“Stay home on Saturday!”
That was the message flooding WhatsApp groups in South Asian communities across London last week.
On Saturday, I went for my usual Hyde Park walk. It took me a few minutes to realise what felt different; I was the only person of colour on the path. In London, one of the most diverse cities in the world, that felt chilling. London, a city where according to the 2021 Census, 46.2% of Londoners identified as Asian, Black, Mixed or Other Non-White.
When I returned home, I warned my daughter not to take public transport that day. Elsewhere, taxi drivers stayed off the road. Restaurants stood empty. Fear spread faster than the march itself, and that was the point. Fear can be manufactured whilst within the parameters of society’s shifting norms.
Branding Unity, Delivering Division
The organisers branded their anti-immigration march as “Unite the Kingdom,” “defending freedom,” and “standing together.” At first glance, it sounded noble, even patriotic. Yet the cause was about drawing lines, who belongs and who does not. This is by design. The language was clever: talk about “unity” while dividing, “freedom” while excluding. The visuals were powerful. Flags everywhere. Coordinated colours. Marchers moving in perfect rhythm. It felt like they owned the streets and that perception matters. PR is about perception, and they dominated the stage. Visuals are ripe for our Instagram and TikTok age.
The Social Media Multiplier
This was not just a march. It was content. Influencers in the US shared clips that went viral. Commentators framed it as part of a global anti-immigration wave. This is what makes today’s far right so effective. Their movements are transnational. They swap tactics, share memes, and coordinate messaging. A rally in London fuels talking points in Texas. A post in Melbourne inspires organisers in Manchester. For those of us in communications, this is a case study in how the internet has supercharged mobilisation. This is narrative warfare. Their framing reaches audiences faster than traditional media can fact-check.
The Numbers Game
As soon as the march ended, social media became a numbers battlefield. Some influencers claimed hundreds of thousands. Others said three million. Independent counts said far fewer around 110,000. But by then, the myth had taken hold. This is not sloppy counting. It is strategy. Their aim is to get their number out first and make it big. Media picks it up. Headlines amplify it. People start to believe they are witnessing a tidal wave. This tactic is familiar, campaigns have long claimed inflated crowd sizes at rallies to project strength. The principle is the same: perception of momentum creates real momentum. Disinformation and misinformation are rampant now everyone is a publisher with little or no guardrails.
The Everyday Name
One figure loomed large as the figurehead, Tommy Robinson. Few know his birth name is Stephen Yaxley-Lennon. The double-barrel name sounds awkward and a little posh. “Tommy Robinson” sounds like the guy you might have a pint with. This is rebranding at a personal level. Short, punchy, memorable. In PR we do this all the time for companies that want to shed baggage or broaden appeal. He did it for himself and it worked. Crowds chanted ‘Tommy’ throughout the march.
The Overton Window: Shifting the Conversation
The Overton window is the term for what society considers acceptable to say in public. What was once shocking can become mainstream. On immigration and multiculturalism, the window has shifted. Things that would have ended political careers a decade ago are now said openly. Hate speech is reframed as free speech. Dog whistles have become foghorns. Every march, post and slogan is shifting that window; one frame at a time.
Mobilisation, Not Spontaneity
This was not a ragtag protest. It was a campaign. Buses were arranged to bring people from across the country. Who paid for all this remains unclear. WhatsApp and Telegram buzzed with instructions: where to meet, what to bring, how to get there. Meanwhile, minority communities received a very different message - stay indoors, stay safe. The effect was chilling. Public space was ceded. London felt like it belonged to someone else for a day.
Memories of Fear
For many of us, this brought back memories. Of last year’s race riots, when ethnic minorities were attacked. My earliest childhood memories are stained with early encounters of racism and organised hate groups gathering outside our home. The abuse many of our parents endured when they first arrived in Britain from Sri Lanka, India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh was horrific as they persevered to make a new home for themselves and their children, not knowing that the cycle of racial hatred would reemerge like clockwork. Fear of being visible is a generational memory for migrant communities. This march reminded us of it.
Gaslighting and Silence
The organisers insist they are not racist, just anti-illegal immigration. Extremist groups often advocate the most socially acceptable aspect of their manifesto and over time, they reveal their full agenda. This is gaslighting. Their words deny the impact of their actions. What is worse is the silence from many leaders. Politicians, CEOs, civic figures, few called out the march for what it was. When you raise it in conversation, people shuffle uncomfortably. Change the subject. But silence is also communication. Silence is not neutral. It tells minorities: you are on your own.
Reclaiming the Public Square
Reclaiming the public square will not happen by accident. It requires those who value an open, plural society to engage with confidence, not retreat. PR is not just about marketing products but about shaping the public conversation, and right now, that conversation is being captured by those who seek to divide.
If we are serious about defending the values of tolerance and democracy, we must seek to embrace the other. The alternative is silence, and silence cedes the stage to those who shout the loudest.
“First, they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out because I was not a socialist. Then, they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out because I was not a trade unionist. Then, they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out because I was not a Jew. Then, they came for me, and there was no one left to speak for me.”
Martin Niemoller (1892-1984), German Lutheran pastor and anti-Nazi theologian.
