The establishment often warns of a rising threat from the so-called “far right.” Increasingly, the term has become something of a catch-all for anything that deviates from progressive orthodoxy. By today’s standard, your grandparents would qualify as “far right.” But its broad and excessive use has drained the term of any real or consistent meaning. Now, it often amounts to little more than a synonym for views the Left finds politically inconvenient.
The term is also frequently used to describe a genuine and growing phenomenon across the Western world. We are witnessing a renewed emphasis on national borders, cultural continuity, and the right of a people to remain a majority in their own homeland. Of course, these impulses are invariably met with all the predictable accusations of “racism” and “Nazism,” as though the pursuit of identity and self-determination is laudable when undertaken by any other group, but extremism when expressed by people of European descent.
What the establishment refuses to acknowledge, however, is that this so-called “far right” has not emerged in a vacuum. It has been cultivated—if not deliberately, then inevitably—by the establishment itself. The surge in nationalist sentiment is largely reactionary. It is the predictable response to sweeping social, demographic, and economic policies imposed without consent, and often in disregard of both the expressed will of native populations and the consequences those policies impose upon them.
Across almost every Western nation, mass immigration has been pursued at a scale many citizens regard as destabilising. Housing shortages intensify, wages are pressured, public services are strained, and the cost-of-living crisis deepens. Alongside these comes a profound cultural shift; native populations are increasingly feeling like strangers in their own homelands. Many regard the experience not as enrichment but as displacement. And yet when concerns are raised about this, they are rarely met with serious debate. Instead, dissent is dismissed as “xenophobia,” and the “dissenter” is threatened with legal and social sanction.
In this environment, the so-called “far right” does not arise spontaneously or mysteriously. It emerges as a reaction to the perception, shared by millions, that native peoples are becoming strangers in their own countries. This natural impulse is not inherently expansionist or aggressive. It is, at its core, defensive. It is a response to the belief that one’s culture, continuity, and political voice are being steadily eroded without their consent.
When native populations are framed as obstacles to advancement, when their identity is mocked, their history reduced to their worst possible sins, and their demographic decline celebrated as progress, resistance becomes inevitable. When people are told, explicitly or implicitly, that what their ancestors built no longer belongs to them and that their children’s inheritance must be diluted and redistributed, the instinct to preserve follows as naturally as self-preservation itself. It is inevitable.
The problem is that the establishment’s response only intensifies the very forces it claims to oppose. By criminalising their speech, pathologising dissent, and treating concern about national continuity as extremism, it reinforces the sense of “siege.” Consequently, the political centre narrows, meaningful dialogue collapses, and ordinary citizens are left with a simple choice: be called a “racist” and acquiesce to gradual erasure, or be called a “racist” and resist it.
In this sense, the “far right” is less a cause than a consequence. It is not an alien force imposed from outside, but a predictable reaction produced by policies that ignore limits, suppress debate, and deny people the right to defend their own inheritance. If Western elites wish to confront the “far right,” they would do better to examine the conditions they have created, because, in many respects, the movement they fear is one of their own making.
