Protest has always been stitched into the fabric of British democracy — part of the national character, part of that peculiar blend of pride, prickliness and righteous fury at unfairness. From the Chartists demanding representation, to the Suffragettes refusing to wait politely for equality, to the miners marching for dignity, Brits have never been shy about yelling their displeasure with heart, energy and consistency. They didn’t always unite the country, and they certainly weren’t always representative of the wider view, but they showed up with vigour — loud, visible, accountable.
When I was a cop, I didn’t agree — at the time — with the protestors at Greenham Common. The placement of US nuclear weapons felt, to me, like a necessary evil in a dangerous world. But disagreement never erased the truth staring me in the face: those women had courage. They stood there, day after day, in the cold, in the mud, in the glare of the state, faces uncovered, convictions unhidden. You could look them in the eye. You could argue with them. You could respect them.
Because one trait ran through every protest worth the name: you could see the faces. No lurking behind balaclavas. No hiding behind anonymity. No performative menace. They believed in their cause enough to attach their names, their reputations, their actual skin to it.
Which is why the latest gigs by the Tommy Ten Name tribute acts — skulking around in face coverings like pound shop phantoms — represent something rotten. This new spineless strain of “protest” isn’t about conviction. It’s about intimidation. It’s about creating fear rather than expressing belief. It’s about being too thick, too brittle, too historically illiterate to grasp the nuance of immigration in a country whose entire power, culture and global standing has been shaped by the movement of people. A country strengthened by the generosity of spirit that welcomes the fragile, fleeing friends we have yet to meet.
Instead, these cowards prefer to label anyone of foreign heritage as a threat. They don’t articulate their message because they don’t have one — just resentment in search of a target. So, they choose the sanctuary of the shadows, hoping anonymity will make their bile look like bravery.
They disgust me. I despise the cowardice. And the police should not tolerate behaviour that is already outlawed under Section 60AA of the Criminal Justice and Public Order Act 1994, which empowers officers to require the removal of face coverings used to conceal identity during protests or public disorder. If you want to scream your hatred into the public square, you don’t get to do it faceless.
Because protest is not a ghost story. It’s a human act — visible, vulnerable, accountable.
And here’s the truth that matters: If your beliefs can’t survive daylight, they aren’t beliefs. They’re excuses. Britain’s proud tradition of protest was built by people who showed their faces. The future of this country will be shaped by those willing to do the same.
© Ian Kirke 2026
@ iankirke.bsky.social
Title image by Aliona Krykunova on Unsplash