Comment

Illegal boat arrivals erode trust in democracy

It is dangerous to let mass illegal immigration happen while proclaiming that we must have tough border controls

Our part of south-east England has been the scene of smuggling for centuries. Kipling’s poem “brandy for the postman; baccy for the clerk” is all about that. In recent times, the main commodity smuggled has been people. It is expected that the number of migrants illegally crossing the Channel in little boats will nearly triple to 22,000 this year from the (already high) number the year before last.

This figure may not be as alarming as some think: the boat trips have grown because the pre-Covid opportunities to enter by plane have shrunk. But the sea-borne arrivals do illustrate that smuggling is made easy at both ends, further enriching the traffickers. Both the French and British authorities see it as their job to, in effect, facilitate the migrants’ journeys, rather than to stop them.

That is wrong. There is a legitimate argument to be had about whether this country needs large or small numbers of immigrants. What is surely not legitimate is to let mass illegal immigration happen while proclaiming that we must have tough border controls. That erodes trust in democracy.

The Government promises that its Nationality and Borders Bill, due next year, will put a stop to abuses. Past performance, however, makes one feel cynical, as does the knowledge that the official machine tries to frustrate the tough-minded Home Secretary, Priti Patel, at every turn.

The idea of taking back control – central to Brexit – applies strongly to immigration. According to figures published today by Migration Watch, 90 per cent of our population growth of seven million over the past 20 years has been driven by immigration, doubling the non-native-born population to nine million.

Such trends have always been denied at the time, and therefore we have never been asked to approve them in a vote. Yet they have happened all the same. This is dangerous for social peace.

The seriousness of the word "lie"

Dawn Butler was expelled from the Commons last week for calling Boris Johnson a liar in the Chamber. The former Speaker, John Bercow, who recently joined Ms Butler’s party, Labour, has now combined with her to attack the prohibition on MPs using such language.

“The glaring weakness of the present system,” they write, “is that someone lying to tens of millions of citizens knows he or she is protected by an ancient rule. They face no sanction at all. By contrast, an MP with the guts to tell the truth is judged to be in disgrace. It is absurd.”

Some may sympathise with B & B. It is obvious, after all, that not everything said in Parliament is true and not everyone in it can be trusted. But one must go carefully. The word “lie” is often used casually to mean “a view I don’t like and think is untrue” or “a fact which I think is untrue”. A lie is more serious than that: it means something known to be untrue by the person who utters it. I would add that a lie is only really a lie if uttered with maliciously dishonest intent. If, for example, you exclaim “What a beautiful baby!” when the baby is plug-ugly, only a very stern person would say you were lying.

Often, in the heat of political debate, it is extremely hard to establish that your opponent is lying. You may have good reason to suspect it, but you rarely know it. If the accusation of lying is allowed in the Chamber, MPs will chuck it around incessantly. Ludicrous wrangling about whether the accusation is itself false will ensue.

The matter goes deeper still. Mr Bercow in particular should know the origin of what he dismisses as “an ancient rule”. No legislative chamber can work unless it operates on the presumption that its members are worthy of respect by virtue of their election. It is the political equivalent of being innocent until proved guilty. That is why MPs refer to one another in the House as “honourable”. The word sounds comically inappropriate sometimes. But the presumption of dishonour would render all proper debate impossible.

Good people flying the flag in Tokyo

I know little about rowing, but I am delighted that Mohamed Sbihi, a member of the men’s eight, was chosen to represent Britain at the Olympics opening ceremony. It was good to see a Muslim flying the flag. I was also pleased because Sbihi’s father, another Mohamed, is my barber.

The family’s tale is a classic of successful immigration. Moe senior is a half-Arab, half-Berber Moroccan from Tangier – tall, well-built and dignified. His father, as a colonial soldier in the 1930s, found himself enlisted in the civil war when General Franco returned from Morocco to Spain to overthrow the republican government in Madrid. Those were horrible times.

As a young man, Moe came to Britain and quite soon set up his own barber’s shop in the Westminster area. His scissors make lots of MPs and peers look more presentable.

The family lived in East Molesey near the Thames, and Moe junior’s exceptional rowing talent was spotted by a helpful teacher. At the Olympics five years ago, Moe won a gold medal.

Unfortunately – though he denies it, blaming only himself – it seems that Moe’s flag parade tired him, and weather changes brought forward the first heat to only a few hours after the opening ceremony. The eight did not perform well.

The hopes of Moe senior’s customers – and many others – now rest on tomorrow’s “repêchage”.

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