You joined the National Front as a teenager in the late 1980s, but became disillusioned after taking part in a BNP attack on an anti-racist meeting in south London. Was that a moment of revelation, or part of a more gradual process?
I wasn’t a stranger to violence. But that was the moment when I realised that actually, I wasn’t fighting Red Action [anti-fascist militants] at a tube station, I was kicking little old ladies’ heads in. With very young brains, it takes things a long while to sink in, but that was my starting point, the first time ever I just thought ‘this is what it looks like’.
By that point your whole social life was structured around the NF…
From the age of about 15 I was a social pariah. I remember girls who I used to go to school with who were in love with Wham!. They had Wham!, George Michael, Take That – whatever – to talk about. And I had the National Front.
Had you found it hard to make friends at school?
No, I had no problem making friends. Good friends, nice people. But I thought they didn’t understand me and I wanted to shock them. Also I was racist, beyond belief.
You suggest in your memoir that you picked up racist attitudes from your father, who left the family home when you were a young child.
He was an Irish immigrant who [himself] suffered discrimination and I just felt why should my dad suffer that. And why should I suffer that? Was I the first person in this country to say I’m white and I’m working class and I’m getting a raw deal because of it? Actually I’m not.
You grew up on a council estate in south London. Did your family they feel at all like you were sticking up for them – working-class whites – in any way?
No, there was no racism at home. My dad wasn’t at home, you understand. My family were like, isn’t life just hard enough without this? But the left never came knocking on my door, offering me an alternative.
Do you feel you were let down by the left?
My school was mixed, and middle-class teachers lectured us about anti-racism, but no-one ever affirmed it was ok to be where we were from. They were all going on about diversity, let’s celebrate your neighbour who is different to you. Well, why not celebrate class? We’re all going home to dads on the dole tomorrow.
Did you come to share the anti-Semitism of committed far-right activists?
Oh yeah. All that anger you’re feeling, all that disappointment – that’s the Jews doing that to you. Thank god! Thank god it’s someone. It wasn’t my hormones that were making me horny nine hours a day, it was the Jews doing it! Thank god for that.
Why were the BNP able to win votes in the 2000s?
New Labour thought that this country would work on the strength of faith communities. How do we connect with the Asians in Bradford? Through their mosques. How do we connect with the Sikh Asian community? Through the gurdwara. This country used to have an Asian youth movement, of all faiths, that were opposed to fascism, but the only way to get ahead under New Labour was to go to your temple or your church or whatever. White working-class people don’t go to church. If you want to talk to the white working class who do you talk to? Paul Gascoine? Ebay? Who? No-one.
That’s where [BNP leader] Nick Griffin came in: identity politics. He exploited the lack of leadership among the white working class.
Labour’s current enthusiasm for “Englishness” seems like a roundabout way of addressing this oversight.
It’s shit. You can print that. Listen, sexual equality in parliament, excellent. BME representation, fantastic. Quite rightly so. But all of these things would have been covered by actually having class equality in parliament. How about getting some working-class people in there?
You fled Britain for several years after exposing the neo-Nazi group Combat 18 in a 1993 TV documentary. Since your return, you’ve been an anti-fascist campaigner. Did you feel obliged to do that?
Not obliged, I wanted to do it. I hated them – the BNP, National Front, C18, EDL. Every time I hear their rubbish, I hate them.
And then you began writing a memoir. Had you kept a diary?
Well, because I was a mole [passing on information to the anti-fascist magazine Searchlight], there were notes. But it was a nightmare to write. I couldn’t write, I didn’t know how. It was just a jumbled mess. And it was really painful – some things I left out were unbearable.
The book has to tread a fine line between making people understand your motivations and chasing sympathy.
I’ve been as honest as I could ever be. I wouldn’t do it again. For an autobiography you need two things, I was told by a colleague: you need two dead parents.
My mum’s read the book, she’s never commented on it. She just said: “well done”.
“Hate: My Life in the British Far Right” is published in a new edition by Biteback (£8.99) on 12 July