It is time to take the anti-EU fringe party seriously, not least for its impact on the Tories

ANGRY insurgents rarely prosper in British politics. Two big things help explain this: voting rules and sniggering. Britain's first-past-the-post voting system is rather brutal to small parties. And if electoral rules do not snare a would-be demagogue then mocking laughter probably will. It is a brave politician who stands before British voters, face red and voice shaking with fury. There is always the risk that at some climactic moment a heckler will interrupt, posing a variant on the ancient British question: just who do you think you are?

How, then, to explain the rise of Nigel Farage, leader of the United Kingdom Independence Party (UKIP), an insurgent (and at times quite angry) outfit devoted to Britain's withdrawal from the European Union? Once a near-irrelevance, UKIP haunts the thoughts of politicians across Westminster. The explanation lies in Mr Farage's talent for turning both Britain's voting system and its traditions of pomposity-pricking mockery to his advantage.

UKIP does not need to win a single House of Commons seat at the next general election to have an outsized impact. The party just needs to threaten, credibly, to siphon off enough Conservative votes to deny David Cameron's party victory in a decisive number of seats: a disastrous fate in a first-past-the-post system. In happier times such a menace might unite Conservatives against UKIP. These are not happy times.

Battered by grim economic news and a string of government U-turns, the Conservatives are some ten points behind Labour in the polls. Almost two-thirds of Tory voters say that they would like to leave the EU. On the party's right, the fact that Mr Cameron wants to stay in the union (and argues that an EU referendum is needed only if Britain is asked to hand more powers to Europe) fuels suspicion that he is not a proper Conservative. His decision to go into coalition with the pro-European Liberal Democrats after the 2010 general election fits the same narrative (right-wingers think he should have chanced a second, snap election).

Though UKIP draws some support from the left and boasts a hard core of voters furious at all big parties, recent gains have come disproportionately from Tory ranks. UKIP's current policy platform is a land grab of terrain ceded by Tory modernisers. It includes a five-year freeze on permanent immigration, increased military spending, a return to selective grammar schools, calling global warming “not proven” and ending smoking bans in pubs.

Mr Farage has begun briefing that local Conservative associations have begged him to consider joint Tory-UKIP candidates at the next general election. Recent opinion polls put UKIP within a point or two of the Lib Dems in either direction (though polls traditionally understate Lib Dems' local strengths). UKIP's next goal is to increase its foothold in local councils, he says, building grassroots networks in conscious emulation of the Lib Dems.

Why good cheer can work

If Mr Farage is adept at maximising his clout within the British electoral system, he is—as importantly—good at the derisive bit of politics. He is skilled at supplying disillusioned voters with arguments to sustain their rage. Yet at the same time, his public persona is cheeky and cheerful: he sometimes seems to heckle himself.

At a recent public meeting outside Bristol, in south-west England, Mr Farage played the packed room (Tory-faithful types, ranging from pensioners in blazers to brawny small businessmen) like a virtuoso. Tiny model Spitfire fighters flashing at his shirt-cuffs, Mr Farage told the crowd what it wanted to hear. Britain is run by “college kids”. The dead of two world wars are being betrayed by Westminster politicians “impotent” to defend democracy. Britain has turned its back on its “kith and kin” in the Commonwealth. It is an “outrage” that eastern Europeans can come and claim benefits. “Charity begins at home,” shouted Mr Farage, and the 250-strong crowd roared.

Questions from the floor were darkly angry. Could Britain be trapped into bailing out the euro by some hidden EU mechanism? Was “political Zionism” behind the world's woes?

Mr Farage turned the mood upbeat. He described how his post as a Eurosceptic group leader in the European Parliament had earned him a meeting with Germany's chancellor, Angela Merkel (cue chuckles). He had asked if it might be kinder to free Greece and other debtor nations from the euro-zone “prison”. He mimicked Mrs Merkel's solemn reply: that countries leaving the euro would end “the European dream”. The crowd cheered gleefully. He urged the questioner worried about Zionism to beware conspiracy theories: “We must, must, must be optimistic.”

Five counties to the east, such optimism is on display in Ramsey, a Cambridgeshire market town which is home to the only UKIP-controlled council in Britain. Ramsey's UKIP councillors take turns cleaning the public lavatories, clearing dog mess and patrolling local pubs at weekends. Pete Reeve, a UKIP councillor, spent the Diamond Jubilee celebrations dressed as the town's mascot, a furry ram. Yet Mr Reeve (interviewed in his ram suit while wartime melodies such as “We'll Meet Again” boomed from loudspeakers) also explained, earnestly, that Eurocrats were trying to build a European army and an electricity grid controlled in Brussels, so that in a few years Britain might not be able to leave the EU. Immigration is a big issue in Ramsey, he added, citing complaints about local factory jobs reserved for Polish-speakers.

In short, UKIP is trying something ambitious: upbeat protest politics for angry, anti-political voters. Will this achieve Mr Farage's short-term goal of supplanting the Lib Dems as Britain's third party? It may not matter. Mr Farage's real dream is to reshape Britain, by pulling the Conservatives to the right and bouncing Mr Cameron into a referendum on EU membership. If he pulls that off, his insurgency will be no laughing matter.

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