extremists.— Rafiq Hayat