Show Hide image The Staggers 14 April 2014 Sajid Javid's father would never have made it into Cameron's Britain The new Culture Secretary's Pakistani father was welcomed in 1961. But the migration cap means his successors are being turned away today. Print HTML Sajid Javid's ascension to the cabinet has been hailed by Conservatives as proof that "the British dream" really does exist. The son of a man who arrived at Heathrow airport from Pakistan in 1961 with a £1 note in his pocket, after his family lost everything during the partition, now sits at the top table of the UK government. As the Culture Secretary (the first Asian cabinet minister) recounts in a new collection, The Party of Opportunity, by Conservative group Renewal: "My father made his way up north and found a job in a Rochdale cotton mill. Happy to be employed, he nevertheless strived for more. He set his sights on working on a bus, only to be turned away time and again. But he didn’t give up. He persisted and was hired as a bus conductor, then a driver, earning the nickname 'Mr Night & Day from his co-workers. After that came his own market stall, selling ladies clothes (many sewn by my mother at home) and, eventually, his own shop in Bristol. "My four brothers and I, all born in Rochdale, lived with my parents in the two-bedroom flat above our shop on Stapleton Road (which, although home to us, was later dubbed 'Britain’s most dangerous street'). This – along with our family breaks to visit cousins back in Rochdale and our biannual treat of hiring a VHS player for a weekend to binge on movies – might not fit everyone’s definition of success, but success is always relative. My parents achieved their aims – to help their immediate and extended families and to provide for and educate my brothers and me." Javid's story is an inspiring one (foolishly disregarded by those Labour MPs who attacked his successful career as an investment banker) but no Conservative paused to consider another issue: would the same be possible today? Under the current government's draconian immigration cap, which limits the number of skilled migrants from outside the EU to just 20,700 a year, Javid's father would have been barred. With no university degree and just £1 to live on, ministers would have rejected him as a potential "burden" on the welfare state, never knowing that he would go on to raise a son the equal of them. This scenario is emblematic of the short-sightedness of the government's immigration policy. For the sake of meeting an arbitrary target of reducing net migration to "tens of thousands" a year (which, owing to EU immigration, will not be met in any case), Britain is depriving itself of untold levels of talent. As my former colleagues Mehdi Hasan noted in a Guardian piece in 2011, "Had Avram Kohen not arrived on these shores from Poland in the late 19th century, his son Jack would not have been able to start Tesco in 1919. And had Mikhail Marks not been allowed to migrate to the UK from Belarus in the 1880s, he would never have met Thomas Spencer and created M&S." The truth that eludes the pessimistic and xenophobic right is that immigrants don't just "take our jobs", they create them too. But when today's entrepreneurs seek to enter Cameron's Britain, all they will be greeted with is a closed door. › Why Norway is the best place in the world to be a writer George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman. More Related articles Following the tax credit row, the welfare axe could fall on renters and disabled claimants Has the DUP received concessions in Northern Ireland in exchange for supporting Syria strikes? From Tartan to Teflon: Nicola Sturgeon’s one-year anniversary as First Minister
Show Hide image Sport 19 November 2015 How Jonah Lomu changed the face of rugby The New Zealand rugby player died this week aged 40. Print HTML The death of Jonah Lomu at the tender age of 40 comes as a great shock. The tributes have poured in, and will keep flowing. He has been described as a legend, a hero and a gentleman, and no doubt he will go down as such in the history of rugby. Certainly there is a genuine case to say that he changed the game of rugby in a significant way. Before him wingers were slight, nippy and agile who used guile and speed to exploit the open spaces to score tries. Gerald Davies was a master at avoiding the opposition, using a range of delicate skills. But Lomu could cover 100m in under 11 seconds and at 6’5” and 19 stone he didn’t go round the opposition: he went through or over them. At the age of 20, he was unstoppable. He burst onto the rugby landscape in the 1995 South Africa World Cup. With a stature more suited to a role in the pack, he changed rugby’s view of wingers and paved the way for players such as George North to pursue a similar career. Despite the power and pace, or perhaps because of it, there was an aesthetic appeal to his play. He was a beautiful runner and when he received the ball both the crowd and opposition held their breath. It was like watching a school match where the big kid in the class swatted his smaller opponents out of the way effortlessly. The beauty of sport is that there is always something new. The aim is to find new and different ways to outdo the opposition, to overcome unnecessary obstacles, to meet the test on offer. Lomu seemed to thrive on testing himself by running directly at the opposition, a personal challenge of his own physicality and prowess. His on field brilliance made him a global superstar and a role model. But the burden of being a role model does not always sit comfortably with sport superstars and there are many who have suffered as a result of being thrust into the limelight at such a young age. In some cases, problems are self-inflicted and many a promising youngster doesn’t go on to have a career to match the talent and potential. But Lomu’s career and eventually his life were cut short by a rare kidney disease, nephrotic syndrome, over which he had no control. He called time on his professional career in 2002 and underwent a kidney transplant in 2004. Despite this, he approached the disease and his life with courage and determination. He continued to play, he turned his hand to other challenges, he raised money and he tried to live life to the full despite the constraints of the treatment he had to endure. He had a strong faith in God and was not afraid to hide his beliefs. There are countless memorable moments from his rugby career, the bulk of which entail watching a huge, unstoppable force bursting through tackles. His character off the field, at least from an outsider’s perspective, reinforces my belief that athletes can be good role models and not just because of their athletic excellence. Despite their physical abilities, they are human beings who are vulnerable to illness, disease and disability. They are also vulnerable to the fear, anxiety and emotional pain that come in life. His death, just weeks after the All Blacks – the team he had done so much to inspire – won their third World Cup, will be cause for national mourning. But Lomu dealt with his difficulties and his achievements in much the same way, to paraphrase Kipling, by treating those two impostors just the same: with humility and courage. Carwyn Jones is a Professor in Sports Ethics at Cardiff Metropolitan University This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article. More Related articles I never once saw Tom Graveney play – but in my imagination I watched his every stroke Never have football's top players earned so much money – and enjoyed it less Is Arsène Wenger the secret weapon in Jeremy Corbyn’s arsenal?
