Reform and Restore are both hard right and poisonous – but their differences could be their undoing | Andy Beckett

It is not enough to revile them both. Understanding the personal and ideological divergence is essential to taking back the ground they now occupy

F or all their claims to be mould-breaking politicians, the feuding Nigel Farage and Rupert Lowe are in many ways predictable and traditional rightwingers. Two wealthy white men in their 60s from southern England, with private educations and previous careers in the City, they were once members of the Conservative party – before, like many in their demographic, they decided it was not anti-EU enough. Out of this mix of dissatisfaction and privilege emerged the nationalistic, socially conservative politics that has dominated much of the past decade, shaping British discourse and influencing Labour and the Tories, despite the ever clearer failure of its flagship policy, Brexit.

Some of the intensity of the civil war on the right, which has erupted since Lowe left Reform UK in disputed circumstances last year and then set up his own populist party, Restore Britain, in February, is down to the smallness of the differences between the two leaders and their parties. Farage and Lowe are both aggressive, digitally enabled communicators who sometimes dress like old-fashioned country squires – signalling that they want to both disrupt and preserve – and draw from the same pool of activists, strategists and policy ideas.

Both parties’ websites feature a graphic of a passenger jet taking off and a pledge to deport many migrants. In a broader sense, too, Farage and Lowe make the same promise: that Britain’s supposed decline will be reversed through a population purge, tougher policing, the promotion of Christianity and traditional patriotism, the removal of red tape and environmental targets, and the elevation of self-reliant, entrepreneurial citizens.

Most of this is an old rightwing recipe, dating back at least as far as the populist revolt against cosmopolitan cities and elites led by Pierre Poujade in rural France in the 1950s. That so many British journalists and mainstream politicians have been surprised, and often mesmerised by the return of rightwing populism says as much about their grasp of political history as it does about Farage and Lowe’s abilities.

For more than 30 years, Farage has benefited from this ignorance and presented himself and his various electoral vehicles as novel and daringly rebellious, despite his establishment background, often orthodox rightwing ideas and powerful backers. Yet now Lowe’s new prominence threatens that comfortable position, by offering a rival political product and also a damaging critique of the Reform version. Last month Lowe described Farage as “managed opposition” in the Spectator. “If you look at the mainstream media,” he went on, “it is now pushing Nigel.”

To win power, Reform probably needs the support of some relatively moderate, mildly dissatisfied rightwing voters, as well as more dogmatic and angry ones. To build that coalition, Farage has spent years trying to position Reform as a non-extreme party, describing it as “centre right”, and winning a politically priceless apology from the BBC in 2024 for calling it “far right” – while still making confrontational populist interventions, such as over the murder of Henry Nowak. Restore now threatens that balancing act by claiming Reform has become compromised and too cautious in its policies – “weak sauce”, in the words of Elon Musk, who has given his crude but effective online backing to Lowe.

The usually unflappable Farage seems discomfited, even disoriented, by Restore’s rise and Musk’s involvement in it. “Elon Musk has decided he will try to split the right of British politics as best he can,” Farage recently complained to the Telegraph. “Quite what he’s trying to achieve, I have no idea.” At the Makerfield byelection next week and at the next general election, when it promises to stand in every seat, even a small vote for Restore may deprive Reform of victory.