Going to extremes: How centrist parties are chasing votes with anti-migrant rhetoric — and losing support

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For many years, Germany maintained a so-called “firewall“ (sometimes referred to in other countries as a “cordon sanitaire“) — an informal agreement among all mainstream parties not to cooperate with the far right. However, ahead of the February Bundestag elections, that firewall was on the verge of being torn down, largely due to Friedrich Merz, the leader of the Christian Democratic Union (CDU). The future German chancellor, whose party was all but guaranteed to win the election, entered a tactical alliance with the far-right Alternative for Germany (AfD) to push through a tough bill against uncontrolled migration.

Merz likely aimed to “co-opt” the migration issue from the far right and thereby draw AfD voters to the CDU. Instead, the opposite happened: the Christian Democrats lost at least two percentage points in pre-election polls.

This miscalculation may even explain the CDU’s drop from a range of 30–32% in January polls to 28.5% in the actual election. And this phenomenon is nothing new. When centrist and conservative parties cooperate with the far right, it often ends up strengthening the radicals and pushing moderate voters further to the right.

Making the far right: a how-to guide

Far-right politics is no longer confined to the fringes of European political life. In fact, once-marginal ideas are steadily creeping into acceptable discourse — a process researchers call “mainstreaming.” This process can be broken down into two key components. The first involves the far-right movements themselves. They combine grassroots mobilization at the local level with strategic “rebranding” in order to appear more respectable to a wider audience — all the while skillfully using the media to their advantage.

The second, equally important factor involves the strategic missteps of traditional parties. In their bid to stay in power, centrists and conservatives often either attempt to co-opt far-right rhetoric or even collaborate with radicals outright. Friedrich Merz's actions serve as a clear example of this type of mistake.

Populist and radical ideologies do not emerge out of nowhere or form artificially. They often arise as a result of protest voting, when disillusioned voters — frustrated with government policies, declining living standards, political scandals, or other grievances — turn to populists as the only alternative that offer a true break with the status quo. Many support non-mainstream, alternative movements not out of agreement with their platforms, but rather as an act of defiance against the ruling parties. For example, in the 1980s, Austria’s far-right Freedom Party of Austria initially gained traction against the centrist ruling coalition on a wave of protest votes. Similarly, during the 1990s, Italy’s Northern League capitalized on economic crises and growing distrust towards the government to expand its influence.

Once far-right parties ride a wave of protest voting and build a support base, they usually try to expand further, adapting their radical ideas and populist messages to current events. For AfD, the “migration crisis” became a central platform plank — one that required little more than blaming mainstream parties. Actual crises or any real connection between structural phenomena (such as immigration) and social problems aren’t even necessary for this approach to work.

Political scientist Karl Loxbo illustrates this with reference to the case of Sweden and the far-right Sweden Democrats. According to his research, public dissatisfaction with migration didn’t drive support for the radicals — if anything, it was the other way around, with the political activism of the far right itself drawing Swedes' attention to the migration issue. Even without significant demographic shifts or national crises, the Sweden Democrats’ consistent presence at the municipal level and their persistent propaganda gradually altered voters’ ideological views.

As the far right solidifies its voter base, and as its ideas enter mainstream discourse, the next step is rebranding. This does not mean abandoning their core ideology, but rather disguising it by removing its most unpalatable aspects. Germany’s far right has put considerable effort into just such an image makeover.

For AfD, one example of this rebranding involved choosing its current leader, Alice Weidel — young, educated, with a prestigious background in banking, she has given the party a more polished appearance. With Weidel as its face, AfD has subtly adjusted its rhetoric, replacing aggressive slogans like “Germany for Germans” with terms that lack overt Nazi associations — like “remigration.”

The same transformation has played out for other successful far-right parties across Europe. The Sweden Democrats, which originated as an openly neo-fascist movement, expelled known extremists, dropped inflammatory slogans like “Keep Sweden Swedish!” and replaced their party symbol — a torch — with a flower. Marine Le Pen took a similar approach in reshaping her father’s party. She distanced herself from Holocaust denial, expelled members who defended Nazi collaboration during World War II, and abandoned openly racist statements. This rebranding helps mask the most radical aspects of far-right parties, allowing their core anti-migrant and nationalist ideas to continue gaining traction.

But these efforts alone aren’t enough to gain power. Most European democracies have traditionally kept their distance from far-right and neo-Nazi parties, and the institutional barriers put in place after World War II effectively kept them out of parliament. In the early 2000s, UKIP, then Britain’s main far-right party, barely managed to reach 1.5–3% in elections. Despite decades of activism, the Sweden Democrats failed until 2010 to cross the 5% threshold. AfD met the same fate in their first election in 2013. However, it was mainstream politicians who ultimately paved the way for the far right.

Are centrists to blame?

Political scientists Aurelien Mondon and Aaron Winter argue that the recent rise of far-right parties in Europe is due to their rhetoric being embraced by other political players. In their article “The Far Right, the Mainstream, and Mainstreaming,” they describe a gradual shift in political language and imagery, one in which the formerly clear boundaries between extremism and acceptability are fading. As the far right rebrands itself, established parties — attempting unsuccessfully to co-opt populist narratives — end up adapting to them, borrowing elements of their language and policies.

Far-right ideas are becoming normalized — it is no longer shameful to talk or act like them. Moreover, researchers argue that the more centrist parties adopt radical rhetoric and shift to the right, the more extreme far-right parties become.

This strategy, used by right-wing populists and other radical parties, is sometimes called political entrepreneurship. In this case, the “entrepreneurs” — populists — enter politics with new central themes for discussion, new focal points and explanations for popular issues, and new terminology and language. They force others to adapt.

Far-right parties use so-called gateway issues to secure long-term influence over the political agenda, explains Princeton University professor Jan-Werner Mueller. Gateway issues can be anything — they do not even have to be real.

For example, they might frame climate action as an attack on “freedom” or target minorities like transgender people, designating them as enemies. Mueller notes that the constant presence of far-right rhetoric in politics pressures traditional centrist and center-right parties to change, often pushing them toward harsher positions on immigration and security. This not only amplifies the visibility of far-right ideas but also narrows the space for moderate political debate.

In 2017, France’s far-right National Rally won 13.6% of the vote, but by the 2024 elections, that number had surged to 33%. Meanwhile, support for President Emmanuel Macron’s center-right party fell from 30% to 20% — all the while, he and his allies had worked tirelessly to co-opt the far-right agenda.

In 2021, France’s interior minister accused Marine Le Pen of being too soft on immigration and Islam. A year later, Valérie Pécresse, the presidential candidate from the center-right Republicans, used the conspiracy term Great Replacement, which claims that white populations are being deliberately “replaced” by immigrants.

Political analysts explain that Pécresse’s language had a counterproductive effect: it legitimized Le Pen’s party and other far-right groups while weakening Macron’s popularity and boosting support for anti-immigration and racist ideas.

The same pattern can be seen in Sweden. Since 2013, the center-right Moderate Party has also tried to adopt anti-immigration rhetoric. Tobias Billström, the Moderates’ immigration minister, pushed for stricter immigration policies. Over time, asylum and residency requirements became tougher, and politicians increasingly linked immigration to rising crime.

By the time of the most recent elections, the Moderates had fallen from 30% to 19%, while support for the far-right Sweden Democrats surged from 7% to 21%. The result: a coalition with the far right instead of the Social Democrats or other centrist parties, in which virtually all immigration policies were handed over to the Sweden Democrats. Within the first year of this coalition, the far right grew to 23%, while the Moderates dropped to 16%.

Even Sweden’s center-left Social Democrats are now trying to adopt immigration restrictions, moving away from their previous liberal stance, explains Swedish researcher Ann-Cathrine Jungar. A similar situation unfolded in Belgium. The conservative New Flemish Alliance (N-VA), one of the country’s largest parties, has responded to the rise of the far right since 2009 by shifting further right and adopting strict immigration policies. The result was the same. In 2009, local far-right parties were a relatively minor force, with just 9% support, but they have now risen to 23%, surpassing the N-VA in parliament.

Another striking example comes from the United Kingdom. In the 1990s and early 2000s, the far-right movement was led by UKIP (the UK Independence Party, the predecessor of Nigel Farage’s modern far-right Reform UK), which focused primarily on anti-immigration rhetoric and was known for its Euroskepticism.

Mainstream parties, particularly the Conservatives, sought to counter the rise of far-right ideas. By 2004, the Conservatives had already begun gradually adopting UKIP’s formerly unpopular agenda. This culminated in the Brexit referendum, a vote that the Conservatives called for largely under pressure from the far right. Its eventual result: the UK’s departure from the EU.

Since then, the Conservative Party in the UK has been increasingly aligning itself with the far right, both in policy and rhetoric, adopting the former fringe groups’ conspiracy theories and language — including narratives about the threat of “cultural Marxism” and accusations that immigration lawyers are “leftists.” Over the past few years, the Conservatives have lost nearly half of their supporters, while Reform UK's approval rating has caught up with Labour, reaching 25%. In January, for the first time, they surpassed the Tories, who lost the parliamentary elections.

In Germany, the slogans of the CDU, which took first place in the last elections, have also steadily shifted to the right. Even the Social Democrats (junior partners of the center-right in the government coalition still taking shape) have begun to move away from their traditionally pro-migration stance in recent years. While they have not embraced far-right ethno-nationalist discourse, they have significantly toned down their support for immigration.

The CDU/CSU and the Social Democrats are not yet willing to negotiate a coalition with the Greens — or, at least for now, with far-right politicians from AfD. However, experts are already alarmed by the potential outcomes of future elections and the fate of the next coalition, given the rapid rise of the far right.

Is there a remedy for right-wing populism?

The strategy of shifting to the right, which traditional European parties have adopted in recent years, is clearly failing. What alternative paths might be out there?

Daniel Sachs, founder of the Swedish pro-democracy research institute DSF, argues that instead of an “ultra-right mimicry” strategy, European centrist politicians need “radical centrism.” While established political parties in Europe respond to the rise of far-right extremism by adopting hybrid ideologies and mimicking populist rhetoric, they risk alienating their traditional electorate. In reality, he believes they should return to their roots, maintaining clear boundaries between the mainstream and extremism.

However, the problem is not just in party politics. Public discourse, including traditional media, plays an equally significant role in mainstreaming far-right ideas. While far-right movements often accuse the media of bias and corruption, in reality they play a key role in improving the radicals' public image.

In another Aurelien Mondon article, “Populism, the Media, and the Mainstreaming of the Far Right,” she and co-author Katy Brown took a close look at how The Guardian, traditionally a center-left newspaper, covers the topic. They came to an unsettling conclusion: the frequent use of the word “populism” is a double-edged sword.

On the one hand, it softens more direct terms like “racism” and “extremism,” making far-right movements sound less dangerous. On the other, it puts their ideas at the center of political debate, amplifying their influence. This kind of unintentional rebranding makes far-right parties seem less threatening and more mainstream, slowly but surely normalizing their rhetoric. Even media coverage that seems critical can end up giving these parties more legitimacy.

Despite growing concerns, neither Europe’s mainstream political parties nor the media at large seem ready to change course. The shift to the right has built up too much momentum, and stepping back toward moderation — even traditional conservatism — now feels like too much of a risk. Even if all signs suggest that stepping back is exactly what they should be doing.