Kemi Badenoch’s judgement is under intense scrutiny after she not only defended the Conservative Party’s decision to select former neo-Nazi Joshua Bonehill-Paine as a council candidate but also, after he withdrew following widespread outrage, rewarded him with a role advising the party on combating extremism.
For many, this was not simply a political misstep. It represented a profound failure to appreciate the seriousness of Bonehill-Paine’s past and the impact his actions had on the people he targeted.
Bonehill-Paine is not someone whose extremist past consisted merely of ill-judged comments made in his youth. He was one of Britain’s best-known neo-Nazi activists, jailed in 2015 after publishing antisemitic material ahead of a planned neo-Nazi rally. In 2016 he was convicted of racially aggravated harassment against Labour MP Luciana Berger after an appalling campaign of antisemitic abuse.
The sentencing judge described it as “difficult to envisage a worse case” of racially aggravated harassment. The court heard Bonehill-Paine smirked throughout proceedings and appeared to take pleasure in Baroness Berger’s distress as she gave evidence while more than six months pregnant.
These are not minor indiscretions. They are among the most serious examples of politically motivated antisemitic harassment seen in modern British politics.
Yet Badenoch chose to publicly defend his candidacy, arguing that the Conservative Party believes in second chances. Following his withdrawal, she doubled down by announcing he would instead advise her party’s Culture and Integration Commission on tackling radicalisation.
That decision raises fundamental questions about judgement.
No reasonable person disputes that rehabilitation should exist. Former offenders who genuinely reject extremism deserve the opportunity to rebuild their lives, find employment and contribute positively to society. Redemption is an important principle in any civilised democracy.
But there is an enormous difference between allowing someone to rebuild their life and actively elevating them into positions of political influence.
Public office is not a right. Neither is becoming an adviser to a major political party. Such roles require public confidence, particularly when they concern racism and extremism.
Baroness Berger described the appointment as “an insult”, arguing that making Bonehill-Paine an adviser was little different from allowing him to stand for election. Given that she endured years of abuse at his hands, her criticism carries considerable weight.
Jewish organisations were equally unimpressed. While welcoming his withdrawal as a candidate, they questioned how someone with such a notorious history had passed Conservative vetting in the first place.
Perhaps most damaging is what this episode says about Badenoch’s political instincts.
Rather than acknowledging that selecting Bonehill-Paine had been a mistake, she dismissed criticism as “piling on” and suggested former extremists are needed to combat extremism. There is some merit in listening to people who have escaped radical movements. Across Britain, many former extremists undertake valuable educational work.
However, there is no shortage of credible experts, academics, community leaders and former extremists already working in this field who do not carry Bonehill-Paine’s uniquely toxic public record. Badenoch was under no obligation to place him in a party advisory role.
The controversy was entirely avoidable.
It also creates an uncomfortable contrast. Politicians frequently argue that those with controversial pasts should be permanently excluded from public life when those controversies involve racism, misogyny or offensive social media posts. Yet in this case, Badenoch appeared willing to overlook convictions arising from sustained antisemitic harassment and neo-Nazi activity.
Bonehill-Paine may genuinely have changed. That possibility should not be dismissed. But genuine rehabilitation does not erase history, nor does it automatically qualify someone to become the public face of combating the very hatred they once enthusiastically promoted.
Ultimately, the issue is no longer Joshua Bonehill-Paine. It is Kemi Badenoch’s judgement.
By first defending his selection as a Conservative candidate and then offering him an advisory position after the backlash, she transformed what could have been an isolated vetting failure into a self-inflicted political controversy. In doing so, she has left many asking whether the Conservative leader truly understood why so many people, particularly Britain’s Jewish community—found the decision impossible to defend.
