Populism: What, Who, Why?

A map of populism in Britain and around the world

In the 80s and 90s, political scientists turned their attention to a new kind of right-wing politics. Uncouth and hard-line compared to the consensus ‘liberal conservatism’ of the time, right-wing populism had found favour at the ballot box — championed by charismatic, straight-talking leaders. This blinking light on the dashboard precipitated the emergence in earnest of ‘populism studies’. Scholars rightly recognised the challenge posed to the status quo, and set about understanding what these parties offered, why they tempted voters, and how best to nip them in the bud.

Today, where the populist right does not already hold power, it threatens to do so imminently. All European countries of note have right-wing populists in their legislature. Across the Atlantic, the how and why behind Trump still elude those outside of the Republican Party (and even many within it). That even Latin America and Australia are not immune demonstrates academia’s utter failure in understanding populism. The subject has outgrown its diagnostic criteria, themselves unchanged since the 90s. Each setback suffered sparks a brief refractory period, as commentators opine that ‘populism’ has peaked, only then to watch the hydra grow another head.

Since its study began, the populist right has grown exponentially and can no longer be treated as a monolithic movement. First finding expression in the 1990s, the initial populist wave was followed by a tsunami in 2016 — when electoral upsets in Britain and the US delivered a hammer blow to the establishment, ending the End of History. Reader, I was there. For all the predictions otherwise, the genie is yet to return to the bottle. Subsequent victories for right-wing parties in 2017 occurred in Europe and beyond. The bumps along the way have yet to derail this train.

The oft-uttered notion of this ‘populist wave’ sweeping the globe wrongly implies some amount of coordination/causation between each shock result. However, the idea that Brexit precipitated Trump’s victory gives us too much credit. Voters in Carlisle, P.A., were not looking to its namesake for inspiration when they spurned Crooked Hillary. Voting for Leave and Trump were independent reactions against similar circumstances. Immigration was, obviously, a first-order driver in both cases. Similarly, destitution sparked by industrial decline motivated Briton and American alike to stick two fingers up to the establishment. The latter needed no encouragement from the former.

That similar factors drive support for the populist right across the West demonstrates the spectacular, systematic failure of the political structures and culture shared between our countries. There is no Populist Playbook sent from the Kremlin detailing how to most effectively blame social atomisation on the hijab. The ‘populist wave’ is, in truth, a series of organic reactions to similar demands. The proposed address to these demands is what varies.

Far from academic axe-grinding, building our own typology of populism allows us to succeed in understanding what the establishment still does not. A broad analysis of the varied strains of right-wing thought reveals where Reform can look to for inspiration and operational pitfalls. Similarly, it demonstrates that, like all populist parties, Reform embodies the will of the people — and outlines the dead ends which may jeopardise this status.

Towards Europopulism

As we understand it today, right-wing populism was born in Europe. In the 80s, Jean-Marie Le Pen led the Front National on a long march towards political respectability. By eschewing Vichyist trappings, Le Pen was able to court once-unwinnable voters to a party founded by ex-SS members. Concurrently, Jörg Haider’s FPÖ was able to make inroads in Austria, and even formed a short-lived coalition with the centre-right following the 1999 legislative election. Under Haider, the FPÖ’s platform now seems de rigueur on the populist right — campaigning against EU enlargement (and its second-order consequences as regards immigration) and lambasting the SPÖ/ÖVP uniparty. So too was Haider an adept communicator – his straightforward ‘common sense’ appeal outshone his past gaffes praising the Nazi Party. At the subsequent election, however, the FPÖ vote was cannibalised by the centre-right ÖVP, with the FPÖ plagued with infighting over the moderation necessitated by coalition. While far from a killing blow (the FPÖ are still a major actor in Austrian politics), centre-right/populist-right coalitions are always at best risky for the anti-establishment party — something likely understood by those at home who desire a Ref/Con coalition.

It was in the 90s that scholars began to grapple with right-wing populism. The successes of Haider, Le Pen, and the neo-fascist Italian Social Movement invited confrontation. Among others, political scientist Cas Mudde would come to the fore — advancing the idea that populism is ‘thin-centred’; its only core tenets being the imagined struggle between a pure demos and an impure elite. Alongside Kaltwasser, Mudde later opined that populism is akin to an inflexion which must be applied to another, ‘thick-centred’ ideology, such as nationalism. These diagnostic criteria, which posit that the populist right is the Cherry Coke to the centre-right’s full-fat, are still the industry standard — and wholly fail to grasp the scale of an orientation now continental in scale.

Those whose ‘interest in politics’ is yet to venture beyond Wikipedia may study European Parliament groupings to divine the right’s fault lines. The populist right finds itself split between (increasing in supposed radicalism) the ECR, PfE, and the ESN — all to the right of the anodyne EPP. Relying on this typology, however, risks mischaracterisation. Notwithstanding that the European Parliament is ‘Fake and Gay’, the parties within routinely chop and change with each parliamentary cycle. That the FdI and RN are in different factions derives from the former’s desire for mainstream credibility. Readers of a certain vintage will recall that David Cameron moved the Conservatives to the ECR to bolster his Eurosceptic credentials — for all the legitimate critiques of Meloni’s tenure, her governing project is clearly distinct from our hoodie-hugging One Nationers. Where academia and Wikibox enthusiasts have failed, I will outline a new typology of the European right.

Routinely used as a slur in the media, divining who is actually a right-wing populist is best done through a say-what-you-see approach. For brevity’s sake, this analysis primarily contends with the most significant right-wing populist parties in each country. As in Britain, many of these parties face competition (of varying quality) from their right. Whether Mí Hazank, the FvD, Reconquête, or Futuro Nazionale can supplant more established names is yet to be seen.

Mudde’s aforementioned ‘thin’ view of the populist right holds some water, in that Europopulism prescribes just three central precepts: nativism, civilisational pride, and opposition to a mutually hostile establishment. Beyond this, parties of the right shape their values and policies according to their country’s own political circumstances. That the populist right presents neither a centralised Weltpolitik, nor its own economic consensus, is poorly understood by those outside. Answers to these questions are developed in situ — thereby allowing parties to offer bespoke solutions to the national malaise.

Opposition to mass immigration is the defining stance of Europe’s populist right. Tens of millions of non-European migrants have settled across the continent since 1945. To put it lightly, this historic demographic shift has not won universal acclaim. Tighter immigration controls are universally popular across Europe, while a plurality of respondents in major economies support mass deportations. With a few exceptions, establishment parties are yet to fall in line with public opinion. We should not be surprised to see that where there is demand, supply is not hard to find. Although these parties diverge in their tone and preferred redress, there is a broad consensus that immigration must decline and deportations must increase. The populist right can, in each corner of Europe, call upon a litany of atrocities committed by recent arrivals and the supposedly integrated alike.

In a similar vein, Islam receives special scrutiny. Although its salience spiked in the wake of the 2015 refugee crisis, Europe’s right has long considered Islamic migration as an existential threat. In 1973’s The Camp of the Saints, the arrival of millions of Indian refugees provoked France’s settled Muslim population into frenzied looting and raping. Prior to his assassination in 2002, Pim Fortuyn found success in Dutch politics on an otherwise liberal anti-Islam platform. Fortuyn’s contention of a conflict between Islamic and Western values may seem stale in 2026, but this argument still runs through the populist right today. Ex-Muslims like Ayaan Hirsi Ali and Hamed Abdel-Samad effectively offered a first-hand account of Islam’s ills while deflecting racism allegations aimed at self-professed Islamosceptics. This argument posits that the Islamic world is hamstrung by its illiberal values rather than anything more inherent to its denizens.

These axiological critiques of Islam inform Europopulism’s civilisational outlook. While espousing nationalism in their own countries, the European right create a macrocosmic civilisational narrative — sitting above the nation; not replacing it. Speeches and manifestos routinely call upon Europe’s historical development; beginning with classical civilisation and progressing through the Renaissance, Enlightenment, and beyond. This civilisation faces enemies inside and out, in the guise of the EU elite and mass Islamic immigration respectively. With that said, talk of Frexit, Italexit and the like has cooled following our departure. Instead, the populist right now seeks their teleological ‘Europe of Nations’ within the EU’s ambit. Cooperation between right-wing populist parties across the continent will allow a right-wing capture of European institutions — eschewing closer union in favour of closed borders (at least, that is how the story goes). Withdrawal from some multilateral institutions is still mooted within (among others) the AfD, but the prevailing mood is that of reform.

That these parties are anti-establishment goes without saying. Yet, the nature of the establishment presents the primary cleavage. Germans weary of the thousand-year grand coalition would perhaps find common cause with those in Tisza’s camp. Orbán’s construction of his own establishment is well-documented in this journal, but that which he sought to replace was markedly different to Blobs closer to home. 1991 is the Eastern right’s Year Zero. Economic growth followed the end of communism, but the imposition of once-idealised Western institutions left many disappointed with the democracy they once desired. This synergises with lingering religiosity to win social conservatism and explicitly ‘illiberal democracy’ greater support than it could ever receive in the West. Immigration is an undesirable remedy for a post-1991 brain drain — thus, increasing the birth rate is a widely-desired goal. In many ways, eastern right-wing populism is more a reaction to the end of communism than (as in the West) the birth of woke in 1968 — the first attempt to construct an organic and native political modality after the interim default to Western liberalism.

Economic Consensus?

If social conservatism is not inherent to Europopulism, neither is a unifying economic theory. The populist consensus that politics isn’t working obviously extends to the economy, but solutions vary. This tension can be seen in France: Jordan Bardella’s interlude as presumptive presidential candidate raised expectations of a rightward turn — even up to pensions reform — but Marine Le Pen’s return could restore the RN to an interventionist course. This should not be understood as Total Boomerwelfarist Victory, however. While still avowedly protectionist, Le Pen has moderated over the course of her three past presidential campaigns — proposals to drastically lower the retirement age have been absent since 2012. While marginally less precarious than our own, France’s dire public finances may necessitate an about-turn rightwards upon her taking office. As well, Edouard Philippe, her likely second-round opponent, is expected to campaign on fiscal responsibility. Just as it is currently expedient to court the poor vote, it may serve Le Pen to pivot towards her protégé’s more free-market course once the second-round election begins.

Unburdened by standardised economic dogma, the populist right can advance fiscal policy tailored to each country’s economic conditions. Vox, among the most fiscally liberal parties on the right, fought the 2023 general election promising to reform Spain’s sclerotic planning laws and to revisit the Basque Country’s preferential financial arrangement with Madrid. It seems likely that Reform’s competing economic strands will coalesce into a similar problem-solving platform — slashing red tape and benefits while funding (in one form or another) industrial production.

In building a theory of populism, the establishment often assumes that economic deprivation is the sole factor of right-wing support, and that these parties’ underdeveloped economic policy presents a chink in the armour. The first assumption is laughable, and attempts at the latter often fail — millions of votes are routinely won by saying ‘millions must go’ and little else. The right routinely builds policy depth on top of these supposed protest votes. As one would expect, proximity to government necessitates a more cohesive economic prospectus. Reform’s 2024 manifesto included several fiscal policies which were, to put it lightly, questionable, but ultimately forgivable at the time given the impossibility of forming a government. That the party is now developing more credible policy is both a relief and demonstrative of the broader tendency. In 2013, the AfD nearly crossed the 5% threshold on a four-page manifesto — last year, they won 21% of the vote with a 177-page platform. As the right inches ever closer to power across Europe, one would expect further delineation of economic policy, in each case tailored to resolve specific shortcomings.

Foreign Policy

Of all the accusations levelled against the right, the most enduring is that of Russian subversion. Its formulation is routine — prior to Crimea’s annexation, a party official suggests some form of détente with Russia. Eyebrows are raised, but it flies under the radar. In the wake of the Russian SMO and defence policy’s newfound salience, however, the establishment recast an often throwaway opinion on an issue which once seemed to be of tertiary importance as an iron-clad commitment to sedition.

The mainstream press could fill a phone book with long-reads on ‘heightened geopolitical tension’. I have no interest in adding to this, but must affirm the obvious: yes, international politics has evolved somewhat since 2012. It is precisely for that reason that Le Pen’s call that same year for Russia’s inclusion in a pan-European project should not be understood as reflective of her position today. Likewise, a level-headed analysis of the AfD’s desire to resume buying Russian energy suggests a pragmatic solution to the cost-of-living crisis, more so than a desire to renew the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact. At the risk of disappointing ‘NAFO fellas’, flogging a bootleg US election interference narrative won’t wash here. Russophilia is not inherent to Europopulism, and, as Russia begins to flavour its anti-liberalism with more than a dash of neo-Maoism (not to mention its active encouragement of illegal migration flows across its western border), even its mere presence becomes more and more diminished.

This misunderstanding has led to surprised column inches covering Meloni’s dedicated support for Ukraine — as much evidence of her desire for credibility and European leadership as anything else. Outside of Italy, Western Europe’s right-wing parties maintain (albeit often unenthusiastic) support for Ukraine. It would be reasonable to put this largely down to political expedience more than genuine commitment, although such conviction is present in various corners of the right. Again, that is not because of any real Russophilia, but instead the result of a certain apathy regarding the constitutional arrangements of foreign states and a conviction that reducing energy prices is ultimately more important than the question of who governs the Donbas. Ironically, a naivety regarding the potential hostility of outside states is the worst charge that could be levelled at these broadly nationalist political leaders — not that the supposed ‘realism’ of the establishment has produced any substantial address to the problems of decaying European military capacity and declining power projection.

Closer to Russia’s borders, though, a history of enmity engenders a more hawkish attitude. That states subjugated in living memory fear Russian expansionism needs little explanation. Europopulist foreign policy is circumstantial and pragmatic — in Germany and Hungary, access to cheap energy outweighs Crimea’s fate. This split has engendered much conflict between parties of the right in different countries — most notably when the Finns Party officially dissolved all relations with the AfD for their insufficiently hard-line stance on Ukraine. Nevertheless, the right’s past overtures to Moscow, such as they were, hardly constituted a ringing endorsement of the Fourth Political Theory. Dissatisfaction with domestic Wokery once inspired admiration of a country where it’s easier to get an abortion than a pride flag, but those still buying the Based Russia narrative now solely do so with rupees.

American Populism

American populism shares many things in common with its European equivalent. It is rooted in the same social base, and motivated by many of the same concerns: immigration, declining standards of living, and the erosion of national power and confidence. That said, there are a number of fundamental differences which give Trump and his movement a unique character.

The GOP

Unlike in Europe, where the populist right typically inhabits its own, newer political vehicle, Trump’s insurgency was born within the institution of the Republican Party. It’s easy to forget the extent to which Trump was an outsider within that party in 2016, but it was with an explicit hostility towards the career republicans with whom he shared the primary debate stage that he secured the party’s nomination for the first time. Just ten years later, his erstwhile opponents have, in many cases, become subservient loyalists — a remarkable transition, though the long-term sustainability of their commitment to the new order beyond Trump’s Presidency itself remains unclear.

All politics requires coalition management, and it is perhaps the case that Europe’s institutional arrangements make compromise even more inevitable, given that single-party governments are so rare as a result of proportional representation. Nevertheless, that same system means that parties can afford to limit their ambitions in terms of broad appeal, maintaining a more defined and particular political identity. Under the United States’ unique two-party system with open primaries, however, a tendency towards unification and homogenisation emerges on each side of the political divide. Georgia Meloni is leader of Brothers of Italy, in coalition with but separate from her various supporting partners. Donald Trump is the leader of the whole Republican Party — meaning his internal opposition must be kept within the tent, and a position must be carved out for them within his political narrative.

The core base of MAGA is indeed the same disengaged, ‘none-of-the-above’ voters that form the basis of populist right support in Europe, yet Trump himself must balance their interests with those of other key parts of his vote, including the more moderate productive middle class, business, tech, and the international death-and-kill ‘Holden Bloodfeast’ war machine. It should not be surprising, then, to see that the key concerns advanced by previous iterations of American conservatism continue to enjoy far more prioritisation than analogous issues in a European context would under a populist government here.

During Trump’s first administration, this accommodation took a very straightforward form. Most political appointees were drawn from the existing pool of Republican staffers and activists, and these people in general were given the right to operate as they would under any other Republican Presidency. The Biden interregnum provided Trump with the opportunity to focus four years solely on the remaking of the party in his image, a task which he completed with remarkable success. Yet the necessity of coalition management within the party meant that this could never mean the expulsion of concerns outside of his original platform. Instead, these concerns were redefined in the terms of Trumpism. Tax cuts, once a moral necessity in and of themselves, became a driver of American dynamism. Military intervention was recast as an expression of American greatness, rather than a global crusade for democracy. Though his most entrenched opponents had already fled the GOP through the Lincoln Project and similar organisations, most found a relatively comfortable place within the new regime.

Maintenance of political identity is also made easier in many European cases by the existence of a cordon sanitaire separating the populist right from mainstream parties. Yet this may soon cease to be the case, as dissatisfaction with grand coalitions drives ever more support for the right as the only alternative. The German brandmauer, perhaps the best-known example, is coming under increasing strain as the AdD gains traction. Cooperation now tempts some in the CDU, both at a federal level (see 2025’s migration motion) and in the lead-up to this year’s regional elections — which may leave the centre-right with no alternative but to govern with the AfD. In the Netherlands, the two coalitions which relied on the PVV collapsed after their withdrawal — though the success of Italy’s populist-fronted coalition, and VOX’s renewed collaboration with the Spanish centre-right demonstrate that the populist base can win out in European coalitions.

Personalism

Of all Republican Party’s stakeholders, the personage of Donald Trump is uniquely important. His influence over the movement he’s built goes far beyond the already high degree of personalism inherent to right-wing populism (even this journal’s well-informed readers may more readily recognise Geert Wilders than the actual Dutch PM). Once again, Trump’s primary campaigns best illustrate his ability to reshape politics in his favour – his 2016 nomination broke the mould of what a Republican candidate could be. Eight years later, his comeback against all odds reshaped what a Republican candidate must be. Trump’s absence from the 2024 primary debates rendered them as a kind of conceptual drama without a lead. Marine Le Pen’s (similarly lawfare-induced) absence from frontline politics did little to stall the party’s success. Bardella, blooded in as her heir-apparent, is a more-than-capable understudy and would possibly have fared better than his mentor in next year’s election.

That the RN can proffer high-quality alternate leadership is even more remarkable when one considers Le Pen’s relative success, longevity, and her surname’s intrinsic association with the right. Even Reform, oft-decried as a one-man band, has depth on the bench — though it may not currently be sufficient. An interesting question to consider when evaluating the degree to which a party has grown beyond a single individual is how much influence the leader would enjoy over the selection of their successor in the event of their resignation. How likely is it that any given Reform leadership contender could overcome Farage’s endorsement of their opponent after his exit? He may be the only European leader with as much personal influence over his movement as Trump has over MAGA.

Trump’s personalism, however, goes beyond mere political influence. Early in this presidency, Trump revealed a psychology rather unprecedented in American government — attacks on a friend’s enterprise (namely Musk) were to the President acts of Lèse-majesté. Nought came of it given the constraints of the American executive — but in shaping the culture of the party, Trump has been unrestricted. Structurally, the Republican Party has now become an organisation defined by his personage. The position of individuals within the party is far more defined by their relationship with Trump himself on any given day than by their official, institutional or even ideological roles. The GOP has become Trump’s personal court, complete with a system of political and financial patronage that has increasingly tainted his movement with the stain of corruption. There is increasingly little division between Trump’s personal finances and those of the GOP — with profits from various merchandising schemes and crypto scams directed straight to the man’s personal accounts. To be a Republican is to support Donald Trump in all of his endeavours — personal, political, and financial. It is unclear, even after a great electoral reckoning, how this strange dynamic will develop after his exit from the political stage in 2028, but it is likely that the Trump family and associates will maintain a privileged position within the party, and all the advantages that come with that.

Religion

Christianity plays a unique role in American political life, and in American populism in particular. In Western Europe, believers are few and far between, and even those who profess a Christian faith tend to do so more quietly and, to a certain extent, more shallowly. Supply of religion in politics is limited, and demand even more so. Where politicians do reference Europe’s Christian heritage, it is as a vague signifier of commitment to the particular norms and mores of European civilisation, typically in direct contrast to Islam — which for obvious reasons presents a more imminent contrast in Europe than it does in America.

America retains a large and politically active Christian population, committed to a biblically informed socially conservative agenda. But American political Christianity in 2026 is more than evangelical moralising about sex, drugs, and rock music. As demographic change transforms the country, Christianity is becoming the central pole of a new American national identity. It is quite normal to hear an American politician speak publicly of their faith as the basis of their moral worldview, but the increasingly common professions of a deeper irrationalism — as explicitly defended by J.D. Vance on Joe Rogan recently, and exemplified by the now not infrequent references to the literal existence of demons by American political figures including Tucker Carlson — show that something new is emerging here.

This phenomenon produces a very different character to American populism. Whereas its European counterpart is often deeply materialistic, focused on direct issues such as the price of energy, poor wage growth and the basic costs of mass immigration, the American right is far more prone to speaking in terms of civilisational exhaustion, spiritual decay, or moral degradation. Whilst this might supposedly open doors to more fundamental reassessments of political life, it more often serves to distract from the real issues that present themselves in the present, especially given the lack of compelling solutions to these deeper problems.

Empire

Of course, the biggest difference between American and European populism lies in the differences between America and European nations as political entities. Shared commitments to national renewal and consolidation of strength manifest very differently in a largely demilitarised lower-middle or third-tier power than they do in the global hegemon, a status which America maintains despite increasing strain.

Just as Trumpism has accommodated itself to the various commitments of the American right’s competing factions, it has also accommodated itself to the reality of America’s global power, having begun as a movement which contained some real impetus towards the rejection of this status in favour of becoming a normal country. Whatever one’s views on any particular example of military adventurism or international diplomatic activity, it is understandable and unavoidable that Trumpism’s accession to power would reverse the movement’s position on American empire — which, for all its faults, is obviously a net benefit to the US Government and its citizens, even if it is ripe for reorganisation.

As a result, where European populism often seeks to reinforce national independence against foreign political and cultural influence, American populism increasingly advocates for a new age of American imperial dominance — including the development of a far more exploitative relationship with European ‘allies’. There currently remains an alliance between populists on both sides of the Atlantic, bolstered by the Trump administration’s political and financial support for its European counterparts, but as these opposite tendencies continue to develop it is not unlikely that the two could come to regard each other less favourably.

Exporting Trumpism?

All of these dissimilarities did not stop the commentariat on either side of the Atlantic bestowing the epithet of ‘Ruritania’s Donald Trump’ on whichever outspokenly right-wing party leader was contesting an election that week. There is often an attempt to portray European populist leaders as imitators or puppets of Donald Trump, usually by their opponents, who hope to tarnish them in doing so. Yet, as we have explored, European populism is different and separate from its American variant. The Trump admin’s engagement with it is support for an indigenous tendency, rather than an attempt to create something in its own image. To what extent is this the case elsewhere?

In Brazil, Jair Bolsonaro’s presidency strangely mirrors that of Trump’s first term. He joined the Social Liberal Party to facilitate a presidential bid, subsequently remaking the party in his own image. He triumphed over an establishment candidate with prior experience in both government and corruption, and then proceeded to effect little real change. Social conservatism was promoted, not enforced; environmental regulations were torn up, and ‘gender ideology’ was ‘opposed’. The courts stymied any concrete progress towards his flagship policies. Then, perceived mismanagement of the pandemic preceded a tight electoral loss and a farcical failed coup. Though Bolsonaro, like Trump, faced immense lawfare after leaving office, the Brazilian could not muster a comeback – consigning the Latin spin-off to cancellation after only one season.

The most recent recession of South America’s pink tide runs concurrent with Trump’s resurgence. In the last four years, right-wing leaders have assumed power in Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, Chile, and Argentina. Elections in Honduras and Costa Rica this year have delivered right-wing populists to government — alongside the ever-popular Nayib Bukele, darling of the ‘you can just do things’ right.

Understandably, the proliferation of friendly governments provokes conspiratorial election-rigging allegations. A far more likely explanation is that of pragmatic imitation. The US’s renewed commitment to its near abroad is overtly activist in nature. It lacks the relative tact of Operation Condor – the US-backed intelligence operation which targeted opponents of Augusto Pinochet and Argentina’s ‘civic-military dictatorship’. Instead, the powers deployed range from hard to firm. Latin America’s milquetoast centre-left need not fear extradition or blockades, but tariffs and oft-mooted remittance embargos remain potent levers at Washington’s disposal, and it would be wise to fall in line. Perhaps a far simpler explanation exists: even South Americans, by and large, don’t much like crime, and think the best way to deal with it is to lock up the criminals (a promise that any given country’s latest liberation theologist is unlikely to make). All the easier to indulge that impulse when the US will look positively upon it.

A Trump-esque inflexion is not unique to the region, however. The platform of Rodrigo Duterte, elected as President of the Philippines in 2016, was broadly right-wing populist and tailored to his country’s specific circumstances — though his rhetoric has much in common with his American contemporary. His tenure as Mayor of Davao City was successful in a crackdown on crime, and Duterte claimed to have personally executed several people. Recalling the rape and killing of an Australian missionary in 1989, Duterte lamented that, as mayor, he should’ve had first dibs. While exhibitive of a Global Majority tendency to overdo blue humour, these comments drew parallels to the Access Hollywood tapes and Trump’s assertion about being able to shoot someone on 5^th Avenue.

The style of communication that unites populism in the Americas and elsewhere is, interestingly, largely not exhibited in Europe. A recent Pimlico Journal article posited a sociolinguistic argument to explain the relative frankness of Australia’s Pauline Hanson in comparison to her European counterparts, and it is indeed the case that Europe’s populists speak in far more moderate tones than those in other regions. The late Jean-Marie Le Pen was the last great provocateur, and it’s hard to imagine any future European leader who could surpass him in his prime.

Again, it must be stressed that Duterte, Hanson, et al. aren’t emulating Trump. Rather, their similar political cultures naturally select for similar rhetorical styles. Yet, that Europeans no longer indulge this vulgar populist inflexion shows another fault line within the not-so-global populist movement.

The boundaries of populism

After the success of Trump and other politicians who have utilised social media to speak directly to voters on their own terms, many establishment politicians have rightly come to recognise the advantages of straight-talking — once the preserve of populist upstarts. An otherwise reactionary political project can dress itself up in populist clothes, without necessarily executing the will of the people. Populism sells — the media are keen to invoke the label, and its recipients are eager to accept it. This populist right inflexion was best demonstrated by Boris Johnson — who, for a few months, was the tool with which the national struggle was prosecuted. Mondeo Man wanted to Get Brexit Done, as did Stevenage Woman (albeit more out of fatigue than passion). Brexit must unquestionably be understood as an avatar of right-wing populism; thus its delivery briefly affirmed Johnson’s place in the populist right pantheon. His pandemic response, while rightly reviled, was undoubtedly populist — the manifest national will was to place young people under house arrest for the benefit of doddering pensioners. The rest, though, is history.

Centre-right parties adopting populist rhetoric is not a uniquely British phenomenon. Under Poilievre, the Canadian Conservative Party more readily plays up its populist ancestry. Had events not conspired against him, Poilievre’s government would’ve undoubtedly tacked right to address Canada’s farcical immigration catastrophe. Likewise, his leadership campaign pledges to oppose vaccine mandates and Bill C-11 align with a broader populist mood. Yet, Canadian populism must be understood in that same context — Preston Manning’s Reform Party, an antecedent of the modern Tories, invoked populism in the context of Canada’s east-west divide. Reform’s anti-establishment project was corrective in nature, seeking to remind Ottawa that western Canada felt neglected. This streak, which still runs through the CPC, is best understood as right-wing and populist, rather than the fused article — which is more the preserve of the minuscule PPC.

On the left, there is a growing attraction to the notion that adopting a populist communication style and speaking to the issues that animate right-wing populism (without doing anything meaningful to address them, of course) could provide a path to escape electoral oblivion. Andy Burnham is a perfect case in point. Yet, as Travis Aaroe’s excellent article recently described, this project is doomed to failure. Populism is driven not by aesthetic attraction to bolshiness or desire for a ‘common touch’, but by material dissatisfactions with policies that the left will not soon abandon.

There has also been a consistent attempt — by both supporters and opponents of Western populism — to identify commonalities with disparate movements and leaders across the rest of the world. This is more often than not uninformative, and commonly a political mistake. Despite the suggestions of The Atlantic, Vladimir Putin’s political project has very little in common with Western populism, a reaction to a domestic liberal establishment or their policies which never existed in Russia. Neither are the unique responses of Sanae Takaichi or Narendra Modi to the particular conditions of their countries meaningfully possible to translate into a Western context, despite being ostensibly ‘right-wing’ breaks from a previous consensus. There is also little merit in scrutinising third-world dictatorships for any hint of basedness, as some are wont to do — one struggles to believe we have anything to learn from Ahmed al-Sharaa, or even from Mohammed Bin Salman.

A descriptor which becomes excessively broad will inevitably be of little analytical value. That is especially true in the case of a concept which rests on family resemblances, rather than a strict definition, as populism does. As such, we should restrict the group around which we fit our definitions to the more recently established insurgent right-wing parties of Europe and the Anglosphere alone, and discuss anything outside of that only as a separate phenomenon which may nonetheless share certain features with the main object of our study.

Where does Reform stand?

Reform is not Britain’s first party of the right — the BNP found some electoral success in imitating the populist style of the FN and FPÖ in the early 2000s, before falling victim to the residual extremist tendency which the European right had largely snuffed out. Following their decline, UKIP emerged as the primary vehicle of the right — a far more straightforwardly populist movement, but still one with its own particular character.

As in UKIP, a libertarian streak runs through Reform which distinguishes it somewhat from the mainline of European populism. The party imagines an alarm-clock Britain of hard-working individuals, the fruit of whose labour is robbed by the nanny state to pay dossers. The European right valorises the hard-working everyman, though he never takes centre stage as he does in Reform. Despite hushed whispers of post-liberalism, Reform eschews the paternalism once endemic to the British right. Outmoded ideas stemming from the Big Society are unable to contend with the Britain of 2026 — where a clientelist state impedes the best and brightest to prop up their loyal unproductive class. As previously noted in these pages, the productive classes as a whole comprise Reform’s coalition. Reform’s desired regulatory bonfire dwarfs even that of the AfD — rolling back the state to let hard-working people get on with it.

This particular mission means that the civilisational politics endemic to Europopulism often takes a backseat in Reform’s communications, despite the orientation of Danny Kruger and, to a lesser extent, James Orr. That is in part because invoking the classics would contradict Reform’s everyman, ITV2 aesthetic. In addition, Farage’s role in securing Brexit, and the centrality of that fight in the political imaginations of many of his longest-standing supporters, mean that Reform will, for the foreseeable future, have a very different attitude towards the ‘idea of Europe’ than its continental colleagues do. Sovereigntism, a key plank of populists everywhere, in Britain remains an argument against integration — whereas many European populists have come, slowly and haltingly, to the conclusion that sovereignty in the world requires some co-operation at the European level.

Nor does Reform cast Islam as a macrocosmic enemy to our way of life. Scrutiny of sharia courts and radicalisation is but one facet of Reform’s broader anti-migration position. Some of the worst evils committed on our soil have been committed by first-and-second-generation Islamic migrants, but British voters rarely discriminate in their opposition to migration. The recent rehabilitation of the post-2004 Polish influx is justifiable, but we would do well to remember the common disdain once felt towards eastern European migrants. Equally, the Boriswave swept away any residual goodwill felt towards cricket-playing Indian doctors — today, the archetypical Sikh surname is not Singh, but Digwa. Reform grasped that which eluded Hodges et al, in the wake of Southport — it didn’t matter that Rudakubana was not Muslim. It’s that he was here in the first place, through lackadaisical immigration policy. If Reform are to fulfil the supply shortage in articulating the national will, they must reflect Britain’s fatigue with immigration as a whole. ‘Based Sikhism’ has run its course, and we’d do well to avoid making any concessions for others.

A Special Relationship?

Reform’s distance from Europopulism invites their comparison with Trump. Rather than pure imitation, the Republican project provides an ongoing case study from which Reform can learn. There have already been cosmetic allusions to Trump’s second term — local government DOGE programmes and a mooted British ICE are certainly required, but want for better branding. Similarly, the failure of Trump’s first term (and subsequent Day One fixes outlined in Project 2025) merit study in Millbank. A looming Reform victory has already energised SW1’s long-dormant fascination with electoral reform — this time pursued to Farage’s detriment. That such cynical moves are already being considered to prevent Reform taking power suggests that 2029 is our one and only chance. The successor to an impotent Reform government would spare no effort in preventing their re-election. At the risk of preaching to the choir, I implore well-connected readers to accelerate progress towards a Project 202x.

There are obvious operational lessons to be learnt from the US. We can lament foreign policy decisions, but one must admire their pursuit with such speed and ruthlessness. (Un)fortunately, remaking the world order is something now beyond Britain’s capability. On the international stage, Reform must stay afloat rather than chart a new course. Other writers have outlined how Britain may best engage with Russia in the coming years, and this essay will not reinvent the wheel by pitching foreign policy to Farage. Britain can neither pretend to hegemony, nor have the luxury of pursuing isolation. Cases can be made for closer alignment with Europe, or hoping for a friendly White House.

As regards mass deportations, ICE leaves a lot to be desired. Such a task necessitates a degree of heavy-handedness, but several poorly-prosecuted operations in the public eye have soured opinion towards the programme. It’s well-understood that, under Zia Yusuf, a British ICE must avoid the ‘bad optics’ which haunt US border enforcement. However, it is worth considering that, unlike the US, Britain’s history as a homogenous, un-multicultural polity engenders a latent ethnic nationalism. Whether on the right or left, Britons more readily disdain multiculturalism than Americans. While British ICE must still run a tight ship (and, preferably, adopt a better name), it demonstrates that Reform have the requisite headroom to pursue a more explicitly nativist politics than ever possible in a creedal nation.

In a similar vein, abortion and gay marriage — bread-and-butter issues for the US right — are near-enough settled questions in Britain. Assisted dying is the closest issue with any salience, and is not a hill worth dying on. One would wager that Britain’s religious right is as Islamic as it is Christian (if not more so) — bizarrely, there are more votes to be won in defending the right to shag one’s cousin than the life of the unborn. Short of courting Iqbal Mohamed’s defection, Reform have little reason to advance social conservatism. With just five years in power, political capital must be expended on things which move the needle. Zia Yusuf’s brief as Home Secretary is to stop the boats, reverse the Boriswave and close the vape shops. Regarding This Trans Business, it is enough to be tough on woke, tough on the causes of woke.

Populism with British Characteristics

All the movements outlined in this piece share a common factor: they fulfil the demand of the common man. Without consent, establishment parties across the West have pursued policies detrimental to ordinary people. The most obvious of these is mass immigration, though this is often accompanied by, and plays a role in, industrial decline, clientelism, and high crime. As in Britain, the West’s multifaceted crises stem from choices made by those in power. It goes without saying that the emergence of insurgent right-wing parties is a corrective to this, rather than a shadowy ploy directed from the Kremlin.

These parties offer a ‘common sense’ platform shaped by domestic political circumstances, and tailored to resolve the specific conditions of their national malaise. While this often looks similar, the variety of solutions offered reflects the intrinsic link to the will of the people. The AfD, PiS, and Trump’s Republican Party are proponents of the same wider movement, but must be understood as distinct entities. All share this same common factor, though inhabit different families within the populist right.

Britain’s situation is distinct from that of the US, El Salvador, or even France, and therefore provokes a distinct reaction. The silent majority clamour not for abortion bans or a revival of Judeo-Christian values, but for sending the buggers back. Populism, by its very nature, distils the will of the people into a political project. In response to Britain’s unique political circumstances, Reform’s position is an endogenous expression of the British volonté générale. This is distinct from that of the French or Germans — which have more in common with one another than they do ours.

Though it’s too early to mark Reform out as exceptionally hardline, they best express the British public’s unqualified fatigue with high migration. Public ire is not solely reserved for Islam — successive waves of migration (and subsequent atrocities) have hardened the national mood against all incomers. Likewise, a uniquely nonsensical approach to welfare engendered a working-class ressentiment towards scroungers and cheats — something which finds expression through championing ‘Alarm Clock Britain’. If enacted, their straightforward mission would be undoubtedly popular. This is inherent to common-sense politics.

Whether Reform gets a chance to enact the popular will remains to be seen. In just two years of prominence, they have faced cancelled elections, regime libel, and procedural warfare. The uniparty have closed ranks in support of a gimp dressed as a bin. It’s not entirely inconceivable that Burnham calls an early election or engages in constitutional chicanery to wrongfoot Reform and lock them out of power, before trying to imprison those who remain. While Reform could come to resemble the RN more easily than they could the Republican Party, there is much to learn from the latter’s success against all odds.

What factions could emerge out of a Reform majority? Though we all hope for comprehensive vetting, there will likely be a substrate of unsuitable MPs — this comes with being the voice of the people. Reform’s coalition is a broad one, and one would expect a diversity of opinions as regards fiscal policy and culture war issues. Perhaps some will look to the continent, and seek closer alignment with a Europe of Nations. Shire reactionaries not tempted away by Downes’ snake oil may stymie your author’s dreams of a laissez-faire, liquid lunching Britain. It is, as ever in this country, the composition of the few hundred or so that make up a majority in Parliament that will decide what comes next for the party of the nation. Whatever the makeup of this majority will be, we can only hope that they deliver what they were elected to do — reform Broken Britain. When Farage eventually retires and is made Marquess of Clacton, who, dear reader, will step in and lead the party to a third term? It could be you.

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This article was written by Thomas Bretton, a Pimlico Journal contributor. Have a pitch? Send it to submissions@pimlicojournal.co.uk.

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