The truth about Britain’s ‘Unite the Kingdom’ march

On Saturday morning, I skipped synagogue and went to the Tommy Robinson march instead. By the time I arrived at Whitehall to collect my press pass for the Unite the Kingdom rally, the sun was shining and the stage was still being set up.

I had optimistically planned to go straight to Shabbat prayers and return by 1 p.m., when the march was expected to reach its endpoint. But that proved unrealistic. So I stayed put, somewhat overdressed in a suit, and spoke with two Scottish women setting up tables of homemade cakes and snacks backstage. One told me she had been volunteering for Tommy Robinson ever since she first heard him speak about the Pakistani Muslim pedophile rings. Years earlier, her daughter had been raped. She hadn’t realized it was part of a broader pattern until she saw his work.

I had come with some apprehension. The media had warned that this would be a far-right, racist march. I wanted to see it for myself. To talk to the people there. To listen to the speeches. And quite soon, as volunteers arrived and the crowd began to swell, it was clear this would be a day unlike any I had experienced.

My husband, who is also my podcast producer, was with me to film for my YouTube channel. As we arrived, he reached into his pocket and took out a kippah, the Jewish head covering, which he wore all day. I wear mine only during prayer. Many greeted him with “shalom” or offered a hug. None were hostile. Those who started conversations with him were warm, friendly and candid. Most didn’t react at all. The only abuse he received was later, from a woman in the so-called anti-racist protest we passed on our way home. (He is a non-white immigrant to the UK.)

The event itself was a varied mix of speeches, patriotic songs, short film clips and a black gospel choir. It culminated in a surprise live Zoom call between Tommy Robinson and Elon Musk, in which Musk called for a dissolution of parliament and fresh elections – a suggestion met with cheers. Robinson, in turn, praised Musk for restoring free speech on X, which had allowed much of his work to reach the public once again. There were tributes to Charlie Kirk, including a solemn minute’s silence that ended with bagpipes. Among the thousands of Union flags, some held photos of Kirk, visibly moved by his assassination.

Most speeches focused on recurring themes: British identity, Christian heritage, the damaging effects of Islam in Britain and Europe, unassimilated immigration, and the scourge of pedophile rape gangs. The rally was framed as a defense of free speech, and on that point, it undoubtedly delivered. Many of the views expressed were met with rapturous applause and cheers. Countless people I spoke with expressed the same sentiment: people felt seen, heard, and less alone. They had long been told their views were racist, bigoted or ignorant. Now, they stood among thousands who were unafraid to speak freely, and proud to do so.

“They think we’re common people and we don’t count,” said one woman attending her first Robinson rally. She had taken shelter under my umbrella as the heavens opened and a sudden downpour drenched the crowd, just as a dramatic Welsh preacher took to the stage and, with a booming invocation to Jesus, appeared to clear the skies once more. With all four seasons in one day, even the weather felt very British.

Yet not all speeches sat comfortably. While the multiple calls to reaffirm Britain’s Christian foundations were understandable, one New Zealand preacher went too far, calling for the banning of non-Christian places of worship and halal food. A stranger behind us tapped my shoulder and joked, “Don’t worry, not you lot!” I laughed, but the speech left a sour taste. Later, a formidable Māori troupe performed a fierce haka, ripping apart flags of the Palestine Liberation Organisation and a jihadi banner. They ended by waving the flags of England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland to a roaring ovation. One sensed the crowd had tired of the other kind of march London has seen repeatedly over the last two years.

It should not be surprising that a festival of free speech would include opinions that some find disagreeable. That is the point. For the most part, the speeches were serious and stirring, delivered by well-known figures of the right-wing internet. Katie Hopkins gave a characteristically expletive-laden address. Visibly emotional, Tommy Robinson delivered a carefully crafted speech, one that was both defiant and hopeful, addressing the social ills that had drawn the crowd together. Whatever one’s view of Robinson, it is hard to deny his determination. Again and again, he has faced formidable obstacles. Still, he endures, and the crowd adores his mettle. Victims and families of the rape gangs spoke with heartbreaking candor. A little girl who had been sent home from school on “culture day” for wearing a Union Jack dress captivated the crowd. Throughout the day, a steady procession of right-wing political figures delivered variations on the same message: frustration, anger, defiance.

There was confusion over the size of the crowd. Helicopter and drone footage suggested a vast turnout, possibly over a million. At one point, an organizer claimed three million were present, though no one could explain where that figure came from. News outlets reported between 110,000 and 150,000, but that estimate did not match the enormous overflow of marchers filling adjacent streets, eventually surrounding a rather dismal-looking 5,000-strong counter-protest by PLO flag wavers.

Whatever the number, it far exceeded expectations. Police maintained control for the most part and eventually guided the hard-left marchers out via Trafalgar Square. By day’s end, at least 26 police officers had been injured by protestors throwing planks, bottles and a traffic cone. At least 25 people were arrested.

None of this was visible from where I stood. The atmosphere throughout was mainly jubilant, though at moments, palpably angry. The most frequently heard spontaneous chant was “Keir Starmer’s a wanker”, sung to the tune of Seven Nation Army. Putting aside the more extreme voices, the day was, at heart, a powerful expression of justifiable anger. Anger at political leaders who have dismissed the concerns of millions on matters that are neither fringe nor abstract but urgent and real.

The government’s response the following day offered little reassurance. Peter Kyle called Musk’s comments “incomprehensible” and “totally inappropriate”. Keir Starmer said Britain “will never surrender” the flag to those using it as a symbol of violence, fear and division. Friends and family asked me, wide-eyed, what it was like, as though I had returned from some exotic expedition. But I had not been on safari. I had gone to Whitehall to meet a crowd of fed-up fellow Britons.

This was a day of pride and dissent, of flags and forthrightness, of people who refuse to be silenced or shamed. That patriotic songs, open speech, and the waving of our national flag are now seen as dangerous by many in our parliament only ensures this will not be the last such march. I left the rally as the gospel choir sang Jerusalem, the anxiety I’d felt on arrival replaced by a warm sense of British pride and a quiet feeling that something is shifting.