Central London

Yesterday, some 60,000 people descended on central London to “unite the kingdom” in the name of Tommy Robinson and the Lord God. They even wrote an anthem especially for the event: “God’s Kingdom”, a sort-of nationalist “Internationale”. But theirs was less a revolutionary project than a restorative one — that Britain would once again be a Christian land.

Robinson called this “the biggest gathering in British history”, but it was evidently a smaller event than the one that took place last September, which drew 150,000 attendees — the culmination of a summer of protests. This time, a beleaguered Prime Minister had tried to thwart it by banning several foreign speakers from entering Britain. One had declared that all rape allegations are “fake”; another warned of “rapist Muslims”. Keir Starmer decided that their presence was “not conducive to the public good”. He needn’t have bothered.

On Saturday, protesters marched down Euston Road to the official meeting point at Kingsway, before eventually setting out for Parliament Square. They drank tinnies and speculated about the capaciousness of the Prime Minister’s arse, up which they hoped to “shove” rubber dinghies, Sharia law, Net Zero, and the entire state of Palestine. There were lots of flags: St George’s Crosses, Saltires, Red Hands, Welsh Dragons, the Star of David, and even the standard of Pahlavist Iran. The neo-Nazi activist Sam Melia handed out fliers for Patriotic Alternative, complaining about a passing Israeli flag. Another attendee described Robinson as a “Zionist puppet”. Among various points of agreement on display, Israel was a clear dividing line.

Ahead of the event, the Telegraph detailed the glamorous turn in far-Right politics fuelled by hot women and well-dressed men. Really, though, most of those present were far harder to categorise. There were the occasional eccentrics in skinny three-pieces with Bronsonian moustaches. Then there was 21-year-old Daniel, who had worn a morning suit to show that it wasn’t only “thugs” and “skinheads” who supported the cause. He insisted on calling me “old boy” and talking about Rhodesia.

No one seemed very Christian there, and many were confused: they wanted to hear about rape and murder and migrants, not God. It was a relief, then, when Robinson himself walked onstage. “Are you ready for the Battle of Britain?” he asked, only to clarify his meaning: the 2029 general election. Most present didn’t expect that “battle” to be political. “There’s going to be a civil war in this country in 2027,” claimed Keith, who is 45. “It’s written in the books.” We have no choice, he argued, but to pick a side.

“That building,” Keith said, pointing at the Palace of Westminster, is filled with “traitors”. One man who isn’t a traitor, he added, is the ex-Tory MP Andrew Bridgen, who waddled about yesterday in a tweed jacket as he professed the Right-wing Omnicause. Almost a quaint figure from an earlier time, he complained about Big Pharma as well as “the Net-Zero hoax, which is making us all older and poorer”. He added: “What we need now is a peaceful revolution. And the only man who can lead such a revolution is a man called Rupert Lowe.”

A succession of other people appeared onstage while Robinson played the role of compère. Each speaker advocated a slightly tangential cause, mainly linked by a disdain for Islam and Starmer. Addresses were given by Advance UK’s Ben Habib and the former actor Laurence Fox, as well as a Zoom appearance from Katie Hopkins. Ant Middleton popped up on screen announcing his manifesto to be Mayor of London from Everest base camp.

People started to scatter at about three in the afternoon, a good three hours before the event finished with a rendition of “You’ll Never Walk Alone”. It hadn’t erupted into the orgiastic hate of which both Starmer and the Metropolitan Police warned, but it also hadn’t had quite the take-off Robinson expected. If it heralded anything, it was the arrival of a Right-wing Omnicause. There were Pahlavists and anti-vaxxers in attendance, rubbing shoulders with hooligans and country gents. Neo-Nazis mixed with ordinary concerned citizens. “This is the Britain we remember,” said Liam Tuffs, a Robinson lackey, as he looked at the crowd. “This is the Britain we want back.”

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Cosmo Adair is an editorial assistant at UnHerd.

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