The "Unite the Kingdom" rally in central London on September 13, 2025, has sparked fierce debate. Organised by activist Tommy Robinson, it drew crowds estimated anywhere from 100,000 to over a million (3 million?), depending on the source, figures that underscore the event's scale and the challenge of pinning down an exact count amid the chaos of a sprawling march. Drone footage captured what looked like a sea of Union Jacks and St. George's Crosses snaking through Whitehall, evoking images of historic gatherings rather than modern unrest. But beyond the numbers, the real question is: What did this mean for Britain? Was it the far-Right menace painted by mainstream media, or something more grounded, a cry from everyday people fed up with the status quo?
As a freelance journalist who attended much of the event, Philip Patrick offers a firsthand account that cuts through the spin. He describes a crowd not of rage-fuelled extremists, but of defiant patriots: families, pub-goers, and sceptics united by love for their island nation and frustration with its perceived transformation. "We are British and proud of it. We quite like our little island and don't want it transformed. We are sick of being smeared and caricatured, censored and silenced," he summarises the mood. Patrick's observations align with reports from the ground: the rally emphasised free speech, cultural preservation, and opposition to mass immigration, without descending into overt violence or hate speech for most attendees. While counter-protests led by anti-fascist groups resulted in 25 arrests and 26 police injuries, mostly from clashes near the event's fringes, the overall atmosphere was determined rather than destructive, especially when compared to the 528 arrests at the Notting Hill Carnival just weeks earlier.
Critics like Prime Minister Keir Starmer and London Mayor Sadiq Khan framed the march as a "shiver" through the UK, warning of far-Right hijacking of British symbols and threats to diverse communities. The BBC's evening coverage zeroed in on the one known confrontation, portraying it as emblematic of the whole, with a reporter seeming "dazed and demoralised" by the scale. Diane Abbott decried it as "racism, pure and simple," urging Labour not to stay silent. Yet Patrick's on-the-scene perspective challenges this narrative. He notes the crowd's diversity in skin tones, if not in politics, and the welcoming vibe, even toward proselytisers handing out Christian literature. "Jesus is King" chants and crosses dotted the scene, adding a layer of appeal to "higher, better, ancient authority," though questions linger about how deeply this faith runs among organisers.
The event's UK-wide flavor was evident in the flags: Union Jacks alongside Scottish Saltires, Welsh Dragons, and English St. George's. This wasn't just an English affair; it tapped into a broader Unionist sentiment, rejecting the direction of unchecked immigration and elite detachment. Political parties were notably absent, Reform UK's Nigel Farage kept his distance to avoid the "unsavoury" label, with only minor stalls for Advance UK and UKIP. Ben Habib was a rare exception, but the focus stayed on grassroots themes: love of country, media irrelevance, and free speech. Elon Musk's video appearance amplified this, praising the UK's core values and thanking Robinson for the Twitter acquisition that "opened up the global debate." Musk even called for "revolutionary government change," drawing backlash and petitions to ban him from the UK. A tribute to Charlie Kirk underscored the transatlantic solidarity.
Tommy Robinson himself was a polarising figure, idolised by some, but not the sole draw. Protected by bodyguards and joined by Katie Hopkins and Laurence Fox, he arrived amid the march, his presence more mythic than commanding. Chants for him rose but didn't engulf the crowd, suggesting the event transcended any one leader. Patrick nearly bumped into him, likening his aura to folk heroes like Robin Hood, real yet larger-than-life in the digital age.
Sure, there were rough edges: skinheads, tattooed toughs with lager, military garb. These fed the "undesirables" trope peddled by media, as Trevor Phillips noted, likening attendees to "the sort of people you would meet in a country pub." But Patrick saw no trouble firsthand, and the police, while stretched thin, sealing off Whitehall and creating buffer zones, responded with reasonableness. One officer even let him through after a feigned medical emergency. This underestimation by authorities highlights a key takeaway: the depth of public discontent with the country's trajectory.
In the end, labelling this a "fascist" march feels like a lazy shorthand. Fascism implies authoritarian control and suppression of dissent, none of which dominated the day. Instead, it was ordinary Britons, from Left-leaning sceptics like Piers Corbyn (whom Patrick chatted with about climate change) to patriots, asserting their right to shape their homeland. The mainstream's dismissal only amplifies their alienation, proving the rally's point about censorship and irrelevance.
As Britain grapples with immigration, identity, and free expression, events like this signal a shift: the silent majority is speaking, and they're not going away. Whether it leads to unity or division depends on whether leaders listen, or keep smearing.
https://dailysceptic.org/2025/09/15/what-i-saw-at-the-unite-the-kingdom-rally/