Britain will benefit from Indian migrants, says Modi
India and the UK have agreed an arrangement which will make it easier for people from each country to go to the other and work on a temporary basis.
The Indian prime minister said the deal will 'inject new energy into the service sectors of both countries' and the UK economy will 'benefit from India's skilled talent'.
He confirmed a deal had been agreed on the so-called double contributions convention (DCC) as he signed a broader UK-India free trade deal alongside Sir Keir Starmer at Chequers in Buckinghamshire on Thursday.
Sir Keir faced accusations of implementing a two-tier tax system when the DCC issue came to light in May.
The deal means Indian workers employed by an India-based employer will be able to work in the UK for up to three years without paying National Insurance.
They will continue to pay into Indian social security during that period, with reciprocal rules in place for UK workers who go to India.
The change was a key demand made by Indian negotiators but it prompted a backlash from some opposition politicians in the UK who claimed it risked undercutting British workers.
The deal comes a matter of months after Labour imposed higher National Insurance on British companies and follows calls from within Labour for the party to toughen its immigration stance amid the rise of Reform UK.
Rachel Reeves, the Chancellor, increased National Insurance contributions for employers in last year's Budget in order to raise an extra £25bn in tax.
The change took effect in April this year. The Tories have argued the move has suffocated economic growth.
Speaking alongside Sir Keir at Chequers, Mr Modi said they had 'reached a consensus on the double contribution convention'.
'This will inject new energy into the service sectors of both countries, especially in technology and finance,' he said.
'It will promote ease of doing business, reduce cost of doing business and increase the confidence of doing business.
'Additionally the UK's economy would benefit from India's skilled talent.
'These agreements will enhance investments and generate new employment opportunities in both countries.'
The Government said the arrangement 'is not expected to have a long-term impact on net migration'.
Jonathan Reynolds, the Business and Trade Secretary, said it was 'completely false' to claim British workers could be undercut.
On BBC Radio 4's Today programme he said: 'On this issue, I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt if you were to hire an Indian worker they would pay exactly the same taxes as a British worker, you would have higher costs because of the visa charges, the NHS surcharge.
'It is completely false to say any British worker is undercut by this deal. I would never agree a deal that undercuts the people I represent or grew up with. That is completely wrong.
'The specifics of this are that a person on a temporary secondment from an Indian company to the UK or a UK company to India pays into their own social security systems for a short period of time if they are here on a temporary basis.'
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
BBC News
10 minutes ago
- BBC News
'Totally torn apart' - how Morecambe decline threatens a whole community
In its post-war heyday, the town of Morecambe was one of the UK's foremost seaside holiday destinations, with a thriving local economy and prestigious the decline of the domestic tourism industry which underpinned Morecambe's boon, its 105-year-old football club has filled the gap - providing jobs, powering local businesses, and offering a sense of community, identity, and now, Morecambe FC faces the imminent prospect of shutting down due to a deepening financial crisis, with owner Jason Whittingham's failure to sell the club leading to suspension from the National proud local people, the impact is enormous."It's absolutely horrible", says Alison Williamson, a Morecambe resident who began supporting the club in 1974. "The football club gives so much to the town. It's just so sad that Whittingham is down in Essex and allowed to take it all away from us."It's kind of a grieving process. It's like losing a member of your family that has always been there. Even if you don't see them all the time, when they're not there anymore, you suffer and you feel the loss."The club's players were sent home a week ago and are unable to train because of a lack of insurance cover. The academy has now also stopped functioning,For some, the slow, painful deterioration of their football club threatens the cohesion of the community and mimics the previous era's erosion of the local economy. "Morecambe used to be fantastic in its heyday," says Les Dewhirst, the club's kit man for the past 30 years. "It had everything from small zoos to fairgrounds to theatres and piers. We've not got much of that now, but it's still a cracking place and football is such a big part of it."I met my wife at the football. We were second-timers and our kids have grown up coming to this ground together. Strangers stop me in the street and say 'hiya Les' and it feels good."I don't know all the names of the people who come here, but I know all the faces. We all come here for the same reason - because we care."That level of care means supporters, led by fans group The Shrimps' Trust, have been protesting against Whittingham's ownership of the club and demanding he sell up for deals have been agreed in the past but nothing has come to fruition and fans face the prospect of having no club to support in the upcoming season."This place is half of my life", says Kate Barker, a fan and former chief steward for 20 years who was subsequently made honorary life vice-president. "All my good friends are here. It's a cliche, but we are a family and we look after each other."We always look forward to seeing each other on a Tuesday and a Saturday, and going to see a match. We might win, lose, or draw - the result doesn't really matter. We've never let football get in the way of a good day out." "We'll still gather together and talk about the old times, what we've done and where we've been. But we should still be able to do it here, every week," adds Barker."Inside I'm being absolutely torn apart."Where once on the town's seafront there were multiple fairgrounds, theatres, piers and miniature zoos, there are now a smattering of bars and restaurants, many of which are funded by matchday income and travelling away club's peril means local businesses are now at risk."The winter months are the hardest here, because it's the seaside," says Chris Donaldson, owner the The Royal Hotel on the seafront. "The football season sees us through that."I've got 19 bedrooms here and away fans are coming from all over fully booking them weeks in advance. The whole town can be full."It'll cost us tens of thousands, easily. It's crazy what it'll do to the town to lose that kind of money. Everyone will feel the effect of it."For staff at the fans' matchday pub, the difference in demeanour is already stark."We get around 400, 500 people on a matchday," says Michael Woolworth, manager of the Hurley Flyer opposite the stadium. "It feels like everyone in Morecambe is in here."It's a ritual every weekend. In here we see that football really brings people together. "But in the last few months we've seen the happiness taken away from them. We have regulars who have come in visibly upset."Morecambe FC has been one of the area's biggest employers in recent times. But the club's financial issues mean that salaries paid to staff and players have been delayed or not paid at all in some months. Dewhirst was last paid in May."I'm eating into my savings now," he says. "Some people aren't lucky enough to have savings - some are going to food banks because they can't afford to buy their shopping."It's been hard watching players leave. There was another one gone yesterday. I've known lots of them for years."I feel broken. Numbness has set in." The club offers far more than football to local residents. Its facilities host a variety of events, fun days and fundraisers for the community and causes close to people's hearts."The club does major work in the community, including sessions here for the elderly people and sessions in care homes," says former co-chairman Rod Taylor, who has removed from the board earlier this summer in a video call hastily arranged by Whittingham."We've got a pre- and post-cancer group that meet regularly, we go into schools to deliver sessions. You can't put a price on that. A high percentage of the population of this town is touched by more than football in some way."That idea of connection across the community, and across generations, is something which typifies the essence of Morecambe's supporter base."Football is that release from normality," Taylor says. "It's a generational thing. My granddad took me to our old stadium Christie Park when I was about five or six years of age. It stays with you. It's ingrained. It's in your DNA."I feel Whittingham probably has to raise more money to settle some of his some of his personal debts. I think he's trying to squeeze more money."The BBC has repeatedly attempted to contact Whittingham, but received no response. Chair of The Shrimps' Trust, Pat Stoyles, has dedicated swathes of his spare time to trying to protect the club's status and long-term future in recent years."The lack of communication from Jason Whittingham has been the biggest problem," he says. "The turmoil has been going on for weeks and weeks on end."The start of the EFL season last weekend was difficult. Normally we'd be glued to that sort of thing, but seeing live football again shows to people what we're going to be missing."The social part of football is the biggest part. What goes on the pitch - that's fine. It's about the people you travel with, you drink with, you stand with, the community that you feel apart of. For a lot of people, losing that is going to have a big impact on their whole wellbeing, their mental health."Some people are already asking if, should the worst come to the worst, we can still go to places together."The National League will meet again on 20 August and, unless convinced Morecambe have the financial means to complete the season, will formally expel them from the fans, staff, and players wait anxiously to see if Whittingham will finally sell the club before it is too late.
Reuters
10 minutes ago
- Reuters
India's IndusInd Bank to appoint industry veteran Rajiv Anand as CEO
Aug 4 (Reuters) - India's IndusInd Bank said on Monday that its board has approved Rajiv Anand as chief executive officer for the bank for a three-year term starting August 25. Anand, a veteran banker, is currently the deputy managing director at private lender Axis Bank ( opens new tab, and has held key management positions at leading global financial institutions. He was one of three candidates shortlisted by the bank's board, Reuters reported last month. IndusInd Bank took a $230 million hit in the year ended March 31 due to years of misaccounting of internal derivative trades, prompting the resignations of CEO Sumant Kathpalia and deputy Arun Khurana in April.
The Guardian
10 minutes ago
- The Guardian
Dame Stella Rimington obituary
Stella Rimington, who has died aged 90, was the first head of the Security Service, commonly known as MI5, to be officially identified. She was also the first woman to head the agency, one that had been deeply infused with male culture. Asked what attracted her to MI5, she told me: 'Even though there were all of these tweedy guys with pipes, I still thought the essence of the cold war and spies and stuff was fun. You know, going around listening to people's telephones and opening their mail and stuff.' Rising to the top of MI5 after heading the agency's counter-subversion, counter-espionage, and counter-terrorism divisions was an achievement consolidating her reputation as a formidable Whitehall streetfighter, manifested not least by her success in wrenching from the police Special Branch its historical lead role countering Irish Republican terrorism in mainland Britain. Soon after she retired, she was embroiled in a furious row with her former Whitehall colleagues over her decision to write her memoirs. 'It was quite upsetting,' she said, 'because suddenly you go from being an insider to being an outsider and that's quite a shock.' But, she added: 'I've never been one to retreat at the first whiff of gunshot.' Her most controversial role as she rose up the ranks of MI5 was responsibility for countering 'subversion'. She was active during the miners' strike during the mid-1980s, and justified spying on the leadership of the National Union of Mineworkers (NUM) on the grounds that Margaret Thatcher regarded it as 'the enemy within'. She said: 'If the strike is led by people who say they are trying to bring down the government, our role [is] to assess [them].' She chose her words carefully in an interview with the Guardian, denying that MI5 itself ran agents in the NUM, adding: 'That's not to say the police or police Special Branch … might have been doing some of those things …' The Special Branch reported to MI5 while GCHQ was providing MI5 and the police with technical help for bugging operations. Rimington also justified targeting and keeping files on civil liberty campaigners, protest groups and MPs, on the grounds that while not all their members were regarded as subversives, some of their contacts, colleagues, and friends were. Targets included the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament – one of its organisers had been a member of the Communist party – the National Council for Civil Liberties (now Liberty) and two of its senior officials, Patricia Hewitt and Harriet Harman, and Jack Straw, former president of the National Union of Students. All became Labour cabinet ministers. Rimington admitted MI5 checked files on prospective MPs to see if 'there is anything in there of importance ... so the prime minister can take it into account when he forms his government'. She insisted that individuals on whom MI5 had files should not be allowed to see them. She later acknowledged that during the cold war MI5 was 'overenthusiastic', opening files on people who were not 'actively threatening the state'. She also went as far as to accuse successive governments of wanting to 'live in a police state', introducing more and more anti-terrorism laws, including plans to hold terror suspects for 42 hours without charge. Such laws, she said, combined with 'war on terror' rhetoric, played into the hands of those they intended to deter. She described the response to the 9/11 attacks on the US in 2001 as a 'huge overreaction'. Looking back, she said: 'I suppose I'd lived with terrorist events for a good part of my working life and this was, as far as I was concerned, another one.' Asked what impact the 2003 invasion of Iraq had on the terrorist threat, she replied: 'Well, I think all one can do is look at what those people who've been arrested or have left suicide videos say about their motivation. And most of them, as far as I'm aware, say that the war in Iraq played a significant part in persuading them that this is the right course of action to take.' She was born Stella Whitehouse in south London; her father was a draughtsman, her mother a midwife and nurse. Her father had fought at Passchendaele in the first world war. 'He was never able to relax after that, a very uneasy soul, difficult to get close to,' she recalled. He worked in the steel industry in Barrow and then in the Derbyshire-Nottinghamshire borders. 'Unfortunately, when we moved out of London, we always seemed to move to places that were priorities for German bombing,' she said, describing her childhood as 'disturbed and frightening … I was four when we left London as the second world war broke out … as the Barrow blitz commenced: hiding under the stairs, windows were blown out and ceilings fell down … Claustrophobia plagued me into adulthood. I struggled to sit in the middle of rows and always stood by the door on the underground. At all times I needed an exit route.' Educated at Nottingham high school, Stella studied English at Edinburgh University, then archive administration at Liverpool University. Her first job was as an assistant archivist in Worcestershire county council's record office. In 1963 she married John Rimington, her childhood boyfriend, who became a high-flying civil servant, and was posted to the British high commission in Delhi responsible for economic and trade relations with India. It was there that, in 1965, she 'fell into intelligence', as she later put it. She was approached by the resident MI5 officer who offered her a job as a typist. 'I was holding coffee mornings and the like … I was grateful for an end to the boredom,' she said. She joined the staff of MI5 in 1969 after the couple returned to Britain. In a colourful passage in her autobiography, to which she gave the provocative title Open Secret, she recounts how she came up against what she described as a 'strict sex-discrimination policy' in MI5. She wrote: 'It did not matter that I had a degree, that I had already worked for several years in the public service, at a higher grade than it was offering, or that I was 34 years old. The policy was that men were recruited as what were called 'officers' and women had their own career structure, a second-class career, as 'assistant officers'. 'They did all sorts of support work, but not the sharp-end intelligence gathering operations.' She vigorously challenged MI5's prevailing culture so successfully that John Major, the then prime minister, approved her appointment as director general – head of the agency – in 1992. After she retired in 1996, she became the target of bitter attacks by Whitehall mandarins and the SAS for daring to write her autobiography. In a ferocious diatribe, David Lyon, colonel commandant of the SAS, wrote in a letter to the Times: 'All members of the country's security forces should keep silent about their work, for life. When there is a requirement to publish, it is the government alone who should do so.' Rimington, he added, could expect 'a long period of being persona non grata, both to many she has worked with and many she has yet to meet among the general public'. She said she received a 'bollocking' from the cabinet secretary, Richard Wilson, and was told to remove any reference to the SAS despite widespread media coverage of their operations, including the well-documented killing of three unarmed members of the IRA in Gibraltar. In an attempt to sabotage her memoir, a copy of the manuscript was leaked to the Sun newspaper. The woman who had spent years deploying the secret state described the process of vetting her memoir as 'Kafkaesque', an experience that, she said, led her to understand 'how persecuted you can feel when things are going on that you don't actually have any control over'. Rimington said she decided to write her memoir to explain to her daughters, Sophie and Harriet, why she was never around as a mother. She separated from her husband when the children were young, but divorce 'seemed a faff' as she put it. They became friendly in old age and lived together during lockdown. 'It's a good recipe for marriage,' she said looking back. 'Split up, live separately, and return to it later.' After completing her memoir she turned to fiction, writing thrillers starring Liz Carlyle, a female agent sometimes referred to as her alter ego, and later Manon Tyler, a CIA agent. In 2011 she chaired the Booker prize panel, when she provoked a controversy by saying 'readability' and an ability to 'zip along' were important criteria for judging books. Literary critics suggested other things such as quality might be taken into account, adding that the shortlist was the worst in decades. Rimington responded by comparing the publishing world with the KGB and its use of 'black propaganda, destabilisation operations, plots and double agents'. Rimington was made Dame Commander of the Order of the Bath in 1996. After she retired she held a number of corporate posts including a directorship of Marks & Spencer, and was chair of the Institute of Cancer Research. She was widely credited as the inspiration for Dame Judi Dench's M in the James Bond films. She is survived by her husband and two daughters. Stella Rimington, intelligence officer, born 13 May 1935; died 3 August 2025
