My father’s father’s father was a romantic Turkish politician who ran a small but distinguished conservative magazine, and whose career ended in a series of judgments that were romantic and certainly conservative, but unwise and sometimes reckless.
Most reckless of all was when my ancestor took it upon himself, as interior minister in the government of the last sultan, to sign the arrest warrant for Ataturk, now acknowledged to be the father of modern Turkey, and whose visage adorns almost every municipal building in the country. A short while later, my great-grandfather was having a shave in a place called Izmit when he was beaten to death and stuck in a tree. That is why my paternal grandfather, who was born Osman Ali, arrived in this country in search of what would now be called asylum.
I say all this to demonstrate that although I am of course British, and have far more English than Turkish blood, I have a predisposition to be sympathetic to those who have come to this country, in fear of their lives or not, with the intention of making a new start.
The reason we worry about the scale and pace of immigration today is that, bluntly, the present influx does not seem to be assimilating in quite the same way as their predecessors did. According to Andrew Green of Migrationwatch, the net inflow of immigrants to Britain is now about 170,000 per year, a figure which takes no account of failed asylum-seekers who do not leave the country, and other illegals. We are apparently expecting an extra two million non-EU immigrants per decade and, pro-immigrant though I am, that strikes me as a legitimate subject for political discussion. Never one for being outflanked on the Right, David Blunkett has already warned that people feel swamped.
Comments
Join the debate for just £1 a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just £1 a monthAlready a subscriber? Log in