It was on 30 April 1978 that an aspiring 16-year-old musician joined around 100,000 people in Trafalgar Square for a march to Victoria Park in London’s East End, culminating in a rally and concert. The day had been organised by Rock Against Racism, a grassroots political movement that used music to campaign against the growing electoral threat posed by the National Front. New wave and reggae luminaries such as The Clash, Tom Robinson and Steel Pulse topped the bill. For a working-class kid from West Fife, it was a political awakening.

It is easy to forget the sheer scale of the threat the National Front represented in the late 1970s. In 1977 it attracted more than 119,000 votes in the Greater London Council elections and, for a brief period, became the UK’s fourth-largest party. Its campaign operated on two fronts: the ballot box and the street. The electoral wing featured thugs in suits, attempting to cloak themselves in democratic respectability. The street campaign showed no such reticence and comprised horrific racist attacks on the small but growing immigrant communities in London.

By 1982, however, the National Front was bankrupt and defunct, riven by infighting and splits. It had been beaten by the mobilisation of the Anti-Nazi League and by alliances forged across the political spectrum. Naively, many of us thought that was the end of them.

Fast forward to 2026 and the far right are back on our streets — this time better organised, emboldened and highly visible.

The re-emergence of the far right is the most sinister and frightening political development of recent years. I saw it for myself when the familiar faces of hate and political rage descended on Perth just a few weeks ago. They were there to intimidate and harass, recycling the decades-old chant of “send them home”. This time, it is asylum seekers from war-torn countries who are in their sights.

What is different from the late 1970s is the size of the pool the far right now fish from. Mainstream UK parties have normalised hostility towards immigration and those seeking asylum. Populism is on the rise across the western world.

Reform UK currently tops the polls in the UK, with a flagship policy of mass “banishment” — extending even to settled, lawful and contributing members of our communities. They are locked in a grim race to the bottom with the Conservatives, who openly boast of wanting to leave the European Convention on Human Rights so that nothing “unhelpful” stands in the way of their own removals policy. Even this Labour Government cannot resist joining in. Its proposed immigration reforms amount to a bleak catalogue of despair: closing routes to citizenship, breaking up families, and ramping up deportations. All of this is reinforced by a relentless media drumbeat — day after day of hostile headlines, dog-whistle commentary and social-media outrage.

It is little wonder, then, that immigration tops the list of issues most concerning the UK public. Faced with such a sustained political and media onslaught, it could hardly be otherwise. Scotland is not immune — our screens and feeds are similarly flooded by the same incessant message too. The difference is that here the rhetoric has less energy and less reach, largely because the political consensus around immigration is more enlightened than elsewhere in the UK.

The far right can scarcely believe their luck. Conditions have rarely been so favourable and opportunities never so redolent. Such has been their success that more than 100,000 people marched through the streets of London a few months ago at a rally organised by the far-right agitator Tommy Robinson.

But as in the 1970s, there is a fightback. On 28 March, the Together Alliance will take to the streets of London with a march and rally promoting a message of love, hope and unity. Organised by the TUC, a wide range of NGOs, and supported by cultural figures and celebrities including Sir Lenny

Henry, Paloma Faith and Leigh-Anne Pinnock, it aims to mobilise 100,000 people to challenge the far right. At Westminster, I have been working with colleagues from Labour, the Greens and Plaid Cymru to establish a cross-party parliamentary forum to confront the far right — using our platforms as parliamentarians we hope to challenge their agenda, expose their proxies, and argue for a politics of solidarity and unity.

There are signs, too, that something is shifting at community level. As in the early 1980s, the far right appears to be fragmenting and turning in on itself. Asylum protesters in Falkirk have refused to stand alongside those promoting “re-migration” and other race-based politics. People with legitimate concerns about immigration have taken a hard look at who they were standing beside and concluded they want nothing to do with them.

Political choices matter too. Politicians set the tone and shape the wider environment and debate. That is why I am proud of the SNP Government and the broad consensus that still largely exists in the Scottish Parliament. Scotland chooses a different path. We have a government that welcomes immigration, recognises its vital contribution to our economy and public services, supports refugees and asylum seekers, challenges misinformation, and refuses to indulge the dangerous myths on which the far right feeds. We are also exploring ways to ensure that those fleeing war and persecution are protected from harassment and intimidation.

In the late 1970s, the National Front was defeated by unity and political alliances. This generation of the far right can similarly be defeated by the same forces. At times, when we look around the world, the challenge can feel overwhelming: the far right ascendant across Europe, Trump back in the White House, and Farage tipped by some as a future Prime Minister of the UK.

But we can choose to be different. We can choose hope over hate. And just as I learned in Trafalgar Square nearly fifty years ago, when people come together in sufficient numbers, the far right can — and will — be defeated.