UKIP is what you get after 30 years of neoliberalism

Why a lurch to the right won't win back voters.

UKIP may well be "fruitcakes, loonies and closet racists" but they're also riding high after last week's by-election result. Farage must be kicking himself for not standing, as just 1,800 votes separated his party (and it is his party) from the hapless LibDems. With his profile, had he not ducked out of the fight the commentariat today would be poring over a loss as horrifying to the Tories as Galloway's win in Bradford was for Labour.

In an attempt to put a brave face on the 14-point drop, Clegg said "We overcame the odds with a stunning victory". A solid LibDem constituency with 40 LibDem borough councillors (gaining two in 2012) aren't exactly adverse conditions, Nick. For Ed Miliband, Labour must "redouble its efforts" to win over people who wouldn't normally vote for it.

And then there is Dave. His response was a bland "This is a by-election. It's mid-term. It's a protest. That's what happens in by-elections. It's disappointing for the Conservative Party but we must remain true to our principles, true to our course, and that way we can win people back." If you say so, Dave. But every socialist and progressive person must hope they listen to Tory vice chair, Michael Fabricant, and act accordingly. He said "The Conservative voice is muffled and not crisp. It does not clearly project Conservative core policies or principles." Does he have a point?

Some Tories regard UKIP with envious eyes and believe tacking right will win the voters back. As empiricists of the crudest and most stupid kind, the simple arithmetic of adding the Tory and UKIP vote is taken for proof. But, to use the old language, you have to burrow beneath appearances to get at the essence of things. One Tory with more sense than his feverish contemporaries is Lord Ashcroft. Based on a study of 14 focus groups with UKIP voters and maybes, Ashcroft's observation is worth quoting at length:

The single biggest misconception about the UKIP phenomenon is that it is all about policies: that potential UKIP voters are dissatisfied with another party’s policy in a particular area (usually Europe or immigration), prefer UKIP’s policy instead, and would return to their original party if only its original policy changed.

In fact, in the mix of things that attract voters to UKIP, policies are secondary. It is much more to do with outlook. Certainly, those who are attracted to UKIP are more preoccupied than most with immigration, and will occasionally complain about Britain’s contribution to the EU or the international aid budget. But these are often part of a greater dissatisfaction with the way they see things going in Britain: schools, they say, can’t hold nativity plays or harvest festivals any more; you can’t fly a flag of St George any more; you can’t call Christmas Christmas any more; you won’t be promoted in the police force unless you’re from a minority; you can’t wear an England shirt on the bus; you won’t get social housing unless you’re an immigrant; you can’t speak up about these things because you’ll be called a racist; you can’t even smack your children. All of these examples, real and imagined, were mentioned in focus groups by UKIP voters and considerers to make the point that the mainstream political parties are so in thrall to the prevailing culture of political correctness that they have ceased to represent the silent majority.

UKIP, for those who are attracted to it, may be the party that wants to leave the EU or toughen immigration policy but its primary attraction is that it will "say things that need to be said but others are scared to say". [My emphasis]

Where UKIP's support comes from is the virulent disenchantment and irreverence with and toward official politics. It is a knee-jerk reaction - in both senses - against the cultural trajectory toward greater integration and acceptance of minority communities at the perceived expense of the majority, and is also a diffuse, unforeseen consequence of the ways our social fabric has been bent and ripped by 30 years of neoliberal economics. Think I'm flogging a hobby horse by banging on about the dismal science? Well, all you need do is look at all the liberal democracies who've undergone similar social change over that time frame - most continental countries have seen the emergence of right-populist parties and movements speaking to (national-specific) concerns outlined by Ashcroft, and all position themselves as ostensible truth-tellers to a corrupt, uncaring and elitist political class.

As the party of government, and one of two parties naturally capable of forming governments, right populism is closed off for the Tories as a serious political strategy. They can indulge in contrived demonisations of immigrants and social security recipients, play around with Europe and other "UKIP" issues (they can even steal their colours), but as they pose their UKIP-lite to the real deal, more moderate voters who might like Dave, appreciate his principled stand on equal marriage, and accept the austerity programme will get alienated. Trying to out-UKIP UKIP on policy hobbles the Tories, and misrecognises the nature of the beast they're up against.

But the Tories, or at least its dwindling and ageing activist base, believe that grappling UKIP issue-by-issue is the route out of their impasse. Ashcroft instead suggests that at least among those UKIP voters who could be persuaded to switch back, patient explanation and clear evidence of policy delivery and efficacy could win them down. But with Dave and Gideon dogmatically addicted to trickle down assumptions and the disastrous economic policy that flows from that, UKIP will continue to thwart, blunt and erode the Tory capacity to fight and win elections.

It is worth remembering that UKIP springs from a pool that has analogous constituencies across Europe and the United States, it is also part of the long decline of conservative politics as hegemonically constituted in the British (or, more specifically, English) context. With more expulsions, resignations, and defections than your average Trot group, UKIP is an incredibly volatile party. Like most such movements/parties, the persona of its leading figure plays a crucial role in holding it together - without them as a focal point for a movement to invest its hopes and aspirations, it can quickly dissipate - as the subsequent fate of Lijst Pim Fortuyn proved after the murder of its leader.

Another thing missing from Ashcroft's analysis is the appreciation of age. The concerns he identifies are, to put it bluntly, mainly middle-aged and old-aged worries. The latest YouGov tracker poll [PDF] finds them on four and three per cent respectively among the 18-24s, and 25-39s. Of course, younger people's attitudes change with age but the under 40s are far more at ease with the sort of Britain UKIP rails against. In other words, the efficacy of UKIP and right populism is time-limited.

As a Labour and labour movement person, I am only worried about UKIP in as far as they can tap into discontent among our support, which has so far proven to be limited. More important is that our party and our movement rebuild trust in politics by rebuilding itself and, later in government, tackling the conditions that fuel anti-political rage. Again, following Ashcroft's advice, it means policy delivery. But more than that we need to seriously address the kind of economy we want and ensure our people feel secure in their place in it. If you can't offer certainty, it's small wonder that many millions turn off and switch to those whose politics promise a reified form of security.

This is a cross-post from Phil Burton-Cartledge's blog A Very Public Sociologist

UKIP's leader Nigel Farage. (Photo: Getty.)

Phil Burton-Cartledge blogs at All That Is Solid and lectures at the University of Derby. He tweets as @philbc3.

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France is changing: an army stalks the streets and Boris Johnson wanders the Tuileries

Will Self on the militarisation of France, and Boris Johnson at the Foreign Office.

At the corner of the rue D’Hauteville and the rue de Paradis in the tenth arrondissement of Paris is a retro-video-games-themed bar, Le Fantôme, which is frequented by some not-so-jeunes gens – the kind of thirtysomethings nostalgic for an era when you had to go to an actual place if you wanted to enter virtual space. They sit placidly behind the plate-glass windows zapping Pac-Men and Space Invaders, while outside another – and rather more lethal – sort of phantom stalks the sunlit streets.

I often go to Paris for work, and so have been able to register the incremental militarisation of its streets since President Hollande first declared a state of emergency after last November’s terrorist attacks. In general the French seem more comfortable about this prêt-à-porter khaki than we’d probably be; the army-nation concept is, after all, encrypted deep in their collective psyche. The army was constituted as a revolutionary instrument. France was the first modern nation to introduce universal male conscription – and it continued in one form or another right up until the mid-1990s.

Even so, it was surprising to witness the sang-froid with which Parisians regarded the camouflaged phantoms wandering among them: a patrol numbering eight ­infantrymen and women moved up the roadway, scoping out doorways, nosing into passages – but when one peered into Le Fantôme, his assault rifle levelled, none of the boozing gamers paid the least attention. I witnessed this scene the Saturday after Mohamed Lahouaiej-Bouhlel ran amok on the Promenade des Anglais in Nice – it was a little preview of the new state of emergency.

On Monday 18 July the French premier, Manuel Valls, was booed at a memorial service for the victims of the Nice attacks – while Marine Le Pen has been making all the populist running, whipping up anxieties about the enemy within. For many French, the events of the past week – including the failed Turkish coup – are steps along the way limned by Michel Houellebecq in his bestselling novel Submission; a via dolorosa that ends with La Marianne wearing the hijab and France itself annexed by a new caliphate.

Into this febrile drama comes a new player: Boris Johnson, the British Foreign Secretary. What can we expect from this freshly minted statesman when it comes to our relations with our closest neighbour? There is no doubt that Johnson is a Francophile – I’ve run into him and his family at the Tuileries, and he made much of his own francophone status during the referendum campaign. In Paris last winter to launch the French edition of his Churchill biography, Johnson wowed a publication dinner by speaking French for the entire evening. He was sufficiently fluent to bumble, waffle and generally avoid saying anything serious at all.

Last Sunday I attended the Lambeth Country Show, an oxymoronic event for which the diverse inhabitants of my home borough gather in Brockwell Park, south London, for jerked and halal chicken, funfair rides, Quidditch-watching, and “country-style” activities, such as looking at farm animals and buying their products. Wandering among ancient Rastafarians with huge shocks of dreadlocks, British Muslims wearing immaculate white kurtas blazoned with “ASK ME ABOUT ISLAM” and crusty old Brixton punks, I found it quite impossible to rid my mind of the Nice carnage – or stop wondering how they would react if armed soldiers were patrolling, instead of tit-helmeted, emphatically unarmed police.

I stepped into the Royal Horticultural Society marquee, and there they were: the entire cast of our end-of-the-pier-show politics, in vegetable-sculpture form and arrayed for judging. There was Jeremy Corbyn (or “Cornbin”) made out of corncobs – and Boris Johnson in the form of a beetroot, being stabbed in the back by a beetroot Michael Gove. And over there was Johnson again, this time rendered in cabbage. The veggie politicians were the big draw, Brixtonians standing six-deep around them, iPhones aloft.

The animal (as opposed to the vegetable) Johnson has begun his diplomatic rounds this week, his first démarches as tasteless and anodyne as cucumber. No British abandonment of friends after Brexit . . . Coordinated response to terror threat . . . Call for Erdogan to be restrained in response to failed coup . . . Blah-blah, whiff-whaff-waffle . . . Even someone as gaffe-prone as he can manage these simple lines, but I very much doubt he will be able to produce rhetorical flourishes as powerful as his hero’s. In The Churchill Factor: How One Man Made History, Johnson writes of Winnie overcoming “his stammer and his depression and his ­appalling father to become the greatest living Englishman”. Well, I’ve no idea if Bojo suffers from depression now but he soon will if he cleaves to this role model. His Churchill-worship (like so many others’) hinges on his belief that, without Churchill as war leader, Britain would have been ground beneath the Nazi jackboot. It may well be that, with his contribution to the Brexit campaign, Johnson now feels he, too, has wrested our national destiny from the slavering jaws of contingency.

Of course the differences between the two politicians are far more significant: Johnson’s genius – such as it is – lies in his intuitive understanding that politics, in our intensely mediatised and entirely commoditised era, is best conceived of as a series of spectacles or stunts: nowadays you can fool most of the people, most of the time. This is not a view you can imagine associating with Churchill, who, when his Gallipoli stratagem went disastrously wrong, exiled himself, rifle in hand, to the trenches. No, the French people Johnson both resembles and has an affinity for are the ones caught up in the virtual reality of Le Fantôme – rather than those patrolling the real and increasingly mean streets without. 

Will Self is an author and journalist. His books include Umbrella, Shark, The Book of Dave and The Butt. He writes the Madness of Crowds and Real Meals columns for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt