Windrush Timeline: Revisiting Britain’s Most Racist Election - The Battle for Smethwick 1964

As Britain contends with the fallout from the Bradford riots, Labour’s strategic shift to the right — aimed at regaining disillusioned working-class voters — has sparked fierce debate. The return of Nigel Farage, now buoyed by Reform UK’s rising popularity, has once again thrust immigration to the forefront of national politics.

But this isn’t new.

In this blog post, we explore our Windrush timeline to revisit the 1964 General Election, when a bitter campaign in a small West Midlands town became a defining moment in modern British race relations. The Smethwick election of that year is still remembered as one of the most openly racist political contests in British history.

Sixty years ago, immigration — then as now — acted as a lightning rod for deeper economic and social anxieties. Smethwick, a modest town on the edge of the Black Country, became the epicentre of a backlash rooted in fear, fuelled by demographic change, and cynically exploited by political opportunists. What unfolded there uncannily mirrors the political theatre of today: culture wars dressed as policy debates, race used as a stand-in for class, and populism cloaked as patriotism.

A Snapshot of a Divided Town

In 1964, Smethwick was a working-class constituency with a proud industrial past and a growing immigrant population, particularly from the Caribbean and the Indian subcontinent. Although similar demographic shifts were taking place in cities like London, Birmingham and Manchester, it was Smethwick that came to symbolise Britain’s racial fault lines.

The sitting MP, Labour’s Patrick Gordon Walker — a well-educated former Commonwealth Secretary — had held the seat since 1945. Yet despite a national swing towards Labour that year, Smethwick bucked the trend. He was defeated — and not narrowly — by the Conservative candidate Peter Griffiths, a grammar school-educated populist whose campaign became one of the most infamous in British political history.

The Slogan That Shamed a Nation

Posters emerged bearing the now-notorious slogan: “If you want a n**r for a neighbour, vote Labour.”

Griffiths denied authoring or endorsing the slogan, claiming it was the work of far-right extremists. Yet he refused to condemn it — and, in doing so, benefitted politically. The swing to the Conservatives in Smethwick was 7.2%, compared to a national 3.5% swing towards Labour.

This wasn’t just about prejudice. It was a calculated strategy. The Conservatives, eager to claw back working-class support, had found a wedge issue: immigration. Much like Farage’s dog-whistle politics today, race became a proxy for economic insecurity and cultural change. And Labour — much like now — appeared either ill-equipped or unwilling to push back effectively.

More Than Racism — But Not Less Than That

To dismiss Smethwick solely as a racist outburst is to overlook the broader context — though racism was undeniably present. The 1960s were marked by economic decline, rising unemployment, and a growing sense that the post-war consensus was unravelling.

Deindustrialisation loomed. Living standards were under pressure from pay freezes, inflation and devaluation. Industrial unrest surged. In Place of Strife, Labour’s failed attempt to curb union power, became a byword for political ineptitude. Lightning strikes paralysed key industries — with more working days lost than at any time since the General Strike of 1926. This fuelled a nationwide mood of anxiety and disaffection.

It was within this climate of insecurity that immigration became a scapegoat. Housing was scarce. Jobs were no longer guaranteed. For many in places like Smethwick, the fear wasn’t of “foreigners” per se — it was the belief that hard-won rights and resources were slipping away.

The danger lies in framing this solely as a matter of race. The radicalisation of immigration debates often masked deeper unease — about fairness, class, and national decline. Contemporary surveys support this view. The Rose Report (late 1960s) found that 73% of the British public were either tolerant or leaning towards tolerance of immigrants. Similarly, an analysis of Enoch Powell’s infamous postbag by researcher Geoffrey Spearman found that most letters expressed economic anxiety or cultural confusion — not explicit racism.

Immigrants were not the cause of Britain’s post-war challenges. But they became the most visible symbol of change — and thus the most convenient to blame. Then, as now, the immigration debate often conceals a deeper fear: that the social fabric is unravelling and no one is listening.

From Powell to Farage: The Racialisation of Class Discontent

Griffiths’ victory was a prelude to Enoch Powell’s “Rivers of Blood” speech just four years later — a moment that took racialised political rhetoric to the national stage. Today, Nigel Farage picks up that torch, albeit in the language of “control”, “integration”, and “pressure on services”. It’s no coincidence that Labour now tailors its messages to appeal to Reform UK voters, invoking “common sense” and “pragmatic” border policies.

This isn’t a repeat of Smethwick — but it certainly rhymes. The slogans may have disappeared and the language may be more polite, but the dynamic is familiar: race and migration weaponised in a struggle for the soul of the working class.

Why Revisiting Smethwick Matters

Smethwick is a cautionary tale. When mainstream parties fail to challenge racism directly — or worse, co-opt its logic in the name of electoral strategy — the consequences endure. What happened in 1964 shaped how race and immigration would be politicised in the UK for decades.

Today’s Labour Party, still wrestling with its ideological identity, would do well to heed that history. So too would the media, which often flattens complex debates into simplistic binaries — pro-immigration vs anti — while ignoring the structural failures that feed resentment.

Revisiting Smethwick isn’t about nostalgia or blame. It’s about choices. It reminds us that immigration will always be debated — but how it is debated, and whose voices are included, will shape the country’s future.

Smethwick matters not just because of what was said or who won, but because it marked a turning point — the moment British politics first openly exploited racial anxiety for political gain. And it showed just how effective that strategy could be when combined with economic hardship and social unrest.

But Smethwick also reminds us of the danger of simplification. Yes, racism was there. But so were issues of housing, wages, community and identity — the complicated, lived experience of people struggling to adapt to change.

We should remember that now.

Condemning voters, or reducing national conversations to “tolerant” vs “racist”, risks missing the nuance — again.

Because unless we confront the real causes of disaffection — and resist the temptation to answer complex questions with slogans and scapegoats — we risk becoming trapped in a cycle of political déjà vu. Revisiting the past, without ever truly learning from it.