Where now for the immigration debate?

The coalition's political approach is at risk of unravelling, but genuine policy challenges remain.

The economic impacts of migration, and of immigration policy, are back in the spotlight. Today, Gus O’Donnell accused the government of "shooting itself in the foot" on growth by restricting skilled immigration. Yesterday’s two big economic reports, from Michael Heseltine and the Resolution Foundation’s Commission on Living Standards also considered the issue from different perspectives.

O’Donnell and Heseltine both highlight the potentially negative impacts on growth of immigration policy that restricts (either in principle or in practice) the ability of businesses to access a global pool of talent. Meanwhile, the Commission on Living Standards, in an exhaustive study of the causes of the "wage squeeze" that has affected low and middle earners in the UK, concludes that immigration has not been a significant factor.

So if immigration is important for growth, and doesn’t have significant effects on low and middle earners (the evidence for both these claims is strong), what’s the problem? Why does the government persist with an immigration policy that appears to make no economic sense, and why does the opposition not offer a more straightforward criticism of it? There is sometimes a feeling on the "progressive" side of the argument that this is simply a problem of politics and public opinion – if only the economic evidence could be better communicated and understood, then the path would be clear for a more "rational" (and, by implication, more liberal) immigration policy. This is wrong, for at least two reasons.

The first is that there are genuine policy challenges with respect to immigration policy that need to be addressed – this is not simply a case of politics and public opinion muddying the crystalline waters of economic evidence.

The impacts of migration on the labour market and the economy are complex. Although the finding that migration has had little impact on wages or unemployment is robust, there are some important caveats which need to be considered. Too little is known about the distributional impacts of migration. The Commission on Living Standards is right that even at the bottom end of the labour market, the impacts of migration on wages and employment seem to be very small, but this does not rule out more significant impacts on specific groups of workers (for example in some sectors in particular local areas). Nor does it take into account the fact that migration (including skilled migration) has been part of an economic model that has seen wages at the top end of the labour market become disconnected from those at the bottom. Pleas from the City to be able to bring in more highly-skilled (and highly-paid) migrants may make sense from the point of view of economic growth, but we should take seriously the argument that some kinds of growth are better than others, and that migration policy needs to be part of that discussion.

Migration also poses a range of complex policy challenges beyond labour markets and the economy, particularly at the local level – the rapid population change that can result does affect housing, public services, and community cohesion, whatever the economic benefits.

The second reason, which Heseltine recognised in his report yesterday, is that migration policy must have "public assent". This is not just an argument for better communications. Progressives and economic liberals may find some aspects of public opinion on this issue uncomfortable, and it is always open to them to try to shift the terms of debate – but the right response can never be simply to ignore the views of the electorate. Arguments over migration cannot be left to experts or economists but must be shaped through democratic debate and choice.

So where does this leave migration policy and politics? There are three key challenges that policymakers and politicians must face up to. The first is that migration must be situated in a wider policy debate about the economy (and housing, welfare, and communities). Ed Miliband has understood this, and Labour is showing promising signs of tackling migration policy in this way. The second is that many of the real policy challenges are local ones, and need to be addressed at the local level – something that will require a big change of approach in a policy area that has traditionally been highly centralised. The government’s net migration target is about as far away from the nuanced local policy mix that is needed as it is possible to get. In light of this, the third challenge presents a paradox – although there are real policy challenges at the local level, the public don’t (on the whole) feel that immigration is a problem in their own local communities, although a large majority do feel that it is a problem for the country as a whole.

So politicians are faced with a national political problem which is cast in terms of very simple choices, and a need for nuanced and local policy solutions. The government has opted to play the political game rather than the policy one – a strategy that is at risk of unravelling under the weight of its own contradictions, and the kinds of critiques that have emerged this week. Labour are engaging seriously with the policy questions, but are still in search of a narrative on immigration – "one nation" Labour is as good a starting point as any, but much more work is needed given the party’s difficult recent history on this issue.

David Cameron watches passengers go through immigration control during a visit to Heathrow terminal 5. Photograph: Getty Images.

Sarah Mulley is associate director at IPPR.

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In the 1980s, I went to a rally where Labour Party speakers shared the stage with men in balaclavas

The links between the Labour left and Irish republicanism are worth investigating.

A spat between Jeremy Corbyn’s henchfolk and Conor McGinn, the MP for St Helens North, caught my ear the other evening. McGinn was a guest on BBC Radio 4’s Westminster Hour, and he obligingly revisited the brouhaha for the listeners at home. Apparently, following an interview in May, in which McGinn called for Corbyn to “reach out beyond his comfort zone”, he was first threatened obliquely with the sack, then asked for a retraction (which he refused to give) and finally learned – from someone in the whips’ office – that his party leader was considering phoning up McGinn’s father to whip the errant whipper-in into line. On the programme, McGinn said: “The modus operandi that he [Corbyn] and the people around him were trying to do [sic], involving my family, was to isolate and ostracise me from them and from the community I am very proud to come from – which is an Irish nationalist community in south Armagh.”

Needless to say, the Labour leader’s office has continued to deny any such thing, but while we may nurture some suspicions about his behaviour, McGinn was also indulging in a little airbrushing when he described south Armagh as an “Irish ­nationalist community”. In the most recent elections, Newry and Armagh returned three Sinn Fein members to the Northern Ireland Assembly (as against one Social Democratic and Labour Party member) and one Sinn Fein MP to Westminster. When I last looked, Sinn Fein was still a republican, rather than a nationalist, party – something that McGinn should only be too well aware of, as the paternal hand that was putatively to have been lain on him belongs to Pat McGinn, the former Sinn Fein mayor of Newry and Armagh.

According to the Irish News, a “close friend” of the McGinns poured this cold water on the mini-conflagration: “Anybody who knows the McGinn family knows that Pat is very proud of Conor and that they remain very close.” The friend went on to opine: “He [Pat McGinn] found the whole notion of Corbyn phoning him totally ridiculous – as if Pat is going to criticise his son to save Jeremy Corbyn’s face. They would laugh about it were it not so sinister.”

“Sinister” does seem the mot juste. McGinn, Jr grew up in Bessbrook during the Troubles. I visited the village in the early 1990s on assignment. The skies were full of the chattering of British army Chinooks, and there were fake road signs in the hedgerows bearing pictograms of rifles and captioned: “Sniper at work”. South Armagh had been known for years as “bandit country”. There were army watchtowers standing sentinel in the dinky, green fields and checkpoints everywhere, manned by some of the thousands of the troops who had been deployed to fight what was, in effect, a low-level counter-insurgency war. Nationalist community, my foot.

What lies beneath the Corbyn-McGinn spat is the queered problematics of the ­relationship between the far left wing of the Labour Party and physical-force Irish republicanism. I also recall, during the hunger strikes of the early 1980s, going to a “Smash the H-Blocks” rally in Kilburn, north London, at which Labour Party speakers shared the stage with representatives from Sinn Fein, some of whom wore balaclavas and dark glasses to evade the telephoto lenses of the Met’s anti-terrorist squad.

The shape-shifting relationship between the “political wing” of the IRA and the men with sniper rifles in the south Armagh bocage was always of the essence of the conflict, allowing both sides a convenient fiction around which to posture publicly and privately negotiate. In choosing to appear on platforms with people who might or might not be terrorists, Labour leftists also sprinkled a little of their stardust on themselves: the “stardust” being the implication that they, too, under the right circumstances, might be capable of violence in pursuit of their political ends.

On the far right of British politics, Her Majesty’s Government and its apparatus are referred to derisively as “state”. There were various attempts in the 1970s and 1980s by far-right groupuscules to link up with the Ulster Freedom Fighters and other loyalist paramilitary organisations in their battle against “state”. All foundered on the obvious incompetence of the fascists. The situation on the far left was different. The socialist credentials of Sinn Fein/IRA were too threadbare for genuine expressions of solidarity, but there was a sort of tacit confidence-and-supply arrangement between these factions. The Labour far left provided the republicans with the confidence that, should an appropriately radical government be elected to Westminster, “state” would withdraw from Northern Ireland. What the republicans did for the mainland militants was to cloak them in their penumbra of darkness: without needing to call down on themselves the armed might of “state”, they could imply that they were willing to take it on, should the opportunity arise.

I don’t for a second believe that Corbyn was summoning up these ghosts of the insurrectionary dead when he either did or did not threaten to phone McGinn, Sr. But his supporters need to ask themselves what they’re getting into. Their leader, if he was to have remained true to the positions that he has espoused over many years, should have refused to sit as privy counsellor upon assuming his party office, and refused all the other mummery associated with the monarchical “state”. That he didn’t do so was surely a strategic decision. Such a position would make him utterly unelectable.

The snipers may not be at work in south Armagh just now – but there are rifles out there that could yet be dug up. I wouldn’t be surprised if some in Sinn Fein knew where they are, but one thing’s for certain: Corbyn hasn’t got a clue, bloody or otherwise. 

Will Self is an author and journalist. His books include Umbrella, Shark, The Book of Dave and The Butt. He writes the Madness of Crowds and Real Meals columns for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 25 August 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Cameron: the legacy of a loser