“The Russians blame everything on their government, the Americans on their parents, and the Poles on history.” So said the Russian-born American poet Joseph Brodsky. If he were alive today, he might have added: “And the leading Brexiters blame everything on the loss of an imaginary past.” The seeds of this nostalgia were, of course, present in Britain long before the referendum, but years of austerity and inequality, topped with incendiary debates on refugees and discontent with the status quo, generated a feeling of longing for the “good old days”.

Some 63% of British citizens think life was better and easier in the past. The Brexit hardliners exploited this emotional nostalgia for their own political interests. History is purged of its dark chapters, stripped of its complexity, simplified and sanitised. Facts do not matter. Historical accuracy is sacrificed for the sheer lure of rhetoric. When Boris Johnson claimed: “If Chequers were adopted it would mean that for the first time since 1066 our leaders were deliberately acquiescing in foreign rule”, he was only following a trend. But while hardcore Brexiters rave about British exceptionalism, it is worth underlining that there is nothing new or exceptional about this. They are simply joining a dangerous trend that has taken hold at the fringes of Europe.

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Take Turkey, a nation-state that was formed out of a multi-ethnic empire. The dramatic demise of democracy in Turkey holds important lessons for progressives everywhere. It shows us that history does not necessarily go forward; it can slide backwards. Turkey’s trajectory reveals the stark difference between democracy and majoritarianism; and how, once majoritarianism settles in, it is a short step from there to authoritarianism.

Much has been written about Turkey’s populist isolationism, but it is a less known fact that this regression was underpinned by a rhetoric of imperial nostalgia. Years ago, after the publication of my novel The Architect’s Apprentice, I gave a talk in Pera, the most cosmopolitan quarter of Istanbul. A young man in the audience put up his hand and told me I had offended him by writing that there were prostitutes with the Ottoman army on their marches. I asked him whether he was questioning the validity of this historical fact. “Not at all,” he said. “I understand, there might have been such issues. But that’s not the point. The point is, why mention it? Why don’t you write about the glories of our empire instead? That’s what we want to hear.”

Imperial nostalgia is deliberately selective. It sweeps the darker sides of history under the carpet. It imposes from above a version of history that is one-sided, distorted, biased. It tells us what we are allowed to remember, and what we need to forget. It also pretends that history was simple. It never was. That young man’s sentiment is very much in line with the Turkish government’s ideology. President Erdoğan says the republic of Turkey is a continuation of the Ottoman empire. In a ceremony held on the centenary of the death of Sultan Abdulhamid II, Erdoğan said: “Some people insistently try to start this country’s history from 1923. Some unrelentingly try to break us from our roots and ancient values.”

Imperial nostalgia shapes Turkey’s popular culture. TV series and movies are built on this need to glorify the past. Resurrection-Dirilis, a big commercial hit, focuses on the onset of the empire in the 13th century, romanticising wars and warriors. The series Payitaht (Capital), which focuses on the demise of the Ottomans, is deeply antisemitic, accusing Jews of trying to destroy the empire. Meanwhile, writers, academics and journalists who dare to question the new Ottomanism are seen as traitors and pawns of western powers. Turkey’s two leading universities, METU and Bosphorus University, are targeted by AKP politicians for not being national enough. Open Society has pulled out of the country after Erdogan declared that “Hungarian-Jew Soros” was behind the Gezi protests in 2013. Osman Kavala, a well-respected civil society activist and businessman, is still unlawfully held in prison after over a year. Academics have been arrested on ridiculous charges, thousands are blacklisted or sacked. Charles Darwin was even removed from the national curriculum. After all, he wasn’t Turkish.

Change a few details, and you might as well be describing the situation in Hungary. Viktor Orbán, who similarly attacks the Soros Foundation, even though he was a recipient of a Soros-funded scholarship, has recently banned gender studies programmes.“The government’s standpoint is that people are born either male or female, and we do not consider it acceptable for us to talk about socially constructed genders rather than biological sexes.” Just as in Turkey, in Hungary, too, the obsession with “great empire” helps to build a tribalist-populist narrative.

A Hungarian band, Kárpátia, sing songs about a “Greater Hungary”, which they describe as paradise. The fans of the band go to concerts wearing T-shirts with maps of their lost empire. Just like in Turkey, these sentiments are manipulated by the political elite from above. Victor Orban constantly talks about the Kingdom of Hungary, lamenting its demise and the loss of wider territories.

One must pay special attention to those countries in and around the continent that were once empires to understand Europe today. These are the places where a toxic imperial nostalgia is spreading and spreading fast. Many of us have watched Croatia’s World Cup success, cheering on the underdog. It was remarkable that a small Balkan country performed so well, and citizens of the world everywhere cheered with them. But that sweet feeling of global solidarity was destroyed by what followed next. During the celebrations in Zagreb, the team invited Marko Perković to perform – a man known for his fascist lyrics glorifying the Ustashe nationalists, who fought alongside the Nazis.

Like all ultranationalists, Perković over-uses historical symbols and begins all his concerts with the Ustashe salute – the direct equivalent of the Nazi salute. Let us not forget that it was the Ustashe movement that set up concentration camps where thousands of liberal-leftist Croatians, Serbs, Jews and Roma citizens were sent to their death. The most infamous of these camps is Jasenovac where 100 000 are estimated to have been killed.

Imperial nostalgia is alive and kicking in yet another bygone empire: Russia. Shaun Walker, in The Long Hangover: Putin’s New Russia and the Ghosts of the Past, tells how the past is polished and used to avoid the unwanted realities of the present. Today,almost half the population find it natural that it should have an empire. It’s a significant change from the mood in the 1990s.

Imperial nostalgia is not only a feeling but a catalyst. It takes social discontent and transforms it into a dangerous form of political tribalism. In The Future is History, Masha Gessen demonstrates how nostalgia has changed the fabric of Russian society. Once people believe in their “imperial exceptionalism” they start to read history in a dim light. More than 25% of Russians believe that Stalin’s rule was good for the country. Gessen’s analysis reveals how imperial nostalgia goes hand in hand with an increase in nationalism, isolationism, sexism and homophobia.

This year, the centenary of the demise of the Habsburg dynasty, tribalists in Austria have been busily trying to revive their own romanticised past. The Black-Yellow Alliance, a monarchist movement founded in 2004, aims to restore a hereditary monarchy in Austria and beyond the wider Danube. Its members claim that central Europe was unique. They yearn to unite Austria with Slovakia, Slovenia, Croatia and the Czech Republic. Many of their sentiments are backed by the government under Kurz, Conservative People’s Party, who want to propose citizenship to German-speaking Italians. Meanwhile, Alternative für Deutschland, the first rightwing nationalist party in the country’s parliament since the second world war, continues to use Nazi-era terms, such as Überfremdung – “foreign infiltration”. This month the magazine, Compact, known for its close ties to the party issued a special report titled “The shame of Versailles: how the victorious powers enslaved Germany”.

Imperial nostalgia is openly quarrelsome and secretly expansionist. It may start as an innocent patriotic pride, but it will never stop there. Once resentments about the end of empires have been brought to the table clashes are inevitable. The next step is to believe that the neighbouring countries are in fact parts of “us” that are waiting to be joined to the fatherland.

Memory is a responsibility. We ought to remember the past, not only in its polished glories but also its atrocities and injustices. Rhetoric about returning to a golden past is not innocent and it is not the right way forward. Let us please not be so complacent as to assume that imperial nationalism, a toxic liquid that has turned sour in country after country, will not have the same effect in the UK because, after all, “this place is different”. That’s exactly what a Hungarian, Turkish, Croatian, Austrian or German imperial-nationalist would have said.

As Europe witnesses a rise in a new form of political nostalgia, the last thing we need is for British politicians to jump on this doomed bandwagon. No country is exceptional. We are all in this mess together.