Nigel Farage believes the “little boats crossing the English Channel” is the “number one” political issue in Britain at the moment.
Speaking to Donald Trump, he said that the border is the thing that most of us here are worried about, much like in the States, where all people want is a great big wall to divide the US and Mexico.
He made those comments just weeks after 27 poor migrants perished at sea and without any thought about the perilous conditions many endure to get to the UK both on land and at sea.
One Syrian refugee recentlydescribed the brutal journey through forests on the Belarus-Poland border, where some are forced to drink from puddles and others survived vicious beatings.
When they arrive in Calais they face “surprise evictions” and then the terrifying thought of crossing one of the busiest shipping lanes in the world aboard overcrowded and unstable boats.
The notion that they do all this for just for a £39.63-a-week handout is, frankly, laughable.
But if you need convincing further, this poem byWarsan Shire, a Kenyan born to Somali parents, is well worth a read.
Home, by Warsan Shire
no one leaves home unless
home is the mouth of a shark
you only run for the border
when you see the whole city running as well
your neighbors running faster than you
breath bloody in their throats
the boy you went to school with
who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory
is holding a gun bigger than his body
you only leave home
when home won’t let you stay.
no one leaves home unless home chases you
fire under feet
hot blood in your belly
it’s not something you ever thought of doing
until the blade burnt threats into
and even then you carried the anthem under
only tearing up your passport in an airport toilet
sobbing as each mouthful of paper
made it clear that you wouldn’t be going back.
you have to understand,
that no one puts their children in a boat
unless the water is safer than the land
no one burns their palms
no one spends days and nights in the stomach of a truck
feeding on newspaper unless the miles travelled
means something more than journey.
no one crawls under fences
no one wants to be beaten
no one chooses refugee camps
or strip searches where your
body is left aching
because prison is safer
than a city of fire
and one prison guard
in the night
is better than a truckload
of men who look like your father
no one could take it
no one could stomach it
no one skin would be tough enough
go home blacks
sucking our country dry
niggers with their hands out
they smell strange
messed up their country and now they want
to mess ours up
how do the words
the dirty looks
roll off your backs
maybe because the blow is softer
than a limb torn off
or the words are more tender
than fourteen men between
or the insults are easier
than your child body
i want to go home,
but home is the mouth of a shark
home is the barrel of the gun
and no one would leave home
unless home chased you to the shore
unless home told you
to quicken your legs
leave your clothes behind
crawl through the desert
wade through the oceans
your survival is more important
no one leaves home until home is a sweaty voice in your ear
run away from me now
i dont know what i’ve become
but i know that anywhere
is safer than here