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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How Donald Trump is slouching towards the Republican nomination

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb.

In America, you can judge a crowd by its merchandise. Outside the Connecticut Convention Centre in Hartford, frail old men and brawny moms are selling “your Trump 45 football jerseys”, “your hats”, “your campaign buttons”. But the hottest item is a T-shirt bearing the slogan “Hillary sucks . . . but not like Monica!” and, on the back: “Trump that bitch!” Inside, beyond the checkpoint manned by the Transportation Security Administration and the secret service (“Good!” the man next to me says, when he sees the agents), is a family whose three kids, two of them girls, are wearing the Monica shirt.

Other people are content with the shirts they arrived in (“Waterboarding – baptising terrorists with freedom” and “If you don’t BLEED red, white and blue, take your bitch ass home!”). There are 80 chairs penned off for the elderly but everyone else is standing: guys in motorcycle and military gear, their arms folded; aspiring deal-makers, suited, on cellphones; giggling high-school fatsos, dressed fresh from the couch, grabbing M&M’s and Doritos from the movie-theatre-style concession stands. So many baseball hats; deep, bellicose chants of “Build the wall!” and “USA!”. (And, to the same rhythm, “Don-ald J!”)

A grizzled man in camouflage pants and combat boots, whose T-shirt – “Connecticut Militia III%” – confirms him as a member of the “patriot” movement, is talking to a zealous young girl in a short skirt, who came in dancing to “Uptown Girl”.

“Yeah, we were there for Operation American Spring,” he says. “Louis Farrakhan’s rally of hate . . .”

“And you’re a veteran?” she asks. “Thank you so much!”

Three hours will pass. A retired US marine will take the rostrum to growl, “God bless America – hoo-rah!”; “Uptown Girl” will play many more times (much like his speeches, Donald J’s playlist consists of a few items, repeated endlessly), before Trump finally looms in and asks the crowd: “Is this the greatest place on Earth?”

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb. Only a minority within a minority of Americans, it was assumed, could possibly be stupid enough to think a Trump presidency was a good idea. He won New Hampshire and South Carolina with over 30 per cent of the Republican vote, then took almost 46 per cent in Nevada. When he cleaned up on Super Tuesday in March, he was just shy of 50 per cent in Massachusetts; a week later, he took 47 per cent of the votes in Mississippi.

His rivals, who are useless individually, were meant to co-operate with each other and the national party to deny him the nomination. But Trump won four out of the five key states being contested on “Super-Duper Tuesday” on 15 March. Then, as talk turned to persuading and co-opting his delegates behind the scenes, Trump won New York with 60 per cent.

Now, the campaign is trying to present Trump as more “presidential”. According to his new manager, Paul Manafort, this requires him to appear in “more formal settings” – without, of course, diluting “the unique magic of Trump”. But whether or not he can resist denouncing the GOP and the “corrupt” primary system, and alluding to violence if he is baulked at at the convention, the new Trump will be much the same as the old.

Back in Hartford: “The Republicans wanna play cute with us, right? If I don’t make it, you’re gonna have millions of people that don’t vote for a Republican. They’re not gonna vote at all,” says Trump. “Hopefully that’s all, OK? Hopefully that’s all, but they’re very, very angry.”

This anger, which can supposedly be turned on anyone who gets in the way, has mainly been vented, so far, on the protesters who disrupt Trump’s rallies. “We’re not gonna be the dummies that lose all of our jobs now. We’re gonna be the smart ones. Oh, do you have one over there? There’s one of the dummies . . .”

There is a frenzied fluttering of Trump placards, off to his right. “Get ’em out! . . . Don’t hurt ’em – see how nice I am? . . . They really impede freedom of speech and it’s a disgrace. But the good news is, folks, it won’t be long. We’re just not taking it and it won’t be long.”

It is their removal by police, at Trump’s ostentatious behest, that causes the disruption, rather than the scarcely audible protesters. He seems to realise this, suddenly: “We should just let ’em . . . I’ll talk right over them, there’s no problem!” But it’s impossible to leave the protesters where they are, because it would not be safe. His crowd is too vicious.

Exit Trump, after exactly half an hour, inclusive of the many interruptions. His people seem uplifted but, out on the street, they are ambushed by a large counter-demonstration, with a booming drum and warlike banners and standards (“Black Lives Matter”; an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe, holding aloft Trump’s severed head). Here is the rest of the world, the real American world: young people, beautiful people, more female than male, every shade of skin colour. “F*** Donald Trump!” they chant.

After a horrified split-second, the Trump crowd, massively more numerous, rallies with “USA!” and – perplexingly, since one of the main themes of the speech it has just heard was the lack of jobs in Connecticut – “Get a job!” The two sides then mingle, unobstructed by police. Slanging matches break out that seem in every instance to humiliate the Trump supporter. “Go to college!” one demands. “Man, I am in college, I’m doin’ lovely!”

There is no violence, only this: some black boys are dancing, with liquid moves, to the sound of the drum. Four young Trump guys counter by stripping to their waists and jouncing around madly, their skin greenish-yellow under the street lights, screaming about the building of the wall. There was no alcohol inside; they’re drunk on whatever it is – the elixir of fascism, the unique magic of Trump. It’s a hyper but not at all happy drunk.

As with every other moment of the Trump campaign so far, it would have been merely some grade of the cringeworthy – the embarrassing, the revolting, the pitiful – were Trump not slouching closer and closer, with each of these moments, to his nomination. 

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism