Theresa May pledges immigration crackdown

The Home Secretary sets out new curbs on student visas and permanent settlement after the government

With her first major speech on immigration, Theresa May has begun to spell out how exactly the government plans to bring about a drastic reduction in the number of people settling in the UK.

First, more than 100,000 skilled workers and overseas students who come to Britain each year will lose the right to permanent settlement.

Second, the number of students who come to the UK to study below-degree-level courses – roughly 160,000 each year – will be slashed. They make up nearly half of the total of 320,000 international students, and are apparently more likely to overstay.

Perhaps taking into account that the Commons home affairs committee's Immigration Cap report last week underlined the "crucial importance" of international students to the UK, May stressed that students at degree level or above would not be affected.

Third, she backpedalled on David Cameron's Wednesday announcement that 30,000 migrants working for multinational companies would be exempt from the immigration cap. May said there would be a minimum-salary limit on this of roughly £40,000, to ensure that people are transferred for specialist or managerial positions only.

These measures are the first solid indication of how the government intends to keep its election promise of bringing net migration down into the "tens of thousands" from the current level of 196,000. The recent Commons report was unequivocal in its conclusion that "the proposed cap – unless it is set close to 100 per cent – will have little significant impact on overall immigration levels".

Clamping down on student visas and permanent settlement are the two obvious ways to go about reducing numbers, given that the flagship "immigration cap" policy is essentially unworkable. However, this will not necessarily provide the immediate results that the government needs.

Professor David Metcalf, chair of the Migration Advisory Committee, points out that "any such changes [to permanent settlement], even if introduced now, would not take effect until 2013-14".

Analysing the committee's report last week, Alice Sachrajda of IPPR noted that:

The policy of a cap was introduced as an election promise and so a more immediate outcome will be needed if the government is going to save face politically.

. . . It is now abundantly clear that achieving its policy objective of drastically cutting net migration is going to be an uphill struggle for the government. The coalition faces an unpalatable choice between introducing an ineffective policy that it knows is damaging to the economy and public services, or by finding a way to abandon or redefine the target.

The headache caused by the unfeasible and misguided policy of the "cap" is certainly not cured yet. Taken alone, these measures are unlikely to meet the arbitrary target of at least halving net migration. Taking steps to avoid damaging business or reducing university revenue even further, such as allowing intra-company transfers and degree-level students, makes the target even more distant.

More importantly, the government has yet to address the question of top businessmen, scientists and researchers from outside the EU, who still look likely to be the losers from more draconian immigration rules. A Nobel Prize-winning scientist (£) points out in the Times today that he might not have carried out research in Britain had these rules applied in the past – even if he had gained a visa, members of his team might not have done.

The government would be well advised to drop this meaningless target altogether.

Samira Shackle is a freelance journalist, who tweets @samirashackle. She was formerly a staff writer for the New Statesman.

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A swimming pool and a bleeding toe put my medical competency in doubt

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Sometimes the search engine wins. 

The brutal heatwave affecting southern Europe this summer has become known among locals as “Lucifer”. Having just returned from Italy, I fully understand the nickname. An early excursion caused the beginnings of sunstroke, so we abandoned plans to explore the cultural heritage of the Amalfi region and strayed no further than five metres from the hotel pool for the rest of the week.

The children were delighted, particularly my 12-year-old stepdaughter, Gracie, who proceeded to spend hours at a time playing in the water. Towelling herself after one long session, she noticed something odd.

“What’s happened there?” she asked, holding her foot aloft in front of my face.

I inspected the proffered appendage: on the underside of her big toe was an oblong area of glistening red flesh that looked like a chunk of raw steak.

“Did you injure it?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

I shrugged and said she must have grazed it. She wasn’t convinced, pointing out that she would remember if she had done that. She has great faith in plasters, though, and once it was dressed she forgot all about it. I dismissed it, too, assuming it was one of those things.

By the end of the next day, the pulp on the underside of all of her toes looked the same. As the doctor in the family, I felt under some pressure to come up with an explanation. I made up something about burns from the hot paving slabs around the pool. Gracie didn’t say as much, but her look suggested a dawning scepticism over my claims to hold a medical degree.

The next day, Gracie and her new-found holiday playmate, Eve, abruptly terminated a marathon piggy-in-the-middle session in the pool with Eve’s dad. “Our feet are bleeding,” they announced, somewhat incredulously. Sure enough, bright-red blood was flowing, apparently painlessly, from the bottoms of their big toes.

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Often, what patients discover on the internet causes them undue alarm, and our role is to provide context and reassurance. But not infrequently, people come across information that outstrips our knowledge. On my return from our room with fresh supplies of plasters, my wife looked up from her sun lounger with an air of quiet amusement.

“It’s called ‘pool toe’,” she said, handing me her iPhone. The page she had tracked down described the girls’ situation exactly: friction burns, most commonly seen in children, caused by repetitive hopping about on the abrasive floors of swimming pools. Doctors practising in hot countries must see it all the time. I doubt it presents often to British GPs.

I remained puzzled about the lack of pain. The injuries looked bad, but neither Gracie nor Eve was particularly bothered. Here the internet drew a blank, but I suspect it has to do with the “pruning” of our skin that we’re all familiar with after a soak in the bath. This only occurs over the pulps of our fingers and toes. It was once thought to be caused by water diffusing into skin cells, making them swell, but the truth is far more fascinating.

The wrinkling is an active process, triggered by immersion, in which the blood supply to the pulp regions is switched off, causing the skin there to shrink and pucker. This creates the biological equivalent of tyre treads on our fingers and toes and markedly improves our grip – of great evolutionary advantage when grasping slippery fish in a river, or if trying to maintain balance on slick wet rocks.

The flip side of this is much greater friction, leading to abrasion of the skin through repeated micro-trauma. And the lack of blood flow causes nerves to shut down, depriving us of the pain that would otherwise alert us to the ongoing tissue damage. An adaptation that helped our ancestors hunt in rivers proves considerably less use on a modern summer holiday.

I may not have seen much of the local heritage, but the trip to Italy taught me something new all the same. 

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear