Max Jeffery

NIGEL FARAGE'S BASTARDS by @emilylawford Two years ago, Connor Tomlinson, Charlie Downes and Harrison Pitt met Rupert Lowe at a private seminar organised by the late Peter Whittle, who ran the New Culture Forum, a right-wing think tank. Lowe gave a speech, arguing that they should still back Reform. He then sat for an hour with the young men, listening to their criticism of Farage. This was a multi-millionaire, Thatcherite, public-schooled farmer, giving an audience to young men with whom he had very little in common and about whose lives he knew nothing. “But he listened,” Tomlinson remembered, “and he just said, ‘Right, you know what lads, I’ll take all those criticisms on board. I think they’ll strengthen the party. You’re the exact kind of guys we want to get involved.’” Tomlinson thought Lowe was a man of principle, compared to other figures in Reform whom he saw as power-mad and dishonest. He found Reform’s increasingly campy vibe distasteful when the country was collapsing. “I went to a lot of caravan holidays as a kid, right? I know that there’s a place for it in British culture. But I don’t think when we’re staring down the gun barrel of complete national disaster, the Butlins and fireworks and Andrea Jenkyns singing in sequins is the way to go.” When Lowe was kicked out of Reform a few months later, Tomlinson was ready to follow him anywhere. “What Rupert Lowe realises,” Tomlinson said, “is there is a next generation of people who are essentially autodidacts, who haven’t been through the Eton, Oxbridge, Spad, MP, Lords pipeline that’s generated nothing but cowards and traitors.” Carl Benjamin told me he was certain that Restore would triumph eventually. “I’ve never been more convinced that essentially our victory is inevitable, as the horrors of multiculturalism become clear.” Yet as Restore kept eating into Reform’s vote share, people began to call for the right to unite. In early August, after Restore came fourth with 9 per cent in the Greater Manchester mayoral election, Lowe suggested his party and Reform “put our differences aside and cooperate for the good of the country”. He demanded a few things in return: mass deportation of illegal migrants “including women and children”, a referendum on the death penalty, and “the exclusion of former Tory ministers from any future cabinet”. Farage prevaricated, saying he was open to talks, but it quickly descended into a spat. Reform demanded Lowe get rid of Downes, citing concerns about “antisemitic and extreme racists at or near the top of the party”. Lowe refused to sack “a young Christian man”, and the deal fell apart. Tomlinson blamed the deal collapsing on Reform. “Interpersonally, I like Farage,” he said, “but also I’m just pissed off when he goes around calling my friends fascists.” He wasn’t surprised Lowe backed Downes: “Rupert stands by his men.” Yet there is another reason Lowe did not agree to the demands. Had he accepted, many of his supporters would have followed Downes and other young influencers to whatever new venture they decided to back. Lowe is not all that different from Farage. Both are wealthy, public-school boomers (69 and 62, respectively) and Tory supporters who are instinctively pro-Thatcher, pro-markets and anti-immigration. Yet the young men who once clung to Farage are from a different world: radicalised by the internet, the job market, the diversifying and declining high street. They are fiscally apathetic and culturally extreme. Think of them as the new, new right. Over the past six months, I’ve spoken to dozens of these men. (Although there are a few high-profile female provocateurs, this world is overwhelmingly male.) They dress formally and call each other “patriot” the same way a leftist might say “comrade”. Their references span the Old Testament, Marcus Aurelius and the video game Skyrim. They have a trollish streak, but many are Christian and morally serious; they advocate marriage and fret about degeneracy. And they are transforming politics in this country. Cover art by Nate Kitch