Reform UK Isn’t Revolutionary: It’s Britain’s Blame Game

I grew up in Britain as a migrant, and as the child of a migrant. A single mother who worked with every ounce of energy she could muster so her children might find stability in a country that promised that opportunity. What we found instead were government after government that treated families like ours as an afterthought, dumped into hostels, temporary accommodation, and underfunded schools – to keep it brief. Still, among the immigrants I knew in my local community, there was no bitterness; only resilience. People who had genuinely built their lives from scraps, who proudly kept Britain running despite all the challenges thrown their way, being told they were the reason it was falling apart.

That’s why watching Reform UK gain ground feels less like politics and more like déjà vu. It’s the same old story, retold with new slogans that reword the same idea: blame those who’ve already carried the weight of a country that refuses to see them.

Reform and the Politics of Polarisation

Reform doesn’t want to fix Britain. It wants to feed on it. On fear, on resentment, on nostalgia for a country that never truly existed. Its message is simple, and that’s what makes it dangerous; your struggle isn’t systemic, it’s someone else’s fault. When wages stagnate, blame migrants. When our healthcare system collapses, blame “outsiders”. When people start asking who’s really responsible, deflect by igniting culture wars. That’s not politics, it’s performance.

Farage’s real talent isn’t leadership – it’s his striking ability to provoke. He’s mastered the craft of turning anger into identity, and in a country exhausted by years of broken promises, ping-ponged by a broken two-party system, that anger feels like clarity, packaged as an “alternative” party. That way, it’s easy to miss how corrosive it is to the country.

Reform’s rise isn’t a protest against power. It’s proof of how easily we can be convinced to turn on each other, mistaking division for liberation and strength.

Different Century, Same Scapegoats

In my first year, I did a politics module, and in the first seminar a student said their favourite political speech was Enoch Powell’s Rivers of Blood. They called it brave, describing it as relevant in the current day and age. I remember sitting there, surrounded by silence as the only visible ethnic minority in the room, ironically enough, and realising that the most chilling thing about Powell’s legacy isn’t that people once agreed with him; it’s that many still do now, and are gradually becoming louder about it.

The language has changed, but the sentiment hasn’t across UK politics. Powell talked about “floods” of migrants, while Farage talks about “taking back control.” Powell talked about how people “found themselves made strangers in their own country,” and now even Starmer warns of “an island of strangers.” Both sentiments turn people into threats, and dress fear up as patriotism.

Yet, the people I grew up with, the ones who supposedly “don’t integrate,” are the same people who have shown more faith in this country than it’s ever shown in them. These people are Britain, in all its struggle and resilience as they carried on believing the idea of Britain long after it began to reject them. The irony is that the same nation that questions their belonging was built on their endurance.

This is what makes Reform’s politics so corrosive. It doesn’t just divide voters; it convinces a nation to hate the hands that hold it up.

 The Broader Critique

What makes Reform so dangerous isn’t just Farage’s rhetoric, it’s how easily it spreads, infecting political discourse in this country. In a country exhausted and alienated by political failure and a party system that is frankly not good enough, anger masquerades as clarity, and division masquerades as strength and bravery. 

It’s no secret that Britain is tired, and anger is easier to stir-up and sustain than hope. However, when a nation begins defining itself by who it resents rather than what it stands for, democracy stops being a conversation. Fear replaces dialogue, scapegoats replace actual solutions, and even those with good intentions fall into this trap. 

Having a politics of polarisation doesn’t just distort debate, but also reshapes society itself. It teaches people to see their neighbours, communities, and even fellow citizens as threats, just for being different to them. When innocent, and often vulnerable individuals are recast as villains, the country doesn’t just divide; it risks losing the very trust and empathy that has kept it together.

The Real Britain:

From my perspective, I’ve seen what this country looks like when people have nothing, and still give everything. The mothers who work double shifts so their children could have it better than them. The kids who grow up believing, against all the headlines and policies that attack them, that the country can still be kind. That’s the Britain I had the chance to get to know. Not the one that sneers at people’s hardest struggles, or scapegoats the most powerless individuals. Reform wants us to forget that, to see each other as enemies so they can channel the anger into political support for their party. Here’s my take: the people Nigel Farage vilified are the same people who have kept Britain alive through all its struggle. The real threat to Britain isn’t immigration; it’s the politics that thrives on tearing it apart.

Words by Sarah Al-Battat