The Church of Brexit

Ever wondered why Brexiteers simply can’t admit Brexit was a failure? It’s a peculiar cocktail of pride, propaganda, and misplaced identity – shaken, not stirred, into a potent brew of denial.

Brexit was sold as a hymn to self-reliance - "Take back control," they cried, as though sovereignty were a set of keys left behind at the pub. It wasn’t just a political slogan; it was a masterstroke of emotional manipulation. It tapped into something primal: the idea that grit, determination, and good old British pluck could overcome any obstacle. Motivational internality - the belief that success stems purely from individual effort rather than external factors - was ruthlessly exploited. It didn’t matter that the promises were vague, contradictory, or outright fantastical. It was a vision of Britain as the plucky underdog, ready to stand alone, chin out, against a tide of globalisation.

But then reality hit. Labour shortages, collapsing trade, endless red tape – the fallout wasn’t just a trickle; it was a flood. Yet, the same narrative was cleverly twisted to deflect blame. Farms struggling? Work harder. Businesses going under? Be more innovative. The propaganda machine, never short on audacity, turned Brexit’s failures into a referendum on individual effort. The problem wasn’t Brexit – it was you. The brilliance, if you can call it that, lies in this Machiavellian sleight of hand. By tying the nation’s woes to personal shortcomings, they built a fortress of denial that even the most damning evidence struggles to breach.

The heart of the issue, though, is identity. For many, voting Leave wasn’t just a political act – it became a statement of self. To question Brexit now is to question themselves, their judgment, their values. The propaganda exploited this with ruthless efficiency. Brexiters were cast as modern-day heroes, stoically enduring hardship in the grand tradition of the Blitz spirit. Never mind that the Blitz was an unavoidable war and Brexit a self-inflicted wound. This was about narrative – and narratives, once embedded, are devilishly hard to dislodge.

And so the goalposts move. Brexit isn’t failing; it’s facing "teething problems," or suffering from "global headwinds," or thwarted by the lazy masses who lack the entrepreneurial zeal to seize its supposed opportunities. It’s a hymn of excuses, harmonised by those too invested to admit the emperor’s wardrobe is decidedly sparse.

The irony is palpable. In seeking freedom from the EU, Britain shackled itself to its own delusions. That once-empowering belief in determination and self-reliance has been weaponised, not to unleash potential, but to deny responsibility. Brexit isn’t a political choice anymore – it’s a creed. A faith immune to facts, logic, or evidence. Sovereignty, borders, trade – these aren’t policies now; they’re totems, symbols of a dogma clung to with religious fervour.

When confronted with the economic fallout – plunging exports, rising inflation, industries in crisis – the faithful do not flinch. They recite their liturgy: "It’s Covid. It’s Ukraine. It’s global factors." Never mind that other nations grappling with the same challenges haven’t hobbled themselves in quite the same fashion. It’s not Brexit’s fault; it’s the world conspiring against Britain’s triumph. The faithful cling to this narrative, their cognitive dissonance staggering in its scope.

Consider the much-vaunted promise of border control. Post-Brexit, irregular Channel crossings have surged, the asylum system is overwhelmed, and the government’s response has been more empty rhetoric and draconian posturing. "Taking back control" now means chaos masquerading as sovereignty. But the faithful press on, undeterred, chanting their mantra louder than ever, as though volume alone can mask the cracks in the facade.

Meanwhile, Brexit’s apostles – Jacob Rees-Mogg, Nigel Farage, and their ilk – continue to preach to the converted. From their lofty pulpits in Parliament and the media, they invoke a Britain that never truly existed: all tea on the lawn, cricket on the village green, and Empire-fuelled prosperity. It’s a fantasy – but an intoxicating one. Their sermons appeal to nostalgia and emotion, painting Brussels, immigrants, and the so-called "Remoaners" as the villains in this saga of plucky British heroism.

This wilful blindness has consequences. Farmers watch their crops rot without EU labour. Small businesses collapse under the weight of new barriers. The NHS buckles under chronic staff shortages. And yet, the faithful shrug and repeat their prayer: "It will be worth it in the end." It’s a refrain eerily reminiscent of medieval peasants awaiting salvation, oblivious to the suffering around them.

The tragedy is that the very people who railed against the "dogma" of Brussels have created an orthodoxy of their own. The EU, for all its flaws, is pragmatic, evolving, and adaptable. Brexit, by contrast, is static – its doctrine carved in stone, impervious to reality. It’s not about outcomes anymore; it’s about belief, identity, and belonging to the tribe. The blue passport, the Union Jack, the ritualistic denouncements of Europe – these are the sacraments of a faith impervious to evidence.

But faiths crumble. Crises of belief often come when reality becomes too loud to ignore. A lost job, a closed business, a shattered dream – these moments of personal reckoning chip away at the edifice. For some, it will be a sudden epiphany; for others, a slow erosion of confidence. Eventually, the faithful will have to confront the uncomfortable truth: that their sacred creed may have been a mirage all along.

Until then, Britain remains trapped – led by zealots preaching from the pulpit of nostalgia, clinging to myths while the rest of the world looks on, bemused.

I was recently asked by an ardent Brexiteer what, if 17.4m people voted for Brexit, had the EU done so wrong, as if sheer weight of numbers was a blockbuster argument. Yes, there was dysfunction in the UK–EU relationship, though not necessarily for the reasons many Leavers like to claim. The EU is a vast, bureaucratic institution – that’s inevitable when you’re coordinating 27 economies. It can be slow, frustrating, and at times opaque. The UK, never one to miss a chance for self-sabotage, spent decades demanding special treatment, opting out of key areas, and yet still moaning about being “dictated to” – despite being one of the most powerful voices in the bloc.

So what did the EU do wrong? Arguably, it underestimated the ability of British politicians and media to whip up resentment while avoiding any real conversation about the UK’s actual role in the EU. It failed to counter decades of tabloid nonsense about bendy bananas and mythical superstate plots. It didn’t take seriously enough the damage done by successive British governments – particularly Tory ones – who used Brussels as a scapegoat for their own failings.

But let’s be honest. Brexit wasn’t about the EU’s flaws. It was about disillusionment with Westminster, economic inequality, and a misguided belief that “taking back control” would somehow solve domestic problems caused by British policy, not EU membership. And the real proof? Nearly eight years later, with the EU out of the picture, things are worse – not better.

So yes, the EU wasn’t perfect. But it didn’t cause Brexit – that honour belongs to those who sold a fantasy and those who bought it. 

When you think of it, elections are often won by those who can sell the most compelling (or, in some cases, the most deceitful) vision of the future. Every general election involves a degree of political snake oil, with parties making promises they either have no intention of keeping or later find unworkable once in power. The difference with Brexit was the sheer scale of the deception and the permanence of its consequences.

In a general election, if a government fails or breaks its promises, voters get a chance to correct course in five years. With Brexit, there’s no such safety net. It wasn’t a change of government but a structural upheaval of the nation’s economic, political, and diplomatic foundations. The Leave campaign’s promises – sunlit uplands, easy trade deals, £350 million for the NHS – were no different from the usual election pledges, except that once the lie was exposed, there was no mechanism to undo the damage. Even now, with public opinion shifting against Brexit, there’s no simple way back without years of negotiation and economic pain.

So yes, in many ways, Brexit was just a larger-scale version of the political con tricks we see in every election – but this time, instead of being able to vote out the charlatans and move on, we’re left with their wreckage indefinitely.