Why Right-Wing Populism is Dangerous and Divisive
Flags, Scapegoats, and the Road to Extremism
Introduction
Right-wing populism has become one of the defining political currents of our time. Across Europe, North America, and beyond, figures once regarded as fringe agitators now dominate headlines, shape public debate, and in some cases win real political power. Whether in the guise of Nigel Farage in Britain, Donald Trump in the United States, or Marine Le Pen in France, the formula is strikingly familiar: appeal to “the people,” rail against “the elites,” claim to speak uncomfortable truths that others fear to utter, and direct anger towards minorities cast as threats to the nation.
On the surface, right-wing populism presents itself as a democratic renewal — a chance for ordinary people to push back against remote institutions and arrogant politicians. But beneath that surface lies something corrosive. It thrives on division, pits communities against each other, and reduces complex issues to simplistic slogans. Its leaders cultivate outrage, then feed on it, amplifying mistrust until it undermines the very foundations of pluralist democracy.
This danger is especially visible in Britain today. The unlikely alignment of figures such as Kellie-Jay Keen (better known as Posie Parker), whose activism is focused on opposing transgender rights, and Tommy Robinson, the anti-Islam campaigner and founder of the English Defence League, raises an obvious question: what brings these seemingly different crusaders together? The answer lies in the nature of right-wing populism itself. It creates a broad but brittle coalition of grievance, where disparate anxieties about gender, race, immigration, and religion are drawn into a common cause against liberalism and equality.
Recent marches in London, where demonstrators carried not only the St George’s Cross and the Union Jack but also the Israeli flag, bring these contradictions into sharp relief. St George himself, after all, was a Palestinian. Israel is not the UK. Yet the symbolism reveals the opportunistic way populist movements assemble imagery to suit their narratives. National identity, cultural anxiety, and geopolitical conflict are folded together into a story of embattled “Western civilisation” under siege.
This article argues that right-wing populism is dangerous precisely because of its divisiveness. It mobilises grievances into hostility, undermines democracy in the name of protecting it, and normalises extremism by presenting it as common sense. By tracing the logic that brings Posie Parker together with Tommy Robinson, and by unpacking the symbolism of the flags flown at London marches, we can see how the culture war becomes a unifying language for a fractured movement.
Populism vs. Democracy
Populism is often described as a style of politics rather than an ideology. Unlike socialism, liberalism, or conservatism, it does not offer a coherent set of policies. Instead, it is defined by its rhetoric: the claim to represent “the people” against “the elite.”
At first glance this can sound democratic — isn’t democracy about giving power to the people? Yet the danger lies in how populists define who counts as “the people.” In right-wing populism, “the people” usually means an imagined majority: white, native-born, heterosexual, Christian. Those who fall outside this category — immigrants, Muslims, trans people, refugees — are portrayed not as citizens with equal rights but as threats or parasites.
This exclusionary definition erodes the very idea of democracy as pluralism. Instead of a society where diverse groups negotiate their differences, populism reduces politics to a moral battle between “real people” and their enemies. Once that logic takes hold, it becomes easy to dismiss critics, delegitimise institutions, and trample minority rights in the name of defending the nation.
The Culture War Engine
Right-wing populism thrives on culture war. Issues of gender identity, immigration, and religion are turned into flashpoints where anger can be manufactured and channelled. Rather than debating material solutions — how to improve wages, fix the housing crisis, or fund the NHS — populist leaders focus on identity.
Consider Posie Parker’s relentless campaign against transgender rights. Her language frames trans women not as citizens with rights but as intruders into women’s spaces. Meanwhile, Tommy Robinson rails against Muslims, portraying them as incompatible with British values. At first glance these are different crusades, but they share the same structure: draw a boundary around the “real people,” then declare a minority group as a threat to be resisted.
Culture war politics are powerful because they simplify complex realities. Immigration becomes a question of “us” versus “them.” Gender identity is reduced to “men invading women’s spaces.” The nuance of social science, economics, or lived experience is swept aside in favour of moral panic. This not only divides society but also distracts from genuine social problems that populists have no interest in solving.
Media Amplification
None of this would be possible without media amplification. Figures like Katie Hopkins built their careers through tabloid shock columns, where outrageous statements guaranteed clicks and headlines. Posie Parker livestreams her events to international audiences, ensuring that every confrontation can be clipped, shared, and monetised. Tommy Robinson, banned from mainstream platforms, now uses Telegram and alternative media to reach his followers directly.
The media ecosystem of populism thrives on outrage. Every protest, counter-protest, or online row is presented as proof that “the people” are under attack and that free speech is being silenced. In this way, the very act of being criticised becomes fuel for the cause. The more divisive the rhetoric, the more attention it generates, and the stronger the movement grows.
Strange Bedfellows: Why Anti-Trans Campaigners and Far-Right Nationalists Align
At first glance, Kellie-Jay Keen (Posie Parker) and Tommy Robinson might appear to have little in common. One focuses almost exclusively on campaigning against trans rights, the other is best known for organising anti-Islam demonstrations and building the English Defence League. Their audiences do not fully overlap, and their personal political priorities diverge. Yet in recent years they have increasingly appeared in similar spaces, their followers marching under the same banners, their rhetoric echoing one another.
Why do such seemingly different campaigns find themselves aligned? The answer lies in the underlying logic of right-wing populism. Both movements thrive on grievance politics. Both rely on the language of victimhood, claiming that ordinary people are being silenced by elites. Both weaponise fear of social change, constructing minorities as existential threats to the nation.
Shared Enemies, Different Priorities
The most obvious glue binding these figures is their opposition to progressive social movements. Posie Parker’s central narrative is that women’s rights are under threat from “gender ideology.” She argues that trans women are men invading women’s spaces, and that legal recognition of trans identities undermines safety and fairness. While this position is framed as feminist, its logic dovetails neatly with broader conservative narratives about the dangers of social liberalism.
Tommy Robinson, meanwhile, has built his identity around hostility to Islam and immigration. For him, the threat comes not from trans rights but from Muslim communities, which he paints as violent, misogynistic, and fundamentally incompatible with “British values.”
What unites these otherwise different agendas is the construction of an external enemy — a group that can be blamed for social unease. Whether it is “trans activists” or “Muslim migrants,” both become symbols of a society supposedly spinning out of control. This common structure allows campaigns with different content to march side by side.
“Free Speech” as a Rallying Cry
Another binding factor is the rhetoric of free speech. Both anti-trans campaigners and far-right nationalists insist that they are being silenced by elites, whether by the government, universities, mainstream media, or “woke mobs” online.
This creates a shared sense of persecution. Posie Parker casts herself as a lone truth-teller daring to speak about biology in a culture dominated by “trans ideology.” Tommy Robinson insists he is censored because he dares to tell the truth about Islam. When critics push back, or when social media companies enforce content rules, both interpret this not as accountability but as evidence of conspiracy.
The cry of “free speech” thus becomes a rallying point across different factions. It allows anti-trans activists to link arms with anti-immigrant activists on the basis that both are “silenced.” It transforms criticism into validation: the more opposition they face, the more convinced their followers become that they are speaking forbidden truths.
Gender, Race, Nation as Interconnected Battles
Right-wing populism is not simply a collection of single-issue campaigns. It is a worldview in which anxieties about gender, race, and nation are interconnected.
Anti-feminist rhetoric has long been a staple of far-right movements. Authoritarian and reactionary currents often position themselves as defenders of “traditional family values” against the destabilising forces of modernity. From this perspective, trans rights appear not as a separate debate but as part of a wider erosion of gender norms.
Similarly, hostility to immigrants and Muslims often overlaps with hostility to LGBTQ+ rights. Even when movements superficially defend women or gays (for instance, Robinson’s claim that Islam is a threat to women’s safety), this defence is opportunistic. The real aim is not to champion equality but to weaponise gender issues against minorities.
Thus, when Posie Parker declares that trans rights are a danger to women, and Robinson declares that Islam is a danger to women, the narratives slot together. Both rely on a picture of the nation as under siege, of elites betraying ordinary people, and of minorities gaining dangerous privileges.
International Echoes
This alignment is not unique to Britain. Across the world, right-wing populist movements are drawing together disparate grievances into a common front.
In the United States, Christian conservatives who oppose abortion have found common cause with secular nationalist groups hostile to immigration. In Brazil, Jair Bolsonaro blended evangelical opposition to “gender ideology” with militaristic nationalism. In Hungary, Viktor Orbán has targeted both migrants and LGBTQ+ people as threats to “Hungarian culture.”
The lesson is clear: once culture war politics become the main currency, different grievances can be packaged together. Whether the immediate target is Muslims, trans people, or refugees, the underlying appeal is the same — a promise to defend “real people” from outsiders and elites.
The Role of Conspiracy Thinking
A further factor connecting these movements is their reliance on conspiracy theories. Both anti-trans activists and far-right nationalists often claim that hidden forces are driving social change.
For Posie Parker, it is “gender ideology” promoted by shadowy elites, big corporations, and international NGOs. For Tommy Robinson, it is political correctness and multiculturalism imposed by liberal elites and globalist interests. In both cases, ordinary people are presented as victims of a plot orchestrated from above.
This conspiratorial framing allows otherwise unrelated issues to be connected. If trans rights, immigration, and multiculturalism are all part of a single elite-driven agenda, then opposing one means opposing all. The conspiracy lens turns scattered grievances into a unified worldview.
A Coalition of Fear
Ultimately, the alignment of figures like Parker and Robinson demonstrates the coalition-building capacity of right-wing populism. It does not require deep ideological coherence. It does not need its leaders to agree on everything. What it needs is a shared language of fear: fear of social change, fear of minorities, fear of elites.
This coalition is brittle — its different wings often quarrel, and its contradictions are glaring. But in the short term it can be powerful, mobilising large crowds, dominating headlines, and shifting the political conversation. By marching side by side, anti-trans campaigners and far-right nationalists lend each other legitimacy. They demonstrate that culture war grievances can be pooled into a single movement, even if the targets differ.
Symbols and Flags: St George, Union Jack, and Israel
One of the most striking aspects of recent far-right and populist marches in Britain has been the display of flags. Flags are never neutral: they carry stories, histories, and contested meanings. On demonstrations organised or supported by Britain First and similar groups, three flags stand out — the St George’s Cross, the Union Jack, and, more surprisingly, the Israeli flag. Taken together, they reveal much about the contradictions and opportunism of right-wing populist symbolism.
The St George’s Cross
The red cross on a white background, the flag of St George, has long been associated with English nationalism. Historically the emblem of England’s patron saint, it became prominent in the Middle Ages as part of the Crusader tradition. In more recent decades, it has been reclaimed at times as a symbol of English sport, most visibly during football tournaments when it flies from cars and pubs.
But the St George’s Cross also carries a darker resonance. From the 1970s onwards, far-right groups such as the National Front began using it as a banner of exclusionary nationalism. By the 1990s and 2000s, it was common to see the St George’s Cross at English Defence League marches and other far-right gatherings. For many, the flag came to represent not inclusive pride in England but aggressive hostility to immigrants, Muslims, and anyone seen as “un-English.”
The irony, of course, is that St George himself was not English at all. Historical accounts place him as a soldier of Greek and Palestinian heritage, born in Cappadocia (modern-day Turkey) and martyred in Lydda, in modern-day Israel/Palestine. In other words, England’s patron saint was Middle Eastern. Yet for the far right, this inconvenient detail is ignored. The flag becomes an empty vessel into which fantasies of racial purity and national identity can be poured.
The Union Jack
If the St George’s Cross speaks to Englishness, the Union Jack represents Britishness — the union of England, Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland under a single state. It is one of the most recognisable national flags in the world, associated with everything from empire to punk rebellion.
For right-wing populists, the Union Jack is deployed as a symbol of unity under threat. Its presence on marches is meant to signal a common cause: defending Britain as a whole from external enemies and internal subversives. Yet the irony here too is palpable. In Scotland and Northern Ireland, the Union Jack is deeply contested, often associated with domination rather than unity. Among Welsh nationalists, it is hardly a source of pride.
Moreover, for movements such as Britain First, the Union Jack is stripped of its complex history and turned into a blunt weapon. It is waved as a shorthand for “we are the real British,” implicitly excluding migrants, Muslims, and anyone who does not conform to their vision of national identity. In this sense, the Union Jack functions much like the St George’s Cross: a symbol of belonging that simultaneously marks out who does not belong.
The Israeli Flag
The presence of the Israeli flag at far-right marches in Britain is more puzzling. After all, Britain First and similar groups are not Zionist organisations. Many of their members have historically indulged in antisemitic tropes about global conspiracies. Why, then, would they wave the blue Star of David alongside their English and British flags?
The answer lies in Islamophobia. For the far right, Israel is increasingly imagined as a frontline state in the supposed “clash of civilisations” between the West and Islam. By waving the Israeli flag, marchers signal solidarity with what they see as a common struggle against Muslims. Israel is rebranded not as a foreign country with its own complex politics, but as an outpost of “Western values” standing firm against Islam.
There is also a cynical dimension. By displaying the Israeli flag, groups like Britain First attempt to inoculate themselves against accusations of antisemitism. “How can we be antisemitic,” they ask, “when we are waving Israel’s flag?” Yet this is a hollow gesture. The same networks that champion Israel on the streets of London often circulate antisemitic conspiracy theories online, blaming “globalist elites” or “Soros” for social change. Support for Israel in this context is instrumental, not genuine.
Contradictions and Ironies
The combination of these three flags reveals the opportunism of right-wing populist symbolism.
St George’s Cross: a Middle Eastern saint transformed into an icon of English racial purity.
Union Jack: a symbol of contested British unity used to divide between “real” and “fake” Britons.
Israeli flag: adopted not out of solidarity with Jews but as a weapon in an anti-Muslim culture war.
The contradictions are glaring. Those waving the St George’s Cross often have little knowledge of St George’s actual heritage. Those waving the Union Jack often oppose the multicultural reality of Britain it supposedly represents. Those waving the Israeli flag often indulge in antisemitism behind the scenes. Yet contradictions do not weaken populist symbolism. They strengthen it, because what matters is not coherence but emotional impact.
The Power of Symbolism in Populism
Flags serve several functions in populist movements:
Visibility: They make marches more photogenic, ensuring that the media captures a striking image.
Unity: They provide a simple visual shorthand for belonging, allowing diverse grievances to be bundled together under shared symbols.
Provocation: They are designed to anger opponents. A Muslim observer may feel deliberately targeted by the waving of Israeli flags; an anti-fascist observer may be angered by the appropriation of national symbols. This anger then becomes part of the populist narrative: “look how the elites hate our flags.”
In this way, the flags become tools of mobilisation. Their contradictions do not matter; indeed, they are part of the spectacle. The very absurdity of St George’s Cross, Union Jack, and Israeli flag flying together is proof of how right-wing populism assembles disparate threads into a single story of embattled nationalism.
The Broader Narrative
The symbolism of these flags also connects British populism to a wider global narrative. Across Europe and North America, far-right movements increasingly portray themselves as defenders of “Western civilisation” against Islam, liberalism, and multiculturalism. Support for Israel is part of this narrative, as is the elevation of Christian heritage (however mythologised).
The danger is that such symbolism normalises exclusion. To wave the Union Jack or St George’s Cross at a football match is one thing; to wave it at a Britain First rally is another. In the latter context, the flag becomes not a celebration of identity but a weapon of division. It sends the message: “we own this nation, you do not.”
Why This Is Dangerous
The previous sections have shown how right-wing populism constructs enemies, builds strange coalitions, and uses symbols to unify disparate grievances. But it is worth pausing to ask directly: why is this so dangerous? After all, aren’t these just people expressing political opinions, as happens in any democracy? Isn’t free expression part of the deal?
The danger lies in the way right-wing populism reshapes society. It divides communities, corrodes democratic institutions, and normalises extremism under the banner of common sense.
Division in Society
At its heart, right-wing populism is divisive. Its success depends on drawing lines between “us” and “them,” between “the real people” and their supposed enemies. This division is not a side-effect but the main engine.
When Posie Parker declares that trans women are a danger to women, she is not merely making a statement about policy. She is pitting two groups of citizens against each other, implying that one must lose for the other to be safe. When Tommy Robinson declares that Muslims cannot integrate into Britain, he is not simply criticising a religion; he is casting an entire minority as foreign and threatening.
The consequences of this rhetoric are tangible. Hate crime statistics in the UK show spikes after populist campaigns and controversies. After the Brexit referendum in 2016, police recorded a sharp increase in racist incidents. Similarly, trans people report rising harassment in public spaces, fuelled by hostile media coverage and activist rhetoric.
Division also corrodes everyday life. Neighbours become suspicious of each other. Schools become battlegrounds over curriculum content. Online communities fracture into echo chambers. What begins as political theatre trickles into daily interactions, breeding mistrust and resentment.
Undermining Democracy
Right-wing populists often claim to be defending democracy against remote elites. Yet their methods systematically undermine democratic institutions.
One tactic is to delegitimise independent bodies. Judges who rule against populist causes are denounced as “enemies of the people.” Journalists who investigate populist figures are smeared as corrupt or treasonous. Universities that promote diversity are portrayed as indoctrination centres. The effect is to erode trust in any institution that provides a check on populist power.
Another tactic is to reduce democracy to majoritarianism. If democracy means only “the will of the people,” then minority rights become expendable. Why should the concerns of Muslims, migrants, or trans people matter if they are not part of “the real people”? This shift hollows out democracy, transforming it from a system of pluralism into a tool for domination.
A further danger is authoritarian drift. Once populists convince their followers that institutions are corrupt and minorities are dangerous, they can justify extraordinary measures. Calls to ban Muslim immigration, restrict trans healthcare, or muzzle the press are framed not as assaults on freedom but as necessary protections. Step by step, democratic norms are weakened in the name of saving democracy itself.
Normalisation of Extremism
Perhaps the most insidious danger of right-wing populism is the way it normalises extremism. Views once confined to fringe groups enter mainstream debate, shifting the boundaries of what is considered acceptable.
Take, for instance, the rhetoric around Muslims in Britain. Twenty years ago, openly declaring that Islam is incompatible with British values would have been widely recognised as bigotry. Today, thanks to the amplification of figures like Robinson, such statements are common in political discourse. Similarly, the demonisation of trans people has moved from obscure online forums into national newspapers and parliamentary debates.
This process, sometimes called the “Overton window shift,” means that society gradually acclimatises to extremism. Each new shock pushes the boundary further. If Posie Parker can publicly accuse trans women of being predators, and Robinson can lead marches calling Muslims rapists, then ideas once taboo become everyday talking points. The result is not just a change in rhetoric but a change in policy: governments feel emboldened to pass restrictive laws because the public climate has shifted.
Exploiting Real Grievances
Another danger is that populism exploits genuine grievances without solving them. Many people who support right-wing populist causes do so out of real frustration — low wages, housing shortages, lack of access to healthcare, fear of crime. Populist leaders redirect this frustration towards scapegoats rather than addressing root causes.
Instead of tackling economic inequality, they blame migrants. Instead of fixing crumbling public services, they blame trans activists or Muslims. Instead of challenging corporate greed, they rail against “woke elites.” This deflection prevents meaningful solutions and entrenches cynicism. People remain angry and disillusioned, which only fuels the cycle of populism further.
International Implications
Finally, the dangers of right-wing populism are not confined within national borders. When populist movements gain traction in one country, they inspire and support movements elsewhere. Social media allows rhetoric to travel instantly across borders. Anti-trans talking points developed in the US quickly surface in Britain; anti-migrant narratives from Europe feed into UK debates.
This international network strengthens the far right. It creates a sense of momentum, a feeling that disparate struggles are part of a global uprising against liberalism. But it also deepens global division, undermines cooperation on pressing issues like climate change, and feeds instability.
The Bigger Picture
Right-wing populism does not exist in a vacuum. It emerges from broader social and economic conditions: inequality, insecurity, mistrust in institutions, and rapid cultural change. These conditions create fertile ground for demagogues who promise simple answers and direct people’s anger toward scapegoats.
The UK is no exception. The Brexit referendum demonstrated how populist rhetoric could harness frustrations with globalisation, economic decline, and political alienation. Since then, a steady drumbeat of culture war issues has filled the vacuum left by economic failure. Instead of offering housing reform, energy policy, or long-term industrial strategy, populist leaders focus on flags, gender, and migration.
Internationally, the pattern repeats. In Hungary, Viktor Orbán portrays himself as the defender of “Christian Europe” against both migrants and LGBTQ+ rights. In Italy, Giorgia Meloni deploys similar themes. In the United States, Donald Trump and his allies fuse anti-immigrant, anti-trans, and anti-Muslim rhetoric into a single populist crusade. The language may differ, but the structure is the same: define a “real people,” cast minorities as threats, claim elites are betraying the nation, and present yourself as the saviour.
Resisting the Slide
The challenge is that right-wing populism feeds on cynicism. The more people lose faith in politics, the easier it becomes for populists to sell scapegoats. Resisting this slide requires more than condemning extremism. It demands offering genuine hope: policies that address inequality, movements that rebuild solidarity, and narratives that celebrate pluralism rather than fear it.
It also requires vigilance about history. Extremism does not appear suddenly, fully formed. It grows step by step, normalised through rhetoric and symbols, tolerated in the name of free speech, excused as “just another opinion.” Recognising this trajectory is essential if we want to avoid repeating the darkest chapters of the past.
Conclusion: Lessons from History
When we look at figures like Posie Parker or Tommy Robinson, it is tempting to dismiss them as provocateurs — noisy but ultimately harmless. Yet history warns us against such complacency. The Nazi regime in Germany did not begin with gas chambers. It began with rhetoric that divided “real Germans” from Jews, Roma, communists, homosexuals, disabled people, and others. It began with marches, flags, and speeches that portrayed minorities as existential threats.
Step by step, this rhetoric hardened into policy: discriminatory laws, segregation, forced sterilisation. Step by step, society acclimatised to extremism, until atrocities that once seemed unthinkable became reality. By the time the world recognised the full horror — the Holocaust, in which six million Jews were murdered alongside millions of others deemed unfit for the “Aryan” state — it was too late.
Today’s right-wing populists are not identical to Hitler. But the logic they employ is alarmingly familiar:
Define an in-group and an out-group.
Blame minorities for social problems.
Portray elites as traitors to “the people.”
Use fear to justify authoritarian measures.
When Posie Parker frames trans women as predators, she echoes the logic of scapegoating used against homosexuals in the 1930s. When Tommy Robinson portrays Muslims as inherently incompatible with Britain, he mirrors the Nazi claim that Jews could never truly belong in Germany. When far-right marches wave flags and declare themselves defenders of civilisation, they reenact the theatre of authoritarian mobilisation.
The lesson is not that history repeats mechanically, but that it rhymes. Extremism grows in the cracks of fear and uncertainty. If left unchecked, today’s divisive populism could pave the way for tomorrow’s authoritarianism.
That is why it is vital to challenge these movements now — not only by exposing their contradictions and calling out their hate, but by addressing the social conditions that give them oxygen. Democracy depends on inclusion, solidarity, and respect for human dignity. To forget that lesson would be to dishonour the memory of those who perished under the last great wave of populist extremism.