About this: On the margins.
QUOTE
On the margins
The chief constable of Cambridgeshire says she needs more resources to deal with migrant-related crime. The rightwing press are in a frenzy. But are the Latvians, Lithuanians and Portuguese more likely to be victims than perpetrators? Patrick Barkham investigates
Wednesday September 26, 2007
The Guardian
Cabbage fields are stretched taut to the horizon, and drainage ditches march across black, peaty soil. There is something stubborn and unchanging about the flat, bleak landscape of the Fens. Villages with names such as Three Holes and Tipps End straddle lumpy roads that threaten to deposit careless drivers into ditches. Hand-painted signs are propped outside bungalows: "For sale - lop-eared rabbits" and "Eggs - duck & goose".
Everything seems as it ever was in this uncompromising agricultural land. But Fenland's farms and food factories are now powered by Portuguese and, for the past few years, Latvian, Lithuanian and Polish labourers. Rural life has probably not changed this rapidly since the agricultural revolution. And in the past week, an appeal by Julie Spence, the chief constable of Cambridgeshire, for extra resources to tackle crime associated with migrant workers triggered a predictable panic in the right-wing press. "Migrant workers importing crime, says police chief," said the Daily Telegraph. "Migrant influx pushes us all to the limits," screamed the Daily Mail.
Some local people endorse this picture of a countryside ruined by foreign criminals who have imported drink-driving, knives and blood feuds along with their cheap labour. Others are more positive about the migrant workers. However, in Wisbech, the working market town known as the "capital of the Fens", everyone can agree on thing: the migrants and the long-term residents are not rubbing along happily.
"You think you're in Russia," says one local about the Sunday market on the edge of Wisbech. Around a cavernous warehouse are cars and vans with trestle tables laden with plastic toys, dusty grey plastic hi-fis, snakes of old electric cable, bikes, paving stones, cat food, toby jugs and children's clothes. Most of the stallholders are British; the language of the buyers is Lithuanian, Latvian or Polish.
It takes a few days in Wisbech for the significance of the Sunday market to sink in: it is the only obvious moment of large-scale interaction between the settled locals and the mostly eastern European migrants. One woman with little English negotiates to buy a CD player. The seller opens both hands. "Ten pounds," he says. The woman brandishes one hand back and smiles winningly. "Five pounds." It's hers for a fiver. "If it's got a plug on it, the migrant workers will buy it," says Darren Martin, 27, a Welshman who settled in the Fens after serving at nearby RAF Marham.
If the kneejerk position of the right is that immigration is uncontrolled and newcomers don't integrate, then the default setting for the metropolitan left is that rural communities are intolerant, inbred monocultures. But the Fens actually have a long history of absorbing outsiders. They may have been the last corner of England to succumb to William the Conqueror but by then they had already absorbed the Romans, the Angles, the Saxons and the Vikings. The asylum-seeking Huguenots and large numbers of Dutch settled here in the 17th century. Even after the Fens were drained and the sea pushed back, Wisbech was a sizeable - and outwardlooking - river port. Locals such as Evan Hawkins, 79, who worked in Wisbech docks for 40 years, remembers boats from Russia, Germany and Holland regularly visiting the town. The Portuguese arrived in significant numbers a decade ago. Since the accession to the EU of the Baltic states in 2004, East Anglia has attracted Lithuanians, Latvians and Poles. Two years ago, there were up to 80,000 East European migrants estimated to be working in the region.
The chief constable of Cambridgeshire says she needs more resources to deal with migrant-related crime. The rightwing press are in a frenzy. But are the Latvians, Lithuanians and Portuguese more likely to be victims than perpetrators? Patrick Barkham investigates
Wednesday September 26, 2007
The Guardian
Cabbage fields are stretched taut to the horizon, and drainage ditches march across black, peaty soil. There is something stubborn and unchanging about the flat, bleak landscape of the Fens. Villages with names such as Three Holes and Tipps End straddle lumpy roads that threaten to deposit careless drivers into ditches. Hand-painted signs are propped outside bungalows: "For sale - lop-eared rabbits" and "Eggs - duck & goose".
Everything seems as it ever was in this uncompromising agricultural land. But Fenland's farms and food factories are now powered by Portuguese and, for the past few years, Latvian, Lithuanian and Polish labourers. Rural life has probably not changed this rapidly since the agricultural revolution. And in the past week, an appeal by Julie Spence, the chief constable of Cambridgeshire, for extra resources to tackle crime associated with migrant workers triggered a predictable panic in the right-wing press. "Migrant workers importing crime, says police chief," said the Daily Telegraph. "Migrant influx pushes us all to the limits," screamed the Daily Mail.
Some local people endorse this picture of a countryside ruined by foreign criminals who have imported drink-driving, knives and blood feuds along with their cheap labour. Others are more positive about the migrant workers. However, in Wisbech, the working market town known as the "capital of the Fens", everyone can agree on thing: the migrants and the long-term residents are not rubbing along happily.
"You think you're in Russia," says one local about the Sunday market on the edge of Wisbech. Around a cavernous warehouse are cars and vans with trestle tables laden with plastic toys, dusty grey plastic hi-fis, snakes of old electric cable, bikes, paving stones, cat food, toby jugs and children's clothes. Most of the stallholders are British; the language of the buyers is Lithuanian, Latvian or Polish.
It takes a few days in Wisbech for the significance of the Sunday market to sink in: it is the only obvious moment of large-scale interaction between the settled locals and the mostly eastern European migrants. One woman with little English negotiates to buy a CD player. The seller opens both hands. "Ten pounds," he says. The woman brandishes one hand back and smiles winningly. "Five pounds." It's hers for a fiver. "If it's got a plug on it, the migrant workers will buy it," says Darren Martin, 27, a Welshman who settled in the Fens after serving at nearby RAF Marham.
If the kneejerk position of the right is that immigration is uncontrolled and newcomers don't integrate, then the default setting for the metropolitan left is that rural communities are intolerant, inbred monocultures. But the Fens actually have a long history of absorbing outsiders. They may have been the last corner of England to succumb to William the Conqueror but by then they had already absorbed the Romans, the Angles, the Saxons and the Vikings. The asylum-seeking Huguenots and large numbers of Dutch settled here in the 17th century. Even after the Fens were drained and the sea pushed back, Wisbech was a sizeable - and outwardlooking - river port. Locals such as Evan Hawkins, 79, who worked in Wisbech docks for 40 years, remembers boats from Russia, Germany and Holland regularly visiting the town. The Portuguese arrived in significant numbers a decade ago. Since the accession to the EU of the Baltic states in 2004, East Anglia has attracted Lithuanians, Latvians and Poles. Two years ago, there were up to 80,000 East European migrants estimated to be working in the region.
I like to stay open minded about all this kind of change.

