To defend our freedoms, we must be honest about the dangers we face

I do not believe that a man called Muhammad, born in the sixth century, was a prophet sent by God. I do not accept the instructions he said he received from the Archangel Gabriel. And I do not accept that the Sunna, or body of Islamic laws, has any relevance to me.

I do not object to historical enquiry that examines whether thousands of angels helped Muhammad at the Battle of Badr, or whether the battle even took place. Nor to asking if he really came from Mecca, or if he lived closer to the Mediterranean, which would suggest his inspiration was worldly, not divine. Nor do I object to those who doubt Muhammed was illiterate, even though his inability to read reassures Muslims he was relaying the word of God.

And I do not care if Muhammed is satirised, criticised or mocked. Thirty-four years after writing The Satanic Verses, Sir Salman Rushdie lies in a hospital bed following an horrific knife attack. A teacher from Batley remains in hiding after showing a depiction of Muhammad during a lesson about blasphemy. In France, Charlie Hebdo staff were murdered after publishing a cartoon of Muhammed, and schoolteacher Samuel Paty was beheaded after showing that cartoon to his students. There are countless other examples.

Across the world there is an attempt to protect Muhammad and Islam from anything but reverence from those who were born Muslim, and fearful silence from the rest of us. On one front, there is violence: riots in the Middle East, assassinations in Pakistan, murders and terror attacks in Europe. On a second front – not formally connected to the first but aided by fear – there is a political campaign. Laws and policies to counter discrimination and “hate crime” are used to shut down free thinking. “Islamophobia” campaigners seek to criminalise criticism of their religion and protect those who act in its name.

And they are winning. As the writer Kenan Malik says, The Satanic Verses would not be written today: the thugs whose response to Rushdie’s novel was violence lost the battle but won the war. Britain “internalised the fatwa”, in Malik’s words, and a collective decision was made by journalists, politicians and creatives to avoid Islam as best they could.

But that is not all. Activists learned to organise and play the liberal game. Representative groups, including several accused of extremism, were founded and won privileged access to politicians and officials. Some persuaded public bodies, and Labour, to adopt an official definition of Islamophobia. In the report providing the definition, criticism of Islamism is described as a “constitutive part” of Islamophobia. “The notion of free speech”, it says, often “humiliates, marginalises and stigmatises Muslims”. Press reports about grooming gangs, in which mainly Muslim men raped vulnerable white girls, are cited as an example of such stigma.

The largest group is the Muslim Council of Britain, which was established by Sir Iqbal Sacranie. Sir Iqbal, as then-spokesman for the UK Action Committee on Islamic Affairs, personally said of Rushdie in 1989 that “death perhaps is a bit too easy for him”. The Government does not engage with the MCB because, in particular, it refuses to repudiate the Istanbul Declaration, which justified terrorism and was signed by its then deputy general secretary, Daud Abdullah. The policy of non-engagement, which began under the last Labour government, is now said by Labour to be evidence of “Tory Islamophobia”.

So complicated are the overlapping circular arguments, theological divisions and sectarian rivalries, and webs of activists and organisations, and so removed are we from our fundamental principles of free expression and equality before the law, we are missing the obvious. While historians are free to assert that Moses did not exist, and comedians to mock Christianity – as they do mercilessly – we have a de facto blasphemy law for Islam. And that is entirely wrong: no body of beliefs should be protected from criticism or mockery.

It is dangerous too. For we are ceding arguments, power and public spaces to bigots and extremists. After all, this battle to control thought, language and action is mostly not about those of us who never believed in Muhammad. It is about defining normative Islam in a hardline way and dictating to Muslims how they should live their lives. It is about preventing Muslims from holding moderate views about the role of women, minorities, gays and apostates, and about how to live in modern Britain.

So what can be done? First, stop living in fear. For too long we have hidden behind a supposedly clever formula. Of course we have free speech, many say, but it is irresponsible to satirise or criticise Muhammad or Islam. Irresponsible, they mean, because some Muslims respond with violence and intimidation. But the opposite of this conceit is true. Threaten me with violence for joking about or criticising your religion, and I should feel more compelled to do it. There is no free speech when a meat cleaver is pressed against our throats. Ask Samuel Paty.

Second, be honest. Pious defences of free speech mean nothing when we cannot admit where the danger comes from. Not all Muslims want to censor and intimidate critics, not even a majority do, but this is a battle fought in the name of Islam. We can say extremism is a perversion of a great religion if we wish, but such distinctions matter little when thugs and activists believe they have scripture – with hadiths promising that “the gates of Paradise lie in the shadow of the sword” – and God on their side.

And finally, we must take on extremists and do more to build up sensible, moderate people. Extremist activist groups need to be driven from the public square. Incitement and public order laws need to be better enforced and strengthened. De facto blasphemy laws must be swept away.

Immigration rules should reflect the integration – or lack of it – of existing diaspora communities. Acts of separation, like wearing the burqa, should be banned in public. And we need new programmes that get charities and government working with women and girls especially to open up closed communities.

Once again, we are told enough is enough. But until we do these things, there will be no reason to believe we really mean it.