Coalitions Without a Cause: Europe’s Fight Against the Populist Right

Lachie Macfarlan | Europe and Eurasia Fellow

Image sourced from Owain Davies via Wikimedia Commons.

Across Western and Central Europe, political consensus-building is no longer about shared policy agendas or ideological alignment. It is about one overriding objective: preventing the populist right from taking power. From The Hague to Vienna to Paris, centre-left and centre-right parties are forming fragile, and often reluctant coalitions driven less by political conviction than by democratic preservation.

This containment strategy of building coalitions of necessity reflects both the electoral threat posed by far-right parties, and the institutional anxiety that mainstream politics is losing its ability to shape public debate. Yet while these alliances may delay the far right’s ascent, they do little to address the structural grievances driving its rise. 

In the Trumpian age, understanding why the populist right continues to gain traction requires acknowledging the socioeconomic and cultural fractures shaping European politics. Rising inequality, housing pressures, migration pressures, and perceived climate inaction have created fertile ground for anti-establishment sentiment. As argued by Benjamin Moffitt, author of The Global Rise of Populism, populist parties “perpetuate [this] state of crisis” and position themselves as the only authentic, people-powered voice against a supposedly uninspiring, corrupt, and stagnant ‘liberal elite’.

The Netherlands offers one of the clearest examples of this dynamic. Following the 2023 general election, Geert Wilders’ Freedom Party (PVV) — a far-right nationalist party known for its anti-Islam rhetoric and scepticism of the European Union — won the largest share of seats in the Dutch parliament. After six months of protracted and uneasy coalition negotiations, the resulting compromise was the appointment of Dick Schoof, a technocrat and former intelligence chief with no electoral history, as Prime Minister. Schoof’s primary qualification was neither political vision nor experience, but merely that he was not Wilders.

This outcome captured a broader continental trend: when the far right surges, the political centre scrambles to hold the line. The Dutch compromise was partial. While Wilders' most extreme policies were diluted, the PVV still entered government as a key coalition partner. That balance, however, proved unsustainable. Within 11 months, the coalition collapsed after Wilders withdrew support when his partners rejected his hardline anti-migration proposals.

Austria offers a similar case study. In 2024, the far-right Freedom Party (FPÖ), led by Herbert Kickl, secured the national primary vote on a Eurosceptic and anti-immigration rhetorical platform. In response, a coalition emerged between the centre-left Social Democrats, the conservative Austrian People’s Party, and the liberal NEOS. This alignment was not built on common policy ground, but on a shared refusal to work with Kickl’s FPÖ, whose far-right roots remain deeply troubling in a country still grappling with its complicated legacy of Nazism.

In Germany, the post-WWII anti-extreme right firewall continues to hold. Yet the steady rise of the neo-Nazi linked Alternative für Deutschland (AfD), now polling first nationally, underscores the growing strain on this consensus and the urgent need for proactive policy responses to counter extremist appeal. 

France illustrates another fragile form of resistance. While Marine Le Pen’s far-right, anti-EU, and anti-immigration National Rally has not secured the presidency, centrist President Emmanuel Macron’s electoral support has eroded. His continued leadership is less a sign of public enthusiasm than a reflection of voters’ reluctance to embrace the far right entirely. Consequently, after months of  hung parliament, Macron’s power has become contingent on compromise: a centrist placeholder in the absence of viable alternatives, much like Schoof.

Nevertheless, these short-term coalitions of resistance lack any unifying policy vision, beyond merely rejecting the worst-case scenario. While this tactic may succeed in the immediate term, it risks deepening public disillusionment and reinforcing the populist narrative that mainstream parties are stagnant, self-preserving, and disconnected from their populace.

Looking ahead, the United Kingdom now faces a similar inflection point. Nigel Farage’s Reform UK party, a successor to the Brexit Party, has gained momentum in the polls. Offering few coherent policy platforms and showing little interest in actual governance, Reform nonetheless resonates with voters through a familiar populist formula: disruption over solutions, grievance over policy.

The dilemma for Europe’s political establishment is increasingly clear. What happens when far-right parties are too large to ignore, yet too volatile to govern with? Should centrist parties continue forming short-term, reactive coalitions? Should they concede policy ground in an effort to co-opt populist voters? Or must they begin offering a compelling, proactive alternative?

At present, Europe’s mainstream parties appear stuck in tactical defence. They erect barriers but offer no blueprint for what comes next. The Dutch experiment with Schoof, the relative resilience of Germany’s firewall, and Austria’s anti-Kickl coalition suggest that Europe’s institutional defences have not yet been breached entirely. Still, containment strategies are not always sufficient, and when mainstream parties fail to address public discontent, the populist right can swiftly move from the margins to the majority. 

In the Netherlands, containment politics ultimately failed. The government assembled to constrain Wilders was eventually undone by him. This emphasises that Europe cannot indefinitely sustain governance built solely on pragmatism, exclusion, and short-termism. The political centre must move beyond crisis management. It must articulate a vision rooted in justice, opportunity, democratic renewal, and most importantly, one that responds directly to the structural inequities driving populist anger.

Coalitions of the desperate can buy time. By themselves, they cannot rebuild trust in democratic institutions. If Europe’s political system is to survive today’s populist age, governments must lead with clarity, purpose, and a renewed democratic mission.

Lachie Macfarlan is a final-year student at the Australian National University, where he studies a Bachelor of Laws (Honours) specialising in International & Comparative Law, and a Bachelor of International Security Studies. He recently returned from a year in Vienna – spending six months on academic exchange studying international law at University of Vienna, and six months working on multilateral policy full-time at Australia’s Permanent Mission to the United Nations (Vienna).

Through this fellowship, Lachie hopes to provide accessible commentary on intra-European dynamics and Europe’s evolving role in the international system, aiming to connect European developments and experiences with Australian foreign policy debates.

Our 2025 Europe and Eurasia Fellow is sponsored by the Centre for Deliberative Democracy (CDD) at the University of Canberra. For more information, visit their website here.

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of Young Australians in International Affairs. All content is original, and no plagiarism has been used in the preparation of this article.