Tommy Robinson: Will parents leave the fight for the UK's future to their children?

The conversation comes during a tense moment for British Jews. For many, the question of whether Robinson is a friend or foe cuts to a deeper question: What is the place of the Jew in modern Britain?

Many of the antisemitic incidents Robinson described sound familiar: harassment of Orthodox Jews, threats during pro-Palestinian marches, the sense of insecurity in Jewish schools, and a general anti-Israel/anti-Jewish rhetoric.

Although he is a polarizing figure, Robinson is asking to be heard in his own words. It has become so easy to dismiss the ideas of those you don’t want to hear by branding them as racist, or bigoted. But as time has gone on, as the sense of threat grows and the responses to Jewish pain have been dismissed or denied, the urgency to speak, to keep talking, feels harder to ignore.

Increasingly, those who disagree with one another seem willing to justify even the most extreme actions, including the murder of someone whose views they reject. Before watching the interview, our hope is that potential viewers will reflect on what it means if we truly lose the ability to have open, honest conversation.

As Tommy powerfully states at the end of our discussion, “Unless we unite, the future is dark for all of us.”

Most British Jews descend from refugees of Eastern European pogroms or the Holocaust, with earlier communities centered around Sephardi Jews in London. The late 19th and early 20th centuries saw new Jewish communities form across Britain, bringing with them the antisemitic tropes of the age, accusations of war profiteering, exclusionary Alien Acts, and calls for deportation to Palestine. The 1936 Battle of Cable Street, where Jews and allies physically blocked Oswald Mosley’s fascists from marching through the East End, remains a defining moment of communal resistance.

That memory of once being the targets of nativist violence still lingers. For many, the sight of large, organized street protests against recent migrant communities is unsettling. This was the prevailing view of many British Jews when Robinson first appeared on national television leading the English Defence League (EDL), widely seen as an anti-Muslim street movement.

Asked if he still calls himself a Zionist, Robinson’s answer was succinct: “It means to me that Jews can have a homeland. There’s 55 Islamic nations; Jews have one.”

He rooted his worldview in his upbringing in Luton, describing the town’s demographic and ideological changes. A former synagogue, he said, became an “extremist radical terrorist mosque,” where he claims several future attackers had passed through. The 2004 Beslan school massacre in Russia was, for him, a “light bulb moment” that spurred him to investigate Islamist networks in the UK. Seeing a positive response to the murder of children in his neighborhood disturbed Robinson deeply.

He recalled childhood hostility toward Jews, from classmates throwing objects at Orthodox ones to police escorts being required for them to walk safely. “They need police to walk through the streets,” he said. “That was a moment.”

Robinson has said his activism was shaped by his cousin’s sexual assault at the hands of grooming gangs in Luton and the authorities’ failure to act. The British government has since acknowledged widespread institutional failures to prevent or prosecute the perpetrators, largely British-Pakistani men, across several towns.

Among Robinson’s supporters, and even amongst some skeptics, there is a growing comparison to Winston Churchill, the man who warned about Hitler while much of Britain placed its faith in Neville Chamberlain’s diplomacy.

Commenters under Robinson’s interview video compared him to Churchill, someone unafraid to name an evil for what it is. Whether one agrees with the analogy or not, the fact that it is being made speaks to a widespread sense that Britain is at a crossroads, and that Jews once again must decide whether to trust the political mainstream or to speak up, loudly, for their own security.

Jewish schools in the UK, such as King David High School in Manchester, resemble a fortified military base, Robinson said. “I believe we’re very close to a school massacre,” he warned, though noting that authorities have foiled plots in the past.

He accused police of tolerating extremist rhetoric at pro-Palestinian rallies while coming down harder on right-of-center demonstrations, a double standard he said became “visible to the whole world” after October 7.

Robinson tied these policing failures to what he views as political fears of offending Muslim communities and losing the Islamic vote.

At 25, Robinson co-founded the English Defence League, which he said had Jewish, Sikh, Hindu, and LGBT divisions. He acknowledged “boisterous behavior on the streets” but rejected the “far-right” label, blaming media coverage for what he sees as a mischaracterization.

Mainstream Jewish organizations have long condemned the EDL as anti-Muslim and provocative. Robinson insisted those leaders are “out of step with the Jewish community,” which he believes is increasingly aware of the threats he highlights.

For years, many Jews kept their distance from Robinson’s movement. But the “Unite the Kingdom” rally seems to have shifted perceptions. The event brought together English nationalists, Iranian monarchists, and pro-Israel groups. Israeli flags, including ones bearing the Hostage Ribbon, were visible throughout the march, making it one of the few non-Jewish demonstrations in Britain where public support for Israel was prominent.

In contrast, recent pro-Palestinian marches have been filled with international flags but have often lacked Union Jacks, leaving many in Britain, including Jews, feeling disconnected from the mainstream.

Robinson said the rally was “the biggest in British history” and promised more to come, calling it “the spark of a cultural revolution.”

Robinson recalled a 2016 trip to Israel where he visited the Golan Heights, Bethlehem, and refugee camps. Conversations with Arab residents about PA corruption and with Druze citizens about Israel’s religious freedom reinforced his view of Israel as a secure homeland for minorities.

He said October 7 triggered “a mass awakening” among British Jews, who realized that “all their friends are calling for the total destruction of the Jewish state.”

Robinson urged parents to decide whether they will fight for Britain’s future or leave the fight to their children. “If someone has to fight… I want to do it, not my son,” he said.

For many Jews, Robinson’s embrace creates an uncomfortable whiplash: from the target of nativist anger to a minority now courted for protection. His rejection of antisemitism is clear.

However, the caution with which the Jewish community approaches Robinson underscores a growing sense of insecurity. The systems meant to protect British Jews feel weakened, and critics continue to claim the country has failed to stem antisemitism while continuing mass migration policies that some see as worsening the threat.

As Robinson frames it, Britain is heading toward a defining moment. Whether he is Churchill or not is for history to decide. But the question hangs heavy: are we ignoring the warnings again, trusting that the tide will turn on its own, or are we willing to confront the dangers before they break over us?