
No matter who you are, no matter how progressive your politics, you have to concede – none of us were perfect at 13.
Just imagine if every stupid, cruel, edgy or brainless thing we said at that age was dragged into daylight and thrown onto the front pages for days on end, then analysed by your enemies.
Because as a teenager most of us are desperate to impress the wrong people, terrified of being at the bottom of whatever invisible hierarchy exists, and capable of saying things that would make present day you want to crawl inside a bin and quietly roll into the sea.
If you’re claiming you’ve never said anything you’d be ashamed of now, I’m sorry, but you’re either lying or you’ve edited your own memory like a dodgy Wikipedia entry.
That’s been in my head a lot this week as further allegations emerged that Reform UK leader Nigel Farage had engaged in racism and antisemitism while at school.
To view this video please enable JavaScript, and consider upgrading to a web
browser that
supports HTML5
video
Sign up to Metro’s politics newsletter, Alright Gov?
Craig Munro breaks down Westminster chaos into easy to follow insight, walking you through what the latest policies mean to you. Sent every Wednesday. Sign up here.
Farage, a former pupil of Dulwich College, denied some of the claims in the Guardian investigation, but his defence was curious, and in my view, telling.
Because if he had come out this week to say, ‘Look, I was a horrible little git. I said awful things. I regret it. I’m sorry,’ he’d probably have got a surprising amount of sympathy from those of us who realise we weren’t exactly our best selves during those formative school years.
That is how human beings are supposed to talk about their worst moments.
We’re supposed to show a bit of humility, a bit of reflection, maybe even a bit of embarrassment about the person we used to be.
But that is not the defence the Reform UK leader chose.
Instead, he went for the slippery half denial, straight from the Trump playbook, in which nothing is ever quite admitted, everything is blurred.
‘No, I have never directly, really tried to go and hurt anybody,’ he told broadcasters, responding to the Guardian accusations directly for the first time.
A sentence so carefully crafted it almost collapses under the weight of its own cowardice.
Without insult or intent, he told broadcasters, seemingly trying to make racism claims sound technical rather than moral.
However, here’s the real problem Nigel Farage faces: this isn’t about what he did when he was 13.
It’s about what he did when he was 30, and 40, and 50, and now, at 61 with a straight face and a political ambition he plans to take from the playground all the way to 10 Downing Street.
Because, to me, this isn’t some bloke who, when he was a youngster, said a few stupid things and grew up to learn his lessons.
In my view, he has built his entire adult life around a politics of division by leading not one but several political parties whose central operating system appeared to be suspicion of immigrants, hostility to difference, and the careful stoking of fear aimed squarely at the most convenient targets of the day.
You don’t lead multiple anti-immigrant parties by accident. You don’t spend decades talking about migrants as threats to the fabric of the country if, deep down, you’re just a misunderstood thinker who might have unintentionally upset people at school.
This is a grown man making deliberate choices again and again with both eyes wide open.
Which is why the whole ‘well, we all said silly stuff as kids’ argument doesn’t quite work with me. It would require you to believe that the young Nigel who is accused of racist behaviour and the adult Nigel who says he didn’t directly hurt people, are two completely separate characters.
But they aren’t.
The uncomfortable truth is that, for many of us, these latest allegations, which he denies, fit his current political personality a bit too well for comfort, like noticing the smell of smoke and realising your house is on fire.
The most disappointing part is, there’s a word that he could have made it all a bit easier for himself.
‘Sorry.’
People understand that language and instinctively respect that. It doesn’t magic away the past, but it does show that you’re not proud of it.
He reached instead for ego and evasion and dived deep into the ‘banter’ school of masculinity, where the only unforgivable sin is appearing weak by admitting you were wrong.
And that’s where politicians, and parts of the media need to focus less on Farage’s alleged teenage private school dramas.
Because it lets him off the hook and allows him to paint serious allegations as a smear and cast himself as the victim of ancient history.
Far more interesting is to consider why it rings so true, why Reform has had so many unsavoury characters among its ranks.
That’s why I think the obsession with what happened in school corridors half a century ago risks missing the point.
What he does now matters more than anything he did at Dulwich College.
You don’t have to judge him for what he did as a child. Judge him for what he did as a man. Judge him on what he keeps doing now.
You’ll find the real danger is what he chose to become as an adult.
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing Ross.Mccafferty@metro.co.uk.
Share your views in the comments below.