The Immigrant Experience: What They Tell You vs. What You Know
Immigration Isn’t a Statistic - It’s a Story. Let’s Hear Yours.
Immigration.
Just the word alone is enough to summon a thousand bellowing headlines, a few angry tweets, and a Nigel Farage-shaped shadow looming in the corner. The story the media spins is as old as time: immigrants are sometimes heroic saviours propping up crumbling public services, but most of the time the monster under Britain’s bed, poised to steal your job, your house, and maybe your cat.
But here’s the thing: none of those stories are about actual immigrants. They’re about narratives. Carefully curated, neatly packaged, and designed to make you feel a certain way - fearful, superior, or even (God forbid) mildly empathetic.
As someone who is an immigrant, I’ve lived the reality behind the headlines.
It’s not glamorous or necessarily terrifying. It’s mundane, stressful, joyful, and yes, occasionally frustrating (like when the Home Office takes six months to acknowledge your existence). But it’s also deeply human. And yet, the human side of immigration rarely makes the news. Instead, it’s reduced to charts, soundbites, and political hand grenades kicked around by people who’ve never had to fill out a single visa application in their lives.
Your Stories, Not Theirs
So, here’s where you come in.
I would really like to hear your thoughts, experiences, and (if you’re willing) your stories about immigration. Whether you’re an immigrant, know someone who is, or just have strong opinions shaped by what you’ve seen or read, I’m inviting you to join the conversation.
Here are a few questions to spark some thinking:
What’s your first memory of hearing about immigration? Was it a news story, a personal encounter, or something else entirely?
How has the media shaped your perception of immigrants? Has it changed over time? Why?
What’s your experience (if any) with the immigration system? Whether it’s personal, through work, or via someone you know.
How do you think immigration is impacting Britain right now? Economically, culturally, politically - take your pick.
Why Does This Matter?
Immigration isn’t just a policy issue - it’s a deeply personal one. Every statistic has a face behind it, every visa delay a story, every “they’re coming over here” headline a person trying to make a life. And yet, these stories are drowned out by relentless political spin and cynical media scare tactics.
The only way to challenge those narratives is to share real experiences. Yours, mine, ours. So, let’s do that. You don’t have to agree with me (although I promise I’m far more agreeable than the claws might suggest). You just have to be honest.
Drop your thoughts in the comments or send me an email (iratusursusmajor@gmail.com) if you’d rather share privately. If you’ve got a longer story to tell, let me know - I’d love to collaborate on a future post that amplifies your voice.
Together, maybe we can cut through the noise and remind everyone that immigration is about people, not politics. And if nothing else, we can have a proper moan about bureaucracy, which is the real enemy here.
Over to you.
🐻
As a small child, in the late 1950s, my family were Catholics in small town Britain.
We were Irish/English.
On the outskirts of the town was a 'camp' which was home to Italian, Polish, Latvian refugees.
All Catholics.
My junior school was full of children of different nationalities, it seemed quite normal to us.
As Catholics, we were out of the mainstream of the town anyway.
My parents took over a small hotel.
Many of our guests were visiting priests, but we also accumulated a small number of young men, Irish, who had started training for the priesthood, but who had fallen by the wayside .
Their migration to Britain was forced by the shame that would fall on their families if they went home as failed seminarians.
In brief, I grew up surrounded by immigrants, and thought little of it.
Going to tea with friends was often exciting, because of unfamiliar food.
I did notice cultural differences. My best friend's father was Polish, and he maintained a magnificent vegetable garden. No English people I knew would work so hard to produce food.
Once, the Duke of Edinburgh came to visit our town .
All the schoolchildren in town were herded to meet him where his helicopter landed, and the children of all the schools but ours waved Union Jacks.
We were encouraged to stand still.
I expect we were told to pray.
So, although I was born in England, I never felt totally English.
I have lived as an immigrant, in Ireland and France, for much of my adult life .
So looking forward to that post. So sick to death of the spin, the demonising, the generalisation, the dehumanising of a group of people I think of as assets. Sock it to us; I welcome the facts even if it makes me feel worse.