Are UKIP a lost Tory tribe or masked villains? Cameron needs to decide

The Conservatives are caught between advertising their cultural affinity with UKIP and denouncing its members as closet extremists.

The Conservative Party needs to decide whether it thinks UKIP is a respectable outfit. (Other parties also need to make that choice but, in the run up to county council elections this week, it is the Tories who are feeling the most heat from a UKIP challenge.)

Broadly speaking, there seem to be two different approaches the Conservatives are taking to Nigel Farage’s insurgent rabble: they present them as a lost tribe or as masked villains.

The "lost tribe" hypothesis is set out with customary ebullience in a column by Boris Johnson in today’s Daily Telegraph.

According to this view, Farage and friends are really Tories who got lost on the way to the polling booth. They are capitalising on general contempt for politics and mid-term distaste for the incumbent administration that happens to be Conservative. The good news, Johnson argues, is that Ukip’s success is therefore misallocated vindication of Tory politics. The best response is a gentle cajoling of errant rightwing voters back towards the mother ship in time for a general election.

The "masked villain" hypothesis is that UKIP are a pernicious force; a sinister band of far-right nutters who have tricked or seduced sections of the electorate with lazy populism. This is the view implied by Ken Clarke’s attack on Farage’s outfit over the weekend as a "fringe party" of the right attracting "waifs and strays" as candidates.

Conservative headquarters has been looking at some of the people standing for UKIP in Thursday’s poll in the hope of exposing them as closet extremists. It turns out the party has picked up some former British National Party members and activists. UKIP's official line is that fascists are not welcome and that the Tories are smearing them. The natural riposte is that a party that cannot recognise a distinction between smear and scrutiny has something to hide.

There is some overlap in the lost tribe and masked bandit views. Both see UKIP voters as natural Tories. The difference is that the former woos them back by emphasising proximity, the latter by exposing difference. The lost tribe view says "we are all Tories really, why vote for the second rate imitation when you could have the real thing." The masked villain view says: "Look what lies behind the façade of respectability – behold the beast! recoil in horror!"

Both approaches have their hazards. The danger of the lost tribe approach is that it ignores or plays down the extremist element. If, for example, Boris Johnson believes Farage is really a Tory and that many UKIP types are really Conservatives, where does he file the more conspicuously bonkers element? Presumably Johnson doesn’t want to blur the boundary between ideological fellow travelers and the kind of person who blames Zionist bankers for the Holocaust? 

Meanwhile, the danger of the lost tribe hypothesis is that swing voters who already see Tories as a bit swivel-eyed and intolerant will find confirmation of that prejudice in the assertion that Faragism is the natural continuation of the Conservative spectrum. That vital constituency of people who in 2010 were not persuaded that David Cameron had brought his party to happy accommodation with the 21st Century are unlikely to have their minds changed in 2015 if they are told voting Tory is like voting UKIP-lite.

But then, the danger in the more aggressive anti-Farage approach is that it risks insulting that section of the electorate already flirting with Ukip. Trying to tug at the supposed mask in the hope of exposing something uglier beneath it only works if the hidden beast agrees to be noisily beastly for prolonged periods. The odd BNP member turning up as a council candidate embarrasses UKIP, but Farage himself simply isn’t a Nazi and no amount of sneaking up behind him and trying to pin swastikas on his back is going to change that. What’s more, Ukip like nothing more than to be able to say that the mainstream political and media establishment is closing ranks to attack them because it is afraid.

An unmasking strategy assumes a degree of moral authority on the part of the unmasker that voters don’t accept. When the Tories – or indeed Labour and Liberal Democrats – accuse UKIP of not being the respectable and credible organisation it pretends to be, they take as their benchmark of respectability and credibility a political settlement that, by definition, UKIP-leaning voters have rejected. People are drawn to UKIP out of anxiety, dismay and loathing of the more familiar parties. Why would they then turn to those parties for their professional guidance about what is and isn’t an appropriate receptacle for their protest?

The Tories can advertise their cultural affinity with UKIP and alienate voters who see Farage and friends as the very caricature of everything they rejected about Conservatism in its fly-blown descent from power through the mid-90s. Or they can attack UKIP as an ugly deception practised by closet extremists – an approach that risks insulting chunks of the core Tory vote. There is always the possibility that they end up doing both.   

Nigel Farage shows a mug that was presented to him before signing a book of condolence for Margaret Thatcher at the museum in Grantham. Photograph: Getty Images.

Rafael Behr is political columnist at the Guardian and former political editor of the New Statesman

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I can’t follow Marie Kondo's advice – even an empty Wotsits packet “sparks joy” in me

I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

I have been brooding lately on the Japanese tidying freak Marie Kondo. (I forgot her name so I typed “Japanese tidying freak” into Google, and it was a great help.) The “Japanese” bit is excusable in this context, and explains a bit, as I gather Japan is more on the case with the whole “being tidy” thing than Britain, but still.

Apart from telling us that we need to take an enormous amount of care, to the point where we perform origami when we fold our underpants, which is pretty much where she lost me, she advises us to throw away anything that does not, when you hold it, “spark joy”. Perhaps I have too much joy in my life. I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

After a while I gave up on this because I was getting a bit too happy with all the memories, so then I thought to myself, about her: “This is someone who isn’t getting laid enough,” and then I decided that was a crude and ungallant thought, and besides, who am I to wag the finger? At least if she invites someone to her bedroom no one is going to run screaming from it, as they would if I invited anyone to my boudoir. (Etym: from the French “bouder”, to sulk. How very apt in my case.) Marie Kondo – should bizarre circumstance ever conspire to bring her to the threshold – would run screaming from the Hovel before she’d even alighted the stairs from the front door.

I contemplate my bedroom. As I write, the cleaning lady is in it. To say that I have to spend half an hour cleaning out empty Wotsits packets, and indeed wotnot, before I let her in there should give you some idea of how shameful it has got. And even then I have to pay her to do so.

A girlfriend who used to be referred to often in these pages, though I think the term should be a rather less flippant one than “girlfriend”, managed to get round my natural messiness problem by inventing a game called “keep or chuck”.

She even made up a theme song for it, to the tune from the old Spiderman TV show. She would show me some object, which was not really rubbish, but usually a book (it may not surprise you to learn that it is the piles of books that cause most of the clutter here), and say, “Keep or chuck?” in the manner of a high-speed game show host. At one point I vacillated and so she then pointed at herself and said, “Keep or chuck?” I got the message.

These days the chances of a woman getting into the bedroom are remote. For one thing, you can’t just walk down the street and whistle for one much as one would hail a cab, although my daughter is often baffled by my ability to attract females, and suspects I have some kind of “mind ray”. Well, if I ever did it’s on the blink now, and not only that – right now, I’m not even particularly bothered that it’s on the blink. Because, for another thing, I would frankly not care to inflict myself upon anyone else at the moment.

It was all a bit of a giggle eight years ago, when I was wheeled out of the family home and left to my own devices. Of course, when I say “a bit of a giggle”, I mean “terrifying and miserable”, but I had rather fewer miles on the clock than I do now, and a man can, I think, get away with a little bit more scampish behaviour, and entertain a few more illusions about the future and his own plausibility as a character, when he is squarely in his mid-forties than when he is approaching, at speed, his middle fifties.

Death has rather a lot to do with it, I suppose. I had not actually seen, or touched, a dead body until I saw, and touched, my own father’s a few weeks ago. That’s what turns an abstract into a concrete reality. You finally put that to one side and gird up your loins – and then bloody David Bowie snuffs it, and you find yourself watching the videos for “Blackstar” and “Lazarus” over and over again, and reach the inescapable conclusion that death is not only incredibly unpleasant, it is also remorseless and very much nearer than you think.

And would you, dear reader, want to be involved with anyone who kept thinking along those lines? I mean, even if he learned how to fold his undercrackers into an upright cylinder, like a napkin at a fancy restaurant, before putting them in his drawer? When he doesn’t even have a drawer?

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war