I just wrote a song about the tragic death of Henry Nowak, the 18-year-old Southampton student stabbed in December 2025. The song is titled “Any Moment Now.”
Most of you will already be familiar with the case by now. Henry was attacked on his way home. He suffered multiple stab wounds and was bleeding heavily when police arrived. Bodycam footage later revealed a deeply disturbing sequence: Henry repeatedly told officers he had been stabbed and said “I can’t breathe” multiple times. Instead of prioritising urgent medical aid, officers — acting on false claims from the attacker and his brother that this was a racist assault by Henry — handcuffed him on the ground. One officer expressed doubt about his injuries. Henry died at the scene, drowning in his own blood.
The perpetrator, Vickrum Digwa, was later convicted and sentenced to life. The Independent Office for Police Conduct (IOPC) is investigating the officers’ actions.
What has struck a nerve with so many people is the contrast. In 2020, the words “I can’t breathe” became a global rallying cry, complete with mass protests, institutional kneeling, corporate statements, and wall-to-wall media coverage. In Henry’s case, that same urgency and symbolic outrage never materialised. No national moment of reflection. No flood of public statements treating his suffering as a defining symbol. Just a young man’s life cut short, an initial narrative that protected the killer’s lies, and local protests in Southampton where people have been chanting those same words in frustration.
I commissioned this song as a way to process the sorrow, the anger, and the bitter sense of selective compassion that this case has exposed. It’s written in a rock ballad style — raw, reflective, and pointed, but not propagandistic. The title “Any Moment Now” captures the sarcastic expectation many felt: any moment now the usual script of institutional outrage would kick in for this victim too.
It never did.
The song focuses on Henry’s final moments, the police response shown in the bodycam, the reversed narrative, and the quiet grief of his family. I won’t spoil the lyrics here, but if you’d like to hear or read them, let me know in the comments and I’ll share privately or in a follow-up.
This isn’t about division for division’s sake. It’s about demanding consistency. A young life lost should matter regardless of whether it fits the preferred story of the day. Henry’s family has asked for justice without inflaming further conflict. That’s a standard we should all support.
The deeper question this case forces us to confront is whether Britain now operates with two-tiered empathy — where some victims are elevated into symbols and others are quietly sidelined because their story complicates the narrative.
I’d be interested in your thoughts. Have you followed the Henry Nowak case? What does the muted national response say about where we are as a country?
Rest in peace, Henry. Your name deserves to be remembered.
