A decade later, those disagreements have not been resolved
Ten years after the United Kingdom voted by a narrow margin to leave the European Union, The Guardian has gathered the voices of those who fought on both sides of that historic divide — not to render a verdict, but to bear witness. Through an oral history constructed by journalist Kiran Stacey, the architects and foot soldiers of the 2016 referendum speak for themselves, revealing how a vote meant to settle a question instead opened a wound that time has deepened rather than healed. What emerges is less a chronicle of Brexit than a meditation on how democracies make irreversible choices and then spend generations learning to live with them.
- A decade on, the 52-48 split that redrew British political life remains too close to feel conclusive — and too consequential to feel accidental.
- Trade deals, the Northern Ireland protocol, Scottish independence pressures, and shifting immigration patterns have kept the wound from closing, each development reigniting the original argument.
- Rather than a single authoritative account, The Guardian's oral history lets the campaigners speak in their own words — Leave voices explaining sovereignty, Remain voices describing their fears — with neither side permitted to revise what they once believed.
- Young people who were children in 2016 are now old enough to inherit the consequences, bringing fresh urgency to a reckoning that older generations have not yet finished.
- The retrospective lands not as resolution but as documentation — a country still mid-argument, using memory as the only tool available for understanding what it chose.
Ten years after the results came in on the morning of June 24, 2016, The Guardian has marked the anniversary not with a single authoritative account but with something more honest: an oral history that lets the people who shaped the Brexit vote speak for themselves. Journalist Kiran Stacey gathered voices from both the Leave and Remain campaigns, allowing each side to explain what they believed they were fighting for, what they expected to happen, and what actually did.
The referendum — held June 23, 2016 — was designed to settle a question. Instead, the 52-48 result was narrow enough to haunt every subsequent debate about legitimacy. Neither side has been able to claim the clarity of a mandate, and neither has been willing to concede the argument.
A decade provides enough distance to see consequences. Trade arrangements have been renegotiated. The Northern Ireland protocol has been revised repeatedly. Scotland's independence movement has grown. Businesses have moved. Immigration has shifted. The people who warned of economic disruption were not wrong; neither were those who genuinely believed in reclaiming sovereignty. They were reading the same facts through different lenses of identity and risk — and events have not resolved that disagreement so much as extended it.
What the podcast ultimately captures is a democracy that split itself open and has been trying, imperfectly, to stitch itself back together ever since. For those who lived through 2016 in a daze, it offers the testimony of people who were paying close attention. For those too young to remember, it is a window into how a single vote can become the beginning of a much longer argument — one that a country may spend a generation learning to hold.
Ten years have passed since the morning the results came in. The United Kingdom had voted to leave the European Union, and by the afternoon, the political ground had shifted in ways nobody quite understood yet. This week, The Guardian marked that decade with something more ambitious than a simple retrospective: a series of conversations with the people who shaped the vote and lived through its aftermath.
Kiran Stacey, working through interviews with figures from both the Leave and Remain campaigns, constructed an oral history of a moment that fractured British politics in ways that are still unfolding. The referendum itself—held on June 23, 2016—was supposed to settle a question. Instead, it opened a chasm. Fifty-two percent voted to leave. Forty-eight percent voted to stay. The margin was narrow enough that it has haunted every conversation about legitimacy and mandate ever since.
What makes this retrospective different from the countless analyses and recriminations that have filled the past decade is its method. Rather than a single narrator imposing order on chaos, Stacey lets the architects and foot soldiers of both campaigns speak directly about what they believed they were fighting for, what they thought would happen, and what actually did. The people who ran the Leave campaign explain their vision of sovereignty and self-determination. The Remain side describes their fears about economic disruption and international isolation. Neither side gets to rewrite history; both get to explain themselves.
The timing matters. Ten years is long enough to see consequences. Trade arrangements have been renegotiated. The Northern Ireland protocol has been revised and revised again. Scotland's independence movement has gained momentum. The pound has fluctuated. Businesses have relocated. Immigration patterns have shifted. Young people who were too young to vote in 2016 are now old enough to understand what was taken from them or what was reclaimed, depending on their view. The retrospective captures a country trying to make sense of a decision that was supposed to be simple but turned out to be the beginning of a much longer argument.
What emerges from these conversations is not a settled narrative but a portrait of genuine disagreement about what Britain is and should be. The Leave voters who spoke about reclaiming control from distant bureaucrats were not lying about what they believed. The Remain voters who warned about economic damage were not being hysterical. They were looking at the same facts and drawing different conclusions about risk, identity, and the future. A decade later, those disagreements have not been resolved by events; they have been deepened by them.
The podcast serves as a document of a specific moment in British history when the country made a choice that nobody fully understood at the time. The interviews capture not just the vote itself but the confidence and fear that surrounded it, the calculations that went into the campaigns, and the shock that followed. For listeners who lived through 2016 in a daze, it offers a chance to hear from people who were paying close attention. For those too young to remember, it provides a window into how a democracy can split itself open and then try to stitch itself back together.
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does a decade feel like the right moment to revisit this? Why not five years ago, or wait another five?
Because now you can see the shape of the consequences. In 2016, everything was speculation. Now you're living in the world that vote created. Trade deals are signed. Businesses have moved. You can measure the actual impact, not just the predicted impact.
The interviews are from both sides. Does that create a false balance—as if both campaigns were equally right or equally wrong?
It creates something different. It lets you hear how intelligent, serious people looked at the same country and saw completely different futures. That's not false balance. That's the actual texture of the disagreement.
What surprised you most in doing these interviews?
How much the people involved still believe in what they fought for. There's no regret in the room, even from people whose predictions didn't come true. They still think they were right to make the argument they made.
Does the podcast suggest what comes next?
Not really. It documents a choice and its immediate aftermath. But it doesn't pretend to know where Britain goes from here. That's still being written.
For someone who wasn't paying attention in 2016, what should they understand about why this vote mattered so much?
It wasn't just about the EU. It was about who gets to decide what Britain is. That question is still open.