The latest chapter in the UK’s sprawling Undercover Policing Inquiry opened this week, shining a harsh spotlight on decades-old practices within the Metropolitan Police’s Special Demonstration Squad (SDS)—and reigniting questions about race, ethics, and the thin line between law enforcement and the erosion of civil trust. At the heart of the hearings, which began on October 13, 2025, are revelations that undercover officers not only infiltrated anti-racism groups but also spied on the family and friends of Stephen Lawrence, the Black teenager whose 1993 racist murder became a watershed moment in British social history.
According to BBC, the inquiry, now a decade old and costing £114 million to date, has entered a phase focused on the 1990s and 2000s—an era marked by the Lawrence family’s campaign for justice and a broader reckoning with institutional racism in policing. The inquiry is set to hear what its lead counsel, David Barr KC, described as “deeply moving, at times harrowing” evidence from those who were spied upon, including Baroness Doreen Lawrence and Dr Neville Lawrence, Stephen’s parents, as well as Sukhdev Reel, whose son Ricky died in a suspected racist attack in 1997.
One of the most startling admissions came from an undercover officer known as HN81, or “David Hagan,” who acknowledged participating in public disorder during the 1998 Lawrence inquiry hearings. As Barr put it, HN81 described the day as “the most serious incident of public disorder he witnessed and participated in,” involving “shouting, aggressive posturing and joining in with the pushing and shoving once that had begun.” The police ultimately resorted to CS gas to control the crowd, prompting Baroness Lawrence to appeal for calm. Yet, as Barr emphasized, “It is undeniable that the Stephen Lawrence Campaign was conducted throughout in a manner that defied public disorder, advocating for order and calm, even where some would have had it otherwise.”
For Dr Neville Lawrence, the revelation that an officer justified surveillance on the grounds of public disorder while simultaneously contributing to it was, in his words, “particularly troubling.” He told the inquiry, “It is particularly troubling that an officer who sought to justify surveillance on the grounds of public disorder actively contributed to it.”
The inquiry is also delving into claims that the Metropolitan Police gathered intelligence on the Lawrences and their supporters, despite their lack of connection to groups deemed a threat to public order. As The Guardian reported, Peter Francis—a former SDS officer turned whistleblower—has alleged that in 1993, just six months after Stephen’s murder, he was ordered by a superior known only as HN86 to collect information that could be used to discredit the Lawrence family and undermine their campaign for justice. Francis, who infiltrated anti-racism groups for four years under the name of a deceased child, is expected to give evidence in December. He claims HN86 was “a thoroughly and overtly racist man who, amongst other things, instructed him to seek out intelligence for the purpose of undermining black justice campaigns.” HN86 denies these allegations, but the inquiry has vowed to scrutinize them closely.
Beyond the Lawrence case, the SDS’s reach extended to environmental, animal rights, and anti-war groups, with undercover officers using fake identities—including those of dead children—to embed themselves in activist circles. The Daily Mail revealed that some officers formed sexual and romantic relationships with members of the groups they were spying on. Barr told the inquiry that Francis “had one-night stands with two activists and a number of sexual encounters with non-activists during his deployment,” and that such conduct was “well known and accepted as part of the job.”
The fallout from these revelations has been significant. The Metropolitan Police, represented by Peter Skelton KC, issued a formal apology to the Lawrence family, Duwayne Brooks (Stephen’s friend who survived the attack), Sukhdev Reel, and other justice campaigners. Skelton acknowledged “the serious wrongdoing by some” undercover officers and a “collective failure to exercise ethical judgment about the purpose of undercover policing and the propriety of reporting on family justice campaigns.” He described the force’s attitude at the time as an “us against them” culture that failed to distinguish between genuine threats and grieving families seeking justice. The Met also apologized to women deceived into relationships and to bereaved families whose children’s identities were used as cover without consent. Skelton called the sexual relationships “a gross violation of privacy and human rights,” and admitted that managers “failed to recognize the hurt, distress and anger” caused by these actions.
Amid these apologies, the inquiry is set to spend the next three months examining whether conscious or subconscious racism influenced the deployment and conduct of SDS officers between 1993 and 2007. Barr noted that “race will be particularly prominent,” given the volume of SDS reporting on racial justice campaigns during this period. The inquiry will also review how seismic events such as the 9/11 attacks and the 2005 shooting of Jean Charles de Menezes shaped SDS operations and reporting priorities.
The inquiry’s scope is vast, but the emotional toll on those targeted is undeniable. Neville Lawrence described the surveillance as “bewildering and insulting,” echoing the sentiments of many campaigners who felt betrayed by the very institutions meant to protect them. The Met’s admission that “deployments wrongly gathered intelligence on individuals, groups, and campaigns that should never have been the subject of undercover reporting” has done little to heal the wounds.
As the inquiry continues, the parole hearing for David Norris—one of Stephen Lawrence’s killers—has added a new layer of complexity. Norris, who recently expressed remorse for his role in the murder but refused to name other gang members, awaits a decision on his release. For the Lawrence family and other campaigners, the search for justice and accountability persists on multiple fronts.
With testimony from Peter Francis and others still to come, the Undercover Policing Inquiry stands as a stark reminder of the dangers of unchecked police power and the enduring need for transparency, oversight, and respect for civil liberties. The next few months promise more revelations—and, perhaps, a measure of closure for those whose lives were upended by the shadows of the state.
