If someone wants to come into this country illegally, there are people ready and willing to help

Telegraph

5 days ago

There are many things that will shock you about The Smuggler (BBC Sounds), investigative journalist Annabel Deas's 10-part podcast about a chap called 'Nick'. That a former Royal Engineer in the British Army could turn into a lynchpin – and pioneer – of the people-smuggling trade on the Channel. That some individual migrants repeatedly re-enter the country using the same methods. That Nick could get paid up to £12k per person (imagine how much the people above him in the chain were making). But the thing that will shock you most – and that certainly shocked Nick – was how easy it was.
However Deas got hold of Nick (not his real name) and convinced him to spill the beans we'll likely never know (no money changed hands), but this is surely the scoop of her career so far. Across the episodes, Nick is extraordinarily candid about how he did what he did – though presumably less than honest about why – and his insouciance about the whole endeavour, while occasionally sticking in the craw, reveals an uncomfortable truth about our borders and about British society as a whole. It also makes laughable various politicians' repeated promises to tackle illegal immigration. The truth of the matter is this: if someone wants to come to this country illegally, there are people like Nick ready, willing and able to help them do so.
Nick's story is that he fell on hard times – a self-employed builder hammered by the 2008 recession, with a baby on the way, he was desperate for cash. One of the men who worked for him, an Albanian named Matt, had repeatedly, cryptically mentioned Nick's passport to him. 'You'll always be OK,' Matt told him, 'because you have that passport'. One day, at a low ebb, Nick finally caved and asked Matt exactly what he meant. On a day trip to Calais, Matt showed him. Here's where you'll pick up a migrant and stick them in the boot of your car. Here's where you'll let them out on the ferry. Here's the knife you'll give them to cut a tear into the side of a lorry. Here's the phone you'll use to text one of my friends who'll be waiting in Dover. And here, hypothetically, is the £3,500 that will be waiting for you by the time you get home.
Nick – white, British, confident – was a gift to the Albanians. His training with the Royal Engineers made him an expert in reconnaissance and concealment, while his knowledge of sailing would later become invaluable. Getting people on lorries inside the ferries proves as easy as falling off a log, once his early nerves settle down. Even when he messes up and loses one frequent flyer in the duty-free terminal, it is resolved in his favour, in the most farcical manner – I won't reveal exactly how, except to say that the ferry company should be extremely embarrassed. Nick's attitude throughout is that of Del Boy flogging a few VHS machines that fell off the back of a lorry.
The most extraordinary revelation comes midway through, with Nick forced to think of alternative routes to the ferries. This was the mid-2010s, around the time of the Brexit referendum, and the idea of 'small boats' bringing migrants across was unheard of, even to the authorities who kept tabs on the smugglers. Even the Albanian gang he worked for thought he was 'mad' when Nick suggested the future was a small sailboat and a series of leisure marinas. 'I'm creating something,' says Nick, with no little pride. He monetised his ingenuity. It was, once again, startlingly easy, and life on the open water was a pleasure. 'I loved it,' he says of the sailing.
Yet while Nick reveals the unsettling ease with which people can be smuggled into the UK, he also reveals an awful lot about himself. The desire to provide for his daughter was surely genuine, but it's hard to believe him when he says he had 'no choice' but to become a people smuggler. He admits he was a self-employed builder because he struggled to work for others, while he had to quit the Army following a fight with a fellow soldier. He also shows absolutely no sense of conscience towards the migrants themselves, convincing himself that he is a mere taxi driver for people making positive life decisions. When Deas mentions people-trafficking, not smuggling, he bristles. Yet he never asked any questions about who he was bringing into the country. Despite his eloquence and likeability, his charming breeziness wears thin by the end, with Deas gently exposing Nick's inability to think of the migrants as anything other than cargo.
It's a vital listen, and one that will change your perception of the society around you. You'll certainly never look at the pleasure boats in your local marina – or your local builder – in the same way again.