A Reform Rooted In Fear, Not Strategy:

In late January 2026, Home Secretary Shabana Mahmood unveiled what she and her allies call “the biggest policing reform in nearly 200 years”, a plan to create a National Police Service (NPS), widely described in government messaging as a “British FBI”, aimed at addressing terrorism, organised crime, fraud and online abuse at a national level.

Mahmood’s rhetoric has been stark: Britain’s current policing model is “outdated”, and forces are “fighting crime in a digital age with analogue methods”. Her justification for the NPS is twofold: to free local constabularies from national-level investigations and to centralise technology acquisition so that forces can better tackle complex crime.

Home Secretary Shabana Mahmood (pic)

But beneath the surface of this reformist language lies a series of systemic contradictions, accountability concerns, and unanswered practical questions that go to the heart of democratic policing and civil liberties in the UK.

What Mahmood Says, And What She Avoids:

Mahmood has framed the reform as a forward-looking response to evolving crime patterns:

“Crime has evolved — but police forces haven’t.”

“Fraudsters and serious organised crime bosses are outsmarting them.”

“We will introduce a new model of policing in this country… so local police can spend more time fighting crime in their communities.”

She also insists that technology, such as live facial recognition and AI tools, will help bring criminals to justice and will be governed by courts and established legal protections: “Of course, it has to be used in a way that is in line with our values, doesn’t lead to innocent people being caught up in cases they shouldn’t have been involved in.”

Yet critics argue that Mahmood’s assertions about technology’s readiness and neutrality are untested, and that expanding its use before strong legal safeguards exist risks normalising intrusive surveillance. Civil liberties groups warn that facial recognition systems can have biased outputs, disproportionately misidentify ethnic minorities, and erode public trust in policing.

Centralisation Vs. Community: A Faulty Trade‑Off.

One of the most contentious aspects of the NPS plan is the centralisation of power, both geographically (fewer regional forces) and politically (increased Home Office authority). Mahmood’s reforms would:

• Reduce the number of police forces from 43 in England and Wales to as few as 12 “mega‑forces”.
• Abolish Police and Crime Commissioners (PCCs) by 2028, a controversial elected accountability mechanism.
• Empower the Home Secretary to sack underperforming chief constables and intervene in failing forces.

This has alarmed local leaders. Emily Spurrell, Chair of the Association of Police and Crime Commissioners, warned the reforms could stifle local responsiveness and “place unprecedented power in the hands of just two people”, referring to the Home Secretary and the new National Police Commissioner.

The fundamental tension is this: Mahmood claims centralisation will free officers for local crime‑fighting, yet her blueprint increases central oversight of almost every major facet of policing. Critics rightly ask whether this trade-off actually delivers better community safety or instead creates a remote, homogenised police hierarchy that is less accountable to voters and neighbourhoods.

Technology As Panacea, Or Political Cover?

The government proposes an aggressive rollout of AI, automation and live facial recognition tools, backed by more than £140m in investment.

Mahmood’s language here is revealing: “new technology has the ability to help us go after criminals and bring more people to justice.”

Yet her optimism glosses over significant challenges:

• Live facial recognition systems have documented errors and bias issues.
• There is no comprehensive legal framework governing AI in policing, only piecemeal reliance on data protection laws.
• Rapid deployment risks expanding surveillance practices before communities and courts fully understand their implications.

While Mahmood frames technology as a crime-fighting tool, opponents see it as a political shield for reforms that otherwise lack a clear, evidence-based justification. In other words, technology becomes the spectacle that obscures the structural weakness of the policy itself.

Historical Echoes And The ‘British FBI’ Delusion:

The idea of a British equivalent to the U.S. Federal Bureau of Investigation is not new, and previous attempts have failed to live up to the hype. Agencies like the Serious Organised Crime Agency (SOCA) and the National Crime Agency (NCA) were both billed as steps toward a national crime-fighting institution, yet they became bogged down in bureaucratic confusion and mission creep. (Long-term analyses and historical reporting on those agencies confirm that they struggled with funding, roles, and leadership clarity.)

Online discussions and some policing insiders have derided the latest iteration as yet another bureaucratic reinvention, stating bluntly: “NCIS, SOCA, NCS and NCA have all been reported as ‘British FBI’ and they have been wrong every single time.”

This cycle of reinvention suggests a deeper institutional problem: political leaders seek symbolic titans to signal action while avoiding the hard work of sustained investment, accountability reform, and cultural change within policing.

Unanswered Questions And Risks Ahead:

Even supporters of reform warn that the success of the NPS depends on funding, clarity of mandate and careful governance, none of which are fully addressed in the current White Paper. Independent analysts argue that while the strategy may look coherent on paper, delivery will be staggered over the years and likely outlast Mahmood’s tenure, raising questions about continuity and political commitment.

Key unresolved issues include:

• How will the NPS balance national priorities with local needs?
• What legal frameworks will govern AI and facial recognition use?
• Will expanded central power be subject to robust democratic oversight?
• How will the system protect against political interference in policing priorities?

Conclusion: The National Police Service, Policing For The State, Not The People.

Shabana Mahmood’s National Police Service (NPS) is being sold as Britain’s answer to 21st-century crime: a centralised, technologically advanced force to tackle terrorism, organised crime, and fraud. On paper, it promises efficiency, innovation, and freedom for local forces to focus on neighbourhood crime. In reality, it risks becoming another chapter in Britain’s long history of “British FBI” failures, ambitious but structurally flawed and dangerously centralised.

The NPS is ambitious and illustrative of genuine frustrations with Britain’s 19th-century policing structures. It attempts to respond to transnational and digital threats that cross borders and jurisdictions. Yet ambition alone is not strategy. The current proposal displays a disconcerting fixation on centralisation, technology, and executive control, all while offering limited attention to local accountability, legal safeguards, and measured implementation. While Mahmood frames the reforms as a way to free local officers to focus on everyday crime, the consolidation of power into Whitehall and a single National Police Commissioner risks alienating the communities the police are meant to serve and undermining trust in policing.

Its centralisation, live facial recognition, AI surveillance, and intelligence-sharing networks will inevitably extend Britain’s policing reach into global intelligence arenas, raising profound questions about privacy, consent, and democratic oversight. Minorities, already disproportionately affected by surveillance, could find themselves targeted and marginalised, with communities alienated from the very institutions meant to protect them. The NPS, in this respect, is not just a policing reform, it is a potential instrument of systemic inequality and social control.

History is unambiguous. Agencies like SOCA and the NCA, previously touted as steps toward a national policing powerhouse, collapsed under bureaucratic confusion, funding gaps, and mission creep. The NPS appears poised to repeat the same mistakes, merging disparate agencies with different cultures, legal mandates, and operational priorities, without addressing the underlying flaws in training, governance, or resources.

As one seasoned policing analyst warned: “Policy without grounding in community trust and constitutional balance is likely to reproduce the very problems it seeks to solve, merely under a new name and with a new coat of paint.” Mahmood’s promises of “world-class talent” and “state-of-the-art technology” may win headlines, but without serious reform of policing culture, sustained investment, and robust legal safeguards, the NPS risks becoming a political spectacle rather than a force that genuinely protects the public.

The NPS is more than a bureaucratic reshuffle; it is a test of whether Britain prioritises policing for communities or policing for the state. Centralised power, surveillance technologies, and international intelligence links may look impressive on paper, but they cannot substitute for local trust, accountability, and the rule of law. If implemented without caution, the NPS could deeply entrench inequality, erode privacy, and alienate the very communities it claims to serve, particularly minorities who are already over-policed and under-protected.

Britain faces a stark choice: invest in genuine, accountable, community-rooted reform, or continue the cycle of grandiose announcements, centralised spectacle, and incremental failures, leaving local communities less safe, more surveilled, and more marginalised than ever. History suggests the latter is far more likely, and without decisive intervention, the NPS could mark not a leap forward in policing, but a retrenchment toward authoritarian, technocratic control.