Immigration, Far-Right Politics, and the Crisis of Liberal Democracies: A Commentary
Immigration has long been a politically sensitive issue in Western democracies, with its roots embedded in post-war migration patterns into Europe. However, what we are witnessing today is an intensification of hostility toward immigration, driven not merely by socioeconomic concerns but by a deeper ideological shift: the rise of authoritarian populist politics. These political actors and parties deploy immigration as a catch-all scapegoat — an explanatory tool for everything else that ails society. Whether it is economic hardship, housing shortages, unemployment, or crime, immigration is positioned as the primary culprit.
This weaponisation of immigration is anchored in longstanding traditions of racism, xenophobia, and Orientalism — especially toward brown, black, and visibly different religious groups, notably Muslims. These narratives are not new. They evolve over time, reflecting society’s shifting anxieties. From the “yellow peril” during World War II to the demonisation of Vietnamese refugees in the 1970s, African Caribbean communities in the 1980s, and Muslims in the post-9/11 era, each wave of immigrants has been framed as a societal threat.
At the core of this shift lies a dual crisis: the erosion of welfare models under neoliberalism and the failures of liberal democracy to deliver inclusive public policy outcomes. Governance regimes have increasingly pandered to elites while neglecting the socioeconomic peripheries. This disaffection has created fertile ground for populist politics to thrive, offering simplistic answers — such as “take back control” or “close the borders” — to complex structural problems.
Muslims, in particular, have become the most expedient scapegoat. The community is internally diverse, but externally homogenised and vilified. The post-9/11 securitisation of Muslim identities and tropes such as terrorism, grooming gangs, and cultural incompatibility have been routinely mobilised to frame Muslims as existential threats. This demonisation intersects with class hierarchies — where race and class often coalesce, but also sometimes diverge. While class privilege can offer some insulation from racism, it does not erase it. Conversely, racialised minorities often adopt performances of whiteness to navigate the dominant system — sometimes even internalising hierarchical worldviews.
The global rise of far-right parties is not incidental — it is part of a broader political realignment. The political centre has collapsed, trust in institutions has declined, and people gravitate toward the extremes. This is not a uniquely European phenomenon. It is evident in the US under Trump, in Modi’s India, and elsewhere. The same mechanism operates everywhere: disillusioned citizens turn to radical narratives when they feel ‘left behind’.
Importantly, these grievances are gendered. There has been a significant shift in gender dynamics over the past three decades. As women have made progress in education and employment, many men — especially young, low-income white men — feel displaced. Their traditional roles and perceived entitlements are eroded, fuelling resentment not only against women but also against minorities and immigrants. The rise of incel movements and the backlash against gender equality are part of this reactionary wave.
Scapegoating minorities is a timeless political strategy, especially during economic downturns. The logic is as old as politics itself: when jobs are scarce and inequality rises, blame is externalised. The perceived threat of the racial, religious, or cultural “other” becomes a diversion from real political failures. This is not just cynical manipulation — it is also emotional manipulation. Immigration discourse is profoundly emotive, tapping into fears of crime, disease, and cultural erosion.
Media institutions play a pivotal role in sustaining these narratives. Mainstream media, often controlled by a handful of powerful actors, perpetuates simplistic and sensationalist discourses. Structural biases in journalism, editorial gatekeeping, and the pursuit of profit over truth shape how immigration is covered. The same crime committed by a white individual is framed as a personal tragedy or mental health issue, while a brown perpetrator is seen as part of a global ideological threat. This double standard has persisted for decades.
Moreover, the media landscape is changing. While traditional media is still powerful, social media has become the new frontier — both for democratic expression and disinformation. The far right has proven exceptionally adept at using social media platforms. Their content is provocative, memetic, often humorous, and highly viral. It appeals to emotion, leverages shared grievances, and spreads across transnational networks. In contrast, centrist or left-leaning messages often lack the same digital sophistication and resources.
The covid 19 pandemic further entrenched online radicalisation. The isolation of individuals, increased internet use, and declining social trust created a perfect storm for conspiracy theories and right-wing ideologies to flourish. These dynamics are now amplified by deregulated digital environments where chaos equals clicks, and clicks equal capital.
Despite all this, immigration remains indispensable to Europe’s future. Demographic decline, labour shortages, and economic sustainability all require managed migration. Without it, European economies face stagnation and pension crises. Yet, this critical policy issue is buried beneath anti-immigrant rhetoric. Political leaders fail to articulate the long-term benefits of immigration because doing so would require investment in infrastructure, services, and inclusive social planning — something many seem unwilling to commit to.
In sum, immigration has become the focal point of political discourse not because it is the most urgent issue, but because it is the most politically expedient. It allows political classes to divert attention from systemic failures, media to chase ratings, and disillusioned citizens to channel their frustrations. But the consequences are profound: democratic decay, social polarisation, and the erosion of solidarity.
Looking ahead, these dynamics are likely to persist. Migration pressures will not decrease, nor will the global conflicts that drive them. If anything, we may see even bolder racialised discourses and deeper entrenchments of the far right. Unless responsible political leadership emerges — leadership capable of speaking difficult truths, investing in long-term solutions, and challenging the politics of fear — we will continue to see a politics of division prevail.
