In the grand, rotting theater of the United Kingdom, where the sun sets at 3 PM and the geopolitical relevance faded somewhere around the Suez Crisis, the local constabulary has finally admitted the quiet part out loud: the state can no longer protect you, so you had best get yourself to a DIY store and pray. The latest recipient of this glowing endorsement of British law enforcement capability is Paramjeet Singh Pamma, a Sikh activist currently enjoying the hospitality of an island that seems intent on becoming a global amphitheater for imported sectarian violence.

According to reports that would be hilarious if they weren't so deeply indicative of societal collapse, the police visited Mr. Pamma to inform him that his life is likely in danger from Hindu nationalist elements. Now, in a functioning civilization—a concept I realize is increasingly abstract—one might expect this notification to be accompanied by, say, a protection detail. Perhaps a patrol car. Maybe even a stern diplomatic word to the nation supposedly exporting these threats. But no. We are in the post-competence era. The advice offered by the thin blue line was for Mr. Pamma to install some security cameras and reinforce his door locks.

Let us pause and really marinate in the exquisite stupidity of that recommendation. We are talking about potential transnational repression, the kind of state-sponsored or ideology-fueled violence that involves intricate planning and, occasionally, professional hitmen. And the Metropolitan Police’s strategic response is the security equivalent of a “No Solicitors” sticker. It is the tactical version of telling a man standing on train tracks to perhaps wear a helmet.

This is the ultimate admission of the modern neoliberal state’s failure. The social contract—that quaint idea that you pay taxes and the government ensures you aren't murdered in your sleep by geopolitical rivals—has been shredded. It has been replaced by the gig-economy of survival. Protection is no longer a public good; it is a private consumer choice. If you don't want to be assassinated, have you considered the Ring Doorbell Pro? It has 1080p video, perfect for capturing the high-definition footage of your own demise for the police to file away in a cold case folder three years later.

The absurdity is compounded by the context. We are witnessing the globalization of grievance. It is not enough that the Indian subcontinent has its own complex, bloody, and exhausting history of sectarian tensions; we must now import these tensions to the dreary suburbs of England. The Right in the UK screams about borders, yet they seem entirely impotent to stop the borders of foreign conflicts from dissolving inside their own towns. The Left screams about diversity, ignoring that diversity also includes the diversity of ancient hatreds, tribal vendettas, and the kind of nationalism that doesn't care about your local noise ordinances.

It creates a pathetic tableau: a man seeking refuge in a western democracy, supposedly a bastion of free speech and safety, being told by the authorities that his safety is contingent on whether he bought the heavy-duty deadbolt or the standard one. It turns the concept of asylum into a cruel joke. "Welcome to Britain! You are free to speak your mind, provided your front door is reinforced with three inches of steel and you spend your weekends monitoring a closed-circuit television feed like a paranoid hermit."

Furthermore, consider the intelligence aspect. The police claim they have "intelligence" suggesting threats. Intelligence implies knowledge. Knowledge usually implies action. But here, the intelligence apparatus is merely a weather forecast for violence. "Cloudy with a chance of stabbing, bring a brolly and lock your doors." What is the point of the surveillance state—of the millions of cameras, the digital dragnets, the snooping powers—if the end result is just a friendly visit telling a citizen to fend for himself? It renders the entire security apparatus a voyeuristic enterprise. They watch, they know, and then they shrug.

This scenario with Mr. Pamma is a microcosm of the West's current trajectory. We are open for business, open for migration, and open for the importation of foreign proxy wars, but we have completely divested from the responsibility of managing the fallout. The police have transitioned from peacekeepers to administrative clerks who document the decline. They are not there to stop the fire; they are there to hand you a brochure on fire extinguishers while your house smolders.

So, as Mr. Pamma heads to B&Q to purchase his own survival in the form of screws and brackets, we should all take note. This is the future. The state has tapped out. Whether you are a political activist targeted by foreign nationalists or just a regular commuter trying not to get mugged, the message is consistent: You are on your own. Good luck with the locks.