More than 20 of Nigel Farage’s former classmates have reportedly alleged the Reform UK leader made racist and antisemitic comments between the ages of 13 and 18.

The claims – some of which have been known for some time – are truly horrendous. They include allegedly taunting Jewish students, including telling one, “Hitler was right,” and singing, “Gas ‘em all.”

After a party spokesperson emphatically denied the accusations on his behalf, Farage has now dismissed the alleged comments as banter in a playground. Asked to categorically rule out that he had engaged in racial abuse, he said he “would never, ever do it in a hurtful or insulting way”. Or at least, “not with intent”, as he clarified once pushed further.

More recently, his position appeared to change again when he said, “I can tell you categorically that I did not say the things that have been published in the Guardian aged 13, nearly 50 years ago.”

However historic, reports of such behaviour – and Farage’s reaction – give us an insight into the leader of what I argue is now the UK’s main far-right party (more on that later). Anyone who has paid attention to Farage’s political career will not be surprised by the nature of the beliefs allegedly espoused.

Reform UK selected as head of its student organisation a former academic who argued that UK-born people from minority ethnic backgrounds were not always British. And when Reform MP Sarah Pochin came under fire for her complaints about adverts “full” of black and Asian people, Farage said he thought the “intention” behind her comments was “ugly”, but not “racist”.

Reform campaigners have been caught making homophobic and racist slurs. Councillors have resigned or candidates dropped from ballots for allegedly making offensive or racist comments. And of course, there is always the image of Farage with Ukip’s “breaking point” poster.

With the latest allegations, Farage appears to be taking an approach of plausible deniability: who is to know what he thought at the time?

This has been part of the reactionary playbook for decades. Public figures cross the line before denying intent or pretending they are “just asking questions”. This strategy allows them to make their ideas enter the mainstream public discourse, while facing few real risks of repercussion or accountability.

What really matters is seeing this episode as part of a wider political project. In other words, even if Farage had not acted like this as a teenager, would that mean the politics he has helped mainstream for decades are now acceptable?

Reactionary playbook

Recent history shows that focusing only on extreme actions at the expense of more subtle discourse can help, rather than hurt, right or far-right political projects.

Jean-Marie Le Pen, the former head of France’s far-right Front National and father of current far-right leader Marine Le Pen, was fined on a number of occasions for describing the Holocaust as a “detail of history”. These claims again should not have surprised us, considering his political trajectory and the simple fact the Front National was born out of a neo-fascist alliance.

Yet the outrage caused by Le Pen’s Holocaust denialism did not prevent the mainstreaming of his party or politics. He remained president of the FN until 2011 and an MEP until 2019. Crucially, it paved the way for his daughter to become a leader who could appear more moderate by comparison while espousing similar politics.

Legitimisation through contradistinction is a key chapter in the far-right playbook. Find an extreme example to make your political project appear moderate by comparison. Marine Le Pen benefited from this again in 2022 when the extremist campaign of Eric Zemmour made her seem like a palatable alternative.

Farage himself benefited from this in the 2010s by portraying the British National Party as beyond the pale, claiming even to have destroyed the far right in the UK. Of course, this flies in the face of the politics that Ukip, the Brexit Party and Reform have pushed since – but it has worked wonders in the mainstream media.

Thanks to his more affable persona, his own elite status and connections and his more polished discourse, Farage was able to portray himself as acceptable by comparison with the extreme right, thus shifting the dial right regarding what is acceptable in mainstream discourse.

Farage speaking in front of an American flag and CPAC background.
Farage onstage at the US Conservative Political Action Conference. Joshua Sukoff/Shutterstock

The threat cannot simply be resolved through individual introspection, apologies for crossing the line or indeed, the downplaying of deeply offensive speech as “banter”.

Even if Farage were to admit fault and apologise, this would not have the impact many hope. The cat is out of the bag: far-right views on immigration, Islam or trans rights are now core to mainstream public discourse and shaping the agenda, thanks in part to politicians like Farage.

Read more: Look to the mainstream to explain the rise of the far right

Far-right politicians have been incredibly successful at forcing their ideas into mainstream discourse under a thin veneer of respectability, or by hijacking potentially progressive or liberal values such as free speech or violence against women and girls to push deeply reactionary politics.

Though I and others argue that Reform fits the academic definition of “far right”, there is a tendency among mainstream politicians and media to take the party at its word or to back away from confrontation. Something of the sort happened with the BBC apology to Reform in 2024 for calling the party “far right”.

Not calling out these politics for what they are can only legitimise them. This is done through euphemism (calling them “populist” for example), by absorbing and mimicking them or accepting them as “legitimate grievances” from “the people”.

Focusing on extreme events such as the reports of Farage’s teenage past can exceptionalise the nature of far-right politics and make it harder to call out. This sensationalist approach centred on one person’s behaviour prevents us from actually interrogating the wider process of mainstreaming, which takes more mundane forms and has a much deeper impact on our public discourse and democracy. It also downplays the role played by the mainstream media and politicians in the process of mainstreaming.

Creating individual monsters to symbolise extremism is a distraction away from the very real and systemic nature of the far-right threat.

This article is republished from The Conversation, a nonprofit, independent news organization bringing you facts and trustworthy analysis to help you make sense of our complex world. It was written by: Aurelien Mondon, University of Bath

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Aurelien Mondon does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.