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Bonfire of the elites: how insurgent movements across Europe are on the rise

The characters change but, essentially, the plot remains the same. The old order is being thrown out. Populists of a leftist, rightist and nationalist bent are thriving.

On Friday 21 November, the Conservatives and Labour woke up with quite a hangover as the UK Independence Party (Ukip) toasted another by-election victory, this time in Rochester and Strood. Yet the problems faced by David Cameron and Ed Miliband go far deeper than the present failings and struggles of their two parties.

It cannot be that all mainstream parties in western Europe are led by incompetent politicians. However, all the countries – even Angela Merkel’s Germany, where the anti-euro party the Alternative for Germany is rising – face similar problems.

The characters change but, essentially, the plot remains the same. The old order is being thrown out. Populists of a leftist, rightist and nationalist bent are thriving. It is a process that goes far beyond a few personalities. It is about the rejection, by swaths of the electorate, of a way of ­doing politics. More and more people feel ignored and increasingly powerless – and contemptuous of elites.

In his seminal book Ruling the Void, published posthumously in 2013, the political scientist Peter Mair proclaimed: “The age of party democracy has passed . . .” Before his death in 2011, he foresaw “an emptying of the space in which citizens and their representatives interact”. Mair observed politicians and the electorate becoming increasingly indifferent to one another, with citizens “withdrawing and disengaging from the arena of conventional politics”. Since then, the old political order has floundered not only in the European elections but in national ones, too. Mair’s analysis seems ever more compelling.

The rise of insurgent parties and groups is the result of something far more profound than the eurozone crisis, austerity and the tendency to scapegoat “outsiders” during economic turbulence. As Mair recognised, discontent with mainstream parties has been brewing for decades. The trends that have led us to despair of the health of Westminster politics – the fall in electoral turnout and party membership and the rise in electoral volatility – are detectable in all of Europe’s leading democracies. Nearly 80 per cent of the elections with the lowest turnouts in western Europe between 1950 and 2009 occurred after 1990. Sixty per cent of the most volatile elections – those in which the most votes changed from one election to the next – were also in this period.

Politics has become more unpredictable. The idea of loyally supporting a political party, as one might a football club, is becoming archaic. Tribal and class loyalties no longer determine voting decisions. Trade union membership and church attendance have hugely declined and, a generation after the end of the cold war, few regard their choice of political party as an important part of their individual and collective identities.

Across Europe, mainstream parties are discovering that their core support is weaker than they imagined. In Germany, the two main parties received 87 per cent of the vote in 1983. By last year, that had fallen to 67 per cent, despite an upswing for the Christian Democratic Union under Merkel’s leadership. In Ireland, Fine Gael and Fianna Fáil received just 56 per cent of the vote in the last national election, in 2011, compared to 85 per cent in 1982. And, in Austria, the two leading parties got 93 per cent in 1979, but only 51 per cent last year.

Though much is made of the collapse in Conservative and Labour Party membership – the Tories had more than 2.5 million and Labour a million in the 1950s; both have under 200,000 today – this is merely an extreme example of what is happening throughout Europe. As Mair observed, between 1980 and 2009 party membership fell by at least 27 per cent in 13 western European democracies, and by 66 per cent in the UK. Today, the average party membership rate in Europe is 4.7 per cent, compared with almost 15 per cent in the 20 years after the Second World War.

As the membership of established parties has declined, a lack of activists on the ground has restricted their ability to campaign effectively, creating an environment that is more hospitable to new parties. It has also had a deleterious effect on the character of political parties. The combination of fewer card-carrying members and more career opportunities in politics means that “the proportion of believers is likely to shrink while the proportion of careerists is likely to grow”, as the political scientist Ingrid van Biezen has written.

After the financial crash of 2008, many believed, including Ed Miliband, that an economic crisis caused by the collapse of the banking system would reinvigorate the left. This judgement informed Miliband’s decision to run for the Labour leadership and his approach in the role. But while anger at in­equality is a potent force, it has not translated into gains for the mainstream left at a time of austerity. The crisis of the European left can be traced not just to austerity, but also to the lack of options it is seen as offering. The mainstream left has embraced open borders and mass immigration as well as the increased power of the European Union, in the face of opposition from the public.

Mainstream parties have accepted that their power is limited by larger forces in the modern world. When Tony Blair said that politics was no longer about using the “directive hand” of government, he was accepting limits on what he could achieve. As the parties of centre left and centre right have accepted these constraints, so the difference between them has come to seem insignificant: a study found that the ideological difference between Tory and Labour election manifestos since 1997 has been only a third as large as between 1974 and 1992.

Feelings of alienation have fuelled discontent with politics. The political scientist Michael Laver has argued that “vote-­seeking parties may make voters miserable”, by making them feel that the leading parties do not represent their views on issues such as immigration and the economy. This process is exacerbated by the “professionalisation” of the political class. Candidates’ backgrounds have become increasingly similar. In the case of the UK, parties have imported techniques from the United States to target swing voters rather than their core support.

In the absence of significant ideological differences between the leading mainstream parties, elections have become more about the personalities of individual leaders. This has been a boon to challenger parties throughout Europe. And it has reduced the barriers to entry for any new party.

In the digital age, it is becoming easier for a charismatic leader from an insurgent party to win support. Ten months after it was founded, Podemos, the radical left-wing party in Spain, leads in opinion polls for next year’s general election. The party is led by Pablo Iglesias, a charismatic ponytailed university lecturer who was a familiar face on Spanish television. So far, Podemos’s journey has been even more startling than that of the Five Star Movement in Italy. Less than four years after being founded by the Italian comedian Beppe Grillo, the party came second in the 2013 Italian general election. (It did less well in the 2014 European elections.)

The parties that are surging in Europe are a ragtag bunch. Right-wing populists, in Austria, France, Denmark, Finland, Italy, the Netherlands, Sweden and the UK, have been particularly successful. Separatist parties, in Scotland and Catalonia, are thriving, as are the radical left in Spain (Podemos) and Greece (Syriza). Both oppose austerity and the EU. Unlike Labour and the rest of the mainstream European left, they reject the idea that politicians are restricted in what they can do by globalisation and market economics. Antón Losada, a Spanish ­political scientist, attributes the rise of Podemos to “the lack of response to corruption and institutional failure and the low sensibility shown by the political and economic elites in the face of massive suffering by the Spanish population”. When Iglesias was sworn in as an MEP, he pledged “to recover sovereignty and social rights”.

Ostensibly, little links these disparate groups. The five stars after which the Five Star ­Movement is named – public water, sustainable transport, sustainable ­development, connectivity and environmentalism – would not find much favour with Ukip, the Front National in France or the Danish People’s Party. But what unites the insurgents is often more important than what divides them. They are tapping into people’s fears about globalisation: that jobs are being outsourced and communities are changing beyond recognition. Populists “address cultural identity issues in an era that finds the collective identities of the past in disarray or under threat”, Dick Houtman, an expert on the Party for Freedom in the Netherlands, told me. “People understand immigration and European integration as threats to national identity.”

Voters are rallying against the notion that they have ceded control to faceless bureaucrats or multinational bodies. Populist parties offer voters the prospect, however improbable, of empowerment by ­rejecting the underlying system. They offer bold solutions – leaving the European Union, terminating the Act of Union, abandoning austerity – that leave no room for compromise. Insurgent parties do not accept the need to govern from within a straitjacket determined by the EU, the World Trade Organisation and the International Monetary Fund. They offer voters the promise that their voice will count again. As Mair wrote, “the sense of hostility that some citizens clearly felt towards the political class seemed less important than the indifference with which many more citizens viewed the political world”.

The problem for politicians today is less that they are loathed than that they are seen as irrelevant. The response of many mainstream politicians has been to mimic the populists’ rhetoric, as is happening in Britain because of the rise of Ukip.

Yet a cross in the ballot box for popu-lism is about empowerment more than ­ideology and less an endorsement of a specific policy offer than a rejection of the alternative. Those who blame globalisation for making their lives worse have little enthusiasm for parties that offer only tinkering at the edges. They are voting against a system that they believe has betrayed them. 

Tim Wigmore is a contributing writer to the New Statesman and the author of Second XI: Cricket In Its Outposts.

This article first appeared in the 27 November 2014 issue of the New Statesman, The rise of the insurgents

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Angela Merkel's call for a burqa ban sets a disturbing precedent

The German chancellor's plan for a partial ban of the full-face veil is a clearly political move, which will do more to harm those women who wear it than protect them.

 

In these febrile times, women’s freedom and autonomy has become a bargaining chip in the poker game of public propaganda — and that goes double for brown, Muslim and migrant women. Angela Merkel should know as well as any other female politician how demeaning it is to be treated as if what you wear is more important than what you say and what you do. With the far-right on the rise across Europe, however, the German chancellor has become the latest lawmaker to call for a partial ban on the burqa and niqab.

We are told that this perennial political football is being kicked about in the name of liberating women. It can have nothing to do, of course, with the fact that popular opinion is lurching wildly to the right in western democracies, there’s an election in Germany next year, and Merkel is seen as being too soft on migration after her decision to allow a million Syrian refugees to enter the country last year. She is also somehow blamed for the mob attacks on women in Cologne, which have become a symbol of the threat that immigration poses to white women and, by extension, to white masculinity in Europe. Rape and abuse perpetrated by white Europeans, of course, is not considered a matter for urgent political intervention — nor could it be counted on to win back voters who have turned from Merkel's party to the far-right AFD, which wants to see a national debate on abortion rights and women restricted to their rightful role as mothers and homemakers.

If you’ll allow me to be cynical for a moment, imposing state restrictions on what women may and may not wear in public has not, historically, been a great foundation for feminist liberation. The move is symbolic, not practical. In Britain, where the ban is also being proposed by Ukip the services that actually protect women from domestic violence have been slashed over the past six years — the charity Refuge, the largest provider of domestic violence services in the UK, has seen a reduction in funding across 80% of its service contracts since 2011.

It’s worth noting that even in western countries with sizeable Muslim minorities, the number of women who wear full burqa is vanishingly small. If those women are victims of coercion or domestic violence, banning the burqa in public will not do a thing to make them safer — if anything, it will reduce their ability to leave their homes, isolating them further.

In the wake of the Brexit vote, racist and Islamophobic attacks spiked in the UK. Hate crimes nationally shot up by 42% in the two weeks following the vote on 23 June. Hate crimes against Muslim women increased by over 300%, with visibly Muslim women experiencing 46% of all hate incidents. Instances of headscarves being ripped off have become so common that self-defense videos are being shared online, showing women how to deflect the “hijab grab”. In this context, it is absurd to claim that politicians proposing a burqa ban care about protecting women: the move is transparently designed to placate the very people who are making Muslim women feel unsafe in their own communities.

When politicians talk about banning the burqa, the public hears an attack on all Islamic headscarves — not everyone knows the difference between the hijab, the niqab and the burqa, and not everyone cares. The important thing is that seeing women dressed that way makes some people feel uncomfortable, and desperate politicians are casting about for ways to validate that discomfort.

Women who actually wear the burqa are not invited to speak about their experiences or state their preferences in this debate. On this point, Islamic fundamentalists and panicked western conservatives are in absolute agreement: Muslim women are provocative and deserve to be treated as a threat to masculine pride. They should shut up and let other people decide what’s best for them.

I know Muslim women who regard even the simple hijab as an object of oppression and have sworn never to wear one again. I also know Muslim women who wear headscarves every day as a statement both of faith and of political defiance. There is no neutral fashion option for a woman of Islamic faith — either way, men in positions of power will feel entitled to judge, shame and threaten. Either choice risks provoking anger and violence from someone with an opinion about what your outfit means for them. The important thing is the autonomy that comes with still having a choice.

A law which treats women like children who cannot be trusted to make basic decisions about their bodies and clothing is a sexist law; a law that singles out religious minorities and women of colour as especially unworthy of autonomy is a racist, sexist law. Instituting racist, sexist laws is a good way to win back the votes of racist, sexist people, but, again, a dreadful way of protecting women. In practice, a burqa ban, even the partial version proposed by Merkel which will most likely be hard to enforce under German constitutional law, will directly impact only a few thousand people in the west. Those people are women of colour, many of them immigrants or foreigners, people whose actual lives are already of minimal importance to the state except on an abstract, symbolic level, as the embodiment of a notional threat to white Christian patriarchy. Many believe that France's longstanding burqa ban has increased racial tensions — encapsulated by the image earlier this year of French police surrounding a woman who was just trying to relax with her family on the beach in a burkini. There's definitely male violence at play here, but a different kind — a kind that cannot be mined for political capital, because it comes from the heart of the state.

This has been the case for centuries: long before the US government used the term“Operation Enduring Freedom” to describe the war in Afghanistan, western politicians used the symbolism of the veil to recast the repeated invasion of Middle Eastern nations as a project of feminist liberation. The same colonists who justified the British takeover of Islamic countries abroad were active in the fight to suppress women’s suffrage at home. This is not about freeing women, but about soothing and coddling men’s feelings about women.

The security argument is even more farcical: border guards are already able to strip people of their clothes, underwear and dignity if they get the urge. If a state truly believes that facial coverings are some sort of security threat, it should start by banning beards, but let's be serious, masculinity is fragile enough as it is. If it were less so, we wouldn't have politicians panicking over how to placate the millions of people who view the clothing choices of minority and migrant women as an active identity threat.

Many decent, tolerant people, including feminists, are torn on the issue of the burqa: of course we don't want the state to start policing what women can and can't wear, but isn't the burqa oppressive? Maybe so, but I was not aware of feminism as a movement that demands that all oppressive clothing be subject to police confiscation, unless the Met’s evidence lockers are full of stilettos, girdles and push-up bras. In case you're wondering, yes, I do feel uncomfortable on the rare occasions when I have seen people wearing the full face veil in public. I've spent enough time living with goths and hippies that I've a high tolerance for ersatz fashion choices — but do wonder what their home lives are like and whether they are happy and safe, and that makes me feel anxious. Banning the burqa might make me feel less anxious. It would not, however, improve the lives of the women who actually wear it. That is what matters. My personal feelings as a white woman about how Muslim women choose to dress are, in fact, staggeringly unimportant.

If you think the Burqa is oppressive and offensive, you are perfectly entitled never to wear one. You are not, however, entitled to make that decision for anyone else. Exactly the same principle applies in the interminable battle over women's basic reproductive choices: many people believe that abortion is wrong, sinful and damaging to women. That's okay. I suggest they never have an abortion. What's not okay is taking away that autonomy from others as a cheap ploy for good press coverage in the runup to an election.

This debate has been dragging on for decades, but there's a new urgency to it now, a new danger: we are now in a political climate where the elected leaders of major nations are talking about registries for Muslims and other minorities. Instituting a symbolic ban on religious dress, however extreme, sets a precedent. What comes next? Are we going to ban every form of Islamic headdress? What about the yarmulke, the tichel, the Sikh turban, the rainbow flag? If this is about community cohesion, what will it take to make white conservatives feel “comfortable”? Where does it stop? Whose freedoms are politicians prepared to sacrifice as a sop to a populace made bitter and unpredictable by 30 years of neoliberal incompetence? Where do we draw the line?

We draw it right here, between the state and the autonomy of women, particularly minority and migrant women who are already facing harassment in unprecedented numbers. Whatever you feel about the burqa, it is not the role of government to police what women wear, and doing it has nothing to do with protection. It is chauvinist, it is repressive, it is a deeply disturbing precedent, and it has no place in our public conversation.

 
 
 
 

Laurie Penny is a contributing editor to the New Statesman. She is the author of five books, most recently Unspeakable Things.