Article
Comment
Community
Nationalism
5 min read

I protested against the Unite The Kingdom protest

The need to see one another

Thomas is a writer exploring the intersection of faith, politics, and social justice.

CCTV footage show two rival protests divided by a line of riot police.
CCTV image of the rival protests on Whitehall.
Met Police.

I don’t know why I was so concerned about the horses. I kept noticing them swaying through the sea of shivering bodies. I was so drawn to them that I tried to take a photo, a rare occurrence for me, but I was too far away. The horses riders, dressed in full riot gear, were being pelted with beer bottles. Maybe the horses were getting hit too, but it felt like they were recoiling on behalf of their riders. 

In front of the horses, engulfing Trafalgar Square, were tens of thousands of “Unite the Kingdom” protestors. From what I could see, they were predominantly white men. Many of them were dancing and waving flags, but a sizeable contingent was furious, drunk, and insisted on attacking any unfortunate police officer in their way. 

Behind the horses, lining the streets of Whitehall, were five thousand counter-protestors, including me. Unlike our opposite numbers in Trafalgar Square, we were trapped, surrounded on every side by St George’s flags, Union Jacks, and, oddly, some Georgian flags too. Maybe the shop had sold out. To my right, I could see the counter-protestors defiantly dancing. To me left, I could see a group chanting “Nazi scum, off our streets” whilst swearing towards the St George’s flags. 

There in the middle, I found myself feeling a curious mixture of discomfort, sadness, and anger. Uncomfortable because I’d been trapped for four hours, stuck on a continuous cycle of rinse and drain. Sad, because I knew that much of the “Unite the Kingdom” violence was built on misinformation and the scapegoating of refugees, a group I know well, and because this fog of violence blew over the counter-protestors as they hurled insults towards the St George’s flags. And angry, because figures like Elon Musk were using their extraordinary wealth and influence to spread fear and lies: “Whether you choose violence or not, violence is coming to you. You either fight back or you die. You either fight back or you die. And that’s the truth. It’s only a matter of time till that happens to towns and villages. It will spread. And no one will have any peace.” Over the years, I have spent many hundreds, if not thousands, of hours with refugees and asylum seekers, both in my home and at my church. I had experienced no violence. In that moment, I was surrounded by “leftists”, socialists, and trade unionists, and the only violence I was experiencing was from the glint of beer bottles raining down on the police two hundred meters away. 

I was grateful for the interruption of an elderly lady asking if she could get past. I’d been asked a number of questions throughout the day, primarily because I was one of a group of four Christians holding signs like “Jesus was a refugee”, “love thy neighbour”, and “I was a stranger and you welcomed me”. At the start of the protest, an older lady and a young man joined our circle. The young man asked “I’m glad to see there are some Christians here. What do you think of Christian nationalism? Your religion doesn’t feel much like Jesus?” He was a brave Saudi Arabian refugee with a bright smile, earnestly questioning the fractures in my community of faith. Taken aback by the poignancy of the question, I fumbled a response before being rescued by one of my friends. 

Protest signs written on cardboard.
Tommy's protest signs before the rain.

 

After a while, the older lady started speaking. “Sorry for interrupting. I used to be a Roman Catholic, but I’ve lost my faith. On days like this though, I always want to pray. I don’t feel much hope for the church. A while ago, I went into a catholic church. I asked if the church could do anything about the divisions in our community and the anger at refugees. The priest shrugged and said no. I’m glad you’re here.” Her short, staccato sentences mirrored the tension of the day. I told her about how our church serves refugees, how I struggle with the anger of days like today, and how some of us have forgotten that the bible tells us to welcome the stranger dozens of times. As they walked away, I felt touched by the honesty both the young and old had gifted to four strangers, and I was glad to be carrying our smalls signs of hope. 

The megaphone brought the present back into view with another question. “Could everyone please get ready to leave up the left of Trafalgar Square?” it said. The police had cleared a path for us to leave, the sea of flags artificially parted by riot gear. We were escorted to Green Park tube station, at which point we turned off towards Oxford Street. My wife remarked at how quickly normality returned. I was devastated by the day, but felt too tired to weep. I wasn’t quite the same Tommy that I’d been that morning. The man who shares my name, and the chaos he wrought on my city, had turned a dial in me a little further than it had been turned before. 

I knew that I would have more days like this. In the midst of my discomfort, sadness, hope, and fear, I knew that I was supposed to be there, holding my soggy “Jesus was a refugee” sign, shivering in my damp clothes, and praying under my breath. I knew that I needed to gather other reluctant protestors alongside me, holding their own soggy signs and praying their own prayers. 

And I also knew that there was a better way to carry this fragile message of unity in our increasingly fragile land and increasingly fragile time. As a half-British, half-South African man, I’ve had the privilege of growing up with the stories of the anti-apartheid movement, stories which steward the hard-earned truth that defiant, tenacious, persistent love is the only antidote to hatred, misinformation and fear. As Desmond Tutu once said, “when we can accept both our humanity and the perpetrator’s we can write a new story”. Saturday left me feeling that we desperately need a new story, and that requires us to look beyond the swaying horses and see one another clearly. 

Support Seen & Unseen

Since Spring 2023, our readers have enjoyed over 1,500 articles. All for free. 
This is made possible through the generosity of our amazing community of supporters.

If you enjoy Seen & Unseen, would you consider making a gift towards our work?
 
Do so by joining Behind The Seen. Alongside other benefits, you’ll receive an extra fortnightly email from me sharing my reading and reflections on the ideas that are shaping our times.

Graham Tomlin
Editor-in-Chief

Article
Character
Community
Economics
4 min read

Local businesses can love their neighbours, here’s how

The powerful partnerships quietly transforming Britain's towns
A knitted post box topper shows a group of people and the word powerhouse.
Celebrating Didcot's Powerhouse group.

In just three years, an Oxfordshire market town has cracked a code that's eluded community development experts for decades. The Didcot Powerhouse Fund has delivered £400,000 in grants to nearly 9,000 residents, proving that when local businesses and civic leaders work together, they can achieve remarkable results. 

Didcot's success is all the more remarkable given its context. Surrounded by world-class science campuses and the prosperity they bring, the town is simultaneously home to pockets of serious social and economic deprivation. This stark inequality demanded a fresh model for corporate giving – one that could bridge the gap between the wealth generated by cutting-edge research facilities and the struggling families living in their shadow. 

The fund's approach offers a blueprint for addressing one of Britain's most persistent challenges: how to harness private sector resources for genuine community benefit. Within five months of launching, it had generated £100,000 in grants. By year three, it had distributed 70 grants across Greater Didcot's 46,000 residents, tackling everything from domestic abuse support to youth skills training. 

What makes Didcot remarkable isn't just the money – it's the method. The fund, chaired by Oxfordshire Deputy Lieutenant Elizabeth Paris, doesn't simply write cheques. It convenes businesses, charities, local government and faith leaders in the same room, mapping community needs and systematically filling gaps. This year's annual impact event, hosted by the European Space Agency, drew 160 guests who would rarely otherwise meet. 

This model represents a fundamental shift from traditional corporate social responsibility. Rather than companies making isolated charitable donations, the Didcot approach creates sustained partnerships that leverage professional networks, legal expertise and grant-writing skills alongside financial resources. 

The success reflects a broader civic renewal happening across Britain, much of it led by the country's 5.5 million small and medium enterprises (SMEs). Across the UK, these businesses are showing what it means to contribute not just economically, but socially, to their local communities. They do so quietly — through their skills, relationships, and a belief in stewardship. 

Last winter, fuel-allowance reductions left many families wondering how to heat their homes. In East Yorkshire, a coalition of community groups supported by an SME mobilised at speed, distributing thousands of pounds in emergency vouchers. Similar efforts in Cambridgeshire and Nottinghamshire reached nearly 300 residents with targeted help. These acts made all the difference close to home. 

SMEs employ 60 per cent of the UK workforce, but their real power lies in their embeddedness within local communities. They understand local needs in ways that distant corporations or central government cannot. And SMEs, as groups of individuals united by a common purpose, have the unique ability to be good neighbours in the communities they serve. The most effective business leaders understand that creating real value comes from cooperation – from working alongside others to meet shared needs.  

Successful SMEs engage actively with their local communities because doing so helps them understand the people they serve, earns trust, and provides services that genuinely matter. This requires spending time with people, asking thoughtful questions, and recognising that local relationships are central to resilience.  

Through my role as Lord-Lieutenant of Oxfordshire, alongside our team of 40 Deputy-Lieutenants, I witness this transformation first-hand. We engage with tens of thousands of people annually and can report that this quiet civic renewal is both important and accelerating. 

From the Isle of Wight, where former vehicle technician Jan retrained as an energy retrofit assessor to help neighbours cut bills and carbon emissions, to East Yorkshire, where community groups and local firms mobilised to distribute emergency fuel vouchers, SMEs are proving themselves to be critical civic actors. 

The most striking example may be Inveraray on Scotland's west coast, where the historic Local Pier had been shuttered for a decade. A local charity, supported by regional SMEs, raised over £275,000 across seven funding bids. The pier reopened in April 2024, now hosting monthly farmers' markets. As Linda Divers, Chair of Inveraray Community Council, said at the ribbon-cutting: "That vote of confidence turned a dream into reality." 

This matters because trust – the foundation of effective community action – is built through personal relationships. A 2023 King's College London study found that 98 per cent of UK residents trust people they know personally. SMEs, rooted in their communities, are uniquely positioned to nurture and leverage this trust. 

Parliament is taking notice. The Business and Trade Committee has launched an inquiry into what small firms need to thrive, with Chair Liam Byrne calling them "the engine room of growth and our biggest employer." 

The potential is enormous. Imagine businesses helping food banks become comprehensive community hubs. Picture digital skills clinics helping charities navigate AI-ready grant applications. Envision hundreds more professionals like Jan, retrained into green jobs that serve both local communities and environmental goals. 

The Didcot model shows this isn't utopian thinking – it's happening now. What's needed is recognition that the story is changing: from businesses as standalone economic actors to businesses as community builders, aligned with local purpose. 

At its heart, this kind of community investment reflects a deep, shared commitment to neighbourly love – not as a sentiment, but as a practical responsibility. To be a good neighbour is to recognise the inherent worth in every person, and to act with generosity, care, and purpose.  

It even calls us to see one another not as strangers or competitors, but as people closely connected, each carrying something of the same human dignity and potential. This recognition demands action: to build relationships that endure, to work for the good of all, and to strengthen the ties that bind communities together. 

The work of SMEs and local leaders across the UK embodies these values, offering a powerful example of faith in action within public life. In an era of declining social capital and institutional trust, it offers hope that Britain's communities will continue to build themselves from the ground up. We should celebrate it – and help it grow. 

Support Seen & Unseen

Since Spring 2023, our readers have enjoyed over 1,500 articles. All for free. 
This is made possible through the generosity of our amazing community of supporters.

If you enjoy Seen & Unseen, would you consider making a gift towards our work?
 
Do so by joining Behind The Seen. Alongside other benefits, you’ll receive an extra fortnightly email from me sharing my reading and reflections on the ideas that are shaping our times.

Graham Tomlin
Editor-in-Chief