Not so right after all? Making sense of the progressive rhetoric of Europe’s far-right parties

Abstract

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French

Several newly successful far-right European populist parties have deviated from traditional conservative stances by embracing progressive values such as gender equality, gay rights, religious freedoms, and the provision of generous social services. With what logic have they articulated such a counterintuitive ideological mix? Scholarship on this question is still in its early phases and does not extend across countries and multiple parties. This article argues that the parties, when stating their resolute commitment to their nations or Western civilization more generally, have pitted the tolerance and inclusiveness of their societies against the threats of backward immigrants – especially Muslim ones. In this context, all citizens, regardless of specific personal characteristics, are described as worthy of support and protection. Underlying such logic are two deeper ideas: nationalism (with its principles of equality, secularism, and sovereignty for members of the community) and European superiority vis-a-vis other cultures. The rhetoric can vary subtly. Evidence comes from the Party for Freedom in the Netherlands, the National Rally in France, and the Sweden Democrats in Sweden. In the conclusion, we reflect on the broader implications of the findings for the ideological and political landscapes of Europe.

Keywords

European politics far-right parties nationalism progressivism rhetorical logic superiority

Introduction

Far-right populist parties (FRPP) in Europe have enjoyed remarkable successes in recent years. Described by experts as the ‘fastest-growing party family in Europe’ (Golder, 2016: 477), FRPP have won significant numbers of seats in national elections and assured for themselves a place in governing coalitions as partners or outright leaders. This has happened across the continent, from Italy to Austria, Switzerland, the Netherlands, Denmark, and Norway to Estonia, Latvia, Hungary, Poland, Bulgaria, Croatia, and Slovakia.¹

Even when electoral successes have not translated into government roles, they have constituted major achievements. In France, for instance, Marine Le Pen’s National Rally (known as National Front until 2018) stunned the political establishment in 2017 by reaching the final run-offs in the presidential elections, where it lost to Emmanuel Macron’s Forward!. Meanwhile, in the same year the Alternative for Germany won seats in 14 of 16 state parliaments, and became the third largest party in the Bundestag (the first time a far-right party secured any seats there since 1957) – prompting commentators to speak of ‘stunning gains’ (Mortimer, 2016a). FRPP have done well at the EU level too: the Danish People’s Party, the United Kingdom’s UKIP, and France’s National Rally scored unprecedented victories, for instance, at the 2014 European Parliament elections (Brack, 2015). Large victories are expected at the next elections in 2019.

How are we to explain such considerable successes? Media commentators (Aisch et al., 2017; Der Spiegel, 2010; Lebor, 2016; New York Times 2016) point to increasing distress among national electorates about their financial futures, the EU’s reach, excessive immigration, and loss of national identity. The votes for Brexit and Donald Trump in 2016 offered further proof of such distress (Givens, 2017). These are promising initial arguments that, however, require further investigation.

Academics have by now articulated more robust arguments (Carter, 2005; Cochrane and Nevitte, 2014; Lubbers and Coenders, 2017; Mieriņa and Koroļeva, 2015; Stockemer, 2017). In a useful literature overview, Godler (2016) categorizes those accounts as either ‘supply-side’ or ‘demand-side’ – following earlier analyses by Halikiopoulou et al. (2013), Kitschelt (1995), Norris (2005), and van der Brug et al. (2005). Among the supply-side accounts are those emphasizing the popular appeal of pro-market but socially authoritative platforms, strong party organizations, and openings in the political opportunity structure occasioned by traditional political parties losing legitimacy, the EU’s functional weaknesses (Senninger and Wagner, 2015), and corruption among political elites (Petsinis, 2015).

Among the demand-side are those arguing that cultural, economic, and other kinds of grievances held by certain segments of the population have increased the appeal of alternative parties. Thus, for instance, anti-immigration positions (Yılmaz, 2012) have resonated well when certain demographic, cultural, and economic conditions are present (Cochrane and Nevitte, 2014). Emphasis on social entitlements (Nordensvard and Ketola, 2015) has also proven useful.²

Both mainstream and academic accounts have proven valuable. Yet they have shared one assumption: that FRPP have fundamentally conservative outlooks (Ennser, 2012). This is consistent with the established literature. Mudde, for instance, distinguishes FRPP from their left-wing populist counterparts by stressing how the latter embrace equality, progressivism, and welfare programs (Mudde, 2007: 30). Similarly, when considering parties such as the Alternative for Germany, Freedom Party in Austria, and Northern League in Italy, Jungar and Jupskås (2014: 218) note their shared commitment to ‘traditional family values, and scepticism towards gender equality and gay rights’. Carter (2005: 17), in turn, after delving deeply into the literature concludes that ‘extreme right’ parties in Western Europe center on a rejection of democratic principles and norms, and of the idea of fundamental human equality.

Indeed, in an assessment of these parties, Golder (2016: 479) concludes that despite some variation in economic policies, what FRPP in Europe ‘have in common is a desire to create an authoritarian system that is strictly ordered according to the “natural” differences that exist in society, as well as a law-and-order system that severely punishes deviant behavior’. In this spirit, scholars such as Kinnvall (2015: 524) argue that ‘much far right discourse [in Europe] is focused on the gendering of spaces, which is a process through which social systems maintain the organization of powerful hierarchies based on assumptions about masculinity, femininity, and privileges’.

Such a characterization of FRPP as fundamentally conservative, however, may not be entirely accurate, and might preclude a thorough understanding of the reasons for their advances. A growing alternative scholarship has accordingly responded by arguing that while FRPP were launched with conservative outlooks some have increasingly combined their xenophobic rhetoric with – at least prima facie – progressive rhetoric toward a number of issues, including gender equality and gay rights (see, for instance, Akkerman, 2015; De Koster et al., 2014; Dudink, 2017; Mayer, 2015; Spierings et al., 2015). This, the reasoning goes, can help explain how the parties have secured support from women, gay, lesbians, people of different religious orientations, other minorities, and those who side with them.

Accordingly, although exact figures are hard to obtain, and some question whether minorities’ votes for right-wing political parties can be causally linked to their progressive stances, some estimates are available. In France, for example, the consensus is that the ‘gay vote for the National Front has leapt in recent years’ (Chrisafis, 2017), with analysts putting the gay support above 35% in 2017 (Murdock, 2017). For Scandinavian countries, in turn, evidence suggests that those holding nativist views but who also support gays and lesbians have voted for these parties (Spierings and Zaslove, 2015). In addition, gays and women have directly strengthened FRPP by taking on organizational leadership positions (Sengupta, 2017; Wodak, 2015: 152).

Moreover, the turn to progressive causes has helped FRPP by weakening, ideologically, the traditionally powerful parties. When what is ‘right’ is no longer such, what is ‘left’ is unclear, and even the ‘center’ is called into question, voters can be persuaded to join new political forces. Left-leaning parties have thus struggled for legitimacy: if some of their right-wing competitors are also pro-LGBTQ and for gender equality, what is their distinctive identity? Meanwhile, some centrist parties have attempted to move to the right, with limited success, to capture or retain disillusioned voters (Meijers, 2017). FRPP have certainly become a new ‘party family’ (Mair and Mudde, 1998) that has shaken conventional political landscapes.

If this alternative perspective is correct, an important question requires attention: how have FRPP managed in the first place to include progressive values in their stances? More specifically, what has been their rhetorical logic or, as Schmidt (2008) would have it, the ‘communicative discourse’ of this party family? The next section identifies the core elements of that logic. The subsequent sections outline the methods for empirical investigation and consider evidence from three representative parties. The concluding section reflects on the broader implications of the findings for the ideological and political landscapes of Europe.

Making sense of FRPP’s rhetorical logic

Existing research offers limited insights into the rhetorical logic by which FRPP weave progressive values into their otherwise conservative stances. Works typically consider only single issues, such as gender (see, for instance, Akkerman, 2015; Mudde and Kaltwasser, 2015; Siegel, 2017), or one political party or country (see, for instance, De Lange and Mügge, 2015; Murdock, 2017). The few multi-issue and multi-party analyses amount, in turn, to initial forays into this development with limited conceptual and empirical support (Brubaker, 2017; Halikiopoulou et al., 2013: 107), or to brief journalistic reports (Polakow-Suransky, 2016; Sengupta, 2017).

The starting point of this article is to observe that several FRPP have invoked multiple progressive values. To be clear, we do not assume that such rhetoric has translated directly into concrete party actions or policies, or that all party members have embraced it. Moreover, it should be noted from the start that while the rhetoric might reflect genuine beliefs it is also unquestionably strategic and opportunistic (Wodak, 2015: 42): the observable language should not be taken at face value. With those caveats in mind, the point is that a significant rhetorical trend has nonetheless happened with consequences across parties and issues, and that this trend merits analysis.

With what logic, then, have FRPP incorporated multiple progressive values in their otherwise conservative stances? They have combined the rejection of ‘others’ coming from outside the country – as threatening, demanding, or otherwise negative – by articulating an open and inclusive mindset on the domestic front. This is accomplished by asserting that being of the nation or, more broadly, Western civilization is paramount. Other personal characteristics are seen as secondary and ultimately irrelevant for one’s standing in the party’s eyes, or, conversely, as something that recent social progress has moved to protect and therefore deserves further safekeeping given the backward ideologies of immigrants. After all, the protection of all citizens from negative outside forces is the primary goal.

It follows that party leaders ‘welcome’ individuals with all different personal qualities and inclinations, and treat them as equal, provided that they are of the nation or Western civilization. Such tolerance translates into the articulation of specific standpoints relative to women, LGBTQs, people of various religious orientations, and those in need of economic support. They all merit respect and should be defended. This, again, is asserted forcefully and by design in contrast to the treatment that these citizens would receive if the ideologies of immigrants – Muslims in particular – were allowed to take hold in the country. The key juxtaposition is the affirmation of tolerant and supportive domestic values against the oppressive and dangerous counterparts coming from outside.

As such, the logic in fact draws from two more fundamental ideas. The first is that of nationalism. All modern nation states, in principle, cohesively bind together their citizens into ‘imagined’ communities (Anderson, 1991) that share three essential characteristics absent from any previous form of political organization: equality, secularism, and sovereignty (Greenfeld, 2016). Equality entails the elimination of any hierarchies or differences between citizens in relation to the whole: they are all of equal status. Secularism involves the elimination of any deity as responsible for running the affairs of this world, and establishes instead the notion of uniform and constant laws ruling the universe. Sovereignty asserts the right of the community to rule itself, free from any external interference. This model is at the heart of European nation states and of Europe as a whole. It defines them and is in effect rather neutral in political terms: parties from the right but also the left and the center can leverage it.

The progressive positions of FRPP draw precisely from this. Their goal is the protection of the ‘nation’ from perceived threats – foreign and religiously-driven forces intent on subjugating its citizens – that are existential: the nation would disappear if those threats prevail. The freedom to be gay thus becomes a vital matter, for instance, insofar as at stake are the principles of equality and secularism, coupled, more broadly, with a society’s ability to safeguard those principles if it so chooses. The same applies to other progressive values, such as women’s rights not to be discriminated against, or a person’s freedom on religious matters.

But this conceptual grounding in what may appear to be a fairly ‘inward’ and ‘neutral’ nationalism is then coupled with a second fundamental and longstanding idea: European superiority (Majid, 2009). The ‘external’ actors who threaten the ‘nation’ happen to be from countries which European nations have, for centuries, considered essentially inferior. These are former European colonies, many of them with Muslim majorities, which were subjected to extensive periods of racial discrimination, religious oppression, and various kinds of exploitation. The calls for ‘cultural protection’ and fears of ‘extinction’ (Elgenius and Rydgren, 2019; Nordensvard and Ketola, 2015) typical of these parties acquire an especially dramatic quality when the ‘others’ (Rydgren, 2007) are seen, explicitly or implicitly, as standing on lower grounds. The juxtaposition between the ‘nation’ and those outside involves more, therefore, than a challenge of disparate values: it entails a hierarchical positioning toward those outsiders.

Within these broad parameters, of course, the rhetoric is likely to show subtle variations. Not all parties focus on the same combination of progressive values or propose identical logical connections. Cultural (Benford and Snow, 2000), institutional (Campbell, 2004; Campbell and Hall, 2015), and political dynamics particular to national contexts shape how FRPP operate. Their discourse is always in ‘conversation’ with those dynamics (Schmidt, 2008).

Methods for analysis

We consider here the rhetorical embrace of four values that have historically been part of progressive political programs: gender equality, gay rights, religious freedoms, and the provision of generous social services. All four values aim at the elimination of various forms of inequalities and discrimination – a traditional goal of many progressive movements.³

We employed the principle of purposive heterogeneous variation as the first step for the selection of political parties. Specifically, to broaden the findings’ relevance, we turned to different national contexts in terms of population size, political economies, general political orientations, and histories of immigration. France, the Netherlands, and Sweden offer a good mix. France is a large, statist, continental market economy with a history of immigration heavily shaped by its post-colonial ties. The Netherlands is a midsize, increasingly economically neoliberal and otherwise socially liberal country that has experienced different waves of immigration over the decades (guest workers from Morocco and Turkey in the 1960s, for instance, and war refugees from the 1990s on). Sweden is by contrast a small country with a social democratic market economy, a political system heavily shaped by socially liberal policies, and until recently a highly homogeneous society.

When selecting the specific parties, we were interested in intrinsically important cases (Odell, 2004): FRPP that have been vocal in their counterintuitive rhetoric, successful at the polls, and influential. This was intended to increase the relevance of our findings. The Party for Freedom (Partij voor de Vrijheid, or PVV) in the Netherlands, the National Rally (Rassemblement National, or RN) in France, and the Sweden Democrats (Sverigedemokraterna, or SD) met these criteria.

As to the rhetoric itself, our goal was to identify passages that are especially revealing of how FRPP weave their support for progressive values into their otherwise conservative stances. Our first step was accordingly to find sources of FRPP statements. We considered an array of materials: pronouncements by key party members (made via social media, interviews, or public meetings and then reported by journalists or scholars, or available on video on the internet), party platforms (available online), promotional materials (videos, leaflets, etc., as available online at party websites or other venues), and party initiatives (such as public marches, covered by mainstream media and other venues). We then relied on keywords such as ‘gender equality’, ‘gay rights’, ‘religious freedom’ and the ‘provision of social services’ to help us home in on the most promising statements. Expectedly, this approach yielded a vast amount of material.

We proceeded by purposively selecting highly indicative passages: instances where the PVV, RN, and SD tied with especially clear language progressive values to otherwise conservative claims. We then investigated the logic in those passages: the conceptual connections, along with the values underlying those connections as well as possible variations, linking progressive and conservative positions. Thus, to be clear, our selection of passages was not intended to produce a random set of data; it was also not intended to yield a set that was representative of the stances of all party members. Rather, it was designed to allow for a qualitative analysis of some of the most revealing passages. We report our findings below.

Progressivism and xenophobia in France, the Netherlands, and Sweden

We examine here key passages showcasing the rhetorical logic of the PVV, RN, and SD.

The PVV: Defending Western civilization

The PVV was founded by Geert Wilders in 2006 shortly after he left the liberal-conservative People’s Party for Freedom and Democracy over disagreements on many issues, including Turkey’s accession into the EU. For the PVV, the rhetoric has often focused on Western civilizational tolerance as it concerns gays, gender equality, and Christians and Jews insofar as all these are supposedly under attack by an ideologically inferior Islam eager to subject citizens of the West to its rule. The emphasis on gay rights, gender equality, and freedom of religion is consistent with the broader Dutch cultural and political contexts. As scholars indeed note, in ‘no other country have discourses of gay rights and sexual freedom played such a prominent role’ (Dudink, 2017; Mepschen et al., 2010). The Netherlands has also experienced a very rapid secularization process starting in the 1960s.

To start, then, Wilders’ core position has been unequivocal: the problem facing the Netherlands is Islamic intolerance. The West is by contrast tolerant. This is a civilizational conflict between not just different worldviews but between a better, more enlightened civilization and a far more backward and barbaric one. As Wilders put it in 2009 in a speech in Los Angeles:

Islam wants to dictate every aspect of life and society and prohibits individual, political and religious rights and freedoms. Islam is not compatible with our Western civilization or democracy, nor will it ever be, because Islam doesn’t want to coexist, it wants to submit and set the entire agenda . . . it is a clash between civilization and backwardness, between the civilized and the primitive, between rationality and barbarity.⁴

Thus, as Wilders explained to Euronews in 2017, Islam ‘might be dressed up as a religion . . . but in reality, it is not so much a religion but an ideology’. And that ideology is profoundly closed to other perspectives: ‘if you look at anti-Semitism, the Koran has more anti-Semitism in it than Mein Kampf, the book of another totalitarian violent ideology’ (Euronews, 2017). Hence, ‘if we go on like this’, he warned his Los Angeles audience, ‘we are heading for the end of European civilization’.

Such hierarchical civilizational framing has allowed Wilders to link his extreme anti-Islamic ideas – which include deportations, the surrender of dual citizenships, banning the Koran, and mosque closures (Mortimer, 2016b) – to the need to protect a number of minorities. Gays and women have typically been at the top of the list.

As Akkerman (2015: 39) writes, the PVV ‘has been notable for its defence of women’s equality and same-sex partnerships’. The connection here are the threats that Islamic ideology presents to the ‘cherished’ egalitarian and secular values of the West. Examples abound. Wilders’ speech in Germany in January 2017 at the Europe of Nations and Freedom Conference (a European Parliament’s nationalist group) offers a good illustration:

Politicians from almost all established parties are promoting our Islamization. Almost the entire establishment, the elite universities, the churches, the media, politicians, put our hard-earned liberties at risk. Day after day, for years, we are experiencing the decay of our cherished values. The equality of men and women, freedom of opinion and speech, tolerance of homosexuality – all this is in retreat. (Pieters, 2017)

The cherished values of European culture include respect for others. Islam, by contrast, is barbaric. Thus, in June 2015 Wilders tweeted an image of a public execution in Mosul with this message: ‘ISIS thugs execute three gay men in Mosul, Iraq. #islamicbarbarism’.⁵ A year later, following the attack on a gay Orlando club, Wilders told BuzzFeed News that ‘the freedom that gay people should have – to kiss each other, to marry, to have children – is exactly what Islam is fighting against’. He added ‘that we’ve imported so much Islam to the Western free countries’ (Feder et al., 2017). This includes Sharia law which, as he reminded his audience at his 2009 Los Angeles speech, ‘means the end of our hard won freedom, for Sharia law denies the equality of men and women’.

In this sort of rhetoric, concerns about protecting homosexuality and women are seamlessly combined with those about religious freedom – namely Christianity and Judaism. All, after all, are grounded in liberties guaranteed by belonging to the ‘nation’. The fact that both Christianity and Judaism have historically opposed non-conforming sexual behavior and feminism is overlooked: they belong to Western nations and, as such, prize tolerance and should thus be defended. Consider Wilders’ speech at the 2016 United States National Republican Convention event for LGBT Trump supporters. There, Breitbart News editor Milo Yiannopoulos introduced him as the ‘hope for Western civilization’ (Harkinson, 2016). Against the background of a wall of sexually explicit gay posters, Wilders berated Islam’s intolerance and accused Western leaders of cultural relativism: ‘the biggest disease in Europe today: politicians believing that Christianity, that Judaism, that humanism is worth as much as Islam, which of course it’s not the case’.⁶ The audience, which on the available video appears to include only men, all presumably either gay or supportive of LGBTQs, responded by cheering. They apparently appreciated the hierarchical positioning of Christianity and Judaism – that is, Western civilization – vis-a-vis Islam.

Other PVV officials have echoed Wilders’ disdain of the intolerance of Muslims and Islam toward Western civilizational values. Parliamentarian Fleur Agema asserted, for instance, in 2009 when debating the ‘problem’ of criminal Moroccan youth that ‘antisemitism and homophobia are not Dutch phenomena. They are imported to a depressingly great extent from Morocco’ (Gans, 2010: 81). Oppression, that is, cannot possibly be an internal Dutch, or even European phenomenon: with all the backwardness it embodies, it must come from outside.

The logic extends to women. As Wilders (2016) wrote on Breitbart, Islam ‘aims to establish a worldwide Islamic state and bring everyone, including “infidels,” such as Christians, Jews, atheists, and others, under Sharia law. This is the barbaric Islamic law which deprives non-Muslims of all rights, treats women as inferior beings, condemns apostates and critics of Islam to death, and condones terror.’ Again, Islam fails to respect the inherent equality of all citizens of the nation, including women.

We note that the PVV has also taken a progressive stance toward social security, although this is perhaps less of a recurring theme. Its 2017–2021 manifesto called for the abolition of health care deductibles, lowering housing fees, keeping the retirement age at 65, and rolling back cuts. This was under the slogan ‘The Netherlands Ours Again!’ and, as the number one priority, the ‘de-Islamification of the Netherlands’.⁷ Thus, not everyone is to benefit from the generous changes. As Wilders stated in Berlin in early September 2011, ‘those who lower their chances of employment by the way they dress, will see their access to welfare payments diminished’.⁸ Indeed, those who wear a burqa will be deprived of all their benefits.

The RN: Protecting French liberties

For much of its existence, the RN has held extreme-right views on essentially all issues – from the economy to the Holocaust to social matters. Jean-Marie Le Pen, its founder and leader until his ousting in 2015 by his daughter Marine Le Pen, for instance once called homosexuality a ‘biological and social anomaly’ and stated that ‘there are no queens in the National Front’ (Murdock, 2017). The party advocated well into the 1990s a view of women as ‘mothers of the nation’ with important roles in traditional family life (Scrinzi, 2017).

Marine Le Pen has maintained the RN’s unequivocal antagonism toward outside forces. The EU and globalization are two. But perhaps the most salient is immigration, and especially radical Islam. For the RN, a key point has been the defense of French values on liberties against radical Islam, particularly in relation to LGBTQ people and different religions faiths. Here, in broader terms, the connections to the essential political qualities of the French Republic are clear: the starting point entails recognizing that the values of the French Republic are the basis of French society, that these are universal and thus inherently superior values, and that ‘liberty’ appears in its 1958 Constitution as the first of those foundational values.

Hence, ‘there are two Islams’, Le Pen recently told a group of foreign journalists: ‘One is a religion that is perfectly compatible with French values, and practicing Muslims, like Christians and Jews, have never posed a problem. But there is another political, fundamentalist, totalitarian Islam that wants Sharia law over French law’ (Llana, 2017). The RN therefore wants to save France and its values from the type of Islam that wishes to subjugate France to it. The party feels uniquely positioned to do this. As Le Pen stated during the 2017 presidential run-offs against Macron, like other politicians Macron ‘doesn’t see a nation, but land, he doesn’t see a people, but a population. We have the obligation to warn the French’ (Viscusi, 2017).

The focus on liberty in juxtaposition to the Islamic threat has prompted the RN to adopt progressive language that at times is nothing short of remarkable, especially considering its past. The RN is ready to defend, against foreign oppressors, liberty as it applies to all French citizens regardless of personal preferences and inclinations – after all, all citizens are equal and thus equally entitled to that liberty. Defending liberty means defending France itself. What French citizens actually do with their liberties is secondary, provided of course that they do not undermine France. Given this, some of the RN’s clearest assertions have concerned LGBTQs and religious freedom.

Consider for instance Le Pen’s campaign speech in December 2010. In a ‘number of territories’, she observed, Muslim headscarves and public prayer are so common that people feel ‘subject to religious laws that replace the laws of the Republic’. The result, she continued, is that ‘I hear more and more testimonies about the fact that in certain districts, it is not good to be a woman, homosexual, Jewish’ or anything else (Feder and Buet, 2017). The French Republic guarantees freedom, and this is under attack. Being gay is often mentioned. As Sébastien Chenu, a prominent gay activist and RN representative in the National Assembly as of June 2017, put it, the ‘French people feel threatened; I believe that about gay people as well’. He worries about France become ‘less free’, and ‘when society becomes less free, when one is gay, one has very much to lose’ (Feder and Buet, 2017). Things should be different. As Le Pen said in 2011, ‘whether man or woman, heterosexual or homosexual, Christian, Jewish or Muslim, we are foremost French’.⁹ And since being French means being free, homosexuals, amongst others, should be able to live as they want.

Several prominent RN members have accordingly expressed, admittedly not without some controversy within the party, pride for being gay. Inconceivable a decade earlier, in 2017 the RN had, according to some sources, more high-ranking gay figures than any other major party in France, including the Socialists (Feder and Buet, 2017). Le Pen’s right hand man, Florian Philippot, is gay and was Vice President for the Party from 2012 to 2017. Thus, as Chenu, along with others, stressed in 2015, ‘the National Front is the only party’ in France ‘whose leader is a woman and its deputy leader is gay’ (Halliburton, 2015). It is worth noting here that Chenu himself joined the RN by leaving the far-right Union for a Popular Movement because of Le Pen’s ‘consistent views on Europe and social issues’.¹⁰

Such rhetoric, it must be stressed, does not amount to a recognition of the intrinsic merits of being gay. What matters is the freedom to be gay – that is, to exercise one’s liberties as an equal citizen of France. As such, RN leaders consistently express disinterest in a person’s sexual orientation. Philippot for example once addressed media criticism of the RN as homophobic by stating that ‘we’re a party that doesn’t care about people’s preferences, their sexual practices or whatever . . . You’re a French citizen foremost. And the National Front is a very young party: the members, the voters, the candidates are young. This is a modern party’ (Chrisafis, 2017, italics added).

The logic extends to religion. One’s religious preferences are unimportant. After all, France as a nation is secular. Hence, in response to critics who have accused her of targeting Muslims, Le Pen has repeatedly asserted that ‘I’m not interested in knowing what religion someone belongs to. I defend the French people whoever they are, wherever they come from, whatever their origins, whatever their religion. I don’t have a sectarian vision of French society. The only community that exists is the national community’ (italics added).¹¹ Le Pen has therefore often expressed support for Christians but also for France’s Jewish community (and even moderate Muslims) – insofar as all are under threat from the politically inferior radical Islam. In a June 2014 interview, she for instance stated that ‘I do not stop repeating it to French Jews . . . not only is the National Front not your enemy, but it is without a doubt the best shield to protect you. It stands at your side for the defense of our freedoms of thought and of religion against the only real enemy, Islamist fundamentalism’ (Katz, 2017).

Here, again then, the point is France’s protection. As Le Pen put it in 2014 during an interview, ‘I recognize only one community: the national one. That’s the Constitution! It means the Republic can’t ground its action on local community criteria.’ France stands as one, and ‘to give a representation would mean that there is [sic] conflictual interests inside of the French population and that is not acceptable’ (Weitzmann, 2014).

The SD: Safeguarding the community

Though not in government and shunned by all other major parties, in 2014 and 2018 the SD came third in Sweden’s general elections. In 2017 a Reuters poll suggested it had become the second biggest party (Sharman, 2017). Its popularity dropped later that year, however, due to the government’s own adoption of stricter anti-immigration policies (Sennero, 2017). The SD is unquestionably viewed as a far-right party, with historical roots in neo-Nazi ideology, both because of its stances and the older political ties of some leading members (Towns et al., 2014).

Yet, as with the PVV and RN, the SD’s orientation has not prevented it from advocating support for LGBTQ rights, gender equality, and a well-funded welfare state. In the SD’s case, the anchoring has been – in line with the country’s cultural, political, and institutional practices – Sweden’s traditional commitment to community and social inclusion. Everyone, the logic goes, should feel welcome and looked-after in Sweden: discrimination and exclusion are unacceptable. Belonging, however, means respect for certain principles intrinsically related to inclusivity: equality, honesty, and a willingness to contribute to the whole. Those with different mindsets are not welcome: on top of the list are Middle Eastern immigrants who are depicted as morally depraved in their eagerness to take advantage of the system and demand that their values replace Swedish ones.

Major statements have concerned welfare programs (Nordensvard and Ketola, 2015). In a 2016 party video, for instance, we hear Jimmie Åkesson, the party’s leader, against images of assorted scarved and otherwise clearly Middle Eastern immigrants, idling about in public spaces or otherwise engaged in clearly non-productive activities:

Our country is in a grave state and our society is falling apart. Vital welfare functions, such as elderly care, schooling, health care, social services, [the] police, [the] judiciary, and more, are in severe hardship . . . [we have become] a society that has lost its optimism, feeling of homeliness and its trust . . . we must have the courage to be open and honest . . . it will take a long time to recreate the security, the feeling of homeliness . . . that once made Sweden one of the best countries in the world to live in.

‘The conflict’, he continues, in an attempt to underscore the idea that ‘belonging’ is in principle a possibility for anyone willing to take on the moral character of being Swedish, ‘is really not about skin colour, gender, sexual, orientation or about class. Neither is the conflict between those born in this country and those who are not.’ The truth, he asserts as we see young people smashing cars and others reaching for drugs or free handouts, is that:

The real conflict is between the constructive and the destructive. Between those who are ready to make an effort and contribute to our country – and those who are not. Between those who build cars and those who burn cars. Between those who fill our children with knowledge and self respect, and those who fill them with drugs and self pity.

It follows that Sweden’s welfare programs can only last with the ‘Swedefication’, or absorption, of those ‘others’ into the Swedish model. What is needed, Åkesson affirms, is ‘a strengthened Swedish citizenship’ that ‘bridges these forced lines of conflict and gives us the sense of community needed to overcome’ these challenges. ‘It is in the citizenship that we find the public spirit. The respect for our heritage . . . for previous generations, for those who built this country. That is how you, me and them – become an us.’

‘Community’, then, or participation in a collective ‘us’ that is infused with the proper moral fabric, is the answer:

Becoming a Swedish citizen is a welcoming into our community . . . but it is also a social contract associated with duties and responsibilities. We will never welcome those who come here only . . . to live at our expense . . . but at the same time we need to strengthen the way to our community for those whose honest ambition is to become a part of our society . . . I have a dream of a strengthened public spirit . . . a society characterized by trust, a sense of community and faith in the future.¹²

Various SD materials affirm this logic of belonging and of rejection, as qualitatively inferior, of those who choose not to subscribe to the social contract. Its platform at one point stated that ‘the nationalism of the SD is open and non-racist. By defining the nation in terms of culture, language, identity, and loyalty, and not in terms of historical national belonging or genetic membership, our national community is open to people with a background in other nations . . . a community of Swedes sharing certain core characteristics, values and behaviors’ (Towns et al., 2014: 241). And during the 2010 national elections the SD ran an ad featuring an elderly woman struggling to get to a welfare desk only to be overtaken by women in burqas carrying babies. ‘Politics is all about priorities’, the voice stated, and ‘the 19th of September you can choose if you want to save money from the pensions or immigration budgets . . . the choice is yours.’¹³

The SD’s views on ‘community’, ‘trust’, and ‘belonging’, and on those who oppose them, extend to LGBTQs and women. In 2015 it for instance sponsored an unofficial gay pride parade through a predominantly Muslim neighborhood of Stockholm. The point, the organizers thought, was to bring the language of ‘inclusion’ to parts of the city that ‘refuse’ to belong, and to highlight the disjointedness afflicting Swedish society. The morally righteous ones – those with the right values – thus challenged the deviant ones. Expectedly, the ‘Pride Jarva’ parade attracted criticism by LGBT groups and anti-racist groups for stoking unrest in already volatile quarters. The official Stockholm Pride organization and the Swedish Federation for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Rights distanced themselves from the initiative and Jan Sjunnesson, the parade’s organizer, whom they described as actually being anti-gay. Sjunnesson’s response was predictable: ‘I am not homophobic as the media calls me . . . I used to be bisexual, now I am married to an Indian woman, so I am not racist either. However, I am against the Islamisation of Sweden’ (Naib, 2015).

Regarding gender equality, the SD has certainly made conservative statements. In 2005, for instance, its platform asserted that ‘men and women are not created equal and can, therefore, in different contexts use different starting points and do different things in different ways’ (Mulinari and Neergaard, 2014: 47). This has led the SD to promote heterosexual homes as ideal for raising children, and to advocate for more restrictions on abortion rights. Yet, at the same time, while ‘the party’s ideological core is suspicious of gender equality and its connection with feminism . . . gender equality constructed as a Swedish national trait is often seen as a fundamental boundary between “us and them”’ (Mulinari and Neergaard, 2014: 48). Put differently, insofar as Swedish culture prizes equality and inclusion, ‘gender equality is named as something “Swedish” ’ and is set against the ‘other’ – once again especially Muslim immigrants, who at once wish to partake of the benefits of being in Sweden but choose not to become Swedish (Mulinari and Neergaard, 2014: 48). Tellingly, the fear is often expressed in terms of ‘separation’ or ‘segregation’ – opposites of ‘community’ and ‘belonging’, as a 2009 opinion piece by Åkesson exemplifies:

That leading representatives of the Muslim community will demand the implementation of Sharia law (Sharialagar) in Sweden . . . that Swedish swimming clubs would introduce separate timetables for women and men, that Swedish municipalities would discuss the possibility of gender-segregated swimming education in schools. (as cited in Mulinari and Neergaard, 2014: 48)

Because of these fears, SD leaders have voiced their support for the UN Declaration of Human Rights and its gender equality clauses (Towns et al., 2014).

Discussion

The PVV, NF, and SD have included progressive values in their otherwise xenophobic and extremist rhetorics. What might seem as an ideological contradiction – at least in historical terms – is presented by leading figures in these parties as coherent and rational. With the primary goal of protecting the nation, its values, and Western civilization from repressive and destructive foreigners, all citizens are considered worthy of protection and part of the struggle. Underlying such logic are two deeper ideas: nationalism – with its principles of equality, secularism, and sovereignty for members of the community – and the longstanding sense of European superiority vis-a-vis other cultures.

While the three parties have subscribed to this logic, subtle variations are observable. The PVV highlights Islam’s attacks on the tolerance of Western civilization. Gays, gender equality, and Christianity and Judaism must thus be protected against Muslim intransigence. The RN wishes to safeguard the French Republic’s core values, especially liberty, above all against the threats of radical Islam. Its progressive language has applied to LGBTQs and religious liberties. And the SD, preoccupied with the fate of Sweden’s commitments to community and social inclusion, has sought to protect a generous welfare system, LGBTQ rights, and gender equality – all of which it sees as under attack by excessive Muslim immigration. These differences appear to be consistent with the cultural, institutional, and political contexts of each country.

As stated at the outset, we did not presume that vocalizing these stances is equivalent to a genuine commitment to them, or that they have gone uncontested within the parties. Indeed, many have criticized these parties for being opportunistic, disingenuous, and misleading.¹⁴ Populist leaders can be crafty entrepreneurs of identities (Reicher and Hopkins, 2001). Yet, to the extent that such a shift in ideology has helped FRPP succeed, it should be taken seriously and examined.

The evidence presented in this article was limited to three parties. However, if correct and representative of other FRPP who also combine progressive values with their otherwise conservative stances, it raises important questions about Europe’s ideological and political landscapes. Two questions in particular stand out. The first concerns the ability of FRPP to mobilize certain categories of voters – women, gays, etc. – on the basis of their new language. Intent on protecting their rights, these voters may be finding new ideological and political ‘homes’. This trend merits reflection and further analysis, especially given the hierarchical and xenophobic positioning of these parties toward outsiders. Does this point to a proliferation of alternative constellations of values for the defense of those rights? Are those rights standing on new and different moral grounds? And can more be said about the differences between those voters who have shifted their support to FRPP and those who continue to remain situated in historically more progressive parties? What prompted the former to switch in the first place?

Second, the new orientation of at least some FRPP creates existential and strategic problems for parties of the left and even the center. We alluded to this earlier in the article. The question is how those competing parties can reclaim legitimacy and voters when some of their most central principles have been appropriated by the far right. They must reinvent themselves – with the temptation to respond by turning themselves to the right and engaging in a sort of ‘mirror’ response to the FRPP’ strategies. But whether this should happen, and how it can happen, is a pressing question. Those who would like to resist it, in turn, must offer viable alternatives. These are questions of ideological and political importance.

Footnotes

Funding

The authors received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

ORCID iD

Francesco Duina

Notes

Author biographies

Francesco Duina is Professor of Sociology at Bates College (USA). His research focuses on nationalism, international organizations, and economic sociology. His most recent articles have appeared in Review of International Studies, Regulation & Governance, Economy and Society, and Comparative European Politics. His books include The Social Construction of Free Trade: The EU, NAFTA, and Mercosur (Princeton University Press, 2006) and Broke and Patriotic: Why Poor Americans Love Their Country (Stanford University Press, 2018). During 2010–2015 he sat on the editorial board of the Journal of European Public Policy.

Dylan Carson is a sociology student at Bates College (USA). His research interests focus on comparative politics and the progressive rhetoric of European parties.

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