Sunderland had only the 81st strongest ‘Leave’ vote — so why is Nigel Farage starting a march there?
I’ll start, perhaps unwisely, with a caveat: I am not from Sunderland. I wasn’t born there, have never lived there and don’t spend a vast amount of my time there. My affinity with the city is derived primarily from my affinity with its football club; unless Sunderland AFC are playing, its unlikely you’ll find me there.
I believe it necessary to start this way because what is to follow may well sound like I am writing on behalf of Sunderland’s inhabitants. I am not. Given that my influence extends as far as the small crowd that follows me on Twitter, presumably to hear my inane ramblings about sport, for me to venture forth as a voice of the people would be at best misguided and at worst grossly arrogant.
All that being said, my relationship with the city doesn’t stop at the Stadium of Light turnstiles. I have friends from Sunderland, on match days I drink (too much) beer in Sunderland and, truthfully, I am rather defensive of Sunderland. When I hear people pour scorn on the city and its people, I am quick to react, pointing out the socio-economic turbulence of the past half-century or so. Where once Sunderland had four fulcrums around which to gather, being shipbuilding, coal-mining, glass-making and football, now it only has the latter. Given events of recent years, when Sunderland have been relegated twice in as many seasons, most could be forgiven for wishing football had disappeared with the others.
Another caveat: on 23 June 2016, I voted for the United Kingdom to remain a part of the European Union. I was not alone. 16,141,240 others did the same. Problematically for me and those others, 17,410,742 people decided they felt the UK would be better off ‘out’. That put me in a national minority. I was in the minority closer to home, too. My electoral area of County Durham favoured ‘Leave’ by a 58–42 margin.
Sunderland also voted to leave the EU, by a slightly higher margin of 61–39. If you have even a passing interest in British electoral politics, you’ll have noticed Sunderland. Not because the city is a bellwether for election results, nor even because it lays claim to any of the ‘swing seats’ that so fascinate the likes of Jeremy Vine and David Dimbleby.
No, you’ll have noticed Sunderland for something rather more innocuous: the city counts quickly. In the six general elections from 1992 to 2015, the constituency of Houghton and Sunderland South (which was just Sunderland South until 2010) was the first in the country to declare its results. Far from being an area that aroused interest via its unpredictability, it helped that the result was known even before people went to the polls. Labour have held the seat since 1964 and their lowest majority since 1992 is 10,990 — which still translated to a 29-point winning margin.
Sunderland’s crown of fastest counter was lost after 2015, at least temporarily. As is custom in these parts, the contest turned into a direct battle between Sunderland and local neighbours Newcastle. Unlike their football club in recent years, those from north of the Tyne ran out successful, not only in the most recent general election in 2017 but also during that 2016 EU Referendum.
Newcastle-upon-Tyne voted to remain in the EU. Just. A city boasting two universities and a decent-sized population of white-collar workers was expected to be solidly in favour of retaining the status quo, so, when the second result of the night rolled in (Gibraltar’s 96–4 Remain victory took the honour of the evening’s fastest), alarm bells began to ring. A Remain vote of 50.9% was met with trepidation rather than glee from the victors; in what would prove prescient, many observers felt the narrow margin of victory was indicative of a Leave surge that few pollsters had predicted.
Such observations were bolstered when Sunderland came to the party. Where a six-point margin of victory for Leave had been forecast, instead the Brexiteers romped to 61% of the vote. In a sense, that paved the way for the city to become the face of Brexit. The next morning, The Sun newspaper led with the admittedly punny ‘SEE EU LATER!’ on the front of their 6am edition, set against the backdrop of joyous Leave voters celebrating in, you guessed it, Sunderland. That the crowd shown in the image included the smile and thumbs up of a known neo-Nazi either passed The Sun by or didn’t register high on their list of concerns.
Why is any of this relevant? Well, on 16 March 2019, Nigel Farage, former UKIP leader, current Member of the European Parliament and arch Brexiteer, will set sail from Sunderland, embarking on a fortnight-long march to London. The ‘March to Leave’ is defined by its architects as ‘a peaceful protest to demonstrate the depth and breadth of popular discontent’ with ‘the Westminster elite’. That latter grouping of parliamentarians and special interests is deemed by Farage and co. to be ‘preparing to betray the will of the people over Brexit.’
Leaving aside the numerous reasons to wonder about the likelihood of the march actually taking place — which include queries over whether it covers the distance it promises to, as well as serious doubts that Farage will take part in much of it — the fact its organisers chose Sunderland as its starting point was both predictable and concerning.
It was predictable because, ever since the evening of the referendum and the images that accompanied that 61–39 result, Sunderland has been viewed by many as synonymous with Brexit. There are several reasons why. To start, as we’ve gone over, Sunderland was the first area to declare for Leave. The larger-than-expected margin by which they did so meant that it took up headlines early in the night and, for newspaper editors needing to move with a quickly developing story, it also meant the city was given plenty of attention in the early editions (most prominently on that Sun front page). It acted as a focal point for chirpy Leave campaigners, as well as a target of ire for hacked off Remainers.
Since that vote to leave the EU, right-wing groups and activists have arrived on Wearside with increasing frequency. In May 2017, former EDL leader and anti-Muslim cheerleader Stephen Christopher Yaxley-Lennon (known more widely by the pseudonym of Tommy Robinson) came north to lead a march. The march was to protest a perceived cover-up orchestrated by the powers-that-be with respect to the alleged rape of a Sunderland woman. Six men, allegedly of foreign origin, were arrested before being released without charge. No sooner had the men stepped out of the police interview room than had Yaxley-Lennon smelled opportunity, organising the march and recruiting a few far-right friends to join him. Complaints by protestors ranged from the investigation finding no culprits to the lack of reports in the media, despite the Sunderland Echo confirming the woman involved had specifically requested no stories be printed in relation to the matter.
Yaxley-Lennon came for another march a month later and then, having clearly sensed there might be enough people in Sunderland ready to be recruited to the far-right cause, he returned in July to sign his new book on the same day Sunderland AFC were welcoming Celtic for a pre-season friendly. Never one to shirk from a bit of chaos, Yaxley-Lennon first baited Celtic fans on Facebook and then shared on social media a photo of himself wearing the shirt of Celtic’s arch rivals, Rangers. Unsurprisingly, trouble flared.
A couple of months later, nationalist group Britain First arrived for a low-key demonstration in the city. Things took a bit of a turn when one of the leaders, Jayda Fransen, was arrested for labelling the police “bastard traitors” to a crowd less than 100-strong, but it remained that far-right fringe groups felt there was plenty reason to continue sewing seeds in Sunderland. Just last September, another right-wing group, the Democratic Football Lads Alliance, organised a ‘Day of Action’ in the city. These events don’t exactly bring out the masses, but the fact they take place at all continues to be a worry.
The reasons they do, much like the reasons the city voted for Brexit, are more complex than most analysis and commentary allows for. Sunderland has its share of racists, but so do a lot of places. What Sunderland also has is a generation of people who, since the industry of yesteryear was scrapped in double-quick time under the government of Margaret Thatcher, have struggled to find fulfilling work or, in too many cases, any work at all. Inhabitants of the city have had to sit by and watch as much of the country overtakes it both in terms of prospects and investment, with even neighbouring Newcastle the beneficiary of far greater public resources than Sunderland has been allowed.
Explanations for why this has come to be the case are too varied to go into here, but it all adds up to produce an area of the country that is in desperate need of some help. Following years of austerity under first the Coalition Government and then the one led by the Conservative Party, the city’s residents have turned ever more frequently to food banks for assistance. The need has become so great that, this season, the Red and White Army, a fan group originally founded to build a relationship with the football club, saw fit to encourage the club to allow those food banks to stage collections at home games. Three such collections have been held since September, all to a good degree of success. But the fact they need to be held at all in a country with such vast wealth as the UK is a sorry state of affairs.
Sunderland, then, is not particularly well off. It is receiving more investment, finally, but it will take a long time to regain the ground that has been lost. One of the few bright spots for the area in recent years, odd as it may seem, has been the EU. In 1986, the Japanese car-making giant Nissan opted for Sunderland as its European production base, in no small part due to the UK’s membership of the EU. The benefits have flowed ever since, with the company comprising the city’s largest private employer.
With government funding to the region in short supply, the deficit has often been made up by the EU. In 2016, the Evening Chronicle found the North East receives twice as much funding from Europe as other parts of the UK. A litany of projects in Sunderland have received support from the European Regional Development Fund. Many economists forecast the the North East, and Sunderland especially, will be the worst hit once the UK eventually leaves the EU.
Much of the rest of the country’s chagrin with Sunderland is directly linked to Nissan. Four months before the referendum, the company released a statement declaring:
Our preference as a business is, of course, that the UK stays within Europe — it makes the most sense for jobs, trade and costs. For us, a position of stability is more positive than a collection of unknowns.
That was, unsurprisingly, seen as a warning: vote out, and we’ll be the ones who leave. So when the people of Sunderland proceeded to do precisely that, onlookers were dismayed. ‘Turkeys voting for Christmas’ came the call and, in fairness, it is easy to see why. The dismay has remained, to the point that when Honda announced the decision to close their Swindon factory, Lord Alan Sugar was moved to snipe at Sunderland, bafflingly suggesting that the city ‘tipped the scales’ in favour of Leave as opposed to simply being a part of a far wider issue.
That Sugar’s remarks were gloating rather than sympathetic is a mark of the man, but his feelings aren’t out of step with a lot of people. To them, Sunderland’s decision to vote Leave in spite of the protestations of its biggest non-public sector employer spoke volumes about a city hell-bent on getting out of the EU at any cost.
And it is worthwhile to consider just why the city might have been moved to think like that. As I’ve said, undoubtedly, some people in Sunderland are racist. For some, their vote to Leave was derived from a fear of ‘the other’. But while it is probably safe to say all racists voted to Leave, not all Leave voters are racist. Indeed, it is likely that a very small proportion are.
The reasons for Sunderland’s Leave vote are myriad. Much like many other regions in the UK, the city suffered from the duality of the choices on offer. A vote for Remain was a vote to keep things as they were. A vote to Leave was a vote to change them. Even if that change might make you worse off in the long-run, people often think in the here and now. If your life isn’t great as it is, the potential for change can be mighty appealing. That can be true whether you’re jobless or working on the factory floor at Nissan. Ambition and hope are often boundless and, in a city that had long been offered little of either, the EU Referendum was dressed up as proffering both.
Nigel Farage spoke about Nissan before the referendum. Amid fears that car-makers might depart the UK should the UK depart the EU, Farage was unequivocal: “They need us more than we need them.” He doubled-down on it as recently as October, stating that Nissan is “not going anywhere” after Brexit. A penny for Mr Farage’s thoughts, then, when Nissan announced last month that it had scrapped plans to build its new X-Trail SUV model at the Sunderland plant.
That decision was met with a range of emotions. Mirth was there, displayed most evidently by the sneering Sugar. Dismay rocked workers who hadn’t really believed the warning given to them two years ago. Indifference met others who, though doubtless sad about the news, saw it as secondary to the need to get out of the EU. And Farage? Well, we don’t know for sure, but the likelihood is he sought refuge in the same manner plenty of other Brexiteers did. The list of companies that have scaled down their UK operations since the referendum is battling War and Peace for length but, in this instance, it was a flailing diesel market that had bent Nissan’s arm. Obviously.
It should be noted that decisions such as that one do not just affect Nissan’s workforce. Surrounding the plant itself is an entire business park full of companies that are hugely reliant on the Japanese firm. To give an idea of the importance of Nissan, consider that there have been instances in the past in which smaller businesses have been rebuked by the car-making giant. Where other businesses might have taken their work elsewhere, here they were left with little choice but to grin, bear it and go along with whatever Nissan decided. Some of these businesses rely on Nissan for nine-tenths of their annual revenue. If Nissan goes, so do they.
Yet still, even in the face of the city potentially losing thousands of jobs, Mr Farage has selected Sunderland as the starting point for his march. Of the roughly 400 local areas that counted votes in the referendum, 80 voted to Leave by a larger margin than Sunderland did. One from the North East, Hartlepool, was just outside the top 10. But Hartlepool wasn’t splayed across the front page of The Sun and Hartlepool didn’t defy one its biggest employers. Sunderland was and Sunderland did.
I will not drone on about history here, not least because there are people far better placed to do so than me, but Farage’s march draws unmistakable parallels to another carried out in October 1936. Back then, dismayed by the collapse of the Palmers Shipbuilding and Iron Company, and the closure of the company’s shipyard in Jarrow, 200 or so ‘Crusaders’ walked from Jarrow to Marble Arch, London, across the course of 27 autumn days. Protesting not only the loss of industry in their town but the poverty that accompanied it, the march was not seen as success initially but, as time wore on, increasingly came to be viewed as a factor in the social reforms that arrived in the 1940s following the end of the Second World War. If that has piqued your interest, Stuart Maconie’s Long Road from Jarrow recounts the march brilliantly and is well worth a read.
Since the March to Leave was announced on Thursday, plenty, including the former leader of the Liberal Democrats, have scoffed at the contrasts between the two protests. Where the Jarrow marchers were walking in the hope of returning gainful employment to their town, their modern-day descendants are trotting off to the capital in favour of an event that will bring about the exact opposite, or so the joke goes.
What should not be a joke is Farage’s invocation of history. In seeking to piggyback on the fame of the marchers, Farage does not display a lack of understanding. Indeed, as with everything he does, he knows exactly what he is doing. In this instance it is pricking the conscience of those Leave supporters whose ancestors marched in the 30s, in the hope that their descendants might follow suit for a wholly different purpose. It is a tactic that should not surprise but nor should it be humoured.
Nigel Farage doesn’t care about Sunderland and he doesn’t care about its people. He doesn’t care about unity and he doesn’t care about democracy. Moreover, in my own view, he doesn’t care all that much about Brexit. Were we to stop him jabbering long enough to inject him with truth serum, I suspect he might admit that Britain’s membership of the EU has given him a purpose all these years. Having failed (on seven separate occasions, no less) to join the ‘Westminster Elite’ he so willingly disdains, Farage was rather a non-entity in British politics. Rallying against the EU gave him something to do, a platform from which he could be noticed, a post around which he could gather up followers. When the Conservative Party decided Europe was worth tearing itself apart over, Farage stepped ably into the space that opened up. To suggest he got the shock of his life when Britain actually voted out would be understating things a tad.
What Nigel Farage cares about are exactly those things prized by ‘the Establishment’ he claims to hold such little truck with: power, fame, money. Save for his stints as a MEP and leader of UKIP, his thirst for the former has gone largely unquenched. That is why his pursuit of the latter two knows neither shame nor bounds. It is why he employs race-baiting, dogwhistle politics on his radio show for LBC on a regular basis. It is why he shouts about an out-of-touch upper-class and at the same time is pictured in a gold-plated elevator with Donald Trump. And it is why he claims to speak for the working-class and those living in abject poverty, despite having gone to an independent fee-paying school and spent his early career trading commodities in the City and rubbing shoulders at an investment bank.
And it is why he has chosen Sunderland as the place to kick off the March to Leave. It is not because Sunderland is the most staunchly Eurosceptic city in the UK. It is not because its inhabitants asked for him to come here. It is because starting the march here plays into the narrative which began that fateful evening in June 2016, a narrative which has been reinforced over and over ever since and one which, I fear, the city won’t ever be allowed to cast off.
