Dear Mr. Cameron, I had begun writing this letter to you and the

Attention:
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE DAVID WILLIAM DONALD CAMERON
British Prime Minister
United Kingdom (UK)
Dear Mr. Cameron,
I had begun writing this letter to you and the leader of the Liberal Democrats, Mr Nick Clegg, (separately
at the time) in the run-up to the general election in May of this year (2010). Since then some of the
content may have dated, but felt none of it should be excluded as I still feel as strongly about what I had
begun writing to you then, as what I am prepared to write now. This letter has been sent to you as I feel
it would be better received and better understood by yourself, than had I sent the same letter to your
predecessor – whom I felt was not prepared to listen to his own people, let alone a foreigner. What I did
do was hold the letter back once I saw the inconclusive result of the election, as I felt you and the
country had enough to deal with without my input or intervention.
My reason for writing is centred around immigration, which seems to be making the news regularly and
in quite a few places globally. The impetus for my writing stems from the chorus of voices blaming
immigration for much of what is wrong with the UK, and I cannot say I have heard many voices say
anything in defence or contrary. I would like to be one voice on record bringing a new perspective from
someone who has gone through the system unsuccessfully. This letter is borne out of a simple
perception regarding immigration to the United Kingdom. I am hoping my voice adds a new perspective
on the unknown quantity and the acknowledged but unidentifiable subculture that is known as illegal
immigration. For as much as I have tried to gain legitimate citizenship of the UK over the last six years, I
find myself falling into this category. Undoubtedly, there are countless others I’d assume, that have tried
and failed to successfully and legitimately migrate to the UK. And as I am unaware of any body, group or
organisation representing the interests of these members of your society, I thought I’d take a small step
in bringing a fresh perspective to what is oft perceived as a scourge. What I have noticed is that illegal
immigrants are spoken about and not spoken to – hence it is a condition I do not see improving or
changing radically any time soon. My perception is that you can only address or deal with this issue by
talking to the people you perceive to be the problem, and not by talking about, around, over or behind
them.
I think the best way to give a different perspective or slant on immigration is to give a pointed account
of my reasons for wanting to emigrate from the country of my birth (South Africa) and my timeline
shortly before and during my time in the UK. While I did not necessarily target the UK as a destination, a
sequence of events turned the UK into my secondary destination. My one and simple wish ten years ago
was to be out of South Africa for a spell. The reasons that follow should substantiate:
I think the primary reason at the time concerned the worth and value of a human life. Just over one year
before I travelled to the United Kingdom, I had become reacquainted with a family member I had last
seen as a toddler. It was good to make that reconnection, and this was abruptly ended a year later when
a hijacking/robbery left my relative dead. Nothing of monetary value was taken, just a life I valued and
cherished.
While I will make no claim to speak on behalf on any other immigrant legal or illegal within the UK, from
speaking to a lot of South Africans I have found living here – a ton have similar stories like mine, and
almost all with a violent undertone. Apart from the loss of a relative, these are just a few other episodes
in my life that made me think: With all I have to offer in skill and ability, best I take these elsewhere
where they may be better appreciated and protected.
I would realistically think we’ve all had crime or criminal activities affect us one way or another. One
example is I’ve been burgled thrice in the UK and once in SA. In the UK one perpetrator was caught,
charged and sentenced. In SA I also reported the crime. About six weeks later I found quite by chance
most of what had been stolen from me on display in a pawn shop (I knew it was all mine as I normally
hand-sign or etch my possessions, and I could clearly see my distinctive signature all over the shop).
Without saying a word to anyone else, I approached the local police captain at the time and made
known my findings. When we arrived at the shop, everything of mine had disappeared. Of course, just
before we left – the good police captain disappeared into his office to make an “urgent” phone call. We
could assume it all that belonged to me had been sold in the time I took to drive to the police station
and back, but as it was a variety of items on display throughout the shop – I find it incredible that
someone would come in and buy only my personal belongings in the very space of time I’m bringing in
the cops. Corruption is pandemic in almost every corner of the world, and has a strong legion of loyal
followers in good ol’ South Africa.
On another jaunt through a province known as the Eastern Cape in South Africa, I was pulled over for
not wearing a seatbelt by a police officer in full uniform – who was paralytic drunk while on duty. I
thought he would either pull the bumper, fender, wing mirror or aerial off my car as he slithered along
from his patrol car to my window – grappling with everything along the way in a bid to stop himself
falling over. But... if I handed him R20 (about £2) we could forget the whole seatbelt thing – was the
bribe/shakedown he eventually got to. I paid up with a smile, thinking; “I’m being pulled over for not
wearing something he wasn’t wearing either – and in his state!!” Who would I complain to or take this
up with, his superiors? I could only imagine the party going on back at the station! He’d probably been
sent out to get some more stock, and was just fundraising along the way. It is shocking and
disenchanting when one realises that you cannot turn to anyone for help in certain situations and
locations.
Two other incidents helped me pack my bags. And both were car accidents that nearly saw me killed. In
the first incident I ran down a pedestrian who tried crossing through fast moving traffic while vehicular
traffic had the green light to proceed. Unfortunately this poor individual had the misguided belief that
they could get across four lanes of vigorous traffic while carrying a massive basket of fruit on their
heads, unscathed. I drew the short straw and made contact – the last thing I remember of that split
second was fabric and fruit flying everywhere. A mob descended on the scene of the accident and
attacked - me. The epic assault I endured will be best summed up this way: I left home that day wearing
a long sleeved white shirt and jeans; the shirt was entirely red with my blood from collar to cuff after the
attack. My lips looked like burst sausages at a barbeque. I managed to stay lucid throughout, and
noticed that passersby, completely ignorant of what they had stumbled upon, just made their way
through the crowd toward me, threw a punch or two – and carried on on their way. The police arrived
with Hollywood timing as a member of the ever growing hostile crowd advanced with a knife.
The second incident was a minibus taxi colliding with, and rolling over my car – after travelling uphill at
around 80mph (fully laden with passengers) and jumping a stop sign at a hilltop intersection. That
vehicle ended up dragging mine 90 degrees off course and through a concrete fence into a nearby
mosque. I lost my memory for 2 or 3 days, unable to remember anything fairly recent or identify some
of my own family. The clincher wasn’t the accident but the aftermath. As my family and I tried to seek
restitution directly from the owner of the taxi (vehicle insurance is or was largely unheard of on SA
roads) for the loss of a vehicle and medical expenses, the police officers we dealt with kindly advised us
to cease and desist with any such attempts as they were not prepared to enforce any court orders or
attempt to make any arrests in the area where the taxi owner concerned resided.
When one sees these sorts of things, you have to say: Anywhere’s got to be better than this.
So it was not so much a case of eyeing the United Kingdom for what it may or may not be worth, as
much as just wanting to step out of South Africa for a fresh start. And my first choice of foreign
destination was Miami, Florida – a choice based mostly on climate. Having lived near or on very
beautiful beaches most of my life; it seemed a logical choice. An ex partner of mine went ahead of me –
with the plan for me to follow six months later, while I wound down my affairs in SA. I think about 5
months before I arrived in the UK, September 11 happened – changing everything. I retooled and set
new co-ordinates.
COMING TO THE UNITED KINGDOM:
The day I first arrived in the United Kingdom I was arrested, albeit for a few hours. This was at Heathrow
and by one of your immigration officials who doubted my reasons for coming here. How very true. Well,
I cannot imagine I would have been granted entry to this country had I told the truth that I just wanted a
place to get over a lot of negative stuff that had gone on in my life in recent times (Incidents not harsh
or pandemic enough to officially warrant asylum, but just as destroying of the soul). What I also found
puzzling on my arrival was a breathless immigration official trotting beside me as I walked through the
airport, asking me will I be seeking asylum? I could see back then why your immigration system can and
will be abused; because if that is the offer at the gate – saying “yes” can change any situation
immediately (whether reasons for saying “yes” were legit or otherwise). As much as the offer was
considered for a millionth of a second, I do have a country I call home and can return to (even with all its
silly problems). I passed on the offer of asylum – even though, until it was mentioned; I hadn’t even
thought about it. And I found the notion of being detained or arrested simply for coming to your country
lightly amusing at the time – purely for the fact that my biggest crime was coming here. Not because I’ve
a criminal record or am a terror suspect (to my knowledge), but simply because I arrived at your door.
SETTLING IN
Once the nonsense of entering the UK had passed, I set about finding work and accommodation. On a
visitor’s visa – and in my mind I had given myself 6 months to establish whether I would like to work
toward becoming a legitimate resident of your society, or go elsewhere. Two things I found out during
this phase. One: anyone would hire me (based simply on a shortage of competence). Not anything else –
just being able. I put cooking down as a hobby on a CV which saw me hired as a “chef” in next-to-notime. Two: Immigration status will only be brought into question at the very end of an association. In a
bid to stiff an employee out of their last pay packet for example, suddenly an employer will grow a
conscience about hiring “illegals”. It was embarrassing to watch and almost as painful to recount so I
won’t mention any revolutionary watering hole in Reading.
Just as an indication of standards, while working for this establishment in Reading, a customer once sent
a Caesar’s Salad back to the kitchen because a staff member had broken a glass and a shard had
accidentally landed in the salad (if I remember correctly) – and the manager on duty took it upon
himself to merely sift through the salad for any other random pieces of glass, then expel what he could
muster from his sinuses into the salad before sending it back out. I would not ever expect that level of
vile behaviour from the remotest, uneducated slum in the heart of South Africa – let alone at a formal
eatery in the UK. Luckily, an assistant manager was made aware of what had transpired, and intercepted
the dish before it reached the table. All that begs to be asked is: What is third world and what is first
world?
CHANGING STATUS
Near the end of my six month visitor’s visa – I began to look at ways to shift my status in a positive way
so I could legitimise my living and working in the UK. The answer at that time was a student visa. For one
year I could legally work part time and study a course at one of many so-called colleges that
mushroomed at that time. I enrolled in a Microsoft Office course, of which I did not attend a single day.
For two reasons basically: One being, that an employer at the time (knowing the limitations of my visa
concerning my working hours) wanted me at work full time regardless – day and night. Two, I was
probably not going to learn anything more from a course that I didn’t already know about Microsoft
Office at the time. The day I enrolled for the course I flipped through some course literature to see
exactly what I would be missing, and all I could think was, “Is this geared toward the mentally disabled?”
And for the honour and glory of enrolling in a complete farce I paid the princely sum of about £900. I
hope this translates to what extent some people would go in a bid to try and do the right thing (in trying
to legalise their status) and the lengths a good few others will go to exploit that situation. Speaking of
exploitation – throughout my entire stay in the UK, anybody that has offered to help me regarding my
status here; has only done so to see how they could profit from “helping” me. So do you see the black
market the route through immigration is? Maybe this helps explain why the borders of the United
Kingdom had been previously thrown wide open, to bring as many as possible into the net for maximum
profit? I am not even willing to estimate how much money changes hands between those trying to get
here, those already here and those who can provide bogus documents and arrangements. I was offered
a “work permit” back in 2003 if I remember correctly, for about £5000 – as if that amount of money is
readily accessible to the average man-in-the-street. And the cheapest sham marriage I’ve been offered
is around £3000 – and half the time by non-EU nationals who at some point must have found
themselves in a similar set of circumstances to the person they are now trying to exploit. I even had
someone once offer to buy my South African drivers licence for a good few grand – but didn’t even
consider it (because whatever it was being bought off me for, was going to cost me a helluva lot more
trying to clear my name later). Anyway, if we multiply the shams and scams by the unknown quantity
that is immigration today in the UK – it is a golden goose for some, but least of all for those who are the
actual centre and more often than not, the ones getting fleeced at every turn. Never mind the social
pressures on services and amenities, whomever’s hands the cash lands in is all that seems to matter.
But to keep moving along, I researched legitimate work permits. I had really wanted to do the right
thing. As I have told anyone that will listen: I flew into the UK, and I’ll fly out. I did not smuggle myself in
under a truck, sewn into a mattress or disguised as a car seat (oh I have seen some amazing pictures
indeed) – and I’ll walk around in the light of day and not skulk around in the shadows. So I began visiting
immigration solicitors and applying for jobs with a view toward securing a genuine work permit.
In due time I found a company willing to hire me and go through the work permit process, which
entailed a scrutiny of their finances by the Home Office. Many other companies wished to hire me on
the strength of my credentials and skills, but none wanted to stand up to the fiscal examination. I still
wonder why? However, the solicitors I was dealing with at the time seemed to be dragging their feet
with the whole process, and as much as I am usually calm and collected given most circumstances –
their complete lack of action was worrying. The ruse became very apparent the day my student visa
expired. They rang me up the very next day and said, “Your student visa has now expired. You are
therefore now officially an overstayer – and this is something we can help you with as well.” Fortunately
for me at the time, I was talking to two different immigration solicitors at the same time – and the
second team had their act together with no scummy gimmicks. What more can I say: This was not some
bloke saying meet me on the top level of a multi-storey car park and give me 5 grand, and I’ll get you a
work permit (which may or may not materialise) but a registered legitimate law firm trying to make a
few more bob by attempting to make my situation worse. I flew out of the UK confident and knowing
the process was in action elsewhere in competent hands.
Now in order to successfully apply for the work permit I was required to leave the UK and wait a period
of 28 days in my own country as the position was “advertised” here in the UK and across Europe for a
suitable candidate from within the EU. I do not know if I am the only one that wants to call this practice
a complete and utter farce? Out of 27 member states of the EU, I am the only individual capable of
performing the duties of managing a fledgling franchise sign company? Nevertheless I was informed that
this position was to be advertised online in one or two national newspapers for 10 days, but not to
worry – the websites and newspapers were rather obscure, but nevertheless recognised by the Home
Office. For all I know nothing was advertised – I didn’t see anything online officially advertising the
position I was applying to fill; apart from my initial read in a local paper which put me in touch with a
prospective employer in the first place.
So I bounded off for Christmas to sunny SA (I really missed the warm beaches so much) to wait out my
one month while I saw family and friends I hadn’t seen in a few years. One month dragged into 8
months: purely through bureaucratic inefficiency in the UK. I was regularly spending around £5 a phone
call and emailing every other day – checking for updates on progress, and even getting to the point of
saying, “Just be straight if you’re no longer going ahead with the work permit because I’m turning down
so many jobs in SA” (I had to turn down serious job offers only because my return date to the UK could
be at anytime). I couldn’t take any full time work back in my own country because all of it was
contracted for at least a period of two years. So all I could do was work freelance in that time. I managed
to run up around £3000 on my credit card in that time as well, had to borrow an extra £1000 from my
sister and take an advance of another £1000 of a job I was yet to begin in the UK (simply because I had
direct debits coming off my account for bills back in the UK each month – as well as my living expenses
in SA). And this was all in the name of trying to do the right thing.
WORK PERMIT EMPLOYMENT:
In the Home Offices’ records, my work permit detailed that I would be filling the position of Production
Manager and paid an annual salary of £24000 for these services. Just before my flight back to the UK to
take up this position, the owner of the franchise outlet by which I had been employed informed me that
my salary will actually be £16000 and that was the best he could do as his franchise was young and
could not afford to pay any more. That was my first nasty surprise. My second equally unpleasant
surprise was returning to work for an employer (for whom I was willing to deliver 1000%, as this
individual was one out of hundreds willing to stick his head over the parapet to say, “I’ll do a Work
Permit”) – only to find the wealth of experience and talent I brought with me brushed aside by bias and
prejudice. Nothing I said or did was met with approval and almost everything I put forward was received
with apprehension and scepticism. I suppose because of my ethnicity and a common local perception
that people of Africa are still largely rural, it seem to be assumed that my knowledge of anything was
completely limited to non-existent. I had been essentially employed as a grunt – with nothing to teach
and still everything to learn. I tried to implement a lot of concepts and practices I saw growing the
company, which were mooted outright. But implemented in some form or the other 6-12 months later,
when someone home-grown suggested what I had planned or suggested a long time ago. What I had
also noticed is that until the employer was aware of the terms of my work permit, the fear of me “doing
a runner” or leaving the company prematurely was very evident and I remember being contractually
bound to give 2 months notice if I desired to leave the post. Once the employer became aware of how
bound I was to the company by the terms of the work permit – I found myself quite literally treated like
a slave. All I thought was, “This is not the 17th century, it’s the 21st – slavery has sure seen some
advances, it is now contractual”. I would like to think this letter also serves as an extended invitation to
minds stuck 4 centuries back to advance and join the rest of us in a modern world that is leaving behind
in a trail of dust very archaic bias, prejudice, backward-thinking and viewpoints.
My working relationship with my former employer and colleagues went from mutually cordial to givingbirth-to-barbed-wire each day, within a matter of months. I found it virtually impossible to perform any
of my duties even though on one hand I was winning new ground in business, but saddled with an
employer who would get on the phone to ask the head office simple questions I had the answers to, and
I was right there in the office. It was just automatically assumed I wouldn’t know the answer and
completely ignored. To illustrate growth and potential, the company I served was about to lose a regular
national client involved in contract cleaning and maintenance based at Heathrow. At the time our
service to that company was appalling and they were keen to be shod of us. I had just returned from my
hiatus in SA, and that company had already drafted in a trial run with a new service provider and as a
client of ours – they seemed lost forever. Fortunately the new service provider dropped the ball and in
sheer desperation, our soon-to-be-ex client gave us a last shot. For someone who did not seem to make
the grade in any department, for some weird reason I was given the task of meeting the client to make
our last pitch. I didn’t do much, just sat the bloke down in his office and said to him, “Look, I’ve been
away for much of the year and not exactly sure what service to you has been like in my absence, but I
am back – I am going to handle this from now on, you won’t be sorry”. Heathrow spawned Uxbridge,
Hillingdon, Wandsworth & even Dover. The client would ask for me personally and I took total control of
all aspects of their projects, from pricing, through to production, to installation, to invoicing. At the time
of my resignation, the working relationship between the two companies had been the strongest it had
ever been. Last year I drove by Heathrow to enquire in passing how things were, and the response I got
was, “We still deal with them, we won’t say anything bad – but we can’t say anything good”. Very
diplomatic.
Nevertheless, the terms of my work permit bound me to the employing company for a period of 5 years,
of which 4 years had to be consecutively served as full time employed before I could apply for indefinite
leave to remain in the UK, and only if sanctioned by the employer. So for three of those five years I did
my absolute best to work in an environment that quickly resolved to work and talk around me, excluding
me from any decision making and almost all social interaction. It was mentally challenging and some
may even call it bullying. I just know my limits and thought I’d see how much of grown men behaving
like playground kids I could take before I’d had enough. That moment came when I needed a root canal
done, and found it would cost only slightly more to fly to South Africa to visit family and have the work
done there than just getting the treatment only in the UK. The company was very aware that I lived in
daily agony for want of a dentist for about 3 months, and the reason for my travel. Now it may be asked
why suffer for 3 months when I could have had the root canal done here in the UK? If I blew £500 on a
single tooth, when was I next going to see my family on the miserable deficit I was supposed to be
calling pay? I had a choice: Root canal or a 5 minute holiday with my family and root canal. Drugged to
the eyeballs on painkillers daily, and still in agony, I worked through those three months to save up that
much more to afford the latter. A delay in making and fitting a crown saw me return a little later than
planned to work – and to an attempt by that particular company at handing me something called a
disciplinary. Now I’d have to say this the only way I can: It’d be a cold day in a million versions of hell
before I accept something that idiotic from another human being on this planet. I resigned with
immediate effect and did not even bother seeking my last pay cheque. That was the searing level of
contempt I felt for a company I was doing my level best to improve the fortunes of, all the while my life
being made hell by the very people I was expected to work with to achieve this. I have two words for
that, and they are not Bon Voyage. That sentiment has not changed to this very day.
THE CREDIT CRUNCH:
At the very end of my tether and with the expenses of daily life – I decided to become informally selfemployed. Given that on my return, we had just begun to feel the effects of the ominous financial crisis
looming. I remember flying back through Abu Dhabi and finding all credit on my cards slashed to 0 even
though my credit rating was very good at the time. In terms of my work permit, I had 28 days from
resigning my job to transferring my work permit to a new employer or leave the UK. At that precise
moment, I decided I had had more than enough of jumping through every hoop placed in front of me. If
I was going to survive this – I was doing it my way. I brought my entire life over here for a 5 year stay
minimum and was expected to wrap everything up in 28 days because I was sick to the back teeth of a
few individuals? Not likely. Before I set foot in the UK, I owed not one person a cent back in South Africa
– I was debt free. In the roughly 4-5 years I had lived in the UK, I think I must have racked up about £15£20 in debt. Simply because of credit – and how I find society here is structured. I found that simply
because the foundation for supporting my stay while here was a lie (£16k and not £24k), and with no
mommy or daddy here to make up the shortfall to support myself (or to move in with), credit cards
became “surrogate parents” that helped pay the bills month after month. Eventually these surrogate
parents would turn into monsters of gargantuan proportion and attempt to devour me. I would like to
think financial institutions have spent an unbelievable amount of time and effort to ensure they are well
and truly attached to everyone’s bloodstream like leeches. To support this claim I reckon the average UK
worker takes home just enough each month to barely get them through the next month. Because I can
speak from experience: everything I banked each and every month went on bills. The economic
structure here is designed to ensure low income workers are left with nothing, while consuming time
and energy absolutely only to repeat the process month after month, year after year until death. I
noticed a very quick shift of my focus as well – from personally working toward saving to buy the things I
desired, to working toward trying to control the spiralling interest on the tools (credit cards) used to
supplement an abysmal income. But for me, the financial crisis (or credit crunch as it has become
affectionately known) put everything in perspective for me:
I can say this with absolute clarity and conviction – if financial institutions have the absolute audacity
and recklessness to take huge risks with no regard for the impact a sequence of negative results could
generate, yet are deliriously happy to share the wealth generated only among themselves on positive
results; do not expect to share the misery with me when the manure hits the fan during a major
financial crisis of their own making. That is what is so amazingly disturbing: When banks make huge
profits, we (the public) get to read about it in the paper, and witness all that they have treated
themselves to and lavished on each other (I don’t recall my name being on any gift list). Come a colossal
financial disaster engineered entirely by their myopic, bloated, greedy and forgetful (like this was the
first bust) fat selves – and they want to share it with everyone like herpes. The minute I became aware
of the financial mess the world found itself in, I ceased paying all credit cards for the simple reason that I
felt decisions taken by individuals so far removed from my life had created an incomprehensible mess
that I was now being expected to help get them out of as a member of the regulation whipping boy –
the general public. Well, peppers are not the only things that can get stuffed. Fat cat bankers can too as
well.
The funny thing throughout the strengthening of the storm, is that credit card companies would ring up
and talk to me with such a “Well you do owe us money but we will try and help you sort this mess out
because we care” tone, and even wanting to know how much I was receiving in benefits? For those with
no formal status in the UK there is no safety net – I think informal migrants have it the toughest. I would
like to think that thousands of us got through a very tough and trying time purely on sheer guts and grit.
Because each day the sun rises, the demands for money from us are most times far greater than anyone
else because we pay full asking price for everything. There are no concessions and no government
handouts. I am of the firm belief that this grey area of society has made a serious contribution toward
helping this country weather a very harsh financial storm – and yet still considered the worst blight here
ever, because I have also seen the converse one time too often. I have seen many an indigenous
inhabitant collapse and fold under the slightest pressure or take the Mickey at the first opportunity.
WORK:
I remember one of my first private projects was to install the branding graphics for a trust in Slough that
tries to get the (among others) delinquent and chronically unemployed back into work. Now I am the
generally get-my-head-down-and-carry-on type that minds my own business. Except that day I
overheard much of the conversation between a certified lag and the agent trying to find something
useful for it to do. Basically the trust had lined up about 3 or 4 placements for this particular time waster
and he didn’t pitch for any of them. He had an excuse for not showing up on all counts: In one account
his excuse was that he did not have the right clothes for the job (fair enough – maybe it was radioactive
lab work, who knows), to which the agent countered that on the next outing they took him companycredit-card-in-hand to go out and buy him clothes for the job, why didn’t he pitch for work then? They
weren’t the right colour! At this point I wanted to scream, “Stop treating this lunkhead like a baby with
the whispered tones. And, you complete waste of oxygen – just tell her you don’t want to bleedin’ work
because it is very obvious!! End of!”
He was then given a computer terminal to view the trust’s website to look at potential employment, but
went straight on to You Tube and Facebook instead. He was eventually asked to leave the premises after
being repeatedly advised that he was expected to use the computer to find work and not to social
network. But bring up immigration and I bet mister will be the first to pipe up that there are no jobs
because foreigners are coming along and taking them all. Well some of us have no time for bullshit – we
just like to get things done. End of!
On another note – I just want to broach the subject of online work, because that has opened up in a big
way and is allowing me and others to work in other countries digitally. I have done work online on a
small scale in the USA, The Netherlands and here in the UK. Am I violating rules regarding employing
foreigners when there are companies and individuals touting for vendors and suppliers from anywhere
on earth? I just think it is time to face reality that in every country and society there are those that do
and those that don’t. And as I have seen here the volume of those that don’t is rather massive, with
many foreigners picking up the slack and taking the flack in equal measure. The one barb that has always
stuck is how often I have heard locals say, “You foreigners only come here for the Pound. Things go
belly-up and you all desert and are the first to abandon ship”. Well I reckon the UK hasn’t seen a picture
this bleak in I don’t know how long – and still some of us will see it through worse. While I look at how
many CV’s I find sent to me and I haven’t even advertised for a single member of staff, I wager many a
local is the one settling for national minimum wage. Some of us are driving it up, not down as always
accused - as I know I can ask hourly anything from 4 times upward for my time and services. This may
cause me a wealth of tax problems but I feel a full disclosure is best and nothing less.
THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE:
Before I arrived in the UK, I had a very different and purely imagined notion of the people of Britain and
life here. It was a notion, I suppose, shaped by film and other media which may glamorise or warp
reality - somehow it was all debonair, prim and proper in my head. Then I was introduced to stark reality
– I have lived in Slough. As this country is regarded as the home of the English language (of which so
many locals are fiercely proud) – not many speak it, read it or write it very well. I was shocked beyond
shock.
At one of the first places I worked, I walked in and saw a big, black, thick book at one of the
workstations. I thought I was going to be working with a Bible basher – thankfully it turned out to be a
dictionary, which was consulted quite frequently for basic words by staff - even though most PC’s come
with a spell checker as standard. I cannot say how many times I have had to proof read and correct the
spelling of basic words in documents and layouts - as well as witnessing the interchanging of words that
are not often to never interchangeable, like “to” & “too”, “the” & “their”, ”lose”&”loose”. I’ve even
received packaged I’ve ordered online, sent to “Slow” instead of Slough – I just thought, “How apt.”
I remember once having to sign off an NVQ assessment for a young charge I worked with, and happened
to use the word “demeanour” in conversation while describing character. The NVQ officer moseyed up
to me and said in a lowered tone, “Hmmm, I like that word – what does it mean and how do you spell
it?”??? This fellow drove up in a Range Rover wearing a very nice dark blue suit and spoke in such
dulcet, posh tones I would not for a second have guessed he was a few octaves short on the old
vocabulary.
In another incident, a group of colleagues were standing around a work table – looking at and discussing
an item we had just fabricated. And a fellow that had just walked in commented that he liked the
“ergonomic” design. Another local bloke in the group pulled up sharp and said, “Hey, don’t come and
use that sort of language around here… How’d we know you just didn’t say something insulting or were
swearing one of us?” And he wasn’t joking either – which we all thought he was at first. I nearly choked
on my cool drink!
And numeracy skills are even direr. I have worked with British people who cannot even use a tape
measure, or do not seem to know the difference between millimetres, centimetres and metres. Can you
imagine some of the scales I’ve seen? As a test (when needed), I’ve asked a few people to measure the
same thing two or three times at different intervals – and in most cases I got a vastly different
measurement each time: basically a guestimate. As for the concept and calculation of ratios,
proportions and percentages – I won’t say a word…
So, for all that has been made about foreigners and immigrants being required to take an English
language test as part of the immigration process, would this not make more sense on a case-by-case
assessment (for example an immigration officer interviewing a new arrival deciding whether or not they
can communicate with the person without the assistance of a translator). Because an English language
test seems somewhat ludicrous for someone raised with English as their mother tongue – a waste of
time for the immigrant and a waste of Immigration resources. Which brings me to...
EDUCATION
In South Africa, and indeed many parts of the world, English is not many peoples’ first language. And I
know I have witnessed some foreign individuals struggle with spelling, syntax and sentence structure
and have always been encouraging because I felt they were trying to apply the mechanics of their
mother tongue to English and it didn’t always translate that well. Plus, not many children or young
adults have access to a set formal education with many having to fast forward to adulthood and take
care of themselves or younger siblings very early in life. So an education desired by many has to be
forfeited for the sake of very present and demanding social and domestic pressures. Which begs to ask,
what is the UK’s excuse for a very poorly educated population? I see everything on tap for youngsters
and indeed adults to be completely well educated yet the very opposite applies. I have worked with way
too many individuals who share the same crutch: “I’m dyslexic”. I can only ask when did stupidity and
laziness become synonymous with dyslexia? The last time I checked the word STUPID still existed in
English dictionaries and aptly described many of those I have had to work with. But I suppose the term
“dyslexic” dresses up thickness in a nice bow tie, Brylcream and top hat and makes it look and sound a
lot better.
I think half of solving a problem is admitting you have a problem. If one can be honest with themselves
and say, “I am stupid, lacking in knowledge or plain ignorant” this somewhat should set the foundation
to go out and seek enlightenment for a latent mind with enquiring potential. If one consoles themselves
with, “I’m dyslexic” they have essentially just handed themselves a lobotomy.
I’ll cite two personal experiences to support:
Back in SA and about 15 years ago, my dad would sometimes have his construction team work on his
property and I remember one day a knock at the back door. It was one of his employees who had come
along to get an answer to something that was baffling him. As it was a blistering hot day, they would all
be handed a 2 litre bottle of iced water left to freeze solid overnight, to thaw and keep the men
hydrated as they worked. This fellow’s question was how on earth was it possible to get such a large
chunk of ice through such a small opening as a bottle neck? Now several people present immediately
seized on this and all sorts of hilarity ensued, with some acting out how it took two people to get the ice
into the bottle – which one stretching the bottle neck, while the other squeezed on the ice for all he was
worth to get it into the bottle. With others lampooning that the bottle had to be heated and inflated like
a balloon, and once the ice was dropped in – it shrank back to its original state, holding the ice inside.
But, eventually he was given a simple explanation and physics lesson. The point is: he was prepared to
enquire and be educated.
I saw the opposite while working with a young local school-leaver here in the UK, for whom it seemed
there was nothing more to teach as he already knew most of everything. We were on site erecting a
scaffolding tower to install a sign at first or second floor level. I had delegated the construction of the
tower to him while I sorted tools, fixings and the rest. I then noticed the tower had been constructed as
it should – but minus the wheels for moving it around, so I asked him to take it down and rebuilt it with
the wheels in place – and certainly not to attempt fitting the wheels while the tower stood erect. I went
back to what I was doing – and heard an almighty crash behind me within seconds. He had just
attempted installing the wheels by tilting one end of the tower until there was sufficient clearance (of
about 800mm) when it came crashing down in the car park we were working from. Thankfully all cars
had been cleared beforehand. This, to me, is at the other end of the scale of my ice story – a chap who
had been given all the information, and chose to ignore it.
Now I have to say, in my time here I have observed a lot, and while I am most certain that there are very
hardworking and competent locals to be proud of (In fact I have worked with some of them) – I have
seen the converse all too often and that is jobs that need protecting from locals who are more of a
liability than an asset in the roles they fill. I have driven to jobs on occasion with someone British who’d
be thinking of a hundred excuses en route not to do the job when we reached our destination, for the
simple hell of it. Or the usual park up, read the paper, have a fag, have a bite and a nap in a lay-by
instead of being on the job. Skiving is a national pastime it seems, and I feel encouraged to say: That is
why so many foreigners are in your job market (legally or otherwise), because I can speak for myself
when I say I have yet to walk away from a job I haven’t successfully completed and my track record of
getting it done right the first time is at 99.9%. And I’d like to think that strewn throughout the UK
population are foreign individuals that just want to get the job done and haven’t the time for playing
juvenile and pointless games. In the same breath I’ve worked with some locals who have the attention
spans of goldfish, who would place something to the left when you had just clearly stated that it was to
be done to the right.
I know of several small businesses convinced they are so, so busy – and yet are seriously in the red:
failing to realise that the backlog they face is actually only a few jobs on the books being bottlenecked
by one or two jobs at the front of the queue that are having to be redone a good few times over, at a
loss – because a simple lack of attention or concentration (in most cases) is leading to inefficiency and
causing collapse.
POLITICS
The biggest favour Gordon Brown ever did this country was not calling a general election straight after
shooing Tony Blair out of office – for the United Kingdom would have been probably been stuck with
him for the next 5 years. His smartest move would have been to capitalise on his immediate popularity
straight after the stench of Blair. Brown had the opportunity to create a legacy of Churchillian
proportion when he took office and squandered every day. He had a brief period of time to shift away
from the sleaze of Old/Nu/WhatchaMUCKallit Labour which would have bolstered his standing
personally and that of the Labour Party as well. Alas, it is very apparent that the former Prime Minister
clearly wanted what was probably a childhood dream – just to be Prime Minister for the sake of being
Prime Minister. In my humble and simple perspective, I saw the former Prime Minister as a man who
simply wanted the position, but not having a clue what to do with it once he’d attained it. It looks very
much like a case of wanting the title only and not the responsibility of power to effect positive change.
It’s the equivalent of a dog chasing a passing car – and catching up to it when it stops, then looking silly
and totally lost wandering around, because it does not know what to do with its catch, its trophy. When
we watched Tony Blair badgered from office, I for one thought it was for the mess he’d created by
getting involved in Iraq and being an all round George Bush flunky – and the new boy Brown was going
to sort things out and restore some sense of dignity to the office. I think the entire country was
expecting that. How damn wrong. All hope vanished in record time when we saw bungling of colossal
proportion; the greatest financial crisis mankind has known becoming very apparent and the very fact
that Mr Brown was a vote killer with the same amount of charm as a verruca. And this brings me to the
Milliband brothers. I suppose newspapers that backed these two had been actually trying to portray
their leadership contest for the Labour Party on parallel with the story of Cain & Abel: an epic of bloody
and murderous magnitude; when these two actually come across as the Rod & Todd Flanders of British
politics. Throughout all of Brown’s bumbling, stumbling, tripping and failing – they were both silently
present, unable to summon enough guts to stand up and challenge an incompetent leader that had fast
turned their party into HMS Titanic. Boys, conviction and belief is about self sacrifice and standing for
what you hold to be the right and honourable thing to do when a situation and duty calls. You both
stood by castrated, and waited mute for what was clearly a bad leader to resign before you both started
your grandstanding for a role you both felt safe to challenge and take on, only once the big bad man had
left the room. You do not wait for your balls to be handed to you – sometimes a situation demands that
you find them pretty damn quick.
Had either of you had acted when you should have, you could have restored the faith of so many not
only in your party, but in the current system of government as well. Because it would have sent the
message: If there is a problem, we’ll fix it (no matter how close to home). The message you have sent is:
If there is a problem, we’ll just have to live with it – because we are afraid to tackle it. All contestants for
the role of leader of the Labour Party had numerous opportunities to oust Gordon Brown, but did not do
so out of fear and not ever out of loyalty. I am most certain all of you could see the meltdown your party
was heading for, and none of you moved a muscle to prevent it. Yet, it the light and shame of all that has
been, each of you wished to sell yourselves as the new blood being injected into the veins of the party.
The somewhat hyped leadership contest between the Milliband brothers was so dull and uninteresting,
a violent and bloody battle to the death between two slugs over a leaf of lettuce would have been
better to watch and probably more telling with results. Again, in my view, Labour is going to be in
serious trouble for a very long time to come and a non-contender until at least a two-dimensional
candidate for leader emerges. If the election for new Labour Party leader had been contested by the 3
blind mice (Rod, Todd & Ed) and an empty corner, bookies wouldn’t have taken any bets – because the
empty corner would look so damn good, and had more character.
Ten years ago the Labour Party swept to power as Nu Labour (led by that magnificent Used Car
salesman, Tony Blair) – what on earth will it try to dress itself up as next is anyone’s guess, as Nu Labour
certainly looks like the same old clapped-out battered banger run on bull fertiliser it always was. Except
when Tone left, he took the steering wheel and brakes with him – and as much as it was terribly driven
then; it is now completely directionless and cannot stop the complete crash it’s headed for.
Update: Ed Miliband has been elected Labour leader! The coalition government can rest easy for a very
long time as there is certainly no challenge to worry about from one of the three hyenas from Disney’s
Lion King. Akuna Matata.
In as much as elected political figures are known civil servants, the entire time I’ve been watching the
spectrum of politics in general I have only seen self-servants. Anyone in government appears to be in it
purely in it for what comes with it and what they can take from it. Take away the expenses, perks and
salary and make it a very low paying, austere occupation – and you will find true statesmen. It is my
suggestion that for politics and politicians to perform and function as they should; let all governmental
roles become performance based. Basic pay and limited expenses and perks for the duration of the
tenure, with bonuses and rewards only paid at the end based on performance and how much of what
has been promised actually materialising. Then maybe the so-called civil servants that claim to serve and
represent society will actually begin giving a damn about more than one person. This said, I solemnly
wish the coalition government sets about removing the tarnish built up over years from the very bad
practices of past “gravy train” politicians. I do sincerely wish the present coalition proves all detractors
wrong and builds success upon success.
KNOW YOUR ENEMY
I would like to think I have an extremely good memory and can remember incidents going back to my
early childhood with clarity, and one of the things I seem to remember well was growing up in a world
not anywhere near as paranoid as the societies we find ourselves living in right now. Perhaps the naivety
of the proverbial babe in the woods, or maybe it just wasn’t a world back then so afraid of its own
shadow as it is now. Everyone is terrified and everyone is a suspect; is it really as Orwell as it seems to
be? Another anecdote from my personal life: In 1994 South Africa had what has become known as its
first democratic election which saw Nelson Mandela elected to power. A black man taking power in a
white dominated bastion. The fear, uncertainty and tension during that build-up was palpable. And for
me a direct affect came one day while out for a jog with a friend and we happened to be spotted by
security forces out on a patrol in an armoured vehicle. We just happened to be running between a
cemetery and a very long stretch of factories, and this military vehicle descended upon us with speed
and force – as it turned out, that they suspected that we had planted bombs around the factories and
were trying to make our getaway when we were spotted. We were searched and spread up against a
brick wall and asked a barrage of questions rapid-fire. No explanation seemed good enough and all I
remembered during what felt like an eternity was the force from the barrels of about 5 high powered
automatic rifles shoved into the base of my skull by the soldiers standing behind me. And the entire time
I was praying that none of the soldiers interrogating us was a weak link, or was just a bit more panicked
than the rest, didn’t have an itchy trigger finger or basically just didn’t make a big mistake. I am still very,
very thankful to this day that that day ended a lot better than it could have. But that day to me also
illustrated what can best be described as acute paranoia because what we were suspected of being did
not materialize; neither did the expected black on white violence that was so feared against those of
European descent. Sixteen years later and the world has just come back from enjoying the first football
World Cup played on African soil.
Just an observation of that inaugural event we hosted successfully to everyone’s absolute surprise: I
know I did not for one second believe we would not deliver, even when I received some worrying
updates from family back home saying we were well behind schedule. What surprised me in all honesty
is that we (South Africa) managed to deliver a first rate production on only half of our power – because
we have suffered a huge brain and skills drain with many of my compatriots here in the UK, Australia,
the US, Canada or elsewhere in search of new pastures. Technically, we pulled off Africa’s first World
Cup with one hand tied behind our backs. With that (and I am certain a few million voices will join me) ,
all that is left to say is: Always Am And Will Be – Proudly South African.
One of the simple pleasures I wished to take advantage of when coming to the UK was travelling Europe
and taking in all the tourist sites and just generally go exploring – I love adventure. Soon after I was
granted my work permit I visited Brussels, and had enough. Simply because my return trip was just as
awful as my initial trip to the UK: I was detained for about 30-45 minutes while a background check was
done on me. I asked the reason why I was being detained and was told I was on a “watch list”. I then
asked the reason I was put on this list and one couldn’t be provided. It was then I came to realise that
any travel I made abroad from the UK would be an unpleasant experience each time I returned even
though I was authorised to do so. I would still like to know to this day why I was “being watched”
because I did not arrive in the UK bearing any ill intent to this country or any other country (which to me
would be the number one reason anyone would show a complete lack of trust in another). If anything, I
have seen through the media, acts of terror being carried out mainly by those of British birth against
their own country. If the general consensus is that foreigners are here to take your jobs, benefits and
well as sink your ship – believe me this is one foreigner that does not wish to lay claim to any of that. I
am of the belief that a lot of hostility is nurtured and festering on home territory.
RACE
At no time in my existence has my racial category or profile been brought into question as often as it has
since I’ve been in the UK. I have even had locals in pubs place bets on my ethnicity (and they have all
lost). Now I’m not one to play the race card, and am not even playing it now – this is only to ask, “What
is this obsession and preoccupation with race? Why does ethnicity matter so much?” The only
difference I can see between people is good and bad: Those that embrace and ooze harmony and those
that seek discord. Back in my own country, which has a very chequered past on the subject, I have never
ever been quizzed about race as I have been while in the UK. Not offended – just bewildered.
THE ENVIRONMENT
I am convinced – if I so chose – that I could become a millionaire overnight building a business on the
strength of the amount of everything you waste as a country. In more than half the places I have
worked, I think I have seen more go in the bin that in the bank. I have seen on far too many occasions
stuff that has a slight scuff or dent given a cursory glance, then binned and new stock ordered that
suffers the same fate in next to no time. It reminds me of a cartoon I saw as a kid of a lumberjack who’d
grab his axe after dinner; fell a massive tree; chop, saw, plane and machine it until he had produced ...
one toothpick (and a huge pool of perspiration): Funny when you’re little and it’s just a cartoon,
heartbreaking when it is seen firsthand in real life.
The other consideration regarding the environment in general (and the UK environment) is global
warming. Now if all the doomsayers and soothsayers are to be believed, the loss of permafrost and ice
caps at the poles will in all likelihood cause sea levels to rise. Now with a country that does not have
much by way of land mass to begin with, I have seen forecasts that put much of the UK under water
within 30-50 years. Yet I have seen so many adverts online encouraging people to come to the UK and
settle on completely bogus blurb. I have seen adverts claiming such “Work in the UK as a secretary for
£50 an hour – no experience necessary” and a good variety of others with no grounding whatsoever.
This tends to send the message that coming to the UK is a walk in the park and Dorothy, the Tin Man
and the Lion will be waiting for you at arrivals at Heathrow and the lot of you will all waltz down the
yellow brick road off to see the wizard.
What I have always told everyone is the truth: For starters, to earn £50 an hour as a secretary without
an ounce of experience, one would have to be doing something the company accountant or boss’s wife
best not find out about. What I have told anyone that asks as well, is if they are used of living with family
or on their own comfortably – be prepared to give all that up to live very dank and cramped with a
bunch of strangers that may or may not try stealing from you. Be prepared to be met with a wall of
expenses for every last thing (and for some things you may get for free or may not be a huge expense
back home). Be prepared for general xenophobia, and unbridled racism, in some parts. Be prepared to
be second-guessed on everything because your intellect and intelligence is just not up to scratch by the
very fact that your brain comes from another country.
This to me is how one regulates immigration. I do believe telling potential immigrants honestly what
they can expect on emigrating to the United Kingdom will stop this insane practice of the world’s
general populace attempting to clamber onto the smallest land mass on the planet, which is shrinking
and sinking with each passing year.
I also believe business has a big role to play in responsible advertising in the job market. I have had an
email frantically sent to me by a cousin’s wife to verify (if I could) if the document and job offer was
genuine – as it claimed to be “time sensitive”? I did a little research and concluded within 15 minutes
that it was a load of manure. In fact it was evident from first glance but delved just to satisfy all of her
concerns. A foreigner on the other side of the world wouldn’t know that the number listed on the
document is actually a mobile number or the address used actually points to a residential address not
far from Hammersmith, or the bloke who is supposed to have written the letter was a founding member
of 20th Century Fox and has been dead for around 40 years. The disconcerting thing about the whole
thing is that I forwarded the entire “job offer” onto Fox (UK) expecting hell and damnation for the
fraudster ... and heard not a thing back. But at least I managed to prevent someone from coming here
with unrealistic expectations – though I can only imagine how many others weren’t so lucky and were
seduced and suckered by the very same malarkey.
THE PRESENT
I had been considering for the best part of 3 years to contact the UK government directly regarding the
matter of immigration and just the general migration of people across this planet of ours. I feel I was
born to the Earth and not just one corner of it, and quite simply cannot accept the limitation of
movement a few rules in some quarters place upon me. What I have also been watching with a keen
interest is the state of Arizona in the US attempting a tough line on “illegal” immigration – a practice I’m
sure it will come to regret later and will probably be reversed or obsolete in a few years time. I shall cite
my own glorious South Africa as an example. During the early 70’s and I a mere toddler, I watched with a
certain amount of confusion the silly game played by the government of the day via the police force and
black housemaids. For back then a black domestic needed to furnish documentation authorising
clearance to work in an urban residence or she was arrested. What a joke – in order to clean up the
mess of someone else for a pittance, a woman needed government clearance permitting her to do so???
Long before a 1994 election which saw Nelson Mandela sworn in as president of the country, that law
was overturned and at present and best is hardly remembered. And those very same domestic workers
that once fled the police just may or may not now be ministers or officials in national and local
government on the same side as the beast they once feared.
I would like to think there are several alternative ways of handling immigration that should be discussed
and the realistically best ideas implemented, as the tough talk we all keep hearing on this new set of
laws and the all new points system based on Australia’s system can only be met with: I have an aunt
who’s a naturalised Australian, and for all the new tough points systems implemented down under,
according to her it still looks like “downtown Somalia” to paraphrase – and is now being overrun by
those living on handouts. I feel the tighter the attempt at a grip on any borders, the ingenious beauty
that is human spirit and sheer determination will demonstrate just how porous those borders are. I have
thus written this letter to put myself in frame and ask, if I am not the type of immigrant wanted on these
shores, then please set a precedent with me and remove me from the UK or bring about changes to
current immigration law which would formally integrate myself and others like myself into UK society. I
have considered all possible ways for me to formalise my stay in the UK, and have come to realise I am
in a win/win situation and thus have nothing to lose by this exercise. If a pathway is generated for me
and others like me to officially remain within the UK, we bring with us a wealth of skill and talent. If I
return to South Africa, they get back in me what I know to be heavily lacking back home. I also feel the
only option I have right now - in trying to address an issue that is grumbled about by the public and in
the press, but seems to be given a wide berth when dealing directly with the perceived problem – is for
me to talk directly to the powers that be.
I did not go through all I have gone through in this life to come to a new country and do everything that
has been asked of me along the way, only to fall among the cracks of an immigration system. As I have
only ever heard these words uttered by locals and directed at foreigners, “Well, why don’t you all F off
back where you come from!” I think the time is upon the United Kingdom to either put up or shut up:
Ask that I leave or remove me from the United Kingdom – along with everyone else of a (lack of) status
equal to mine or less as well. As it is not as an impossible an exercise as it is made out to be, to trace and
track down every foreigner not officially domiciled here. If one really wants us all gone, simple steps
would ensure that. If illegal immigration is such a massive problem, go Gestapo and go door-to-door and
ID every man, woman and child on this island. That’s one way of doing it! I’m sure all 5 million will be
bagged in one week. What I am certain the UK will find most terrifying, is the second week.
My time in the United Kingdom has been an education that I am willing to continue here, back in South
Africa or anywhere else on this once beautiful planet of ours. So much so that I have registered one
business back in South Africa (website is www.rev-fx.com and in mid construction) while I have
attempted to set up a second one here as well, but for all the red tape of which this country is so fond –
I have considered it best to put my energies back into South Africa, as I have found it rather difficult to
register a business here or open a business bank account (I know I’m putting the cart before the horse
but what am I expected to do when I feel I have worked with some of the slowest minds I have
encountered and feel I am far better off delivering a service as myself and not by working for another,
which has been mental torture at times). I would be more than willing to continue to make a
contribution in the UK, but not as another anonymous “illegal immigrant” for I believe my skills and
talents deserve more respect than that. I could continue in the hope that one day, some day I may
become officially integrated into society so as to stop all the lying one has to do as an informal settler in
order to get anything done. I just do not wish to be 75 years old one day and still living in that hope. I
have much to contribute with vitality here and now, and the one thing I can say of the growing circle
that know of my capabilities: No-one seems to give an iota of my immigration status anymore and noone even asks, they just want to know can I get it done yesterday. What I may have also failed to
mention in this letter, is that during my time in the UK, along with those mentioned that I have met with
varying degrees of disdain and reservation, I have also met just about some of the nicest and quirkiest
folks I’ve ever come across. People for whom I think the phrase “the salt of the Earth” must have been
coined. As I believe life is all about balance, I have not only met some people that have made me
ashamed of my species, but some that have been so unbelievably good and welcoming that I feel that
much better off for having known them, no matter how briefly.
In my entire time on this earth and in the UK I have only ever done one thing – my very best. I did not
come to the UK seeking a handout (I would sincerely shame and disgrace my family name if I was found
to be on any kind of financial support system when I am fully able-bodied and capable); I came here to
make a positive difference. I suppose I could have just kept my head down and hoped to keep living here
in the UK undetected – but I feel I have far too much yet to contribute in this life to just fall between the
cracks.
My name is Dean Patrick Murray. I am South African by birth. My passport number is 426714077 ending
25/10/2010. My work permit number is E987070 – 002609636. I do hope that in some small way this
letter serves to makes a difference on how present and future immigration is viewed and managed.
Thank you for having me.