Fascism? I pray not. I think that the word fascism is quite loosely used as an insult which muddies the water a bit.
In the terms I understand — a political movement urging the rebirth of a supposedly favoured nation through a strong leader, comfortable with the use of violence, often espousing a corporate state to minimise class friction, drawing on a romanticised sense of national history and mythology, I don’t see it.
Petty race bigotry is a serious worry but I am more concerned about pogroms and riots — Southport again but worse — than about an organised fascist state. There’s no mass party, no strong leader. I don’t find people around me have a romanticised sense of their history — if anything, I feel an outlier in remaining loyal to my grandparents’ values of God, Queen, Country and struggle to adapt to a world where so very much evil done in those names has been dug up and (I don’t know whether deservedly or not) has discredited the whole worldview. I do feel lost, and fear the ability to fall into the nostalgia that fascists prey on.
There are far too many brawling thugs, far too many disreputable politicians who try to shove our troubles off on anyone who looks slightly different, or believes other than, the majority, but those I know still hold them in contempt. Mr Farage looks more like a spiv than George Cole ever did on the old St Trinian’s, I wouldn’t trust him so far as I could toss him.
Our great advantage in my opinion is that we have a strong Naval and maritime tradition — the Navy breeds exploration, new cultural encounters, individual initiative and a certain measure of roving nonconformity to make a man go to sea. Those aren’t fascist virtues.