By thunder, what a few days! If you listened closely you could almost hear the cackling from the collective canteen of the Left, socialist champagne flutes clinking joyfully, avocado toast being passed around like war medals.
Why? Because the great titans of the populist ‘right’, both here and across the pond, appear to be doing what the Left could never quite manage: imploding all on their own.
First up: the regrettable, unsightly, downright Shakespearean squabble between Donald J. Trump and Elon Musk. Two men of enormous intellect, titanic self-belief, and a track record of thumbing their noses at the establishment, now engaged in a public catfight fit for a Mean Girls sequel.
Elon, a sort of Martian Prometheus armed with rockets, neural links and a social media flamethrower, versus The Donald, the orange-hued juggernaut with a taste for gold and a nose for political blood. They should be natural allies. They were. Both hate wokeness. Both despise red tape. Both think the status quo is a swamp that needs draining or blasting into orbit.
But alas, one called the other disloyal. The other called him dumb. And like two Roman emperors squabbling over the empire’s last fig, they have taken to social media to lambast, belittle and bludgeon one another with 280-character tridents.
Trump sees betrayal where there is merely autistic bluntness. Elon sees idiocy where there is simply ego in full Technicolor bloom. And so here we are, watching the world’s most influential men behave like spurned lovers in the sixth form common room. It’s as tragic as it is ridiculous. And the Left… they’re loving every second.
But there’s another circus going on right here in our own backyard. Zia Yusuf, the man who Nigel Farage once hailed as the next big thing in Reform UK, the suave tech-whizz with a glint in his eye and ambition in his veins, has dramatically exited stage left. They might all pretend otherwise but the fact is there was another huge falling-out over Sarah Pochin’s maiden question in Parliament, in which she pressed for a ban on the burka. Zia basically called her “dumb,” the Twittersphere exploded in outrage, and Zia, unable to stand the heat, bolted.
Now let me be frank. I’ve never been a fan of Zia’s. Nor were many of Reform’s old guard. They may now pretend they adored him, wax lyrical about his “talents” and his “vision,” but behind closed doors? Eye rolls. Raised eyebrows. Muted groans. They saw what I saw, a man in love with his own reflection, desperate not for reform, but for a crown.
It wasn’t principle that led to his departure. It wasn’t noble dissent. It was a tantrum… toys, pram, all launched spectacularly into orbit because someone dared to call him out again. That was the spark. The rest is political theatre.
Nigel, for reasons known only to Nigel, backed him. The rest? They fell in line like Shakespearean courtiers, all loyalty and double-speak.
But here’s the thing: I firmly believe Nigel’s had a lucky escape.
Mark my words: Zia Yusuf would have been Reform UK’s Michael Gove or Rishi Sunak – cool, polished, and quietly biding his time to plunge the knife into Caesar’s back, just as they did to Boris. I’ve spoken to people who worked with Zia at Velocity Black, the start-up where he made his money. The phrase “my way or the highway” came up more than once. The word “dictator” was even whispered – and not in any sort of flattering, Roman sense.
And the business with Rupert Lowe? Calling the police on a party colleague? That wasn’t leadership. That was pettiness, pure and simple. Vindictive. Undemocratic. Downright creepy.
But, and this is important, let’s not start dancing on graves. As Ben Habib, seemingly the only grown-up in the room right now, wisely said: no pleasure should be taken in Reform’s troubles. The country needs them to succeed. Britain is crying out for a serious challenge to what many see as the Westminster cartel, and the public are clearly responding to Rupert Lowe. He’s hitting the nail on the head day after day, asking the questions that actually matter to ordinary people. Just look at his recent surge on social media. The man’s become a folk hero — and with good reason.
So why, oh why, does Nigel say he’d rather eat razor blades than let Rupert back in? That’s not statesmanship – that’s personal pique. That’s the politics of playgrounds, not parliaments. Come on, Nigel – you’re better than that. I know you. You’re a brilliant man with a once-in-a-generation instinct for the public mood. You’re also one of the best orators in the biz… you don’t need to be saying things like that on live TV.
I’m still a Conservative Party member, but even I wish you’d welcome Ben and Rupert back into Reform with open arms, Nigel. You’d be unstoppable. Ben Habib is showing what real leadership looks like right now – steady, serious, unifying. He could democratise the party and keep everyone pulling in the same direction. And Rupert? Rupert is brilliant on messaging and detail… and detail is exactly what Reform really needs.
Maybe I’m dreaming, but get the political muscle and intellect of Robert Jenrick, Suella, and Priti on board – or better still, work WITH the Tories – and we might just have our country back. The so called left wouldn’t stand a chance.
But as the Right cannibalises itself from Westminster to Mar-a-Lago, Keir Starmer and his pals can be seen gleefully patting themselves on the back for doing absolutely nothing, secure in the knowledge they won’t need to win in 2029. They’ll simply need to be the last ones left standing.
And yet, maybe this chaos is necessary. A clearing of the weeds. An unmasking of the pretenders. An exposure of those who seek only power. Sometimes a forest fire is needed before new growth can take root.
We can still hope that out of this mess, wiser heads will prevail. Because whether it’s Elon and Trump or Reform UK, one thing is certain: if the Right keeps turning on itself, no one wins except those who want the West to fail and freedom diminished.
But I for one am glad we have our silverbacks. Our lions. Men of immense pride and patriotism, destined to clash. I still have faith in them. The media thrives on it, of course — turning politics into a gladiatorial spectacle of blood, rivalry, and roar. But lions do not fight for show. They fight to lead, to defend, to train and to endure. These guys are our champions.
Believe it or not when push comes to shove, these lions are not enemies… they will be brothers-in-arms once more, bound by a deeper love of country. Wounds may be inflicted, but they will also be tended. Their bond is not forged in party politics, but in shared resolve — for freedom, for our countries, and for the generations to come.
And when they turn on a common enemy, as they inevitably will, they become machines. Unstoppable.
The patriots will unite. They must.
By Claire Bullivant
