France is a case study in how we approach stopping far right

The National

3 days ago

As Reform UK attempt to break into Holyrood through the Hamilton, Larkhall and Stonehouse by-election, mainstream politicians have responded with a strong sense of principle. John Swinney has warned that Reform would use a Holyrood seat to undermine the Scottish Parliament itself. Labour, the SNP and many civic voices are drawing a line – saying, in essence: not here, not now, not like this.
It's a moment that feels almost quaint – a democratic reflex that has eroded elsewhere in Europe. And yet, watching this from both within Scotland and with the eyes of someone who has lived through the French experience of far-right normalisation, I can't help but feel uneasy. Because I've seen this before – and I know how quickly it can fall apart.
In France, we used to take similar pride in our collective ability to shut the door on the far right. The barrage républicain – a decades-old reflex to unite across ideological lines to block the far right from power – was once a moral constant. You held your nose if you had to, but you voted against Le Pen. And for years, that worked. Jean-Marie Le Pen lost in 2002. Marine Le Pen lost in 2017 and again in 2022. The far right made it to the second round, but never through.
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But what's happening now is different. The barrage has become tired – almost theatrical. It's invoked automatically, and less convincingly. More and more voters on both the left and the right are now saying : 'Not this time.'
On the left, people are exhausted from being the adults in the room. Tired of being told their only political role is to vote for someone they loathe in order to stop someone they fear. Tired of voting for a centre that governs with the right and delivers austerity, repression and a deepening sense of democratic emptiness. Emmanuel Macron, in particular, has made the barrage part of his brand – presenting himself again and again as the last defence against chaos, while dismantling labour protections, weakening the welfare state and cracking down on protest.
On the right, the moral urgency around Le Pen has simply faded. For some, she no longer seems dangerous. For others, she seems necessary – a reaction, even a correction, to what they perceive as the cultural or political excesses of the left.
In the 2022 snap parliamentary elections, we saw just how fragile the barrage had become. The French conservative party – Les Républicains, ironically – didn't even call for it. Members of Macron's government hesitated. Only the left was clear: in constituencies where its candidate had less chance of beating the far right, it stood down and supported the remaining non-far right candidate. The barrage still exists as a phrase, a reflex, a gesture – but it feels increasingly like a relic. A ritual that no longer carries the weight it once did.
Now, the French left is reckoning with the very real possibility that the far right could win the presidency, by reaching a second round where the traditional barrage républicain no longer holds. Whether the candidate is Marine Le Pen or Jordan Bardella – increasingly seen as her likely successor following her recent suspended sentence in the EU funds case – the threat is growing. If centrist and right-wing voters refuse to rally behind the left, or if abstention continues to rise, the firewall could fail.
That fear is part of what drove the creation of the Nouveau Front populaire – not in a presidential context, but in response to Macron's decision to dissolve the National Assembly and call snap legislative elections in June 2024. At the time, the far right was predicted to win outright. And they did win big. But the united left – despite immense pressure and rushed negotiations – performed better than expected and helped prevent a full far-right majority. The NFP stirred hope, but it was also born of desperation, a last-minute attempt to salvage the barrage and prevent the far right from locking in long-term power.
It may succeed in holding the line this time. But even if it does, everyone knows the barrage cannot keep holding forever. Because when the only argument against the far right is that they are worse – and not that we are better – the ground begins to give way.
The Hamilton by-election, triggered by the death of SNP MSP Christina McKelvie, is drawing attention in part because of the question hanging in the background: how well will Reform perform? Not because Nigel Farage is especially popular – polls suggest most Scottish voters still strongly dislike him – but because more and more people feel politically abandoned.
And that's where the risk lies. People know who Reform are. They know what kind of politician Farage is – and still, they listen. Not out of ignorance, but because they've stopped believing the mainstream parties have anything left to offer. Because the firewall is being guarded by parties that many no longer trust.
What happened in France is that voters – especially on the left – are under the impression that some politicians now use the barrage as a kind of shortcut. It becomes a way to avoid the hard ideological work of building a compelling alternative. Rather than doing the patient work of articulating a vision for social justice, public investment and economic dignity, they simply ask people to 'do the right thing' and vote against the far right.
In the centre, the strategy is even more cynical – and in France, it has become outright dangerous. Macron built his political brand on opposing the extremes, but his government has consistently borrowed from the far-right's playbook.
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Ministers like Gérald Darmanin have openly echoed its talking points. The government's 2023 immigration law – shaped in part by pressure from the Rassemblement National – was a turning point, enshrining exclusionary and punitive measures that Marine Le Pen could have proudly authored. Far-right ideas are being mainstreamed not accidentally, but deliberately, in the hope that voters will continue to support the 'least-worst' option.
Scotland's political culture remains distinct – and in many ways, admirable.
There is a strong civic nationalism here, rooted in values of openness, equality and a belief in collective responsibility. There's still a public discourse that values immigration and diversity. There's a deep emotional connection to the idea of a progressive European future.
But none of that is permanent. If the parties defending that culture continue to offer little beyond managerialism – if Labour offer no political direction, and the SNP slogans without delivery – then the space for something darker will grow. And the tools to resist it will weaken.
The response to Reform so far has often relied on shaming voters: reminding them that Farage is vulgar, dishonest, racist. And he is. But people know that. They're not stupid. The danger isn't that they don't understand who he is. It's that they no longer believe anyone else is fighting for them.
What people want is not a lecture. They want a politics that speaks to their lives. To the reality of low pay, high rents, collapsing care and stretched public services. They want someone to say: 'Yes, we see you. And we have a plan.'
If the only message is to vote tactically, to hold your nose, to protect what we have – eventually, people will stop listening. Many already are.
It doesn't have to end this way. Scotland still has the opportunity to respond to this moment not with fear, but with ambition. Not just by resisting Farage, but by making him irrelevant. That means hard political work.
It means putting forward a real programme for investment in housing, for rebuilding social care, for taxing wealth, for redistributing power. It means giving people something to vote for, not just something to vote against.
And it means believing that voters don't want to be rescued from themselves – they want to be treated as people whose aspirations still matter.
Right now, Scotland is still holding the line. But we shouldn't confuse that with security. The barrage, whether in France or here, is not a political vision. It's a reflex. And reflexes weaken if they're not attached to something deeper.
So let's be honest. The threat is real. Farage isn't going away. And shaming him – or his voters – won't be enough. We need to speak less about him, and more about what kind of country we want to live in.
We can still beat the far right. But only if we stop trying to outmanoeuvre them – and start out-imagining them.