The Future of Libertarianism in Reform UK

Speech to the Oxford Von Mises society

Last night I had the pleasure of speaking to the Oxford Von Mises society.

Here is a copy of the speech delivered - well mostly delivered.

”New College, like Paris’s Pont Neuf, a name that always tickles me with its historical irony, founded as it was in 1379, making it about as “new” as a medieval tapestry. But let me begin with a personal confession, one that might resonate with more than a few of you who’ve braved the Oxbridge gauntlet, and won. The first time I set foot in this venerable institution was as a wide-eyed teenager, clutching my notes for the entrance exam. I failed spectacularly, of course, dashed hopes of debating philosophy in these hallowed halls. I have not been back.

Instead, I ended up navigating the equally treacherous waters of politics and journalism. Looking back, perhaps it was a blessing; after all, if I’d succeeded, I might have become one of those donnish types pontificating on abstract freedoms, like Charles here, rather than fighting for them in the real world. But here I am, decades later, addressing you on the future of libertarianism in Reform UK. Who says failure can’t lead to triumph? Or, as Von Mises himself might quip, perhaps it’s just the market correcting for overambitious supply.

Before we dive into the meat of Reform UK and its libertarian promise, let’s ground ourselves in the rich soil from which such ideas spring: the history of Oxford University and New College in particular, in relation to liberty, negative freedoms, and libertarianism. Note my careful choice of words, liberty, not “rights.”

I shun that nebulous term “universal human rights,” peddled by international bureaucrats as if freedoms were a one-size-fits-all garment stitched in Geneva. No, liberties are not handed down from on high like manna; they are rooted, nurtured, and defended in the culture and community from which they grow. They emerge from the soil of custom, tradition, and voluntary association, not from some supranational decree that pretends to bind the world.

Oxford, has long been a cradle of such liberties. Founded in the 12th century amid the intellectual ferment of medieval Europe, it became a forge for ideas that prized individual autonomy over arbitrary authority. Think of John Wycliffe in the 14th century, whose Lollard movement challenged ecclesiastical monopolies, advocating for personal interpretation of scripture, a precursor to the negative freedoms we cherish, the right to be left alone in one’s beliefs without papal interference.

Fast-forward to the 17th century: John Locke, Oxford’s own alumnus from Christ Church, whose Two Treatises of Government articulated the essence of libertarian thought. Locke didn’t prattle about “universal rights”; he spoke of natural liberties, life, liberty, and property, as protections against the state’s overreach, born from English common law and the Glorious Revolution’s rejection of absolute monarchy. These were freedoms negative in nature: not entitlements to goods from others, but shields against coercion, deeply embedded in England’s Christian cultural fabric.

New College itself, established by William of Wykeham to educate clergy free from the corruptions of the day, played its part in this tapestry. During the Reformation, it became a hub for the “new learning,” importing humanist scholars like Cornelio Vitelli, who brought Greek texts and challenged dogmatic authority. In 2017, the college even commemorated the 500th anniversary of Luther’s Theses, acknowledging its role in the Protestant shift toward individual conscience over institutional control. This wasn’t about imposing “rights” from afar; it was about fostering communities where liberty could flourish organically, much like Mises’ emphasis on spontaneous order. Oxford’s libertarians, from the Levellers during the Civil War, who studied here and demanded freedoms from parliamentary tyranny, to modern thinkers like Isaiah Berlin at All Souls, who distinguished negative liberty (freedom from interference) from positive impositions, have always drawn from this local wellspring. It’s no accident that libertarianism in the UK often traces back to these roots: not a globalist abstraction, but a British bulwark against overweening power, whether from kings, popes, or Brussels technocrats.

Now, with that historical backdrop, let’s turn to the “Farage Tribe,” as I’ve affectionately dubbed the political movement orbiting Nigel Farage over the past 25 years, from UKIP’s scrappy beginnings to Reform UK’s current surge. This tribe has been a motley crew of Eurosceptics, free-marketeers, and plain-speaking contrarians, united by a quest for liberty from supranational shackles. UKIP, founded in 1993, crystallised this in its pre-2016 manifestos, which championed a smaller state and enhanced democracy as bulwarks of individual freedom.

Take the 2010 manifesto, “Empowering the People”, a document Farage later dismissed as “drivel” in a fit of self-deprecation, but one that brimmed with libertarian zeal. It proposed a flat tax rate of 31% on incomes above £11,500, scrapping inheritance tax (that odious levy on thrift and family legacy) a policy that I myself jemmied into the document with the help of Dan Mitchell, then at the Heritage foundation, and now more happily at the Cato institute, and slashing corporation tax to 20% to unleash entrepreneurial liberty. Regulations? Cull them by the thousand, freeing businesses from the EU’s bureaucratic barnacles. On democracy, it demanded referendums on major issues, echoing the Whig tradition of checking executive power. Brexit, of course, was the crown jewel: withdrawing from the EU to reclaim sovereignty, lambasting the precautionary principle, that nanny-state doctrine which, under the guise of safety, stifles innovation and delivers sclerotic growth.
Real-world example? The EU’s REACH regulations on chemicals, which buried small firms in paperwork, costing billions and eroding liberties to experiment and trade freely. Or the Common Fisheries Policy, which plundered British waters, denying coastal communities their traditional freedoms.

By 2015, the manifesto “Believe in Britain” sharpened this blade. Smaller state? Absolutely: raise the personal allowance to £13,000, introduce an intermediate tax rate, and cut foreign aid by £11 billion to fund domestic priorities without bloating government. Democracy? An Australian-style points-based immigration system to control borders voluntarily, not via EU diktat, and a recall mechanism for MPs to hold them accountable, pure libertarian accountability. Brexit remained central, highlighting how the EU’s harmonisation crushed liberties: think the Working Time Directive, which paternalistically capped hours, ignoring workers’ freedom to negotiate their own terms. Or the Data Protection Directive, a precursor to GDPR’s surveillance state, where privacy liberties were traded for bureaucratic oversight. These policies weren’t just anti-EU; they were pro-liberty, aiming to shrink the state’s footprint and empower individuals.

Yet, let’s be candid, and here’s where the ironies creep in, like a fox in a libertarian henhouse. There’s always been a tension in the Farage Tribe between old-school conservative authoritarianism and radical Whiggish libertarianism. On one side, the bow-tied traditionalists yearning for a stern nanny state on morals and borders; on the other, the free-wheeling libertarians advocating for minimal interference everywhere.

UKIP’s 2010 pledge to ban burqas in public smacked of conservative overreach, clashing with libertarian live-and-let-live ethos. Or the 2015 manifesto’s tough-on-crime stance, with longer sentences, which could veer into authoritarian territory rather than focusing on victim restitution as Mises might prefer. It’s like a family reunion where Uncle Tory demands more police powers, while Cousin Whig insists on decriminalising victimless acts. Real example: UKIP’s flirtation with social conservatism under Gerard Batten in 2018, pushing anti-Islam rhetoric that risked curtailing speech liberties. This push-pull mirrors broader UK libertarianism: from the Adam Smith Institute’s market purism to the Social Democratic Party’s welfarist leanings, but in the Tribe, it’s always been a lively brawl.

So, the burning question: Which strain is ascendant in Reform UK today, and how will its policies amplify or erode individual liberty? I argue the libertarian Whig is gaining ground, though not without skirmishes. Reform’s 2024 manifesto, “Our Contract with You”, pledged tax cuts (zero tax on incomes below £20,000), deregulation, and scrapping net zero mandates, all hallmarks of smaller government. But tensions persist: proposals to scrap indefinite leave to remain for migrants could limit freedoms of movement and association, though framed as protecting community liberties. Overall, the trajectory boosts liberty by reducing state intrusion.

To drive this home, consider the alternatives. The other parties? Authoritarian nightmares! Labour’s digital ID schemes, mandating biometric tracking for work, evoke Orwell’s worst dreams. The Tories’ Online Safety Bill, censoring speech under “harm” pretexts. The Lib Dems? Perennial fans of EU rejoin, surrendering liberties to Brussels. Reform stands apart, and much of this flows from Farage’s character. If not quite a libertine, he’s no Byron, swilling champagne while penning odes to freedom, Nigel is the least censorious figure in British politics. He railed against lockdowns from day one, calling them “house arrest” that crushed economic liberties and personal choices. Real example: During COVID, while others mandated masks and closures, Farage toured pubs, championing the freedom to risk one’s health voluntarily. On digital ID, he’s vowed to go to prison rather than comply, decrying it as state control over movement and spending.

And crypto and the AI revolution? Farage grasps the storm brewing: cryptocurrencies and stablecoins as bulwarks of financial liberty against fiat tyranny. He’s pledged to “bring crypto in from the cold,” opposing Bank of England limits on stablecoins and the existential horror of Central Bank Digital Currenciess, which he sees, rightly as “financial censorship.” Example: His “debanking” by Coutts in 2023, exposed as political bias, fuelled his view of crypto as the “ultimate liberty”, peer-to-peer exchange free from state meddling. Reform celebrates the family as society’s bedrock, offering tax relief for married couples and stay-at-home parents, shielding them from state’s depredations like intrusive welfare probes. Think Sweden’s family policies, which boosted birth rates through liberty-enhancing incentives, not mandates.

Now, the elephant, or perhaps the carbon-emitting mammoth, in the room: climate legislation. What began as “global warming” morphed into “climate change,” then the freedom-devouring “net zero,” proclaimed with religious fervour. Reform, under Farage, skewers this. He calls net zero “lunacy,” the “new Brexit,” driving up bills and destroying jobs while virtue-signaling elites jet to COP summits. Real examples abound: The UK’s boiler ban, forcing heat pumps on homeowners at £10,000 a pop, eroding property liberties. Or Germany’s Energiewende, where net zero zeal led to energy shortages and blackouts, curtailing industrial freedoms. Farage’s alliance with sceptics like the Heartland Institute highlights this: net zero isn’t science; it’s a moral cudgel for state expansion.

Tied to this is Farage’s recent paean to risk as the foundation of success. In speeches and interviews, he’s extolled risk-taking: “Without risk, there’s no reward,” he says, critiquing safetyism that smothers innovation. We would be still very earth bound if it were not for those like Eilmer of Malmesbury or the Wright brothers’ daring flights, or even Elon Musk’s SpaceX gambles, personal risks yielding national progress, not state-subsidised caution.

In closing, government is hard; sometimes, decisions will seem to set against liberty, border controls, perhaps, or emergency powers. But I ask you: Is there anyone, any party, more committed to individual liberty than Reform UK?

The Gadsden flag warns, “Don’t Tread on Me.” All governments tread; a Reform government will do so most lightly, with libertarian Whigs at the helm.