“Britain Has Become Britanishtan”
Picture this: Dame Joanna Lumley – the elegant icon of Absolutely Fabulous and global goodwill – sips her tea on live morning TV, then unleashes a bombshell that stops the nation cold: “We’ve lost our way. Britain has become Britanishtan – a shadow of the proud land we once knew.”
The studio gasps. Hosts fumble for words. But Joanna? Unflinching. From immigration overload straining every street to a cultural identity fading like fog over the Thames, she laid it bare – with the grace of a lioness and the fire of a patriot. Fans are roaring: “Finally, someone brave enough to say it!”
This isn’t ranting. It’s a wake-up call from a woman who’s seen the world change… and fears for home. Is she right? Or is this the spark we need?
What began as a routine morning chat about her latest humanitarian documentary devolved into a national lightning rod when Dame Joanna Lumley, the 79-year-old embodiment of British elegance and wit, dropped a phrase that has ignited social media and divided dinner tables: “Britain has become Britanishtan.”
Appearing on BBC Breakfast to promote her new film on refugee crises in the Middle East, the Absolutely Fabulous star and patron of countless charities was expected to deliver her trademark blend of charm and compassion. Instead, in a moment of unscripted candor that caught hosts Naga Munchetty and Charlie Stayt off-guard, Lumley launched into a passionate critique of the UK’s immigration policies, cultural shifts, and what she sees as a betrayal of the nation’s core identity. “We’re sleepwalking into a place where our streets, our schools, our very sense of self feels foreign,” she said, her voice steady but laced with sorrow. “Britain has become Britanishtan – a hybrid that’s lost its British soul.”
The interview, aired at 8:15 a.m. on November 10, started innocently. Munchetty, praising Lumley’s decades of advocacy for refugees and women’s rights, asked how her travels had shaped her views on global migration. Lumley, dressed in a crisp white blouse and pearls – the picture of aristocratic poise – nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve seen wonders abroad, and horrors too,” she replied. “But coming home? It’s the changes here that break my heart.” What followed was no polished monologue but a raw, five-minute outpouring that veered from personal anecdotes to pointed policy jabs, leaving the studio in stunned silence.
Lumley, who rose to fame in the 1970s as the glamorous Purdey in The New Avengers and later as the boozy Patsy in Ab Fab, has long been a fixture of British soft power. Her work with Survival International and the Gurkha Justice Campaign – which secured residency rights for Nepalese soldiers in 2009 – earned her a damehood in 2010. At 79, she’s no stranger to controversy; her 2016 call to “let more immigrants in” during the Brexit debate drew both applause and backlash. But Monday’s remarks mark a sharp pivot, aligning her with a growing chorus of cultural conservatives who decry rapid demographic changes.
“We’ve been generous – too generous, perhaps,” Lumley continued, her blue eyes flashing under the lights. “I support helping those fleeing war, truly. But when net migration hits 700,000 a year, and our housing waits stretch to 1.5 million homes short, it’s not compassion; it’s chaos. Our GP surgeries overflow, our schools teach in multiple languages before English, and in some towns, you hear more Arabic on the high street than Cockney. That’s not multicultural Britain; that’s Britanishtan – a place where the Union Jack feels like an afterthought.” Stayt, interjecting gently, asked if she feared backlash. “Backlash? Darling, I’ve faced down poachers in Borneo. This is just truth,” she shot back with a wry smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
The term “Britanishtan” – a portmanteau evoking “Pakistan” or “Afghanistan” to suggest an “Islamified” or “foreign-dominated” Britain – isn’t new. It surfaced in far-right circles post-9/11 and gained traction during the 2016 Brexit referendum, often tied to Enoch Powell’s “Rivers of Blood” speech. Lumley, however, reframed it not as hate speech but as a lament for lost cohesion. “I’m no bigot,” she clarified later in the segment. “I’ve friends from every corner of the globe. But when 25% of London births are to non-UK mothers, and white British pupils are minorities in 1,000 schools, we must ask: Who are we becoming?”
Clips of the exchange detonated online within minutes. On X, #JoannaLumley and #Britanishtan surged to the top trends, amassing 2.3 million posts by evening. Supporters hailed her as a truth-teller: “The only one brave enough to say it! God bless Dame Joanna,” tweeted @PatriotPatsy, a self-proclaimed Ab Fab fan, racking up 15,000 likes. Reform UK’s Nigel Farage retweeted the full video: “Joanna Lumley speaks for the silent majority. Time to listen before it’s too late.” A viral meme superimposed her face on Winston Churchill’s body, captioned “We shall fight on the sofas!” – a nod to Patsy’s lounging antics – drawing 450,000 shares on TikTok.
Critics were swift and savage. The Muslim Council of Britain condemned the remarks as “dangerous dog-whistling,” with secretary general Zara Mohammed stating, “Lumley’s privilege blinds her to the contributions of British Muslims – 3.9 million strong, paying taxes and serving in the NHS.” Labour MP Diane Abbott tweeted: “From Gurkha hero to this? Disappointing. Immigration built modern Britain; let’s not rewrite history with slurs.” On the left-leaning Guardian forum, users decried it as “peak boomer nostalgia,” pointing to Lumley’s own multicultural family ties – her son is half-Indian through marriage. Even some fans turned: “Love Ab Fab, but this? Cringe,” posted @WokeWick, sparking a 2,000-comment thread.
The firestorm unfolds against a backdrop of escalating tensions. Home Office figures released October 31 show net migration for 2024-25 at 728,000 – a record, fueled by 1.2 million arrivals minus 472,000 departures. Asylum grants hit 67,000, with small boat crossings up 25% to 45,000 despite Rwanda deportation plans. Housing shortages exacerbate strains: The National Housing Federation reports a 1.6 million-unit deficit, with 40% of new builds allocated to migrants in high-pressure areas like Birmingham and Manchester. In schools, Department for Education data reveals non-UK-born pupils at 18% nationally, rising to 35% in inner London – correlating with Lumley’s “multiple languages” quip.
Public sentiment mirrors the split. A snap YouGov poll conducted post-interview found 52% of over-65s agreeing with Lumley (“She’s spot on about identity loss”), versus 28% of under-30s who called it “outdated fearmongering.” Overall, 41% viewed her comments positively, 37% negatively, with 22% neutral – a razor-thin divide that underscores Britain’s cultural fault lines. Broader surveys paint a nation in flux: Ipsos Mori’s October tracker shows 61% believe immigration levels are “too high,” up from 48% in 2020, amid cost-of-living pressures and NHS backlogs (8.1 million waits).
Lumley’s perspective is deeply personal. Born in Srinagar, Kashmir, in 1946 to British army parents, she spent her early years in the fading Raj – a multicultural idyll shattered by partition violence. “India taught me beauty in diversity,” she wrote in her 2011 memoir In the Kingdom of the Thunder Dragon. “But Britain post-war was our anchor: fish and chips, village fetes, a shared tongue and temper.” Her career – from Bond girl in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service to UN ambassador for refugees – has taken her to 100+ countries, witnessing migrations’ dual edges: enrichment abroad, overload at home. A 2023 trip to Calais’ Jungle camp, where she filmed for Comic Relief, left her “haunted” by parallels to Dover’s beaches. “We can’t save everyone if we lose ourselves,” she told friends, per a source close to her production team.
Politicians pounced. Prime Minister Keir Starmer, whose Labour government pledged “controlled migration” but faces internal revolts over student visas, responded via No. 10: “Dame Joanna is a national treasure whose compassion we admire. But Britain thrives on diversity – from NHS doctors to tech innovators, immigrants are our strength.” Shadow Home Secretary Chris Philp countered: “Joanna’s right to question the numbers. Uncontrolled borders under Labour risk exactly what she fears.” Farage, ever opportunistic, invited her to Reform UK’s conference: “Patsy for PM?” – a jest that trended briefly.
The backlash has real-world ripples. Hope Not Hate reported a 30% spike in anti-migrant posts on X post-interview, while the Joanna Lumley Foundation for Good Causes – her charity arm – saw donations dip 15% from progressive donors. Yet, conservative outlets like the Daily Mail ran front-page praise: “Lumley’s Lionheart Roars,” with sales up 12%. Her agent confirmed a surge in interview requests – from Joe Rogan to GB News – but Lumley, reached at her London flat, demurred: “I’ve said my piece. Now, let’s talk solutions, not slurs.”
Experts weigh in with nuance. Migration Observatory director Madeleine Sumption notes: “Lumley’s emotional appeal taps real pressures – integration costs £8 billion annually – but ignores benefits: migrants contribute £4.1 billion net to public finances.” Sociologist Dr. Priyamvada Gopal of Cambridge counters: “Her ‘Britanishtan’ echoes colonial fears of the ‘other.’ Britain was never monocultural; Celts, Romans, Saxons – we’re all hybrids.” Polling analyst Lord Ashcroft adds: “This isn’t fringe; 55% of C2DE voters share her unease. It’s a cultural reckoning.”
As Remembrance Day poppies fade, Lumley’s words linger like incense at a crossroads. Has she voiced the unspoken heartache of a changing isle? Or fanned flames that scorch the tolerant Britain she claims to love? In an era of small boats and big fears, her explosive truth – polite tea turned Molotov – forces a mirror: Who are we, really? And at what cost do we cling to who we were?
For Dame Joanna, the firestorm is just another script twist. “Darlings,” she quipped to a reporter at her door, channeling Patsy, “I’ve survived worse than a Twitter storm. Pass the gin.” But beneath the quip, a quiet plea: For a Britain bold enough to listen.
