I was racially abused on a bus – I’m not surprised hate crimes are rising

I felt something lurch in my stomach – I could see something happening in my peripheral vision, and before I even experienced it, I knew I was going to see something awful.

On a bus in west London in 2022, I looked up from my phone, my headphones still playing music and was faced with an older white man – his face twisted and red with anger. 

Specks of spit flew from his mouth as his finger jutted into the air.

Distracted by my music, I couldn’t hear his words, but dread filled me. I looked at the faces of those his anger was attacking – all Black and Asian people, their brows furrowed, avoiding eye contact and almost all above the age of 60.

Slowly, I removed my headphones and the clarity of his words fell heavy on my ears.

‘There’s never any seats with all of you taking them’, he said, his finger pointing at the ethnic people on the bus. I see his finger move towards me. 

He then went on to drop the p-word and n-word, telling people they ruined his life when they came over to England and how he’s never hated us all so much.

And I could feel it – he did hate us. 

Before I could digest what had just happened, the bus stopped and he got off. But his words stayed behind – not just for the rest of our journey, but the day, week, month.

I continued my journey in silence with everyone else, my headphones resting in my hands instead of in my ears. 

Part of me was worried that the solace of cutting out the sounds of the real world meant I was vulnerable to attack – I feared if he came back, I wouldn’t hear him if he physically hurt us.

That’s not the only time I’ve experienced hate on public transport, and I’m not alone. 

According to the British Transport Police, racial hate crimes grew from 2827 cases in 2019-20 to 3258 in 2024-25.

While these are the recorded cases, many of us who have experienced this know it goes unreported – for multiple reasons. I, for example, didn’t do anything about the incident on the bus.

That’s because, while racism and anti-migrant hate has existed for a long time, it feels like very recently it has become more acceptable to express it, so I worry people would simply shrug as a response to any complaint I make. 

Those on the bus with me were older and would have experienced racism like this their entire lives. Like when signs were up that said ‘no Blacks, no dogs, no Irish’ on houses to rent in the 60s. 

And now, when driving through towns, it feels like the St George cross and Union Jack flags hanging off lampposts give me the same message – I am not welcomed.

I believe our government has made it easier to send this message to migrants and people of colour – perennially announcing ‘crackdowns’ on immigration. 

During the 2024 summer riots, which was instigated from Islamophobic misinformation about the attacker in Southport, we saw hundreds of Brits emboldened to take to the streets and target ethnic people.

While there are many resisting this, such as large gatherings of anti-racist marches countering those of Tommy Robinson – and the majority of the people I come into contact with don’t hate people of colour – it still isn’t good enough that so many feel comfortable spreading hate – on public transport or otherwise. 

Because this isn’t a one-off situation, experiencing racism is normalised for people like me. 

One late night when I was on the tube, I watched a couple of drunk white men loudly enter my carriage. 

I tried my best to ignore him, but it wasn’t easy – they both laughed loudly and one kept asking me if I was single. The other made comments about my body. 

I looked up and told them to leave me alone, only to watch them stumble off the train, telling me they wouldn’t want me anyway, and to go back to where I came from.

Before the doors closed, I heard laughter and the p-word screamed into the carriage as a parting shot. 

My face went red, my body seized up and I felt an anger in me. But I stopped any tears from coming out, I didn’t want anymore attention – no more eyes on me. No more people finding a reason to attack me.

As always, afterwards, I played all the different versions of the things I could have said or done over and over in my head. 

In one scenario, I kick them off the tube and people cheer me. In another I punch one of them in the face. I only play this out in my mind, because in real life, as a vulnerable woman of colour, the risk of being violently attacked is too high to risk.

Experiencing this on public transport feels harder – you are trapped in a steel tube, hurtling through London with no way to remove yourself from the situation occurring around you. 

Whether it’s racism, sexism, ableism, homophobia or transphobia, you’re trapped on that bus or train and abusers know that you have nowhere to turn to.

It’s no surprise that racism has risen on public transport, and it’s no surprise if it continues – we are not living in a time that responds to racial hate with appropriate anger and astonishment. 

But we need to show our shock. We need to make a point to say it’s awful – that no one should be saying the things they are saying. We need to make racists feel like outliers instead of the norm.

I would like to be surprised one day – that racist hate crime is no longer an issue. And that we live in a world where respect and care is on the rise.

But I won’t hold my breath.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing Ross.Mccafferty@metro.co.uk. 

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