In 2015, prime minister of Hungary Viktor Orbán decided to meet the immigrant challenge by erecting an impenetrable barrier— a barbed wire fence— on the southern Hungarian border, thus keeping asylum seekers from Africa and the Middle East out, while making himself and the Hungarian regime unpopular in the EU and propelling the self- styled “illiberal democracy” of Hungarian populism to international prominence. Hungary quickly became the talk of the town, the despised object par excellence of liberal- minded people, at least until 2016, when Donald Trump promised that he would build a wall on the southern US border if he were elected president. Since then— if not before— populism has been seen almost exclusively as a manifestation— an excrudescence— of antimigrant policies, and Hungary as the country no civilized nation- state should be seen to associate with.

Hungary is no doubt a different case from both Sweden and Catalonia. Where in the former, mainstream parties are doing their utmost to keep the populists from power, and in the latter separatist movements are adopting populist measures— so far unsuccessfully— to reach their imagined goal, in Hungary we are dealing with a full- fledged populist regime, democratically elected, enjoying the backing of close to 80 percent of citizens (the aggregate support for Fidesz and Jobbik) and having ruled the country since 2010. Since then, it has done its best to promote its nationalist program, instill national pride among the Magyars in their Hungarian identity, curtail liberal institutions and practices, strengthen control of the judicial system and the media, keep unwanted aliens and foreign influences out (both the poor from the South and rich elite Jews, like George Soros, from the West) and simultaneously ridicule and extract maximum benefits from the EU.

This chapter is not specifically about the UK, but it is nevertheless fitting to begin with a lengthy quotation that addresses the Brexit debacle, because it reveals something fundamental about populism and its inherent paradoxes.

In a noteworthy article in The Guardian on December 2, 2018, the newspaper’s columnist, Matthew d’Ancona, makes the following astute comments on the process, which at the time anticipated the fate of Theresa May's “Brexit deal” with the EU in the British House of Commons— comments that only miss the heart of the matter by an inch.

The Catalonian case is very different from the Swedish, for a number of obvious reasons. Sweden is a unitary nation- state, based on cultural homogeneity and a long shared history, but with ethnic and national minorities of different hue (Sami, Swedish Finns, Serbs, Croats, Turks, Romanians, Syrians, etc.). Most of these are geographically dissipated across Swedish territory, though the Sami have their own distinct “homeland” in the North. Catalonia, on the other hand, though also located within a formally unitary Spanish state, is an autonomous region within the national “semi- federal” structure, with its own language (Catalan), a relatively distinct history and devolved powers in questions of language, education, social policy and culture, but— in spite of this considerable political autonomy— is not equipped with the powers that uniquely distinguish a sovereign nation- state: money, foreign policy, security forces, an army and international recognition. And, importantly, it never was, in spite of multiple historical efforts (Elliott 2018; Guibernau 2004).

Its autonomous status has, moreover, shifted a lot since the fall of Franco in 1975 (the fascist regime did not admit of any autonomy at all). Autonomy peaked in 2006, but in 2010 the region had significant competences removed from the regional government in Barcelona to the central government in Madrid, based on a decision by the Spanish Constitutional Court— an event that refueled and aggravated the secessionist debate. Gerardo Munoz (2018) is right to argue that

Donald Trump and his peculiar kind of national populism did not emerge as a deus ex machina, but has reasons, roots and realities that explain it, however insane and “un- American” it might look to many observers. Some of these are historical, some rooted in the political philosophy of the American nationstate, some are related to the domestic “glue” and cohesiveness of US society and others have more to do with the reaction of the (former?) global superpower to changing conditions of existence in a world where its preeminence is threatened by, especially, China and other “eastern” powers as well (India, Vietnam, Thailand, S. Korea, etc.).

Populism, if only just by name, is by no means foreign to the United States, its history and politics. But it has now transmuted into a serious and menacing challenge to the traditional liberal establishment in the United States (political and economic), and— on the analysis of countless scholars— to American democracy, institutions and “checks and balances” between the executive, judiciary and legislative branches (see, e.g., Levitsky and Ziblatt 2018; Luce 2018; Mounk 2018; Runciman 2018; Norris and Inglehart 2019). It claims itself, on the other hand, to be on a mission of rescuing the United States from the dangers of the global elites and the liberal media, from globalization, from immigrant invasions and from external threats emanating from Iran, North Korea, China, Russia, even the EU— with the purpose of restoring “greatness” to the United States. “America First” is the slogan of the populists, in the name of “the People,” which means about 50 percent of the population. The rest are not worth taking seriously and are therefore ridiculed, vilified and branded as defectors from and traitors to the national cause or, at best, manipulated by the “fake news” of the dominant media (NYT, CNN, Washington Post, NBC and so forth).

Questions that keep popping up when populism is the subject of discussion or analysis regularly have to do with “the people,” since populists always refer to the people as the ultimate source of legitimacy, authority and rightful rule. What then is the people, how does it manifest itself, what are its relations to sovereignty, nation, democracy, constitutionalism and “the masses,” and how should we understand the concept of popular sovereignty, which everybody seems to support but which nevertheless constantly gives rise to disagreements, debate, worry and differing— sometimes even mutually exclusive— interpretations?

Many enlightened and well- informed efforts have been made to get to grips with these issues (among them Kalyvas 2005; Laski [1919] 2008; Loughlin and Walker 2007; Marchart 2005; Morgan 1988; Morris 2000; Ochoa Espejo 2011; Spång 2014), but in recent times most notably by Margaret Canovan, who in her The People (2005) makes a valiant effort to ask many of the right questions and to answer them extensively and succinctly, both conceptually and with a view to the historical intricacies of the notion in a variety of nation- states and from the vantage point of different academic disciplines (history, politics, philosophy, discourse theory, linguistics, etc.). She is herself steeped in the Anglo- American tradition and makes no bones about it (see notably Chapter 5), but is also able to include the views of both German and French intellectuals and some Latin and South American approaches to boot.

Canovan is mainly concerned with unveiling the ambiguities and confusions surrounding the concepts of “the people” and “popular sovereignty,” both synchronically and diachronically. Is “the people” a collective unity or just a mass of individuals; abstract or concrete; sovereign nation or sovereign “in reserve”; constituent or constituted; dignified or “rabble”? These are some of the problems that pervade her account throughout, exemplified well in the following quote:

The lead question for this chapter can best be phrased as follows: Why do Swedish mainstream political parties refuse to cooperate with the populist Sweden Democrats (SD)? The answer is more complex than appears at first sight.

Most readers will undoubtedly be familiar with the outlines of and status for the Swedish dilemma, namely that the political consensus since the 1970s in this Scandinavian country, favoring open borders and a multicultural society, has become increasingly challenged by the populist SD, which attracts increasing numbers of supporters, and voters as well, and that this showdown has now (early 2019) landed the country in a political stalemate, since the mainstream parties categorically refuse to cooperate with SD in any shape or form, but on the other hand have had great difficulties reaching an agreement on government among themselves.

At this point in time, therefore, democracy in Sweden is facing an unprecedented and seemingly insoluble problem. Anarchy is a real threat, although the caretaker Social Democratic government obviously keeps the wheels turning, but no new policies can be implemented and no new laws passed. This quandary is not unlike the German situation, but is totally dissimilar from Norway, Finland and, not least, Denmark— all of them Nordic countries that have allowed populist parties to have a say in political affairs and where most of the other parties have, to significant extents, adopted populist attitudes and policies too. Why is Sweden so different, what explains what is effectively a case of Swedish exceptionalism? And does the answer lie exclusively in the field of immigration (which since 2015– 16 has brought the situation to a head), or do other factors play a role as well?

If we start by contextualizing the situation vis- à- vis “normal” nationalism in Europe, there is little doubt that the template in the region has called for the Gellnerian compact between one state and one homogeneous nation to be applied universally, in order for this sovereign unity to create trust, loyalty and welfare, both horizontally and vertically, within clearly defined borders. Sweden originally (i.e., in the interwar and postwar period) fully complied with this “model.”

Populism would be unthinkable if it did not base itself on the morality of citizenship that has just been outlined and that is an integral part of nationalism. The creation of this moral consciousness and of “national identity” is a complicated process, where the end- point reverses the point of departure (Hedetoft 1995, 27– 34). Private persons set out to pursue their private aims and find out that this is not possible without taking other societal interests into account and making deals with them in various ways. This in turn generates the state and its institutions, because interests are often so antagonistic that they cannot be mediated without an agency representing the “common will” placed outside and above the private revenue holders— an agency to which people need to surrender their individual sovereignty. Since this institution— the state— cannot in fact neutralize the opposing interests and find a “golden mean” that will satisfy everybody permanently, it needs to inculcate a morality of citizenship and affective belonging in all its subjects, which comes over and above its more specific demands for taxes, civil and political participation, military prowess, austerity and so on, and shades into national identity and national pride, when the standing of the nation- state in an international, comparative perspective is at stake.

All of a sudden, the concrete interests that formed the point of departure have been replaced by citizens’ relativization of their material objectives, by abnegation and sacrifice, even gratitude for being allowed to possess a particular passport— the transformation being more serious for some social groups than others. But the dependence on politics and government policies also breeds a peculiar brand of critical attitude toward political elites, who are always seen to fall short of expectations and never totally to deliver on their promises. This can, provided the right context and if the requisite circumstances present themselves, develop into the anti- elitism and conspiratorial attitudes of populists— both “ordinary people” and elites who see a chance of pushing their own nationalist agendas.

A specter by the name of populism haunts not just Europe but the entire Western world. And as the case is with all specters, it is an oddly elusive being, doing its best to avoid precise description. It is analytically and conceptually hard to catch. Its nature is contested, being variously seen as an ideology, a discourse, a morality or a political strategy (cf. Gidron and Bonikowski 2014; Ionescu and Gellner 1969; Kaltwasser et al. 2017).

It undoubtedly puts on all of these clothes at different points in time and in different settings, precisely like its parent, mainstream nationalism itself. I see the core of populism as being exactly that: a child of nationalism and national identity, its oft- quoted “thin ideology” (Mudde 2004; Stanley 2008) having risen in political impact and visibility since the turn of the century, in Western and non- Western countries alike. It shares with mainstream nationalism the insistence on the pivotal role of “the people,” on the importance of national sovereignty, on the centrality of cultural and historical homogeneity and on the division between “us” as laudable and “them” as foreign and potentially threatening, whether in the form of immigrants, supranational collaboration or the EU.

However, it also differs from the normal design of nationalism and national identities by adding, to its list of opponents, people and groups normally considered an integral part of the national setup— elites especially— and by placing extraordinary and hyper- moralistic stress on the role of “the people” as the ultimate umpire and principal referent of the rightful composition and future of the nation- state and its borders. Furthermore, it is not concerned with recognizing other nation- states, nor the international order, but is basically intent on keeping its own territory and population clean, pure and uncontaminated; its borders rigid and unassailable; and its cultural heritage and popular memories proud and protected.

Thus far it may come across as little more than an extreme form of national belonging— nationalism run wild so to speak— a case for national psychologists or a kind of collective pathology.

The word “problem” in the title of this chapter should be understood as “underlying causes.” In other words, I will try in this chapter to hone in not on the populist manifestations or their consequences but on their background, contexts and causalities.

The first and most obvious task for all scholars of national populism should be this: to establish plausible reasons for how the same type of popular and political mobilization can take place in multiple countries across Europe and the entire world, at the same time and in a similar manner. Populism, it must be conjectured, is not a haphazard, coincidental or evanescent phenomenon, but a more permanent one that calls for systematic explanation. The point of departure for any such coherent “logic” must be a lookout for deeper causes— causes that may not be immediately apparent to the naked eye, but nevertheless affect millions of citizens around the world in much the same way.

I have identified at least five factors of causation that all play a role, sometimes together, at other points in specific combinations. They are

• • globalization and its destabilizing effects on domestic relations between leaders and populations;

• • rising levels of economic and social inequality and a widening chasm between formal egalitarianism and real difference (economic, social, political);

• • the gradual dissolution of national sovereignty;

• • increasing levels of distrust of elites;

• • individual or collective marginalization and victimization, real or perceived.

In the following, the five factors will be analyzed and commented on, more or less in that order, though connections will be made apparent along the way.

Globalization is a many- headed monster, comprising not only cultural, social, institutional and political elements but also, not to forget, finance and economics (Baylis and Smith 2001; Beck 2001; Dicken 2003; Hedetoft 2003; Lechner and Boli 2004). Since the end of World War II, we have lived through different globalization “phases” (1945– 75, 1975– 90, 1990– app. 2004, 2004– now, though things started to change with the 2008 crisis), all more or less synonymous with modulations (and possibly decline) of American hegemony (Babones 2015; Kupchan 2003; Nye 1990 and 2015).

I have so far been mainly concerned with dissecting the substantive manifestations of populism rather than entering into the undergrowth of (semantic) debates about the term itself, the many myths surrounding it or the dismissal of it as something new, surprising or indeed frightening (e.g., Jäger 2018). But a book on populism without comments on its history of reception among followers, opposition or academics is inconceivable. This chapter does not aim for any kind of exhaustive treatment of the issue— this would be an impossible task— but merely to address the most important myths, misconceptions and (half- )truths that keep popping up, and to supplement remarks made in passing along the way with a more direct head- on discussion and hopefully some clarification.

In his short but comprehensive article, “Understanding the Global Rise of Populism,” Michael Cox mulls over some of the same issues and provides us with a good point of entry (Cox 2018). He argues, for instance, that populism, though “it defies easy pigeon- holing,” is actually able to unite “most writers on the subject” (p. 3) in a mixture of surprise and “a strong dash of ideological distaste” (ibid.). “They don't much like it,” as he tersely puts it. “Sneering or patronizing” seem to be the two most frequent reactions to populism, as John Stepek is quoted for saying (ibid., 4). And Cox also provides us with a brief explanation of this type of reaction. It is “understandable, given that so much of what some populists say is deeply concerning from a liberal perspective. […] Still we face a quandary. On the one side, there are the analysts of populism who tend in the main to look at the phenomenon all the time holding their noses as if there were a bad smell in the room. On the other, there are millions of very ‘ordinary people’ out there who actually vote for such movements” (ibid., 4; my emphasis). And he succinctly sums up as follows: “If nothing else, it says something about the state of the West when you have the overwhelming bulk of public intellectuals lining up one side to critique populism […], and millions of their fellow citizens voting in their droves for parties and individuals of which most experts and academics appear to disapprove” (ibid.).

There was a time when Britain— or possibly one should say England?— was world famous for its ability to solve any intractable problem by “muddling through,” making compromises, not being theoretical but pragmatic, doing down- to- earth negotiations and talking sense rather than principle. Muddling through was often seen as an innate feature of the English “national character,” like keeping a stiff upper lip, getting down to brass tacks, doing without a written constitution and enjoying your 5 o’clock tea. Or, in the words of George Orwell, “It is somehow bound up with solid breakfasts and gloomy Sundays, smoky towns and winding roads, green fields and red pillar- boxes” (Orwell 1941). Those days seem to have gone for good. Now, as The Sydney Morning Herald sarcastically announced in a headline in its December 3, 2018 issue, “British art of muddling through is one dead parrot,” mimicking the hilarious Monty Python sketch, in which a shopkeeper is trying to sell a stonedead parrot to a customer, who obstinately refuses to buy, because “this parrot wouldn't ‘voom’ if I put 4000 volts through it.”

Indeed, muddling through seems to be defunct, in British/ UK society as well as in Parliament. It might have been underway for quite some time, but when David Cameron, in January 2013, made the fateful decision to let the People decide, in a legally binding referendum, UK's destiny in the EU, this opened the Pandora's Box of immanent contradictions, conflicts and cleavages, which we can now witness play themselves out in a drama that is best likened to a Greek tragedy with an admixture of farce and conspicuous incompetence. Cameron imagined that a referendum with a clear Remain vote would settle the “European” question once and for all, in a final confirmation of the 1975 referendum called— and won— by Harold Wilson.

This concluding chapter will try to extract the most significant insights this book has produced and finally outline some perspectives and specify some predictions on that basis. I will comment on a number of the current assumptions and preconceptions dominating the populist debate— in scholarship, the media and the general Zeitgeist— while aiming to steer clear of the wealth of normative judgments, more often than not formulated prior to and not as a consequence of rational analysis, which stand in the way of a cool, neutral and impartial assessment of the populist presence in contemporary politics, culture and society.

First, we have to deal with the so- called definitional question: what is populism really? Do we know more than when we started? Do we have a preciser concept? Jan- Werner Müller is in my view almost correct when he states that populism should be conceived as a moralistic imagination of politics (Müller 2016, 16– 17), but the definition misses two important, additional elements. One, that all national ideas of politics are moralistic, not just the populist version; and second, politics is imagined as having its roots and point of return— its be- all and end- all— in the People and not in their representative elites. In fact, the People is in a significant sense itself a moral concept, since it only arises— as an abstraction, but also as a reality— on the basis of ignoring, abstracting from the concrete, specific and individual characteristics of living persons and their day- to- day interests and concerns, in favor of regarding them as a multitude of equal, like- minded beings, as citizens and part of the Allgemeinheit. Here they express their volonté générale, rarely directly, and more often by means of their political representatives as spokespeople for the State. It is here that populism deviates from the ordinary forms of nationalism that we have become accustomed to, and its “moralistic imagination” too. It is not that normal citizens are not moralistic in their approach to the world of politics, but that they accept a relatively clear- cut line of separation between themselves and their representatives (the “elites”), and largely leave the business of the Commons— legitimated through processes of elections and institutions guaranteeing the rule of law— to the latter. Populists do not.