Far-right riots erupted in British towns again in June—the second year in a row such violence has spread. Migrants were swiftly cast as scapegoats, not just by the rioters, but by voices echoing from the highest levels of government. Labour leader Keir Starmer only belatedly distanced himself from earlier remarks describing Britain as an “island of strangers,” words that sparked widespread controversy more than a month before. For advocates resisting what feels like a relentless tide of far-right and anti-migrant rhetoric, the work is exhausting, not least because much of it happens quietly—in neighborhoods and on doorsteps, not on the national stage filled with bad-faith actors and deep-pocketed interests. Despite exhaustion, this grassroots resistance continues daily, not only across the United Kingdom but throughout Europe, where communities battle a far right increasingly coordinated in both political and street-level tactics.
How the Crisis Escalated
Though the damage is clear, tracing how Britain arrived at today’s climate of xenophobia reveals a pattern that began with a contentious political campaign, shaped by dubious research and statistics. Tony Blair’s government prioritized balancing immigration “in and out,” citing potential consequences and stoking fears that were soon magnified by prominent conservative figures—historians like David Starkey, BBC presenters such as John Humphrys, and a host of media and political personalities. Their campaign against migration and asylum seekers grew louder and more persistent, eventually finding a government ally when Labour Home Office Minister John Reid, under pressure, declared the department “not fit for purpose” on national television. Right-wing commentators seized on this statement and, aided by conservative opposition, accelerated the drumbeat against migrants.
What followed was a river of new legislation—acts and regulations, each more restrictive than the last, passed by every subsequent government. The intention was clear: create conditions so inhospitable that migrants would leave, and deter others from arriving. These measures were driven not by genuine data or humanitarian concern, but by a tacit nationalist consensus in Parliament and levered through unrelated pretexts like security or economic anxiety. Too often, these laws failed to account for the hardship, poverty, or human rights of migrants, sacrificing fairness on the altar of consensus politics.
The Rise of the Hostile Environment
The Conservative governments that followed took things further, constructing what critics called a deliberately hostile border regime. Conservatives scapegoated migrants for low wages, deteriorating public services, and a housing crisis that austerity and exploitation had caused. Under Prime Minister Theresa May, this approach became official policy—the infamous “hostile environment,” widely condemned by advocates and international observers alike as among the harshest in UK history. The United Nations Human Rights Council said the policy fanned xenophobia, while Britain’s own Equality and Human Rights Commission found it unlawful and unequal. The policy’s most notorious effect was the Windrush scandal, where Commonwealth citizens—many who had lived legally in the UK for decades—were wrongly detained and deported. The outrage led to the resignation of Home Secretary Amber Rudd in 2018, and the appointment of Sajid Javid.
A Landscape of Scapegoating
This cycle of blame is neither an accident nor solely the product of fringe agitation. It emerges from years of divisive rhetoric that has saturated the nation from top to bottom. Political leaders and media figures regularly deploy toxic labels—“invaders,” “illegals,” “hordes”—rendering migrants not as neighbors but as threats. According to Refugee Action, such language has emboldened the far right and primed the public to see violence as a legitimate reaction. Where once politicians condemned the language of division, there now exists a tacit permission: last month saw the leader of the Scottish Conservatives deeming anti-asylum protests “understandable,” while other senior officials worked to deflect blame for unrest onto the migrants themselves.
Political Shifts and Unfulfilled Promises
Present-day anti-migrant myths fuel the rise of movements like Reform UK and outbreaks of anti-migrant violence. Labour, channeling public anger at far-right scapegoating and years of draconian Conservative immigration policy, won the general election on a promise to scrap regressive laws, including the Safety of Rwanda Act 2024, the Illegal Migration Act 2023, and the Nationality and Borders Act 2022. The party vowed to reverse punitive visa-income thresholds, reduce delays for permanent settlement, reunite separated families, and restore fair asylum protocols regardless of a person’s method of arrival.
These commitments included creating safe, legal asylum routes, granting immediate rights to work and access to public services, abolishing “no recourse to public funds” and NHS charges, ending immigration raids and detention, simplifying permanent residency, equalizing voting rights for all UK residents, and negotiating the restoration of free movement within Europe. However, with time, these pledges have gone unfulfilled. The hopes invested in new leadership are dimmed by delays and a familiar political distance—reminding many that power has a way of dulling promises.
Building a Just Future
If Labour is to resist the narrative advanced by far-right figures like Nigel Farage, it must not lend credence to the myth of migrants as a threat. Instead, the solution lies in forging solidarity by taxing the wealthy to build decent homes, create good jobs, and restore public services for everyone, regardless of origin. Only by directly challenging these anti-migrant myths and delivering truly inclusive policy can Britain stem the tide of fear and division still rising in its politics and streets.