In the recent local and European elections the United Kingdom Independence Party (UKIP) made a number of gains.
Written by Robert Tressell in 1911 and published in 1914, The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists seeks to capture the conditions and attitudes of the working man of the day.
In the following excerpt the men are having a tea break. Easton is reading the local paper.
Easton was still reading the Obscurer; he was not about to understand exactly what the compiler of the figures was driving at–probably the latter never intended that anyone should understand–but he was conscious of a growing feeling of indignation and hatred against foreigners of every description, who were ruining this country, and he began to think that it was about time we did something to protect ourselves. Still, it was a very difficult question: to tell the truth, he himself could not make head or tail of it. At length he said aloud, addressing himself to Crass:
'Wot do you think of this ‘ere fissical policy, Bob?’
‘Ain’t thought much about it,’ replied Crass. 'I don’t never worry my ‘ed about politics.’
‘Much better left alone,’ chimed in old Jack Linden sagely, ‘argyfying about politics generally ends up with a bloody row an’ does no good to nobody.’
At this there was a murmur of approval from several of the others. Most of them were averse from arguing or disputing about politics. If two or three men of similar opinions happened to be together they might discuss such things in a friendly and superficial way, but in a mixed company it was better left alone. The ‘Fissical Policy’ emanated from the Tory party. That was the reason why some of them were strongly in favour of it, and for the same reason others were opposed to it. Some of them were under the delusion that they were Conservatives: similarly, others imagined themselves to be Liberals. As a matter of fact, most of them were nothing. They knew as much about the public affairs of their own country as they did of the condition of affairs in the planet of Jupiter.
Easton began to regret that he had broached so objectionable a subject, when, looking up from his paper, Owen said:
‘Does the fact that you never “trouble your heads about politics” prevent you from voting at election times?’
No one answered, and there ensued a brief silence. Easton however, in spite of the snub he had received, could not refrain from talking.
'Well, I don’t go in for politics much, either, but if what’s in this ‘ere paper is true, it seems to me as we oughter take some interest in it, when the country is being ruined by foreigners.’
‘If you’re going to believe all that’s in that bloody rag you’ll want some salt,’ said Harlow.
The Obscurer was a Tory paper and Harlow was a member of the local Liberal club. Harlow’s remark roused Crass.
‘Wot’s the use of talkin’ like that?’ he said; ‘you know very well that the country IS being ruined by foreigners. Just go to a shop to buy something; look round the place an’ you’ll see that more than 'arf the damn stuff comes from abroad. They’re able to sell their goods 'ere because they don’t 'ave to pay no dooty, but they takes care to put 'eavy dooties on our goods to keep ‘em out of their countries; and I say it’s about time it was stopped.’
''Ear, ‘ear,’ said Linden, who always agreed with Crass, because the latter, being in charge of the job, had it in his power to put in a good–or a bad–word for a man to the boss. ''Ear, ‘ear! Now that’s wot I call common sense.’
Several other men, for the same reason as Linden, echoed Crass’s sentiments, but Owen laughed contemptuously.
‘Yes, it’s quite true that we gets a lot of stuff from foreign countries,’ said Harlow, ‘but they buys more from us than we do from them.’
'Now you think you know a ‘ell of a lot,’ said Crass. '‘Ow much more did they buy from us last year, than we did from them?’
Harlow looked foolish: as a matter of fact his knowledge of the subject was not much wider than Crass’s. He mumbled something about not having no 'ed for figures, and offered to bring full particulars next day.
‘You’re wot I call a bloody windbag,’ continued Crass; ‘you’ve got a ‘ell of a lot to say, but wen it comes to the point you don’t know nothin’.’
'Why, even ‘ere in Mugsborough,’ chimed in Sawkins–who though still lying on the dresser had been awakened by the shouting–'We’re overrun with ‘em! Nearly all the waiters and the cook at the Grand Hotel where we was working last month is foreigners.’
‘Yes,’ said old Joe Philpot, tragically, ‘and then thers all them Hitalian horgin grinders, an’ the blokes wot sells ‘ot chestnuts; an’ wen I was goin’ ‘ome last night I see a lot of them Frenchies sellin’ hunions, an’ a little wile afterwards I met two more of ‘em comin’ up the street with a bear.’
Notwithstanding the disquieting nature of this intelligence, Owen again laughed, much to the indignation of the others, who thought it was a very serious state of affairs. It was a dam’ shame that these people were allowed to take the bread out of English people’s mouths: they ought to be driven into the bloody sea.
And so the talk continued, principally carried on by Crass and those who agreed with him. None of them really understood the subject: not one of them had ever devoted fifteen consecutive minutes to the earnest investigation of it. The papers they read were filled with vague and alarming accounts of the quantities of foreign merchandise imported into this country, the enormous number of aliens constantly arriving, and their destitute conditions, how they lived, the crimes they committed, and the injury they did to British trade. These were the seeds which, cunningly sown in their minds, caused to grow up within them a bitter undiscriminating hatred of foreigners. To them the mysterious thing they variously called the ‘Friscal Policy’, the ‘Fistical Policy’, or the ‘Fissical Question’ was a great Anti-Foreign Crusade. The country was in a hell of a state, poverty, hunger and misery in a hundred forms had already invaded thousands of homes and stood upon the thresholds of thousands more. How came these things to be? It was the bloody foreigner! Therefore, down with the foreigners and all their works. Out with them. Drive them b–s into the bloody sea! The country would be ruined if not protected in some way. This Friscal, Fistical, Fissical or whatever the hell policy it was called, WAS Protection, therefore no one but a bloody fool could hesitate to support it. It was all quite plain–quite simple. One did not need to think twice about it. It was scarcely necessary to think about it at all.
This was the conclusion reached by Crass and such of his mates who thought they were Conservatives–the majority of them could not have read a dozen sentences aloud without stumbling–it was not necessary to think or study or investigate anything. It was all as clear as daylight. The foreigner was the enemy, and the cause of poverty and bad trade.