In political and public affairs analysis, the resurgence of the far right is often framed as a fractured viewpoint — an unforeseen force with the intent of sabotage that has emerged in response to the crisis at hand. Some would call it the cry for help, much like the replacement of a blunt bent blade with a fresh sword on the battlefield.
Yet this angle is deceptive. The far right has not ignited — it has built up. What we are witnessing is not the beginning of something new, but the consequence of something long ignored.
The real concern is not radicalisation in its most visible, violent forms, but the subtle normalisation of far-right ideology within mainstream discourse. It is here — in the gradual disintegration of limits between the acceptable and the extreme — that the most significant political shift is taking place.
A threat hiding in plain sight
In the UK, the most active extremist threat is no longer ambiguous. It is the extreme right. More noticeable, however, is who is being sucked into the wave of disinformation.
Recent arrest and crime data indicates that 95% of youth charged with counterterrorism offences are linked to extreme-right ideologies. In 2021 alone, 19 out of 20 young people detained for terrorism-related crimes were associated with far-right beliefs.
This proves that this is a multigenerational issue. As a result, it challenges society’s assumptions about extremism. Radicalisation is no longer confined to isolated individuals or marginalised subcultures. It is increasingly embedded on online platforms that young people use daily. Social media platforms, messaging apps and video-sharing sites have become powerhouses for extreme views to be spread and the mobilisation of a community all agreeing with one outlook.
The riots following the Southport stabbing in August 2024 illustrated this motion with a frightening clarity. Information spread rapidly across platforms, protests were coordinated through messaging apps and events were livestreamed in real time. Within these networks, calls for violence were not tucked away — they were crystal clear.
This is not the rhetoric of bigotry struggling for visibility. It is the rhetoric of a movement that feels increasingly unrestricted and not censored.
The broader picture
To understand this shift, it is crucial that we move beyond the concept of extremism as a distinct category. The far right today operates less as a distinct entity and more like a continuous line — ranging from explicitly fascist organisations to sections of traditional political parties.
The reminiscence of fascism, the Holocaust and the global struggle for civil rights made overt distinctions between races hazardous for politics. But over time, the limitation is no longer as severe. In its place, nativism has evolved as a more flexible ideological framework.
Contemporary far-right rhetoric often frames its arguments in terms of culture, identity and belonging. The claim is not overt racial superiority, but existential threat — the idea that a “native” population is being undermined by external forces, whether migrants, minorities or global institutions.
This shift has allowed far-right ideas to move more easily into the common terminology expressed by the public. Cultural arguments are more flavoursome than racial ones; they are easier to defend, easier to disguise and easier to circulate.
The politics behind normalisation
The mainstreaming of these objectives has not occurred in isolation. It has been facilitated, in part, by the strategic decisions made by well-known political figures.
Middle ground parties, facing electoral pressure, have increasingly adopted elements of far-right rhetoric and agendas — particularly on immigration and national identity. This has created what some call a feedback loop: policies and language once considered extreme are validated by recurrence, while far-right actors are, in turn, able to present themselves as part of a broader political consensus.
This process is visible in the rise of political formations such as Reform UK. By positioning itself in opposition to both Conservatives and Labour, Reform has not only disturbed the traditional two-party system but has also reshaped the political scope itself. Drawing heavily from former Conservative voters while leaning into traditionally Labour-held, “left-behind” and working class communities in the north, the party reflects a deeper realignment — one rooted in disillusionment, identity and perceived political abandonment.
Its success is not simply electoral. Immigration, national sovereignty and cultural preservation have moved from secondary difficulties to central organising principles of political debate.
As Nigel Farage has argued, “If you take away people’s identity and their ability through the ballot box to determine their future, don’t be surprised if they turn to extremes”. Whether one agrees with this framing or not, it captures a sentiment that has proven politically potent — and one that far-right movements have been particularly effective at exploiting.
Digital environments and the foundation of belief
If mainstream politics has enabled the normalisation of far-right ideas, the internet has certainly accelerated it.
Online environments do not simply spread ideology; they reshape how it is stumbled across by its viewers. Extremist content is no longer confined to overt propaganda. Increasingly, it is embedded within humour, irony and ambiguity — what some researchers describe as “memes for the masses”. These forms are deliberately designed to soften our attitude and response to it, allowing individuals to engage with radical ideas without immediately recognising them as such.
The overlap between conspiracism and far-right extremism further complicates this landscape. Narratives that gained attention during the COVID-19 pandemic — centred on distrust of institutions, elites and systemic betrayal — have proven highly adaptable. They have drifted into alternative settings, often aligning with anti-immigrant, anti-democratic and nationalist frameworks.
A BBC survey found that nearly two-thirds of individuals involved in conspiracy-driven protests believe violence can be justified. The implication is clear: systems of belief that begin as scepticism can evolve into justification for action.
The boundary between online rhetoric and offline behaviour is slowly widening.
Targets, narratives and social consequences
In the UK, Muslim communities accounted for 42% of religiously motivated hate crimes in 2021–2022, while nearly 90% of mosques reported experiencing some form of hate crime within a year. These figures are therefore indicators of a broader climate in which hostility is becoming normalised.
Anti-immigrant renderings, often framed through slogans such as #EnoughIsEnough, are progressively, one step at a time, intertwined with claims about the decline of Western society and the failure of multiculturalism. These stories do more than express dissatisfaction — they construct a view in which exclusion appears not only justified but necessary.
When former prime minister Boris Johnson described Muslim women wearing the burqa as “letterboxes”, the backlash was immediate — but so too was a documented increase in Islamophobic abuse. Language matters not simply because of what it says, but because of what it permits.
From margins to a mass movement
Figures such as Tommy Robinson exemplify this dynamic. By distancing themselves from overtly discredited symbols of fascism while retaining its core ideological structures — particularly through a focus on Islamophobia — such individuals have been able to mobilise support at a scale that earlier movements could not.
The large-scale demonstrations seen in recent years, including record-breaking marches in London, reflect not just organisational capability as well as a more general change in public acceptance. Participation in such events is no longer confined to a marginal few; it spans demographics, ages and social backgrounds.
Fascism, as an ideology, does not require universal acceptance. For it to function with little opposition, there must be sufficient acceptance — or apathy.
The cost of inattention
The rise of the far right is often described in terms of crisis, but crisis implies disruption. What we are witnessing is something more subtle — continuity.
The warning signs have been present for years — in shifting rhetoric, in changing media narratives, in the progressive convergence of extremist and mainstream viewpoints. The problem is not that these signs were out of sight, but that they were dismissed and deprioritised.
This is why it’s important to distinguish between radicalism and normalisation. Radicalisation gestures toward the extreme. Normalisation suggests that the extreme is no longer perceived as such.
The far right has not simply grown; it has adapted — embedding itself within politics, social media and everyday conversations. It has learned to speak the language of democracy while promoting beliefs that are inherently undemocratic.
The challenge, then, is not only to confront extremism where it is most visible, but to recognise it where it is most tenuous.
