The populist right is regretting its encouragement of Covid conspiracists
At the 1992 US Republican convention, the paleoconservative pundit and presidential candidate Pat Buchanan introduced the world to the idea that politics had become a “culture war” between progressives and conservatives. Campaigns for environmentalism, abortion and LGBT rights weren’t just about policy, he claimed, but were in fact intended to destroy wider American traditions and identity. “This war is for the soul of America, ” Buchanan said, and called on fellow citizens to “take back our culture, and take back our country”.
In the ensuing decades, the right closely adopted the strategy proposed by Buchanan. It claimed that, by dint of their alleged control of the media and academia, unpatriotic and elitist progressives were imposing radical changes – like openness to immigration and the demolition of the traditional family – against majority will. The plan worked: culture war tactics were instrumental in the right gaining support among disgruntled workers increasingly suspicious of a centre-left that had little to offer in terms of socio-economic policies.
Since the beginning of the Covid-19 crisis, the pandemic has become yet another stage for the culture war. But it may be one that the right will end up regretting. The emergency unleashed a flood of disparate conspiracy theories about the virus and vaccines that spread rapidly on social media, while “anti-mask” and “anti-lockdown” protest movements framed contagion prevention measures as a “health dictatorship”.
Populist right leaders were quick to take advantage of this, seeing in Covid scepticism yet another opportunity to show the gulf between the priorities of progressives and ordinary people. In Brazil, President Jair Bolsonaro described Covid as “little flu”, and to this day continues to claim he has not been vaccinated, though nobody knows for sure. In the US, Donald Trump went into full conspiracy mode, suggesting that bleach may be a cure for Covid. In the UK, Johnson took a more pragmatic mainstream stance after briefly favouring herd immunity. But to his right, Nigel Farage and some Tory MPs continued to dally with Covid scepticism.
Yet, in many countries the populist right is now finding itself at odds with a movement it has fuelled, but cannot control any more. In August, Donald Trump was booed by supporters at a rally in Alabama, after recommending they get the jab. In Italy, Matteo Salvini of the League party has faced heavy criticism from Covid sceptics for supporting a government which is enforcing vaccination passports – a programme called Green Pass. Meanwhile, his more extreme rightwing competitor, Giorgia Meloni of post-fascist Brothers of Italy, has managed to gain support among anti-vaxxers by opposing the Green Pass and defending “freedom of choice”.
In France, Marine Le Pen also risks being outflanked on her right by populist candidates who have taken more radical culture war stances. These include anti-immigration talk-show star Éric Zemmour, who is sky-rocketing in the polls, as well as Nicolas DupontAignan, the leader of the nationalist Debout la France party, and Le Pen’s estranged ally Florian Philippot, who have both espoused Covid conspiracy theories.
In Germany, the far-right Alternative für Deutschland party has had a stormy relationship with the Covid sceptic movement Querdenker (literally “lateral thinkers”). Querdenker activists were involved in internal party squabbles and have gone on to launch a new formation called Die Basis (The Base) contributing to the AfD’s disappointing performance in the last elections.
Amid growing culture war polarisation, rightwing parties that have adopted a populist strategy are struggling to hold together their brittle electoral coalition. One in which true believers who embrace conspiracy theories whole-cloth sit alongside more moderate centre-right voters with little patience for popular superstitions.
While anti-vaxxers are very vocal, they are actually a relatively small proportion of the population. In the
US, according to a recent Axios-Ipsos poll, only 20% of US citizens say they are not likely to get vaccinated. In the UK vaccination rates among adults are around 80%, while in France and Italy 75% of people have had at least one dose. Being wholly identified with this relatively small section of public opinion is electorally dangerous.
Furthermore, the Manichean frame of a quasi-religious battle between good and evil that characterises the culture war approach means that any act of moderation or compromise on the part of existing populist –or simply opportunistically populist – leaders can be easily presented as betrayal, opening the space to holier-than-thou challengers, thus splitting the vote.
Embracing the culture war was meant to divide society along the cultural cleavage between progressives and conservatives, rather than the economic division between haves and have-notsthat the left has traditionally preferred, giving the right a strategic advantage. However, the animosity of the culture war now seems to be playing out in a sort of civil war in the right’s own ranks, and may lead to serious difficulties for the likes of Salvini, Le Pen, Trump and Farage.
In coming months and years, the culture war approach isn’t going anywhere. In fact it may become even more intense and vicious, as the climate crisis and green transition policies impose major changes in people’s everyday lives. Rightwing populists once thought they were in control, but riding the tiger of conspiracy theories may prove more costly than they had anticipated
• Paolo Gerbaudo is a sociologist at King’s College London and the author of The Great Recoil: Politics After Populism and Pandemic