FOR those of us who have spent years – in my case, decades – campaigning on the centre‑right, the political landscape of 2026 feels less like a battlefield and more like a maze with no exit. The noise, the fragmentation, the competing agendas, and the sheer confusion facing voters have created an environment in which activism is not just difficult but almost impossible. And for those of us preparing for the May local elections, the situation is becoming unworkable.
I have been involved in politics for 26 years. I joined the English Democrats in the early 2000s when there was a heated discussion about England not having its own parliament. I stood for both local council and Parliament, twice. I later stood for UKIP, again both locally and nationally. I subsequently joined the Brexit Party with hope, only for it to become Reform UK before I had the chance to stand. I eventually did stand for Reform in a local by‑election, at a time when the party was still building its base. Alongside this, I have served as a town councillor, where – as is the case across the country – everyone is technically independent, regardless of political leanings.
I spent the latter part of 2015 and the first six months of 2016 on the streets of west London campaigning for Brexit in a cross-party capacity, working alongside UKIP, the Conservatives, including a day with Boris Johnson, and even Labour (which had its own ‘leave’ vehicle, so clearly not everybody who voted or campaigned to leave the EU was ‘far right’).
Today my position is feeling trapped in the middle of a conflict between two former key characters in the Reform UK movement. One is Ben Habib, the leader of my chosen party, Advance UK, and the other is Rupert Lowe, leader of what was founded as a ‘movement’ and has now transmogrified into a political party. Unfortunately for me, I am a member of both, having unwittingly joined the latter on the understanding it was a ‘movement’ rather than having any intention of becoming a political party.
As a result, my home on the political right is now splintered into parties, movements and micro-factions. The left is divided by Labour and Greens and the right is segmented into Reform UK, the Conservatives, Advance UK and Restore Britain.
There is now a deep and frightening fault line running through both the right and left of politics. Four parties on the right, all appealing to the same voters, and Labour and the Greens competing for the Islamic vote in the aftermath of the seismic Gorton and Denton by-election.
On the right: four sets of activists, all pulling in different directions and four competing narratives, none of which are breaking through the noise. This is not strategy. This is self‑sabotage.
For activists like me, the consequences are real. I cannot stand for more than one party. I cannot risk confusing voters who already struggle to distinguish between the various centre‑right options. I cannot ask the same friends – good, loyal people – to pound the pavements with me yet again when the right cannot even decide what banner it wants to march under.
Some have suggested that independence is the answer.But without party infrastructure, standing as an independent feels less like freedom and more like isolation. In a small community like mine, where people know their political history, standing as an independent does not feel like a fresh start. It feels like being politically marooned. It feels like giving up the fight for a united, credible alternative, a tacit admission that the right has become so fractured that even long‑standing activists can no longer find a home.
I’m almost at the point of just not bothering. I don’t need the hassle of trying to organise helpers who supported me before when I stood for Reform, only for people on doorsteps to ask awkward questions about why I am not with Reform any longer and others questioning why I’m not hitching my wagon to any other of the newcomers. It’s a case of damned if I do and damned if I don’t. I feel like banging a few political heads together and I know other Reform defectors feel the same.
The online political landscape is the most telling because it is on social media where folk tend to let it all hang out in a way they don’t necessarily do so in a pub or public meeting. There is a feeling of safety in groups where you can let rip your innermost fears, accusations and political opinions in spite of the constant worry of the Thought Police lurking in the shadows.
People have had enough. I know this because I listen to the anguish both online and off. This is not just my story. It is the story of countless activists across the country who have given years of their lives to causes which now seem to be dissolving into noise. The right wins arguments, but it loses organisation. It wins debates, but it loses discipline. It has passion, but no unity. And without unity, activism dies.
If the right doesn’t buck up its ideas – and soon – it risks squandering what may be the last real opportunity to challenge the political direction of this country. The stakes are too high for ego, factionalism or petty disputes. The public deserves clarity. Activists deserve leadership. And the right deserves a fighting chance.
I am tired. I am frustrated. And I am deeply worried.
But I am also still here – still willing to serve, still willing to fight for my community. But under what banner? Do we still even have a banner? Or are we now merely reduced to the level of verbal fisticuffs in online echo chambers?
If the right wants activists, candidates, and volunteers to keep going, then it must do what it has failed to do for far too long: grow up, put its big boy pants on, get organised and work together. Because without unity all we are doing is handing victory to those who would happily see this country continue its road to hell.
That, for me, is the most terrifying part of all.
