When former tanning salon owner Stephen Yaxley-Lennon – better known as “Tommy Robinson” – last gathered his supporters in London, his march had a clear ostensible purpose. Robinson was holding a “rally for free speech”, in the wake of the death of Charlie Kirk in the US and Keir Starmer’s supposed crackdown on social media in the UK.
This time around, his reason for gathering thousands of his supporters from across the country into London was much less clear. This rally, he said, was to “unite the Kingdom” or “unite the west”. It soon became obvious that different people in attendance had very different ideas about what that actually meant.
There was, though, no shortage of people willing to sell the amassing crowds any UK flags, hoodies, caps or similar merchandise they might want before they joined the process. “Tenner, each, cash or card,” one shouted outside Euston station, before apologising that he could only sell flags – not the poles they came on. “Police won’t let you have ‘em. Health and safety.”
Almost everyone joining the march had at least one flag. Everything else quickly became more esoteric. A street preacher standing on the steps of St Pancras Church – a “liberal Anglican church” – condemned “the false god of the Qu’ran”, and urged people to turn to the true church. “Not this one behind me, though, this is a woke church,” he quickly added.
Next to him were banners saying “STOP WHITE MIGRATION” and others calling for “TOTAL REMIGRATION” of all followers. Soon afterwards, we were approached by a woman handing out “Be a #MENSCH… Anti-Semitism is rising… non-Jews, therefore have an obligation to be visible allies” – seemingly unaware of a banner just yards behind her emblazoned with “END ZIONIST OCCUPATION OF BRITAIN”.
A large contingent of pro-shah Iranian protestors – supportive of Trump’s war against the regime controlling Iran – were often flanked by protestors dressed in crusader outfits, or wearing “Knights Templar” paraphernalia.
The grab-bag of causes on display included gender-critical feminists, anti-digital ID campaigners, people decked out with the Guy Fawkes masks used by the hacking group Anonymous, among many others. A few were open in the far-right associations: one man prominently waved around a sign with a single word on it: “Lügenpresse”, a term meaning “lying press”, used by the Nazis to discredit independent German media outlets which stood in the way of their rise.
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AI slop was everywhere: flags with British bulldogs painted in the colours of the England flag, AI portraits of Tommy Robinson, and badly-rendered lions were everywhere. Several demonstrators had dressed themselves as Amelia, an anime-style schoolgirl influencer with bright purple hair. One huge banner showed Amelia leading a protest outside parliament.
At one point, incongruously, someone’s loudspeakers started belting out the 1993 hit Sweet Harmony, by the Beloved – its hippieish “let’s come together / right now / oh yeah / in sweet harmony” chorus seeming somewhat at odds with the calls for mass deportation that surrounded it. Only a few Farage caps were visible in the crowds. Merch for Rupert Lowe and his Restore UK party were much more visible throughout.
The younger men at the rally seemed at least as focused on having a good time as anything else. The pubs near the muster point had been packed since before 11am, and discarded drinks showed people had been indulging in everything from the usual beer and cider, to canned espresso martinis and even a hit or two of nitrous oxide.
In among the banners calling for a return to British values and good-old fashioned law and order, they loudly joked about drugs – a singalong of “Sweet Caroline” subversively replaced “touching hands” with “sniffing bags”.
The action on stage was a similarly mixed bag. As he did at his last rally, Robinson served as a compere of sorts for a long string of different acts. Katy Hopkins warmed up the crowd with her usual routine. She was followed by Ant Middleton, a former soldier convicted of assault on a police officer, whose company last year went bankrupt owing the taxpayer more than £1 million. He spoke of his service to the nation and his hopes of becoming London’s mayor.
Later, Robinson invited a small group of black singers onto the stage, first to perform “Land of Hope and Glory”, and then an American Gospel-ised version of “Jerusalem”, to the muted enjoyment of the amassed crowds.
Afterwards, the crowd was treated to a rant about “the media” by former Fox News host and past-his-best right-wing influencer Glenn Beck. “Back in the ‘70s, we had hospitals that could give birth to children,” an apparently confused speaker told the audience shortly afterwards.
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Even Robinson himself sometimes failed to get the crowd reaction he was looking for: he showed a slide show of global politicians – Ursula von der Leyen, Frederick Merz, Mark Carney, and others – intending the crowd to boo them.
But instead got a confused silence as it became clear most of the people assembled had no idea who they were. Thankfully, when Keir Starmer’s picture appeared, the crowd got the idea and duly booed.
The bizarre catch-all set of causes and speakers often failed to inflame more than small parts of the crowd at any one time – but there were two things that would reliably get everyone singing. The first was a chant heard at almost any protest of any political persuasion in 2026: the reliable “Keir Starmer’s a wanker,” to the tune of “Seven Nation Army”.
The other thing everyone could agree they loved was, of course, Tommy Robinson, a co-founder of the far-right English Defence League, convicted of multiple assaults, and multiple crimes of dishonesty – who nearly collapsed a grooming gang trial through his contempt of court.
“Oh Tommy Tommy, Tommy Tommy Tommy Tommy Robinson” might not be the most inventive of chants, but it got the loudest reception from the crowd.
Robinson complained on stage that he had almost failed to pull his event together, saying he had struggled to raise enough money to hold it – and that without the support of wealthy Americans, it wouldn’t have happened.
“This event would not be happening if I didn’t go to America,” Robinson told a crowd of people who otherwise complain about foreign influences on UK politics.
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Still, Robinson will surely be happy enough with how things have gone, at least as events stand on Saturday afternoon. He has proved that pulling a big crowd into London wasn’t a one-off. He has the buzz of being on stage once again.
But he might have given away the game on his weaknesses, too: if he couldn’t pull together these events without wealthy Americans, how much support does he have, really? If he can’t pull together even a basic idea of what his rally stands for, what’s the point of it all? Yes, he’s got a crowd of thousands, but what do they want, beyond a big day out in London?
Spending several hours in the crowd with Tommy Robinson’s supporters, it didn’t feel like anyone present knew the answers to any of these questions. Maybe some were happy with a gospel rendition of Jerusalem. Others won’t be happy until they get “total remigration”.
For Tommy Robinson, that might be enough. He’s become an avatar for groups of angry, disenfranchised people who feel no one else is speaking up for them. Under his banner, they can feel like part of a crowd, feel listened to, and get a buzz of belonging. They still haven’t noticed – yet – that he doesn’t actually have anything much to say to them.
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