The commonalities across the Irish Sea and the English Channel — severe disquiet over immigration, the continued rise of populism, and the spread of extremist discourse, especially online — reflect the similarities of the challenges. The question of how to accommodate plural identities is a pressing one.

As the United Kingdom and the rest of Europe wrestle with societal and national fragmentation, it is worth looking at how some of the most diverse states coped with difference in the past. And it would be hard to find a better example than the Habsburg Empire, or Austria-Hungary as it was known during the last phase of its existence. Of a total population of 51.4 million in 1910, 23% mainly used German, 19.6% Hungarian, 12.5% Czech and 9.7% Polish. The rest mainly used Italian, Croatian, Ruthenian, Romanian, Slovak and Slovene. It was a veritable Babel and reflected, roughly, the profound national divisions between the peoples who made up the empire. Yet thanks to a series of expedients the Habsburgs were able to muddle through — fortwursteln — without a catastrophic internal breakdown until defeat in the First World War.

Because of this long-term survival, some in the UK saw in Austria-Hungary a solution for their own problems of how to reconcile the English, Scots, Welsh and Irish. As the historian Alvin Jackson points out in his ground-breaking study of these issues, when Prime Minister William Gladstone tried to address the “Irish Question” in the late 19th century, he studied the “compromise” reached between the Habsburgs and the Hungarians very carefully. Arthur Griffith, who founded Sinn Féin in 1905, even hailed that agreement as the “resurrection” of Hungary which could serve as an example for a dual Anglo-Irish monarchy.

Both the United Kingdom and Austria-Hungary emerged out of early modern composite monarchies, polities where the crown ruled over territories which were governed in very different ways. In the British case, the solution was found in the establishment of a parliamentary union, in 1707 and then expanded upon in 1801, in which everybody was represented on an equal basis — according to the franchise of the time — at Westminster. England, Scotland and Ireland ceased to exist, politically; Wales had been abolished some time earlier. This arrangement facilitated the basis for the rise of one of the most powerful states the world has ever seen.

The Habsburgs took the opposite route. After various experiments of their own they settled on a “composite democracy” with a monarch at its head. In 1867, Emperor Franz Josef’s Ausgleich — “compromise” — divided the empire into two halves, both with parliamentary representation. Despite making up only 40% of the population of the “Hungarian” half, the Magyars lorded it over the “subject” Slovaks, Romanians, Serbs and Croats. The other half had no official name but had a plurality (about 37.5%) of German speakers mainly in Bohemia, Moravia and present-day Austria. Because the two parts were divided by the river Leitha, they were known as Cisleithania and Transleithania.

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How Britain ignored its ethnic conflict

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Both the United Kingdom and the Habsburg Empire faced the onslaught of late 19th-century European politics: rising nationalism with the resulting identity politics over language, education and employment, and class conflict. Both saw demands for solutions based on partition, and both were subjected to the rigours of the First World War. But they coped very differently.

Austria-Hungary staggered from crisis to crisis as it tried to cope with what the historian Steven Beller calls a “witches’ brew” of competing demands and hatreds. Vienna sought to keep the lid on things through a series of “compromises” in Croatia, Moravia, and Bukovina and Galicia. Governance, as the veteran Prime Minister of Cisleithania Viscount Eduard Taaffe once remarked, was a matter of keeping the various groups in a state of “well-tempered discontent”. For example, the “compromise” with the Poles was at the expense of letting them dominate the Jews and Ruthenes of Galicia. Parliament was a zoo. The capital city, home to a huge immigrant population, especially Slavs from all parts of the Empire and Jews particularly from Galicia, also spawned a vicious xenophobic and antisemitic discourse. It was no wonder the Viennese satirist Karl Kraus referred to the empire as a “Laboratory for World Destruction”.

The United Kingdom performed far better at managing tensions between its territories. Most of the British Isles developed an ideological, rather than national, form of politics: the Conservatives, Liberals and later the Labour Party won support across three of the four nations. Only in Ireland, where differences between Catholics and Protestants continued to play a major role, did nationalism come to dominate. But, despite their best efforts to obstruct and disrupt parliament, Irish nationalists never managed to bring Westminster to the same state of confusion as Czech, Polish, Slovene, Italian and even German nationalists inflicted on the Reichsrat in Vienna.

Moreover, unlike the Habsburg Empire, which collapsed in 1918, the UK emerged from four years of conflict in the First World War as a victor, losing only the Irish Free State in its aftermath. Six of the nine counties of Ulster remained in the United Kingdom. Partition was traumatic to be sure, but remained a largely contained event which did not affect the rest of Europe much. In fact, the separation of the 26 counties was made possible by the British victory over Germany, because it was hard to envisage how a separate state on the western flank would present an immediate military challenge.

Despite the relative success of the British model, when compared with its European alternatives, the demand for national recognition grew throughout the late 20th century. In Northern Ireland, the introduction of a devolved parliament in 1920 facilitated discrimination against the Catholic population. After the end of the Cold War, and the apparent passing of strategic threats to the United Kingdom, Prime Minister Tony Blair introduced devolution in Northern Ireland, Scotland and Wales. There were now representative bodies across the Irish Sea, on the other side of the Wye River, and beyond the Tweed, which dealt with matters not “reserved” to Westminster. Some, such as the Shadow Secretary of State for Scotland, George Roberston, predicted that “Devolution will kill Nationalism stone dead”.

The British Ausgleich was also lopsided. It gave expression to the nationalism of only three of the four nations. England had no separate parliamentary assembly, and politically was defined by being non-devolved. All of England’s laws were voted on by representatives from all four nations, but the country had no say in the laws passed by the devolved assemblies. The largest nation seemed to be left out.

The UK, then, in the 20th century seemed to draw on the experience of the Habsburg Empire — but its legacy is disputed. The failure of the successor states, whether fascist or communist, put things in perspective. As they stewed in the Soviet Bloc, many Central European intellectuals developed a nostalgia for a framework which had allowed them to coexist in relative freedom. Shortly after the end of communism, the renowned Hungarian historian István Deák argued in his 1990 book, Beyond Nationalism, that the “Habsburg Experiment” in supranational organisation should be revisited. “I am convinced,” he wrote, “that we can find here a positive lesson while the post-1918 history of central and east central European nation-states can only show us what to avoid.” The historian Solomon Wank, by contrast, pointed out in 1997 that the empire had simply “stoked the fires of national rivalry” which ultimately consumed it.

Either way, it is not obvious what the UK now can learn from the Habsburgs today. First, because they had little useful to say about immigration, one of the main preoccupations of the recent riots. Indeed, the mayor of Vienna Dr Karl Lueger famously exploited antisemitic hatred of Jewish migrants for personal political gain. Secondly, as we have seen, because the Austro-Hungarian leadership aggravated national differences, as much as they mitigated them.

What the UK can do is learn from the mistakes of the Habsburgs. State indulgence of nationalism before 1914 simply increased the chaos. Likewise, the introduction of devolution in the UK, far from “killing” the demand for separation “stone dead”, actually whetted appetites. In Scotland, the establishment of the assembly in Edinburgh increased calls for separation from the United Kingdom so much that London was forced to concede a referendum in 2014 which at one point it feared to lose. In Wales, interest in independence, though still weak, grew after the introduction of devolution. In Northern Ireland the devolved institutions may have helped bring some form of peace, but they also facilitate continuous squabbling between the two communities. We therefore have enough, and perhaps too much, devolution — we do not need any more compromises.

The UK Union is based on the assumption that we have four nations whose members are English, Scottish, Welsh and Irish, but also — if they want to be — British as well. If the UK followed the Austro-Hungarian example any further, the result might be the “resurrection” of Ireland, Scotland, Wales and even England — but it would also be the death of Britain.

Some nationalists look fondly to a past utopia before the colonial invader pitched up on their shores. There were patriotic Irish scholars in the 18th century who claimed that Irish was probably the language spoken in the Garden of Eden. One shouldn’t, however, be misled by this archaic impulse. Nationalism is a thoroughly modern ideology, which stretches back no more than about two and a half centuries. It was only around then that Europe was seized by the novel idea that to be a nation entailed having one’s own political state. There was a direct hook-up between the ethnic and the political. Human beings (which didn’t for this purpose include women) had the right to self-determination not just as people but as peoples. A crucial hyphen was inserted between the words “nation” and “state”, and a new phenomenon came into existence.

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There were problems with this revolutionary notion. For one thing, almost all so-called nations were ethnically hybrid, with the odd exception such as China, so why shouldn’t each of these ethnic groups have its own state? For another thing, nations at the time were defined largely by imperialism and colonialism. These sovereign powers played a major part in drawing up the frontiers between territories, mostly in their own material interests, so wasn’t revolutionary nationalism just an inverted mirror of its antagonist? Anyway, by what mystical logic did being Tibetan or Peruvian automatically afford you the right to your own political state? There were, to be sure, forms of so-called civic nationalism for which being Peruvian meant simply being a citizen of Peru whatever your ethnic origin, and this was to be the foundation upon which most nations were constructed; but the Romantic desire to affirm your difference, uniqueness and possible superiority as a people never lost its grip, and has recently been active on the streets of Britain.

In a long historical perspective, this summer’s rioting happened because a section of the British working class had imbibed all too well the propaganda of its social superiors. For a world of empires and dynasties to give way to one of autonomous nation-states, a seismic cultural transformation was required. People who previously thought of themselves in concrete terms as tenants of a feudal landowner and more abstractly as loyal servants of the monarch had to learn how to become French or British or Portuguese citizens. Their identities had to be remoulded and reoriented. Some of the British were rich and powerful while others were semi-destitute, but there was a bond between them — Britishness — which seemed to render such divisions irrelevant. Rich and poor could forget their quarrels and unite in the face of a demonised outsider. This, needless to say, could prove highly convenient for the rich. All social classes could come together against a common enemy, and in Britain both the French and the Irish have traditionally served this function. What also proved vital to the nation’s sense of shared identity was Protestantism, which was sadly lacking in both France and Ireland.

The problem is that this robust national identity, which answered well enough at the time to the needs of mercantile and industrial capitalism, is less and less capable of doing so under current conditions. Capitalism is now a global phenomenon, and along with it the labour market. National unity is still politically and culturally imperative, but it is increasingly out of step with the contemporary global marketplace. Culture and the economy are out of sync. This, of course, is often the case, since culture usually changes with glacial slowness while the economy can shift in an instant. But this difference has been intensified by the transition from national to transnational capitalism. Working people whose mentality has been moulded by centuries of allegiance to king and country are now being implicitly asked to acknowledge the great lie of nationalism: the fact that there is no organic bond between an ethnic group and a specific terrain, that no stretch of soil belongs by divine or natural right to those who speak a particular language or have a certain skin-colour. The country was never yours to claim back. Immigrants haven’t robbed you of what was never your property in the first place. There are no exclusively British values which outsiders can’t or won’t share. You have been sold a fantasy by a national state in whose interests it was for you to buy this illusion, but which has transformed its nature while you have remained the same.

What you can’t accept is that transnational capitalism doesn’t care about culture or skin colour or what language was spoken in the Garden of Eden as long as it has someone to squeeze a profit out of. It is as woke in its own way as a Guardian editorial. It is the most impeccably liberal of set-ups, welcoming Malaysians to Denmark and Danes to Malaysia if this will suit its economic purposes. No mode of production has been more culture-blind. Unlike some of those who live under its rule, it is largely indifferent to questions of identity, including national or ethnic identity, since identity is a straitjacket which stops you from being mobile and adaptable. Only adolescents obsess about who they are. There are no natives any longer; instead, everyone is an expatriate, some of whom cling to the mirage of a mono-cultural country which vanished decades ago but which they still like to think of as home.

There has always been a conflict in modern capitalism between its drive for political unity and its economic plurality. As Marx points out in The Communist Manifesto, it is the most hybrid, mongrelised of life-forms, restlessly overriding boundaries, pitching bizarrely different phenomena together, mixing opposites and toppling hierarchies. Yet this diversity at the level of the marketplace must be sustained by unity at the level of the state. If we are anarchists in the shopping mall, we must be responsible citizens in the pew, classroom, polling booth or family hearth. This isn’t a contradiction that the current system is capable of resolving, any more than it can reconcile the need for cultural cohesion at home with great tides of migration surging in from abroad.

Marxism offered working people an alternative to chauvinism. It was known as internationalism, which means that a lorry driver in Sheffield has more in common with a waiter in Seoul than he has with the millionaire proprietor of his company. Such internationally based identities aren’t an illusion — think of being a Roman Catholic — but they are harder to sustain than more local ones, given that human beings are bodily creatures bound to a particular spot. Only a tiny number of zealots are likely to throw themselves on the barricades shouting “Long Live the European Union!”, let alone “Up With World Government!” How do you develop forms of consciousness which correspond to a globalised world? This has been no problem at the level of popular culture, where Taylor Swift is as much a universal commodity as money, but there are older forms of such culture to do with national pride, resentment and fear of the Other which don’t take so easily to such cosmopolitanism. The more certain citizens feel most at home in the VIP lounge of airports, the more certain others will wrap themselves defensively in the Union flag.

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How Britain ignored its ethnic conflict

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Some of those who recently threw bricks at the police showed the anger and frustration of a neglected underclass, while some of them just hated foreigners and wanted to beat them up. The grotesque irony of the former’s behaviour is plain: who do you target if you are poor, humiliated, excluded and without a future? Why, the only social group (refugees) who are even poorer, more excluded and more humiliated than you are. In this sense, the centuries spent breeding patriotism and loyalty to the Empire in the common people have had a certain pay-off. The Empire was built among other things on the conviction that people of a certain culture and skin-colour were inferior to the British, a conviction that was inculcated into millions of ordinary Brits who were looking for someone to feel superior to. It’s no surprise that some of their descendants should harbour similar sentiments about Afghans and Syrians, not least when they refuse to stay obediently in their far-flung domains but have the impudence to come knocking on your door.

Our rulers look with genuine horror on the burning of hotels and the battering of the police, but they should also feel relieved that this explosion of rage isn’t directed at themselves. For it is they, after all, who run the system which causes great masses of men and women to feel that they don’t really matter. This, to be sure, is no excuse for trying to incinerate immigrants. You can feel rejected without throwing in your lot with a lout like Tommy Robinson. What the government, media and legal system don’t dare to acknowledge, however, is that this experience of rejection is entirely justified — and that unless it is addressed, the rioting will break out again.

To understand why, we need to take a brief detour back about five centuries — to Florence and the writings of Niccolò Machiavelli. He identified two archetypical psychological profiles of people who become leaders: the cunning but weak fox, who can outmanoeuvre his opponents but is “defenceless against wolves”; and the strong and brave lion, who likes to fight and can scare off wolves, but who is “defenceless against traps”. Machiavelli argued that a true statesman must embody both personalities, or risk destruction.

A distant student of Machiavelli, fellow Italian political theorist Vilfredo Pareto, would later expand the metaphor further. Observing history, he noted that the rise and fall of states and civilisations could be matched to a cyclical pattern in the collective personality of their ruling classes.

Nations are founded by lions, who are a society’s natural warrior class — its jocks, so to speak. They establish and expand a kingdom’s borders at the point of a sword, pacifying external enemies. Like Sparta’s Lycurgus or Rome’s Augustus, their firm hand often also puts an end to internal strife and establishes (or re-establishes) the rule of law. Their authority can be dictatorial, but it is relatively honest and straightforward in nature. They value directness and the clarity of combat. They are comfortable with the use of raw force, and open about their willingness to use it, whether against criminals or enemies. They have a firm sense of the distinction between enemies and friends in general — of who is part of the family and who is a prowling wolf to be guarded against. The security and stability they establish is what allows the nation to grow into prosperity.

Security and prosperity produce a proliferation of foxes. Foxes are unsuited to and deeply uncomfortable with the employment of force; they prefer intellectual and rhetorical combat, because they’re nerds. They will use physical force if necessary, but prefer to disguise its nature and are prone to use it ineptly. The brainy and cosmopolitan foxes have talents the lions don’t, however: they are good at managing complexity and scale, navigating the nuances of diplomatic alliances, or extracting profits from an extensive empire.

As long as peace prevails, civilisations come increasingly to morally prize the indirect and diplomatic methods of foxes and to avoid and indeed abhor the strength and violence of lions. As states grow larger and more complex, establishing new layers of bureaucracy, law and procedure, this quickly favours the Byzantine organising and scheming of foxes. In comparison, lions are inarticulate and unprepared for the traps of more underhanded mammals. So eventually, a wholesale replacement of the elite occurs: the lions who founded the nation are pushed out of its leadership, marginalised and excluded by a class of foxes who see them as brutish relics of a barbaric age.

But a curious thing then happens, Pareto observed: the instability of societies overly dominated by foxes begins to increase relentlessly. The foxes, reluctant to properly distinguish and identify real threats or to openly employ force even when necessary, find themselves defenceless against wolves both internal and external. When faced with escalating challenges, the foxes tend to resort to doubling down on their preferred strategy of misdirection and manipulation, and attempt to bury or buy off threats rather than confronting them directly. This does nothing to solve problems that require the firm use of force, or the threat of it, such as keeping packs of wolves on the other side of the borders. Eventually, when things get bad enough, foxes may desperately lash out with violence, but do so indecisively, ham-fistedly, or in entirely the wrong direction. The wolves, for their part, can instinctively smell weakness and just keep coming.

Like the rest of the West, Britain has been ruled for decades by an effete managerial elite whose system of technocratic control is absolutely characteristic of foxes. There could be no better example of this than how the Government has attempted to manage immigration and the ethnic tensions it has brought with it.

It has attempted to manage the perception of it, in classic fox-like fashion, via careful control of media and online information. Those who continue to speak out on the issue are then smeared with reputation-destroying labels such as “racist”, “xenophobic”, or “far-Right” in order to deflect others from listening to them. This reflects foxes’ consistent instinct to turn first and foremost to information warfare and narrative manipulation over direct confrontation. Hence the immediate reaction to the latest riots: to blame them on “misinformation” and “unregulated social media”. The implication being that nothing at all would be amiss if the information common people had access to could just be better suppressed.

This controlling instinct is also reflected in the UK’s “Neighbourhood Policing” model, which, as Aris Roussinos has noted, makes state-managed avoidance of ethnic conflict the top priority of the police forces. In practice, this means deploying police to swiftly shut down anything that might provoke unsightly public disturbances in minority ethnic communities, such as “openly Jewish” men walking too near pro-Palestine demonstrations, people criticising Hamas, or Englishmen holding the English flag. Meanwhile, inciting rhetoric and open violence committed by the same ethnic communities is met with studious non-confrontation or polite de-escalation in order to avoid upsetting “community relations”.

This means British police now operate much less like a conventional crime-solving and deterrent force, as Ed West has pointed out, and far “more like that of a colonial [police] force, charged with preventing community relations from spilling over into violence”, while keeping multi-cultural imperial possessions  stable despite the natives’ displeasure.

The British elite’s habitual reliance on these techniques of information control and relationship micromanagement have combined most spectacularly in the Home Office’s “controlled spontaneity” programme, which aims to pre-empt any backlash to terrorist attacks and violent crimes by “pre-planning social media campaigns which are designed to appear to be a spontaneous public response to attacks”, such as candle-lit inter-faith vigils and people handing out flowers “in apparently unprompted gestures of love and support”. This is of course all a façade that government “contingency planners” and their “civil society” partners rush to impose in order to, as Roussinos writes, “present an image of depoliticised community solidarity” meant to head off any potential escalation of ethnic tensions and violence. Or as one planner described it, the whole effort is intended to serve as “an anaesthetic for the community”.

The result is what Matthew Crawford has noted is essentially government by psyop, or soft managerialism. The ruling elite, Labour and Tory wings alike, would rather try to manage the British public’s whole perception of reality than ever use force to stop illegal immigration, actually police crime, or attempt — in the longer-term — to salvage the cratering popular legitimacy of their regime. Such is the way of the fox.

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But this way now seems to be reaching its inevitable failure point. The explosion of violence in the streets is proof enough of that. Pareto and Machiavelli would not be surprised, as this is exactly how just about every other fox-ruled regime in history eventually collapsed.

So, what is likely to happen next in Britain? We should first expect the foxes to immediately double-down on soft managerialism, including by restricting even further the digital information space, expanding surveillance and financial restrictions, and using the techniques of obfuscation and manipulation to control dissent — all of which Keir Starmer has already committed to doing.

His government has also already demonstrated its willingness to lash out with naked force against the disgruntled “far-Right” that it blames for disturbing the peace (doubtless along with the broader political opposition). And we should certainly expect to see more of this in the future. But the flailing response, and the resulting escalation in Britain’s state of anarcho-tyranny (“law and order for thee, but not for them”), will hardly solve the deeper problems driving the nation further into chaos.

That would take lions. But the foxes of the Western elite are even more scared of lions than they are of wolves — and perhaps for good reason: again and again in history, the oligarchic rule of foxes tends to end when the people finally get fed up enough to turn to a lion to save them from wolves.