Education and work
A significant amount of research has confirmed that RPP supporters tend to be less educated than average.36 We find also that education levels are crucial to understanding the reluctant radicals. In Germany, Denmark, France, the Netherlands, Norway and Sweden, low- or mid-level education is a good predictor of one’s being a reluctant radical. Similar results hold in the UK for both the BNP and UKIP.
A notable exception is Hungary, where, by analysing contingency tables based on the 2010 election, we find that only 6 per cent of reluctant radicals are educated to a low level, compared to 21 per cent of the electorate. Other recent research on the Hungarian RPP Jobbik paints a similar picture.37
Low- or mid-level education is also a strong predictor for potential radicals: those with a lower level of education are more likely than highly educated people to be potential radicals in Germany, Denmark, Finland, France, Hungary, the Netherlands and Norway. The same applies using the different datasets in Britain and Italy.
Previous research has indicated that workers and the lower middle class are the core social groups for RPPs and that the unemployed are more likely to vote for the populist right.38 In Denmark, France, Norway and Sweden, our regression indicates that blue-collar workers are indeed more likely than others to be reluctant radicals.39 In the UK, according to the table below, reluctant BNP and UKIP supporters are more likely than the whole electorate to be manual workers.
Occupation in Britain
Source: BES 2010
On the other hand, in Italy our regression does not indicate that manual workers are more likely to be reluctant radicals. The self-employed, however, do tend to be reluctant radicals: this is the traditional right-wing populist vote of the petit bourgeoisie.40 The table below demonstrates the class spread of the Italian reluctant radicals.
Occupation in Italy
Source: ITANES 2008
Within the countries analysed using the ESS, there appears to be little relationship between unemployment and reluctant radicalism, at least when controlling for the other factors already discussed. The one exception is Germany, where unemployed people are more likely to be reluctant radicals. Furthermore, in Britain, using different data, 8 per cent of reluctant BNP supporters say they claim job seekers’ allowance as their main source of income, compared to 1 per cent of the electorate.41
The most consistent predictor of being a reluctant radical is not being male, young, unemployed or even working class – it is being less well educated. It is education that marks out reluctant radicals from others.
Immigration frustration and depleted trust
By running logistic regressions for each country, we try to determine what attitudes single out reluctant radicals, while controlling for age, gender, unemployment and education level. We build a repeatable model for each country to examine how extreme-right ideology, attitudes to immigration, trust in parliament and political interest impact on reluctant radicals.42
Even while controlling for socio-demographic variables, these attitudes appear to play a vital role across many of the countries in our study. Those who position themselves on the far right of the political spectrum are more likely to be reluctant radicals in Germany, Denmark, the Netherlands and Norway; while concern over immigration increases the chances of reluctant radicalism in Germany, Denmark, France, Norway, Sweden and the Netherlands, as well as in Italy and the UK, using different survey data.43 The exceptions are Finland and Hungary, where RPPs have tended not to focus on the issue of immigration.
While research has shown that the effects of cultural grievances over immigration consistently outmatch the effects of economic grievances over immigration on the populist right vote, our analysis shows that, in all the countries in our ESS study other than Sweden and the Netherlands, both economic and cultural concerns are predictors for being a reluctant radical.44 In Sweden (and also Italy, though results are not directly comparable), greater concern over the cultural effects of immigration increased the likelihood of being a reluctant radical. In the Netherlands, this was true with respect to the economic effects of immigration. But, in general, economic and cultural concerns went hand in hand.45
Before moving forward, we make a short note on immigration. The research we have carried out shows that negative attitudes towards immigration are strongly correlated with support for RPPs. This comes as no surprise. But readers might wonder why we don’t spend more time on this issue. The answer is two-fold. One reason is that negative attitudes towards immigration are, sadly no doubt, extremely widespread and while they correlate strongly with RPP support, they permeate the whole of the political spectrum. In many respects, while the link is stronger with RPPs, it is far from exclusive. Policy-makers focus on negative attitudes towards immigration precisely because they are not the preserve of RPPs.
But mainly, our reason for not focusing more on the link between reluctant radicals and negative attitudes towards immigration goes back to the underpinnings of this study – the idea that while the correlation is interesting, what we are interested in is the texture, the context-specific ways in which this attitude gets shaped. Understanding how the issue of immigration is instrumental in building support for RPPs can occur only if we look at the much more contextual variables – the isolation, the disconnection, the nostalgia. Only then does the actual ‘content’ (and therefore, meaning) of the negative attitude towards immigration appear, and only then can there be an adequate policy and political response.
The political scientist Hans-Georg Betz has argued that radical right-wing parties have benefited from the long-term disintegration of social bonds in Western countries.46 In our study, we find that trust and lack of political interest are significant predictors of reluctant radicalism in a number of countries.
In Germany, Denmark, Finland, France, the Netherlands and Norway, people who have less trust in parliament are more likely to be reluctant radicals. Similar findings hold in Italy and the UK with regard to the BNP and UKIP. Unsurprisingly, anti-EU attitudes are also a strong predictor for reluctant BNP and UKIP supporters, though we were able to test this only in the UK. In Norway (as well as Italy, bearing in mind different variables are used), those who are not interested in politics tend to be reluctant radicals.
Lack of trust and lack of interest in politics are important characteristics for the potential radicals too. Running the same analysis using the ESS but for potential radicals rather than reluctant radicals, we find that less trust in parliament increases the likelihood of being a potential radical in Germany and the Netherlands. In these two countries, as well as Hungary, we also found that those with low interest in politics were more likely to be potential radicals.47
Europe's reluctant radicals: the amended profile
Our results show that in many cases the reluctant radicals (and sometimes the committed radicals) only partially fit the typical profile. Men are more likely to be reluctant radicals in only some countries, and often the gender gap is fairly small. Young people in most countries are not more likely to be reluctant radicals. And, education is the most consistent predictor of being a reluctant radical – far more so than gender, age or unemployment.
Where the typical profile is most accurate, it is with respect to smaller RPPs, such as the BNP in the UK or RPPs in Germany, that have failed to capture appeal beyond a small group of voters. Where RPPs have successfully reached out to more voters, the typical profile has been diluted.
Our analysis suggests that the reluctant radicals are more ‘ordinary’ than one might think. Other than attitudes, a lower level of education is the most consistent predictor of being a reluctant radical across the countries in our study. There is no striking, consistent relationship with gender and age. Our findings give us no reason to treat these voters as anomalies. We have seen that uncompromising anti-immigration attitudes and a lack of trust in parliament may motivate people to become reluctant radicals. But this does not mean that they should be treated as aberrations.
Europe's potential radicals:
a barrier between attitudes and action
On the other hand, older and less well-educated people tend to be potential radicals, but there is an even split in terms of gender – in fact, in some countries, women are more likely to be potential radicals than men. This indicates that there is a barrier between being a potential radical and a reluctant radical – between attitudes and action. This is a barrier that women and older people appear to find particularly hard to cross.
The potential radicals are often ignored when it comes to understanding and responding to right-wing populism. But they are crucial for the sustainability and growth of RPPs.
Yet due to the broad-brush approach and the great variation across countries our analysis so far does not give us the full story, even though it is an important first step. We need to dig deeper to develop a greater understanding of reluctant and potential radicals. In the following chapters we look more closely at right-wing populism in France, the Netherlands and Finland.
3
France: the disconnected radical
The Front National is a party of paradoxes. It is steeped in history, an increasingly undeniable presence on the French political scene for four decades, but is nevertheless a permanently marginal force. It has been described as ‘structurally unstable’, but has arguably engendered surprising loyalty. Its vote share has been both severely underestimated and severely overestimated. It has apparently received support from young and old, from urban centres and rural areas, from the petit bourgeoisie and the unemployed. It is a party that is hard to pin down.
Yet it is a party that continues to pack a punch. Founded by Jean-Marie Le Pen in 1972, the party emerged from the shopkeepers’ anti-tax Poujadist movement of the 1950s and the resistance against Algerian independence of the early 1960s. The Front National rose to prominence in the 1980s after successes in local and European elections and – for the most part – over the decades slowly increased its share of the vote, despite numerous controversies, internal disagreements and raucous splits.
In 2011, Le Pen’s daughter, ‘Marine’ to her admirers, became leader. Le Pen aimed to eliminate the stigma attached to the FN in earlier years by promoting a mellower, more inclusive party. Distancing herself from her father’s provocative anti-Semitic statements and rejecting more extreme alliances, she focused on winning power, her attacks aimed at bankers and Brussels along with the FN’s old enemies of Islam and immigration. As pointed out by Pascal Perrineau, Marine Le Pen continued to have recourse to all the far right’s fundamentals (referring to ‘murderous globalisation’, Islamism, corrupt elites, and so on), but she also attempted to introduce a number of themes designed specifically to integrate the party into the mainstream French political landscape. In order to do this, she turned to the traditional French themes of Republicanism, secularism, the Rights of Man and the protector state. All of these had hitherto been the standard bugbears of a French far right still ill at ease with the Revolution itself, with the militant secularism that is French laïcité, with a large state and with the Declaration of the Rights of Man, which had largely been seen as a creation of the left and symbolic of the destruction of the natural order of the Ancien Régime.48
Did her strategy pay off? From the result itself it is hard to tell. Her score – 17.9 per cent – was high – the highest a Front National leader has ever received in a presidential election. But, given France’s disillusionment with Sarkozy and its ambivalence towards Hollande, as well as the potentially explosive Mehra shootings in Toulouse, it is hard not to entertain the thought that it could have been much higher.
Le Pen’s success on this front, we acknowledge, can be measured only further down the line. Indeed, it is important to place Marine Le Pen in a particular perspective when it comes to the party’s future evolution: one that is probably closer to ex-FN grandee Bruno Mégret’s (whose aim was to turn the party into a robust mainstream right) rather than to that of her father’s (which was dominated by the desire to maintain the party’s distinctiveness, at the expense of longer-term success). Marine is in it for the long game – trying to build a broader base and alliances with the mainstream right, rather than focusing on short-term gains. Either way, however, it is difficult to detect much success in terms of detoxification: the party is still perceived as ‘dangerous for democracy’ by a large majority of French people, and the hoped-for six seats in the parliamentary elections did not materialise. The problem for Le Pen lies in part with the fact that the mainstream right did not implode to levels which might have made alliances with the FN a necessary evil.
The numbers
Our analysis in this chapter uses electoral data to explore a number of characteristics of the French reluctant radicals. What emerges most strongly is their disconnectedness from the rest of French society – whether it is through where they live, what they think of others, or how they interact with politics. This disconnection is all the more intensely felt in a society where one’s connection with the state is of paramount importance. On many levels, we find a ‘gap’ between the reluctant radicals and others.
We use CEVIPOF’s post-electoral survey of the 2012 presidential election, conducted by OpinionWay and provided by CEVIPOF, to analyse and compare potential, reluctant and committed radicals. The data will be available at the Sciences Po Centre for Socio-Political Data. We define reluctant radicals much as we did with respect to the analysis in Chapter 2. To achieve a better sample of potential radicals, we define this group using a greater variety of attitudes than with respect to the last chapter. We include attitudes on immigration, authority, insecurity and Europe, all key issues that set FN voters apart from others.
We also run two logistic regressions: first, a regression that compares the French reluctant radicals with those who do not vote for the FN, controlling for gender, age and education level; and, second, a regression that compares reluctant radicals with committed radicals, controlling for the same socio-demographic variables. In the former case we look at what makes someone a reluctant radical as opposed to not voting for the FN – what ‘push factors’ propel them to vote for the party. In the latter case we look at what makes one a committed radical rather than a reluctant radical – what factors inspire the loyalty that makes it hard for these voters to be won back.
A diminishing gender gap
In the last chapter, we explored how a barrier appeared to prevent many women who agreed with right-wing populist ideas from taking the next step of voting for them. Nonna Mayer has argued that that Marine Le Pen has successfully broken down this barrier, attracting new female voters.49 In fact, our analysis shows that the gender gap for Marine Le Pen’s reluctant radicals appears to be fairly small, if not negligible: 53 per cent of reluctant radicals are male, while men make up 48 per cent of the electorate. With regard to the potential radicals, however, the traditional gap is reversed: 64 per cent are female. This suggests there is still a gap of sorts: if so many women are potential radicals, shouldn’t a similar proportion vote for the FN? Female voters appear to be less willing to abandon mainstream parties.
One possibility noted by Kai Arzheimer is that it is an extremist image that puts women off RPPs, provoking mental associations with the military violence of the extreme right of the 1930s and 40s.50 This could be part of the story: women find the masculine ‘warrior’ image of RPPs – whether intended or not by the parties themselves – fundamentally unappealing. If so, the diminishing gender gap could suggest that Marine Le Pen’s ‘detoxification’ strategy has had at least some success.
A yawning education gap
If the traditional gender cleavage is barely present, then it barely registers in comparison to the cleavage in education levels. We find that the reluctant radicals are less well educated than average. Fifty-three per cent have lower level qualifications as their highest qualification (the BECP, CAP or BEP), compared to an average of 38 per cent, and they are less likely to have obtained the baccalaureate. Howev
er, we should bear in mind that 21 per cent have no educational qualifications, similar to the average of 17 per cent.
Interest in politics
Source: CEVIPOF’s post-electoral survey of the 2012 presidential election; June 2012; survey conducted by OpinionWay
A political gap
The reluctant radicals are not just cut off from higher education: their ‘disconnectedness’ is also mirrored in the sphere of politics. While committed radicals appear to be highly interested in politics, reluctant radicals (who make up the bulk of FN voters) are less interested than average. This suggests an important difference between the reluctant and committed radicals: while the committed radicals seem to be politically in tune, voting confidently and attentively for the FN, the reluctant radicals appear to be highly disengaged. This is reflected in the differences between reluctant committed radicals with regard to when they decided to vote: 92 per cent of committed radicals decided who to vote for a long time in advance, compared to 62 per cent of reluctant radicals (similar to the average figure).
A social gap
Not only do reluctant radicals display low levels of trust in the state, trade unions and the national assembly; they also have low levels of trust in people more generally. Only 12 per cent have trust in others, compared to 27 per cent of the electorate as a whole.
Place of residence
Source: CEVIPOF’s post-electoral survey of the 2012 presidential election;June 2012; survey conducted by OpinionWay
A geographical gap: the new peri-urban radical
The marginalisation of the reluctant radicals in this election also manifests itself in more practical terms. Thirty-three per cent of the reluctant radicals are from rural areas, compared to 26 per cent of the whole electorate. Analysis by Joel Gombin at the University of Picardie Jules Verne shows how Front National support has moved from urban to rural and peri-urban areas in the past two decades, a shift that he attributes to urban sprawl. Gombin notes how Le Pen support has decreased in the Île-de-France region around Paris but has increased in areas just outside the region, explaining that:
These scores cannot be attributed only to people moving into these regions. It is also a consequence of such changes on the countryside, on living conditions, housing, the local job market and access to public goods and services.51
More pressure on resources such as transport and housing has further disconnected the French reluctant radicals from the rest of society.
'Liquid modern' radicals
Given their marginalisation, it is no surprise that one of the French reluctant radicals’ greatest concerns is ‘insécurité’. The FN has consistently campaigned on the issue for decades. ‘Insécurité’ refers mainly to crime, but it also has associations with unemployment – economic insecurity – and a more general feeling of political, social and cultural unease. Sixty-three per cent of reluctant radicals say they do not feel secure anywhere, compared to an average figure of 38 per cent. Nonna Mayer has argued that before the 2002 presidential election ‘a general feeling of insecurity, both social and economic’ helped boost the FN vote.52
In Liquid Modernity, the sociologist Zygmunt Bauman argues that insecurity – in its widest sense – is a core feature of contemporary (‘liquid modern’) society. Globalisation, flexible labour markets, short-termism and rampant individualism and consumerism have led citizens to a perpetual state of uncertainty. This manifests itself in a deep fear of ‘stalkers’, ‘prowlers’ and ‘strangers’:
‘Do not talk to strangers’ – once a warning given by worrying parents to their hapless children – has now become the strategic precept of adult normality. This precept recasts as a prudent rule the reality of a life in which strangers are such people with whom one refuses to talk. Governments impotent to strike at the roots of the existential insecurity and anxiety of their subjects are only too eager and happy to oblige.53
The anxiety of the French reluctant radicals can therefore be seen as a product of late modern society. Some support for this thesis is given by our regression analysis, where we see that concern over globalisation is one factor that increases the chances of being a reluctant radical as opposed to not voting for the FN. These fears and insecurities about the unstable nature of modern life are important factors in the rise of the Front National, extending far beyond a simple diagnosis of unthinking xenophobia.
The relationship to Bauman’s version of life in liquid modernity is further in evidence when we take into account the reluctant radicals’ key relationship to work: they tend to be of working age (although, as we have just noted, this finding is inconsistent with other surveys), and are more likely than average to be either unemployed or in full-time work, and less likely to be retired. Work or the quest for work is central to their life. Again, this illustrates Bauman’s analysis, in which ‘liquid modern’ society places greater insecurity on those who are economically active by imposing precarious short-term contracts and the persistent threat of redundancy.
This does not mean that the French reluctant radicals are economically on the left, however. Fifty-five per cent agree that to establish social justice you need to take from the rich to give to the poor, compared to 61 per cent of the whole electorate. Neither is there evidence for the common thought that there is a large overlap between the radical left and right. In fact, the reluctant radicals are strikingly unsympathetic to Jean-Luc Mélenchon. Thirty per cent say they have no sympathy for him at all on a scale from 0 to 10, compared to an average figure of 18 per cent.
An erratic electorate?
Patrick Lehingue has argued that the FN electorate is structurally unstable and that only four features consistently set it apart from others: gender, education level, political efficacy and interest, and xenophobic and authoritarian attitudes.54 Other factors over the past 30 years have been markedly unhelpful or fluid predictors. A prime example of this is age. Nonna Mayer has noted that in 2002 older people were more likely to vote for the FN, while in 1995 young people were more attracted to the party.55 In our analysis, we see that reluctant radicals are more likely than average to be aged between 35 and 49 and less likely to be aged over 65. But this is not consistent with all surveys taken before the 2012 election. It appears that age is a poor predictor of FN voting, varying from survey to survey. Claims that young people are voting in large numbers for Le Pen should be taken with caution, particularly as they are often based on surveys with a small sample of young people.
While there are a number of inconsistencies in the FN vote, research also indicates that FN voters have been remarkably loyal. According to survey data, 84 per cent of FN supporters in 1988 voted again for the party in 1993.56 These findings are disputable because they are based on voters being able to recall their vote preference from previous elections. Yet, even if they are accurate, it is still clear that over the past two decades the FN has branched out (literally, when it comes to the rural and peri-urban vote), attracting new voters and driving structural changes in their electorate.
A toxic brand? Shame, stigma and the Front National voter
This returns us to the question of whether the 2012 election was a turning point for the FN. Did Marine Le Pen achieve much through her de-demonisation strategy? We asked voters a number of questions in the PEF 2012 on their reservations about voting. We asked whether they were put off voting for a particular party because they saw it as extreme, because they were worried what their friends and family would think, or because the party was stigmatised.
The relationship between reluctance and shame is particularly interesting because it reveals a somewhat contradictory stance – itself revealing of a peculiar relationship to the act of voting. Or at least one that is mediated by a storm of emotions.
As we expected, FN voters are more likely than average to express reservations about their vote. Strikingly, 79 per cent of FN voters hesitated to vote for their candidate because they felt the party was stigmatised, compared to an average of 49 per cent for the whole electora
te. It seems fairly clear from this that Marine Le Pen’s efforts to de-demonise the FN have not been completely successful.
Hesitation to vote for Marine Le Pen in the first round of the 2012 presidential elections
Source: CEVIPOF’s post-electoral survey of the 2012 presidential election; June 2012; survey conducted by OpinionWay
Surprisingly however, this concern is not matched by strong feelings of shame. In fact, shame does not appear to be strongly associated with FN voting. When we divide FN voters into reluctant and committed radicals, however, we find that committed radicals are both more likely to be very ashamed and more likely to be very proud of their vote than average. Five per cent of committed radicals are very ashamed of their vote, compared to an average of 1 per cent; while 36 per cent of committed radicals are very proud, compared to an average of 16 per cent. This may be because committed radicals are more attached to their party, and therefore their party’s brand is more likely to have a greater psychological impact on them, forcing them to the extremes on such a question. In particular, the greater level of pride suggests that – with respect to the committed radicals, at least – stigmatisation can make FN voters more resolute in their voting decision. They may know that what they are doing is seen as wrong, but relish doing it anyway.
Pride or shame in voting in the first round of the 2012 presidential election
Source: CEVIPOF’s post-electoral survey of the 2012 presidential election; June 2012; survey conducted by OpinionWay
A gap between the individual and the citizen
This peculiar relationship between stigma, opprobrium, shame and pride for the French FN voters warrants some unpacking since it seems to point to a profound internal disconnection. As pointed out above, the numbers show that the strong sense of potential stigmatisation is not matched by feelings of shame. A number of scenarios emerge concerning the springs of such electoral behaviour:
It could illustrate deep concern combined with a strong need for transgression, subsequently dealt with by actively denying any strong sense of remorse or shame post-vote.
It could also illustrate a deep ambivalence that is expressed by concern pre-vote, followed by relative ease post-vote (in other words, an inability to relate particularly coherently to one’s behaviour or political beliefs).
Or it could be a combination of both.
It also points to the relationship between shame (the hesitation and sense of opprobrium before the vote), its capacity to generate rage (the casting of the vote fuelled by rage and the desire to reclaim a voice in the context of a sense of inferiority and loss of recognition and disconnection)57 and, finally, defiance or denial, depending on the individual and the strength of their relationship to the party. All this can serve as a further potential illustration of the myriad ways in which French reluctant radicals suffer from forms of deep disconnection that run from the practical to the emotional and psychological.
In no other country do we find this particular combination of stigma and pride. It suggests a particular form of marginalisation and disconnection that is deeply related to the feelings of shame resulting from perceptions of threat to the social bond, the fear of being cast adrift and rising sentiments of isolation and worthlessness. Shame, Helen Lewis argues, can be seen as a response to the threat of disconnection from the other. It can also immediately turn to anger (the notion that one responds to humiliation by fighting).
In a society, a republic, in which the political bond between the state and the citizen is traditionally formulated and represented as all-encompassing, privileged and almost metaphysically direct, a sense of disconnection – especially on so many levels – is traumatic and deeply at odds with the imagined, mythical country. This disconnection is capable of fuelling erratic, yet sustained, political behaviour.
4
The Netherlands: the nostalgic radical 58
In April 2012, Geert Wilders, founder and leader of the right-wing populist PVV, forced the Dutch government to fall. In a country which decades before had a sturdy democracy built around consensus and a reputation for tolerance and stability, a formidable anti-Islam populist made his mark. Wilders had broken through into mainstream politics – first by supporting the minority coalition, and then by pulling out, not because of his initial core issues of immigration or Islam, but due to budgetary disagreements. Not only that, he provided a model of right-wing populism for the rest of Western Europe, a tried and tested method that set him apart from the old radical right.
Using the 2010 Dutch Parliamentary Election study, we replicate the method used in the last two chapters to achieve a similar categorisation. Reluctant and committed radicals are defined approximately as we defined them earlier. Potential radicals are defined as those people who did not vote for the PVV in 2010, but who agree with the party on one of its core issues – its hatred of multiculturalism.
To fully understand the rise of Wilders and the PVV, however, we must look further back. Twenty-first-century right-wing populism in the Netherlands began with the sudden success of populist leader Pim Fortuyn and his death at the hands of an animal rights activist. Dutch politics was stirred by Fortuyn – a former sociology professor whose fierce populism, energetic criticisms
of Islam and multiculturalism and unguarded homosexuality made him a tremendously popular and unusual type of right-wing populist.
In Murder in Amsterdam, journalist Ian Buruma provides a powerful insight into Fortuyn’s success.
In his [Fortuyn’s] vision, a national community should be like a family, which shares the same language, culture and history. Foreigners who arrived with their own customs and traditions disturbed the family-state… What mattered in the ideal family-state wasn’t class, it was ‘what we want to be: one people, one country, one society’.59
This antagonism towards foreigners – in particular those who do not share the same culture – has also been capitalised on by Wilders, who left the centre-right VVD in 2004 in disagreement over Turkey’s membership to the EU, forming his own one-member party soon after. Sixty-one per cent of Wilders’ reluctant radicals oppose the immigration of Muslims, compared to 31 per cent of the entire electorate. In fact, those PVV voters who oppose immigration are more likely to be committed radicals.
Agree or disagree: the immigration of Muslims should be stopped
Source: Dutch Parliamentary Election Study 2010
The roots of this anger are actually deeply conservative. This is missed when Wilders and Fortuyn are summarised as libertarians due to their defence of women’s rights and opposition to homophobia. It is true that Fortuyn argued for a defence of Enlightenment values against the threat of ‘backward’ Islamic culture, blending social liberalism with populism.60 (It is not surprisingly that the Dutch committed radicals are less religious than average.) But Fortuyn’s appeal lay in part in his offering to the electorate what Buruma calls ‘a nostalgic dream born of his own sense of isolation’.61
Nostalgia
That ‘nostalgic dream’ has not been forgotten. Ninety-one per cent of the Dutch reluctant radicals believe that immigrants should adapt to Dutch culture rather than keep their own, compared to 60 per cent of the whole electorate. A predominant feature of the Dutch right populist electorate is an inclination towards the preservation of culture – a fundamentally conservative instinct.
It is important to understand the power that this nostalgic dream has over the Netherlands, in particular over the supporters of both the (now dissolved) List Pim Fortuyn (LPF) and PVV. A number of writers – Buruma quite successfully but academics such Mair and Daalder as well 62 – have captured the dislocation of the Dutch political landscape in the aftermath of what in effect was the abrupt disappearance of traditional political party structures in the 1970s. While it may seem strange to hark back three or four decades for the roots of PVV support, it is crucial to do so, since the disappearance of the pillars isn’t just about a transformation of the party system, but about the ushering in (as well as t
he reflection of) a deep transformation of Dutch society and politics, and what is as of now a still unfinished transition. The 1970s mark the beginnings of a transition from a segmented but orderly polity, in which a form of consociational politics and elite negotiation imparted a transparent and legible (if tremendously hierarchical) order to one in which no dominant structure has emerged. Pillarisation (‘verzuiling’) was segregated and elitist and in many ways far from democratic – but it was predictable and shared and orderly. The nostalgia for that order and predictability linger.
More to the point, the system gave rise to a myth of quiet understanding, of understated transparency: the paradox was of a system in which you would argue that the rules were clear, yet this clarity was based mainly on implicit codes, rather than on explicit statement. The rules might have been obvious but they were rarely spelt out. The ‘nostalgic dream’ is in part nostalgia for a system that seemed to be transparent enough to necessitate little actual explanation.
An influx of immigrants not immediately attuned to the implicit rules and a transformation of professional and social structures (and attendant political views) creates problems. It does so because it demands that those in charge (of whatever institution) make explicit something that they deem implicit and, further, that they value in great part because of its implicitness. The reference to a ‘dream’ is no accident – what could be more comforting than to think that your fellow countrymen share your most intimate and implicit longings – your dreams.
In the case of the Netherlands, the problem is compounded by the fact that it would require being explicit about integrating into something that is felt to be largely lost and whose replacement is not yet fully specified.
The story of the Netherlands and its reluctant radicals is about what happens when you move from the implicit to the explicit while still mourning the loss of the ‘nostalgic dream’. The result in terms of the reluctant radicals is a strange combination of stridency and bombast, of lyricism and pragmatism, of egalitarianism and resentment. Above all, the Dutch reluctant radicals seem defined by their nostalgia, defined by the lost dream. For all the – no doubt honest – talk of ‘shaking up the system of consensus politics’, the shake-up is a turn to the past, rather than a turn forward to the future. The overall view amounts to one final paradox: a love and hatred of consensus. Support for Wilders is rooted in nostalgia for the ‘old’ form of consensus/consociational politics (the implicit one) but also stems from a refusal to accept the ‘new’ consensus politics, deemed illegitimate in part because these types of politics are about coming to a new explicit agreement – a de facto admission that the political community is no longer a natural one, but a constructed, almost ‘ersatz’ one.
This last point is significant in two further ways. First, because it sheds some light on the strength of anti-European feeling in the Netherlands (a powerful national driver long before the rise of LPF or Wilders). With elections looming (in under a month as we write) on 12 September 2012, the debate has shifted away from issues of multiculturalism and diversity and firmly towards Europe. Given the current crisis of European institutions this is hardly surprising, but it is still worth noting because the debate – and the ways in which Europe is being discussed by both the populist right and the populist left – casts it precisely as a constructed, imposed and therefore ‘illegitimate’ community.
This takes us to the second point of interest, which is that nostalgia cuts both right and left. While we have no doubt that the support for Wilders will remain relatively high in these elections, the rise of the populist Socialist party is striking. This rise rests on an appeal that is rooted in an anti-European, anti-elitist discourse that does not specifically address diversity or culture, but does specifically appeal to the sense of a lost, autonomous and resilient community. The point is that nostalgia – over and above the catchwords – is at the heart of populist mobilisation in the Netherlands, on both sides of the spectrum.
Disillusionment and trauma
According to Buruma, Fortuyn was a ‘trickster’, who tore up the rulebook of the ‘new’ Dutch politics and mocked the political elite.63 Wilders follows in his footsteps. His provocative statements and careful media management – rarely giving interviews and preferring to tweet his latest proclamations while his friends and enemies alike follow his doings avidly – mark him out as a political celebrity. He has presented himself as the defender of ordinary Dutch citizens – referring to the imaginary typical Dutch couple ‘Henk and Ingrid’ – from the metropolitan elite. Again, this is particularly interesting in light of the element of nostalgia: a tearing up of the rulebook that is in part resentment against an elite that has failed to restore the myth of the past. Support for Wilders is partly about mocking the elite, partly a mourning for elites past, and partly an attempt to conjure up the elite of the future in the absence of any natural – or perhaps implicitly acceptable – choices.
Wilders’ voters are disillusioned with the political establishment: 43 per cent of reluctant radicals trust the government compared to 64 per cent of the entire electorate. Potential radicals, too, express low levels of trust. Distrust in parliament is one factor that predicts the reluctant radical vote. It is also a factor in radicalising PVV voters further: PVV supporters who distrust parliament are more likely to be committed radicals.
Trust in government
Source: Dutch Parliamentary Election Study 2010
Reluctant radicals feel that they have been betrayed by their elected representatives. Fifty-nine per cent disagree with the statement that politicians keep their promises, compared to (a still high) 48 per cent of the electorate. Political suspicion extends into wider social suspicion as well. Only 49 per cent of reluctant radicals believe most people can be trusted, compared to 64 per cent of the whole electorate. As with France, however, committed radicals appear to have their minds more made up than reluctant radicals: 28 per cent of reluctant radicals decided who to vote for on election day, compared to 4 per cent of committed radicals.
Fortuyn channelled the feeling that the mainstream parties had let voters down by ignoring concerns about immigration. While the mainstream parties converged – particularly on the issue of multiculturalism64 – Fortuyn spoke out. The disdain the political elite felt towards Fortuyn – Buruma describes how the Labour Party’s Ad Melkert struggled to recognise Fortuyn’s victory after his party did well in local elections in Rotterdam65 – compounded the feeling of shame from the Dutch establishment when he was murdered. After his death, Fortuyn was lauded by his followers as a national visionary. His reputation as a prophet was further enhanced after the death of controversial Dutch filmmaker Theo Van Gogh at the hands of an Islamic extremist. In the past few years Wilders has risen while the political establishment has held back for fear of further accusations.
The impact of the two murders cannot be overestimated both in terms of how it has allowed Wilders to behave as well as in terms of the reactions of mainstream politicians to this behaviour. The murder of Fortuyn plays a salient role in creating the impression that visionaries are an endangered species in the Netherlands. Further, his murder continues to act as an illustration of the dangers that come with an attitude that might stigmatise those who hold non-mainstream opinions.
The ease with which Wilders has done well is in part the price of an elite mea culpa: a sense that Fortuyn’s murder should serve as a reminder that marginalising – even with good reason – creates its own problems. It is a strange – but understandable – twist on Dutch political transparency that mainstream politicians are cowed by Wilders in part because opprobrium or disdain would be seen as a repeat of the Fortuyn saga (however inaccurate that may be).
Organisationally, Wilders has learnt from List Pim Fortuyn’s mistakes. After List Pim Fortuyn formed a coalition with the Christian Democrats and the VVD upon its electoral breakthrough, internal fighting and lack of leadership meant it struggled to govern. To avoid a repeat of this, Wilders has exerted a fir
m grip on his party. Local activity is minimal and PVV MPs have little say on party strategy. This tactic has proved effective, although recent scandals suggest it may have reached its limits. Wilders has picked up votes from across the political spectrum. Our analysis shows that 25 per cent of reluctant radicals who voted in the previous election in 2006 voted for the liberal conservative VVD and 19 per cent voted for the Christian democratic CDA, while 19 per cent voted for the centre-left PvdA and 16 per cent voted for the radical left SP – though the sample is small and therefore this serves only as a guide.
Education: a striking cleavage
Apart from the divide between ordinary people and the elite, right-wing populism in the Netherlands is characterised by a cleavage between the well educated and the poorly educated. Class has traditionally played a small role in the Netherlands (in fact the word is essentially shunned and a bit of a taboo), which prides itself on having an egalitarian culture. In fact, 51 per cent of the reluctant radicals define themselves as middle class, similar to the average figure for the electorate of 49 per cent. But, in recent years, cleavages between levels of education have fomented social divisions. As with other RPPs, reluctant and committed PVV supporters – as well as the Dutch potential radicals – are significantly more likely to be educated at a lower level than average. Only 10 per cent and 4 per cent of reluctant and committed radicals respectively have been to university (vocational or research), compared to 31 per cent of the whole electorate. This is one of the most distinctive demographic features of Wilders’ reluctant radicals. In contrast, the age profile of the reluctant radicals appears to be representative of the broader electorate and the reluctant radical gender gap is fairly small (52 per cent are men).
Education level
Source: Dutch Parliamentary Election Study 2010
We also find that, similarly to France, people who have no income or whose main source of income is unemployment benefit are more likely to be reluctant radicals than non-PVV voters. This is in contrast to our results discussed in Chapter 2. Yet the unemployed, even when more likely to be reluctant radicals, still make up a small proportion of the total reluctant radical vote. The right-wing populist problem cannot be reduced to the issue of unemployment.
The PVV appears to have galvanised support in part by capitalising on the disillusionment and disdain felt towards the well-educated elite in a country where the gap is perceived as both inexcusable (because deeply at odds with an egalitarian myth) and growing. While Wilders is known for his rhetoric on the topic of immigration (and, more recently, Europe), the resentment he taps into appears to go beyond it. Wilders’ economic policy is somewhat incoherent,66 but he has repeatedly advocated lower taxes.67 Accordingly, those who believe in lower taxes are more likely than others to vote reluctantly for Wilders than not vote for him, even when controlling for gender, age, education level and other attitudes. The same holds for those who are against a higher retirement age, a key issue that contributed to Wilders bringing down the minority coalition last spring. Indeed, one Dutch reluctant radical, when asked why they voted for the PVV, answered:
I largely agree with him, also disagree with many things. He appealed mostly to me on the elderly and the General Old Age Pensions Act.68
The PVV has shown itself to be far from a one-trick pony, able to mobilise support on a variety of core Dutch grievances.
Fortuyn’s ‘nostalgic dream’ binds these issues together, whether they amount to fears over the security, economic and cultural effects of immigration, the protection of the welfare of the elderly, or the opposition to further integration in the European Union. Wilders’ future depends on whether he can continue to mobilise voters on their longing for a distant, more secure past.
5
Finland: the alienated radical
The ‘Big Bang’ in Finnish politics occurred on 17 April 2011. The True Finns, led by the charismatic Timo Soini, shockingly increased their share of the vote from 4 per cent to 19 per cent.69 Until then, a shift of this sort in Finnish politics was unheard of in a time of relative peace and stability.70 The victory rocked the Finnish political establishment. And European eyebrows were raised.
This was not, as some have suggested, a case of Finland turning fascist. The True Finns is a populist party whose main ire is directed towards EU policy – particularly, in recent years, the EU bailouts of southern European countries. That is not to say that the True Finns is necessarily epiphenomenal. Its roots are in the agrarian SMP (the Finnish Rural Party, which ruled in coalition in the 1980s) rather than neo-Nazism or neo-Fascism.
Given the limited amount of immigration and the already strict rules in operation in Finland, it is unsurprising that Soini has not – like other RPPs – focused campaigning on the issue of reducing immigration; however, a handful of MPs who are members of the anti-multiculturalism group Suomen Sisu71 have formed an anti-immigration wing within the True Finns. The True Finns, has advocated an explicitly populist, traditionalist and socially conservative programme, which, despite its centre-left economic leanings, mark it out as an RPP.72
We use data from the 2011 Finnish National Election Study to explore reluctant radicals in Finland, just as we have done with respect to France and the Netherlands. Reluctant radicals are defined consistently with the rest of our analysis. Potential radicals are defined slightly differently: we look at those voters who did not vote for the True Finns, yet said that they considered doing so.
Shattering consensus above all
The most common reason the Finnish reluctant radicals (and, for that matter, the committed radicals) give for voting for the True Finns was their wish to shake up the party system. Thirty-three per cent say their main reason for voting for the True Finns was to generate change. One Finnish reluctant radical, asked why he voted for the True Finns, explained: ‘Protest. The other parties have messed up in equal measure.’73 Like in the Netherlands, the Finnish political model has been based on consensus and coalition. And, much as in the Netherlands – though for vastly different reasons – the relationship towards consensus is a love/hate one. This is all the more so given that consensus is at once associated with stability, the capacity to overcome past economic recessions (such as in the early 1990s) and recent prosperity and development – while at the same time is held up as a default Finnish political style, which accounts for much of the discomfort associated with the era of Soviet dominance.
The sense that many of the key discussions take place behind closed doors where parties hash out compromises, among a tight circle of people who have often been to school, and to university together, and who know each other and each other’s friends intimately, in the context of a total population of 5.3 million, can easily fuel the suspicion that the prevailing modus operandi is not so much a consensus as a stitch-up. The True Finns has shattered this consensus politics. Before the election, the party positioned itself as against the status quo; after it, Soini cemented his outsider position further by taking the unusual step of refusing to join in coalition with the other winning parties.
Other factors seem to play much less of a role for the reluctant radicals – Euroscepticism, immigration and the Finnish party funding scandal in 2011 do not seem terribly significant. Yet, interestingly, differences do emerge between the reluctant and committed radicals. According to our regression analysis, those – few – True Finns voters for whom immigration was an important factor in deciding their vote are more likely to be committed radicals than reluctant radicals. In fact, 51 per cent of committed radicals (representing 48 per cent of the True Finns vote) say that a desire to tighten the immigration system and immigration benefits was a decisive factor in their choice, compared to only 29 per cent of reluctant radicals. This suggests that immigration is a much stronger motivating issue for the committed radicals than for the reluctant radicals (though, even for the committed radicals, immigration, or the threat of immigration, does not appear to be of overwhelming importance).
Regression analysis,
on the other hand, suggests that people who express distrust in the EU and people who favour referendums for important national decisions are more likely to vote reluctantly for the True Finns rather than vote for someone else or abstain. Frustration with political elites appears to play an important role in motivating the reluctant radicals to vote. But this account only scratches the surface of the True Finns’ rise.
Rural roots and fear of change
A deeper explanation is put forward by the academic Timo Toivonen, who draws a parallel between the rise of the True Finns and the success of the populist Finnish Rural Party (SMP) in the 1970 parliamentary elections.74 In 1970 the SMP won 10.1 per cent of the vote. Using ecological analyses, Toivonen argues that, just as the vote for the SMP was a protest by those working in agriculture against the fast pace of Finnish industrialisation, so the vote for the True Finns is a protest by workers in the manufacturing and construction industry against Finland’s rapid transformation from an industrial to a post-industrial, technology-led society. To put it differently, the True Finns vote may be seen as a manifestation of a crisis of modernity.
Toivonen’s theory is augmented by research by Kimmo Grönlund,75 who analyses the opinions of True Finns voters along a number of cleavages in Finnish party politics. His findings indicate that they are significantly more (a) nationalist, (b) traditionalist, (c) receptive to attaching importance to ‘ordinary people’, (d) partial to one national language rather than two, and (e) willing to prioritise economic growth over environmental issues. On many issues – particularly on the subjects of ‘ordinary people’, traditionalism and environmentalism – they differ notably from the VIHR, the Green League. This suggests that in part the True Finns represent a backlash against structural developments in post-industrial Finnish society, a counterpoint to the post-materialists’ promotion of internationalism, environmentalism and multiculturalism, politically embodied in the European green parties.76
The scale and pace of change in Finland can be neither overemphasised nor overestimated. In many respects, Finland has more in common with the transition countries to its east, than with Europe to its west. The extraordinary success story is such, though, that the nearness of a rougher, much more precarious and much less innovative way of life can easily be forgotten. In just over 20 years Finland has re-invented itself as a tech mecca, a European power, a design and innovation hub, a sophisticated culinary destination and the world’s top-rated education powerhouse. In the midst of this transformation it retains its traditional attachments – to nature (the return to which is near-mandatory over the summer months), to the enjoyment of basic physical comforts that play a particular role in its community life, to excellence in classical music.
This tension between a bustling present of excellence and excitement and a very near past of forbearance and adversity gives rise to a complex and hybrid polity in which some members feel acutely marginalised. There seems little room left for the habits and values that thrived and were necessary to life under previous conditions: silent masculinity, strength, stoicism, restorative solitude and, in the context of a complex geo-political situation, discretion. How do these get channelled in a hyper-connected, hyper-social world in which adaptability and innovation are valued above everything else? It is this fringe of the population that the True Finns have tapped into particularly effectively. These reluctant radicals are above all modern and alienated.
They may be true, but they're not young
The ‘crisis of modernity’ thesis does not mean that the ‘typical profile’ is right for the True Finns, though. In fact what is interesting is how an explanation as ubiquitous as a crisis of modernity (though no less true for that) can find such differing expressions. Analysis from Juho Rahkonen, Research Manager at the Finnish market research company Taloustutkimus Oy, shows that the typical True Finns voter is a middle-aged working-class man who earns a decent salary. Rahkonen explains:
When I think about a typical True Finn Party voter, I do not imagine an angry skinhead yelling at foreigners. Rather, I see a group of red-necked middle-age men sitting in a village bar with their caps and a little bit dirty shirts.77
Our analysis of the Finnish reluctant radicals supports this profile. Reluctant True Finns supporters tend to be working class and middle aged: 38 per cent identify as working class, whereas for the total electorate the figure is 29 per cent. Thirty-five per cent are aged between 50 and 64, compared to 23 per cent of the whole electorate. (Committed radicals are more likely to be aged between 35 and 49.) The gender gap is in fact quite small – 54 per cent male – but, as with many other countries in our study, there is a large gap with respect to the committed radicals, 64 per cent of whom are men.
Age distribution within the Finnish electorate
Source: Finnish National Election Study 2011
A crisis of modernity and masculinity?
The predominance of men – if not within the reluctant radicals then within True Finns voters as a whole – gives us reason to believe that, as a number of people we spoke with suggested, the True Finns vote is both a manifestation of a ‘crisis of modernity’ and a ‘crisis of masculinity’.78 Committed radicals are more likely than average to think that men are better decision-makers than women and both committed and reluctant radicals are more likely to think that male MPs would be better than female MPs at working on economic and immigration policy. This could be explained with reference to the ‘crisis of modernity’ theory – the advance of gender equality is one of the many aspects of modernisation against which the True Finns are a reaction.
Gender distribution within the Finnish electorate
Source: Finnish National Election Study 2011
Does this theory hold across the other countries in our study? With respect to France, John Veugelers argues that the theory (what he calls PMT or post-materialist theory) does not hold because the social and attitudinal profile of the FN electorate is not consistent with PMT.79 The same could be said of the PVV, whose voters, despite their nostalgia, are markedly liberal when it comes to issues such as gay rights. Therefore, the ‘crisis of modernity’ should not be applied too liberally to other Western European countries. In fact, a divide between Finland and the rest of Western Europe would not be surprising given the disproportionate pace of structural change in Finland over recent decades.
The ‘Big Bang’ has transformed the Finnish political landscape. If the ‘crisis of modernity’ ignited it, reaching out to the reluctant radicals provides the best hope of a stable aftermath.
6
Warnings and recommendations
Our analysis in the last four chapters has given us an insight into the profile of Europe’s reluctant radicals – their demographics, their attitudes, and their motivations. We now turn to how our study can inform the outlook and planning of mainstream politicians and policy-makers in the context of a better public understanding of the support for right-wing populist parties (RPPs).
Everything to play for
Our main recommendation, as we draw this first phase of research to a close, is to avoid the alarmism and relentless pessimism of most of the coverage and research in this domain. The support for RPPs is worrying and their impact on institutions both national and European is negative and undermining. As for their impact on minorities and community relations, it is deleterious. But our focus on the reluctant radicals demonstrates that the bulk of support for these parties is neither stable nor fixed – which means that mainstream politicians still have the opportunity to reach out to these reluctants and bring them back to the mainstream. Europe has everything to play for here – it should fight to recapture its reluctant radicals.
Some alternative strategies but only one winning strategy
There are, roughly, four alternatives available to the mainstream in dealing with RPPs.
1. They can ostracise them and stigmatise them (for instance, by putting in place a ‘cordon sanitaire’ whereby mainstream parties refuse to cooperate politicall
y with RPPs, such as with Vlaams Belang in Belgium or the Sweden Democrats) or avoid debating certain issues that RPPs make salient. The risk is of strengthening the solidarity among activists and allowing them to develop a martyr complex.80
2. They can compete. In recent years, both mainstream right and mainstream left parties have at times tried to compete on the same turf as RPPs, adopting tough policies on immigration, Islam and crime to tempt voters back into the mainstream (Sarkozy in the 2012 presidential election). But there is evidence that coverage of the agenda of the populist right in the manifestos of mainstream parties can have a legitimising effect on RPPs.81 Cas Mudde argues that the effect depends on who has ‘issue ownership’ – if the RPP owns the issue of immigration, for instance, then there is little the mainstream right can do to compete on the same ground.82 In any case, this scenario is unappealing, since objectionable policies do not become acceptable by virtue of their being promoted by mainstream parties rather than RPPs.
3. They can cooperate. In a number of European countries, mainstream parties have openly cooperated with RPPs, whether through forming coalitions or depending on their support to pass legislation. The success of this strategy depends on the type of cooperation. Often when RPPs become parties of government, they struggle (e.g. the FPÖ in Austria and the LPF in the Netherlands). Yet this can be deeply problematic for political institutions in the short-term, and even in the long-term does not guarantee that RPPs will not regain electoral strength once having left government, as with the FPÖ. RPPs tend to do better when supporting minority administrations, as with the Danish People’s Party and the PVV. Here these parties have benefited from the best of both worlds: seeing their policies implemented without taking on the responsibility of governing.
4. Our research suggests that we should adopt a fourth, much more effective strategy – Recapturing the reluctant radicals.
This scenario consists of mainstream parties reaching out to the ‘reluctant radicals’ without embracing right-wing populist policies. We suggest that this is the optimum alternative for the mainstream because the reluctant radicals are the RPP voters who are easiest to win back, and their recapturing will severely undermine RPPs. Our analysis has supported this argument, in general showing that those with anti-immigration or anti-Islam views are more likely to be committed radicals than reluctant radicals, and indicating (in France and the Netherlands, at least) that reluctant radicals tend to take longer than committed radicals to make up their minds about who to vote for. Of course, reaching out to the reluctant radicals is easier said than done. For the remainder of this section, we lay out recommendations that we believe should be a part of the ‘recapturing’ agenda.
Looking beyond generic headlines
One of the key messages from our research – and from the project as a whole – is that there is mileage in understanding and analysing the specific context in which issues emerge. Anti-Europeanism, anti-elitism, or anti-immigration views are hallmarks of right-wing populist politics, but tackling them generically is both ethically (for progressives) and practically difficult. These attitudes are symptomatic of a world in flux and, therefore, while complex, they are also somewhat generic – a trait that both these RPPs and the media thrive on – they make for good sound-bites and allow for easy mobilisation.
Our research suggests that understanding – and acting on – the specific historical, cultural and emotional springs of the surface mobilisation against Europe or immigration would allow policy-makers to make a more appealing and, above all, more implementable offer to the reluctant radicals. Offering remedies that address the specifics of Dutch nostalgia, of French disconnection or Finnish alienation (to take but our three case studies, that can no doubt be filled out and amended) stands to be much more effective than pretending to be able to ‘stop immigration’, or completely withdraw from the European project. Delving beneath surface demands to take into account cultural specificity is a much more winning strategy in the end.
A caveat and a warning: diversity cuts both ways
Our research shows that support for RPPs is diverse and fluctuating – this means that one-size policies will seldom fit all. We have concentrated on the reluctant radicals as a segment on which it is worth expending political energy and policy capital. But even in that category we find a diverse population. Yes, there are some clear trends and a silhouette does emerge – but it is a nuanced one, vulnerable to developments in national and international politics. The fact that mainstream politicians and policy-makers are dealing with a relatively volatile population works to their advantage (they are the ‘voters with changeable minds’), but can also work to their disadvantage: they may be unpredictable. Further, this diversity is even more striking at a European level – national political cultures, traumas, memories and traditions shape this population in ways that compel the mainstream to work with nuance.
Having said this – here are some recommendations that can be applied (in various forms) cross-nationally.
Let's not be ageist
Some have been tempted to respond to the right-wing populist threat by arguing for a policy targeted at disadvantaged young men. This may lead to policy recommendations such as the introduction of a national citizens’ service to temper the volatile temperament of bored young men.
But this would be a one-size-fits-all approach. We have seen that the gender gap for reluctant radicals is often small and that in some countries reluctant radicals are more likely than average to be middle aged or older. Even when unemployment is associated with reluctant radicalism, the unemployed constitute up to only around 10–20 per cent of reluctant radicals, leaving at least 80 per cent not directly affected by a policy targeting those looking for work. Any policy response should therefore cast its net wider and look beyond the young, male and disadvantaged. It needs to recognise the diversity of the reluctant radicals.
Focus on education
Our research has shown that a consistent feature of reluctant radicals is a low level of education. To bring them back to the fold there is only one long-term strategy worth investing in: invest in education. While this may seem generic, the numbers show a direct correlation between declining support and higher levels of education.
The value of a very general education?
In France, passing the baccalaureate appears to be a significant breakpoint – reluctant radicals are less likely than average to have the baccalaureate and more likely than average to be educated at a lower level. We suggest that further investment is needed in order to actively encourage all to pursue a baccalaureate qualification. While the breakpoint is not as obvious in other countries, we suggest that it is worth exploring the potential impact of a basic level of very general education – such as the baccalaureat – on political awareness. This may run counter to the current fascination with vocational training, but our research suggests that a general education (rather than one in which specialisation is encouraged at an early stage) might inoculate – in part – against supporting an RPP.
Support for university places
We have found across most countries in our study that going to university decreases the likelihood of being a reluctant radical. Higher education – whether it is down to encouraging people to mix with others, to question received opinion, or to debate and interact in a friendly environment – also appears to be a powerful inoculation against populist politics. Encouraging students from poorer backgrounds to attend university by offering larger subsidies can help to defend mainstream politics from the right-wing populist challenge.
Focus on women
It has been received wisdom that women don’t support RPPs. Our research shows that, Finland aside, the gender gap in support for these parties is narrowing. Our sense is that women are potentially the next obvious target for RPPs. Mainstream parties need to pay attention to the specific policy requirements of women who are the most vulnerable of potential radical groups.
Older, less well-educated men and women te
nd to be potential radicals. This group should not be forgotten – if they turn to RPPs then the power of right-wing populism will be significantly increased. This group has tended to maintain links with the mainstream, but centre parties should make efforts to reassure these voters – in particular with regard to issues such as the raising of the pension age. Sending out clearer signals on these complex policy issues could help to short-circuit any attempts by right-wing populist actors to win over these crucial voters.
A commitment to having the difficult conversations
Inspired by Quebec’s Bouchard–Taylor Commission of 2008,83 for the third stage of the ‘Reluctant Radicals’ project we will design and implement prototype public consultations in France, the Netherlands and Finland. These face-to-face interactions will be an opportunity both to gain insights into the political challenges and grievances facing communities in these countries and to engage in a positive and fruitful dialogue on these issues. We hope that this will provide a model for an innovative method of re-engaging citizens with political institutions and yield guidelines that can help various policy actors and institutions develop capacity in consultation and deliberative democracy.
This takes us to the thorny subject of immigration. There is no doubt that anti-immigration views correlate with support for these parties (Finland and Hungary perhaps being exceptions). It is an important, unavoidable topic and our suggestion is that it needs to be treated as a one of the difficult conversations that need to be had. Rather than taking a top-down, conceptual approach, attempting to reshape a nation’s identity by tackling the project head-on, we suggest it is more fruitful to ask how to appropriately balance the specific and conflicting concerns of citizens with different belief systems, traditions and practices within a pluralistic framework through a bottom-up approach, engaging with citizens at a local level on matters of particular controversy.
Invest in infrastructure and services
Across the political spectrum, an economic case has been made for European economies to invest more in infrastructure. There is also a social and political case. We have explored how in France, reluctant radicals tend to be located in rural areas, where pressure on public services has increased. Stronger transport links and improved community centres, for instance, could help to prevent the social exclusion of the French reluctant radicals. The issue is also relevant across Europe where, in many places, housing pressures are driving people to live in over crowded neighbourhoods (thereby creating pressures on services) or further and further afield (thereby creating the sense of disconnection and abandonment we identified in France). Public services – and the egalitarian commitment they represent – are one of the hallmarks of European polities and of the European space. Vacating (literally) this space is an opportunity for RPPs.
A renewed engagement with Europe
Much of the disdain towards political institutions from RPPs is currently being directed at the EU. In Finland, distrust in the EU appears to fuel reluctant radicalism, while the September 2012 Dutch elections are largely being fought as a referendum on Europe. As for British Eurosceptics, they seem to be drawn to be reluctant supporters of UKIP and the BNP. Clarifying and outlining the benefits and burdens, the opportunities and challenges, of EU membership, and making a renewed case for the importance of an accountable and transparent European Union, could help to quell some of the suspicion directed towards it.
In this pamphlet, we have confronted some of the common assumptions about right-wing populism: that it is currently on the rise; that it is dominated by impoverished young men; and that it is not the reluctant radicals but the committed core of RPP supporters who pose the real threat. The main aim of this pamphlet has been to refocus concern about right-wing populism onto the reluctant radicals. For our part in this challenge, we are developing three public consultations in communities with high numbers of reluctant radicals to explore their political grievances. We are also commissioning expert-written pamphlets in ten European countries to gain a richer understanding of the emergence of right-wing populism within the appropriate cultural context. We hope that we have done enough for others to agree that the focus on Europe’s reluctant radicals is warranted.
Annexe:
Methodology
As explained in earlier chapters, for each dataset we used, we divided respondents into four categories: committed radicals, reluctant radicals, potential radicals and the mainstream. We used broadly the same approach for each dataset.
For the European Social Survey, we pooled data from the five rounds to run the logistic regressions and used data from round 5 for the contingency tables. We included in our regression analysis only those rounds where people voted for RPPs. This meant excluding rounds 1 and 2 for Hungary, rounds 1 to 3 for the Netherlands, and rounds 1 to 4 for Sweden. We also excluded rounds 1 to 4 for Finland and rounds 1 and 2 for France due to the education level variable for these rounds not being harmonised.
When using contingency tables, we applied a design weight. In each round of the European Social Survey, we defined RPP voters as those who answered the question ‘Some people don’t vote nowadays for one reason or another. Did you vote in the last [country] national election in [month/year]?’ by giving the name of an RPP. We defined committed radicals as RPP voters who answered the questions ‘Is there a particular political party you feel closer to than all the other parties?’ and ‘How close do you feel to this party? Do you feel that you are…?’ by giving the name of an RPP and saying they were quite close or very close to it. For this part of the analysis, RPPs include the following parties: Die Republikaner, the National Democratic Party, the German People’s Union, the Danish People’s Party, the True Finns, the Front National, the Mouvement National Républicain, Jobbik, MIÉP, PVV (List Wilders), the Norwegian Progress Party and the Sweden Democrats.
We defined potential radicals by taking the average score on a 1–4 scale of the answers to the questions ‘Now, using this card, to what extent do you think [country] should allow people of the same race or ethnic group as most [country] people to come and live here?’, ‘How about people of a different race or ethnic group from most [country] people?’ and ‘How about people from the poorer countries outside Europe?’ Respondents with stronger anti-immigration views received higher scores. Respondents who had scores of higher than 3 on this measure and who were not RPP voters were included within the potential radical category.
For the British Election Study 2010, we defined BNP / UKIP voters as those who answered ‘BNP’ / ‘UKIP’ to the question ‘Which party did you vote for in the General Election?’ We defined committed BNP / UKIP radicals as BNP / UKIP voters who answered ‘BNP’ / ‘UKIP’ to either the question ‘Generally speaking, do you think of yourself as Labour, Conservative, Liberal Democrat or what?’ or ‘Do you generally think of yourself as a little closer to one of the parties than the others? Please say here which party this is.’ and who answered ‘very strongly’ or ‘fairly strongly’ to the question ‘Would you call yourself very strong, fairly strong, or not very strong?’ BNP and UKIP supporters were defined separately rather than aggregated together, owing to the different natures of the two parties.
We defined potential radicals as those non-BNP / UKIP voters who said they were ‘afraid’ when asked ‘Which, if any, of the following words describe your feelings about immigration?’ (Respondents could tick up to four options out of ‘angry’, ‘happy’, ‘disgusted’, ‘hopeful’, ‘uneasy’, ‘confident’, ‘afraid’ or ‘proud’.) We weighted the data by the standard weight variable for the full sample.
For the ITANES 2008, we defined Lega Nord voters as those who answered ‘Lega Nord’ to the question ‘Mi può dire per quale partito ha votato alla Camera?’ We defined committed radicals as Lega Nord voters who answered ‘Si’ to the question ‘C’è un partito politico al quale Lei si sente più vicino rispetto agli altri?’ followed by ‘Abbastanza vicino’ or ‘Molto vicino’ to the question ‘Rispe
tto a questo partito, Lei si sente:’ and ‘Lega Nord’ to the question ‘Può indicare qual è questo partito?’
We defined potential radicals by taking the average score on a 1–4 scale of the answers to the two questions ‘Le leggerò ora alcune affermazioni su politica ed economia che vengono fatte correntemente. Mi dica per ognuna se lei è per niente, poco, abbastanza o molto d’accordo. Gli immigrati sono un pericolo per la nostra cultura’ and ‘Gli immigrati sono un pericolo per l’occupazione (si intende l’occupazione degli italiani.)’ Respondents with stronger anti-immigration views received higher scores. Respondents who had scores of higher than 3 on this measure and who were not Lega Nord voters were included within the potential radical category. We included only respondents from the North-West, the North-East and ‘la Zona Rossa’ in the analysis.
For the PEF 2012, we defined Front National voters as those who answered ‘Marine Le Pen’ to the question ‘Pour quel candidat avez-vous voté?’ [referring to the first round of the 2012 presidential election]. We defined committed radicals as Front National voters who answered ‘Très proche’ or ‘Assez proche’ to the question ‘Diriez-vous que vous êtes habituellement… d’un parti politique en particulier?’ and ‘Front National’ to the question ‘Voici une liste de partis ou de mouvements politiques. Duquel vous sentez-vous le plus proche ou disons le moins éloigné?’
We defined potential radicals by taking the average score on a 1–4 scale of the answers to the four questions ‘Voici maintenant une liste de phrases. Pour chacune d’elles vous me direz si vous êtes tout à fait, plutôt, plutôt pas ou pas d’accord du tout? Il faudrait rétablir la peine de mort. Il y a trop d’immigrés en France. On ne se sent en sécurité nulle part’ and ‘Voici maintenant une liste de propositions. Pour chacune d’elles, vous me direz si vous êtes tout à fait d’accord, plutôt d’accord, plutôt pas d’accord ou pas d’accord du tout? L’abandon de l’euro.’ The lower the score, the more the respondent’s views fell in line with the Front National’s ideas. Respondents who had scores of lower than 2 on this measure and who were not Front National voters were included within the potential radical category. Data was weighted by a socio-demographic and political weight.
For the Dutch Parliamentary Election Study 2010, we defined PVV voters as those who answered ‘Partij voor de Vrijheid (Geert Wilders)’ to the question ‘Op welke partij hebt u gestemd?’ We defined committed radicals as PVV voters who answered ‘Ja’ to either ‘Vindt u zichzelf aanhanger van een bepaalde politieke partij?’ or ‘Voelt u zich meer aangetrokken tot één van de politieke partijen dan tot andere?’ and then answered ‘Partij voor de Vrijheid (Geert Wilders)’ to either the question ‘Van welke politieke partij bent u een aanhanger?’ or ‘Tot welke partij voelt u zich aangetrokken?’ We defined potential radicals as respondents who are not PVV voters but who gave the same response on a 7-point scale to the questions ‘In Nederland vinden sommigen dat allochtonen hier moeten kunnen leven met behoud van de eigen cultuur. Anderen vinden dat zij zich geheel moeten aanpassen aan de Nederlandse cultuur. Waar zou u het [PVV] plaatsen op een lijn van 1 tot en met 7, waarbij de 1 behoud van eigen cultuur voor allochtonen betekent en de 7 dat zij zich geheel moeten aanpassen? En hoe zou u uzelf op die lijn plaatsen?’ Data was weighted by a socio-demographic weight.
For the Finnish National Election Study 2011, we defined True Finns voters as those who answered ‘True Finns’ to the question ‘The candidate of which party (or political group) did you vote for in these parliamentary elections?’ We defined committed radicals as True Finns voters who answered ‘True Finns’ to the question ‘Which party do you feel closest to?’ and ‘very close’ or ‘somewhat close’ to the question ‘Do you feel very close to this party, somewhat close, or not very close?’
We defined potential radicals slightly differently to the other cases. We included non-voters who answered ‘True Finns’ to the question ‘If you had voted, the candidate of which party would you have voted for?’ (Multiple mentions were allowed.) We also included voters who answered ‘Yes’ to the question ‘Did you consider voting for a candidate of any other party or group?’ and ‘True Finns’ to the question ‘Which party/parties or group(s)?’ (Multiple mentions were allowed.)
For each of the surveys we used, we defined reluctant radicals as RPP voters who were not committed radicals.
When analysing the contingency tables, we applied chi-square tests and looked for standardised adjusted residuals with absolute values greater than 2 to test for associations. We used unweighted data when running the logistic regressions. Full details of the cross-tabulations and the logistic regressions – including full specifications of the models used – will be posted on our website.84
The following table gives the sample sizes for each survey.
Sample sizes across datasets