immigration

I became a parent before I was officially an adult, and have devoted the better part of twenty years to that project, in fundamental and fierce ways.

It took ruthless and heartbreaking commitment to launch this family on our grand international adventure.

Of course I suffer from the classic complaint of immigrant intolerance, and have a tendency to ask my eye-rolling offspring if they understand how good their lives are, compared to mine at the same age.

Yeah, whatever, cancer cancer poverty poverty blah-blah!

My household has for the last twenty or so years been funded by high-tech dollars. I dwell more on the entertainment side, my sweetheart more on the infrastructure side, but we are both hardened veterans of the industry. We are also, like most of our colleagues, immigrants.

Now I read that a recently elected Prime Minister who promotes anti-immigration policy wants to take credit for an industry that grew up organically around people like me, while restricting immigration of people like me.

Does that make any sense whatsoever?

No.

The other day I had a painter in the flat to work on the windowsills and when I offered a cup of tea we started chatting. After a few minutes this very nice fellow - a lifelong resident of Hackney - asked why I moved to England.

I offered the true and short reason: I came here because I wanted to live in a more equal society, where everyone has access to health care, education, and housing.

He looked puzzled and asked "But don't you miss your mum?"

There is at times an enormous gaping chasm between my perception of a situation and what an objective observer might report. One example: I cling with bloody shredded fingers to the notion that I am working class, despite all evidence (education, income, career, tendency to scamper off to the Riviera on a whim) to the contrary.

Usually this distortion makes no difference in real terms except that I am inclined to say critical and highly offensive things at dinner parties. Or, you know, live on the radio. Whatever.

Census kinda dude (what do they call that here?) came by today and I was able to proclaim my status as a British citizen for the first time! Then I registered to vote.

Oh, the power!

Except of course I always live in places where my vote is rather incidental. I still cast a ballot in Seattle, for instance, but that city is so progressive (with a sincere and bombastic devotion to retaining military dollars and encouraging assorted sinister industries - oh, hometown! The contradictions!) it hardly matters.