Brixton: Immigration, more than any other subject, enrages people of all colours
"Fucking Africans! Fucking immigrants!" I was surprised to hear this shouted repeatedly the other day as I walked down Brixton Hill. Neo-Nazi on a suicide mission? Institutionally-racist policeman unable to keep it covert any longer? Cockney codger who feels his efforts in the war have come to naught? No, the source was a fiftyish Jamaican, shrieking at the top of his lungs and boxing the air. I didn't find out the cause of his rage.
Immigration, perhaps more than any other subject — education, employment, healthcare — is the one that most purples faces. David Goodhart has decided to have a go at logging the "successes and failures of post-war immigration".
I must report that I barely had the energy to write this review, as I had spent the better part of three days trying to get an appointment with my GP — not waiting for an appointment, I stress, but attempting to get through to someone at the surgery so I could make the appointment I'd have to wait a week for — and much of the week stuck on platforms waiting for cancelled or delayed trains, or stranded because one train left early. As one unapologetic employee of Southeastern explained to me, the drivers follow their own clock in the cab, not the one displayed on the platform, the one that passengers use.
My fantasy is no longer to win the lottery jackpot but to be allowed to kick to death a member of the senior management of Transport for London. As I walk past the Ghanaian, Jamaican and Brazilian flags that bedeck Brixton, I wonder why anyone, unless they come from a godforsaken, truly impoverished rural hovel, would want to immigrate to Britain.