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LeMonde
6 days ago
- Business
- LeMonde
'Starmer has clearly adopted the rhetoric of the anti-immigration right'
"We risk becoming an island of strangers," declared British Prime Minister Keir Starmer on May 12, as he presented his White Paper proposing measures to "take back control of our borders." Surely, we have always been strangers, especially those of us who grew up in the global metropolis of London, a city of hundreds of different languages. Except, somehow, and precisely because of this diversity, this city has become one of the largest and most prosperous urban environments in the world since the 18 th century. Starmer, leader of the Labour Party, has clearly adopted the rhetoric of the anti-immigration right, which has historically always opposed immigration to the country – whether Russian Jews at the end of the 19 th century, refugees fleeing Nazism in the 1930s, immigrants from the British colonies and the Commonwealth after World War II, Ugandans of Indian origin in the 1970s, citizens from European Union countries at the beginning of the 21 st century or the people "illegally" crossing the Channel today. The list is endless. So is that of the anti-migrant parties. The most recent of these, Reform UK, stands out as the first to enter the British Parliament. Yet while Nigel Farage, the leader of Reform UK, descended from German immigrants settling in 19 th century London and married to a German immigrant, may rail against newcomers, just as Starmer does, they both admit that immigration is inevitable and want to control it – an idea underpinning the "Restoring control over the immigration system" white paper. The paper makes a link between pressure on resources (housing, public services) and immigration, whereas in reality, migrants have played a major role in developing public services and expanding the British economy. Although the Irish of the 19 th century arrived with nothing and many ultimately left for the United States, hundreds of thousands helped build Victorian Britain as navvies.
Epoch Times
10-05-2025
- Politics
- Epoch Times
From Radical Leftist to Conservative Activist: Remembering David Horowitz
Commentary David Horowitz, the radical leftist-turned-conservative activist and author, The cause of death was cancer. Horowitz is Horowitz's influence was perhaps best summarized by conservative New York Times columnist Ross Douthat in a '[E]veryone who is a young person on the political right in the 1990s and early 2000s, as I was, has had at least one encounter with David Horowitz of one kind or another. Sixties radicalism definitely lived on in his postradical phase, I think it's fair to say.' While I never met Horowitz, I did have the opportunity to read his autobiography 'Radical Son: A Generational Odyssey' for a college final paper. Somewhat ironically, the book had been recommended by a famous left-wing professor at my university whose class on the history of the American Left I was taking. Related Stories 5/6/2025 5/8/2025 Reading the memoir would become a highlight of my college career. Horowitz was, at heart, a superb storyteller. The future journalist and commentator was born in Forest Hills, Queens, in New York City, in 1936, the grandson of Russian Jews who had immigrated to the U.S. His parents were high school teachers and devoted members of the American Communist Party. That all changed when Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev in 1956 issued his 'secret speech' that denounced former Soviet dictator Josef Stalin for crimes against humanity. The speech was leaked to the Western press, and it led the American Communist Party to Fulfilling the American dream, Horowitz would go on to attend some of America's finest universities. He graduated from Columbia University in 1959 with a degree in English, and he later earned a master's degree in the subject from the University of California at Berkeley. That was followed by a position at the Bertrand Russell Peace Foundation in London. Horowitz eventually made his way back to the U.S., where In the 1960s, both Collier and Horowitz were devoted believers in left-wing causes. They wrote against the Vietnam War, and in his memoir, Horowitz recounts how the conflict became a foil for the Left's antagonism against the American way of life. '[The war] was not ultimately about Vietnam, but about our antagonism to America, our desire for revolution,' Horowitz also became acquainted with the Black Panthers during this period, in particular cultivating a friendship with the group's founder, Huey P. Newton. As Horowitz would tell it, he even helped A few months later, Van Patter would disappear, and her severely beaten body would be Van Patter's slaying was a point of no return for Horowitz's relationship with the American Left. 'In pursuit of answers to the mystery of Betty's death, I subsequently discovered that the Panthers had killed more than a dozen people in the course of conducting extortion, prostitution, and drug rackets in the Oakland ghetto,' Horowitz 'While these criminal activities were taking place, the group enjoyed the support of the American Left, the Democratic Party, Bay Area trade unions, and even the Oakland business establishment,' he continued. Horowitz would take his same zeal for justice that he had when he was on the Left to his work on the Right. He joined a rising group of former left-wing intellectuals in rejecting Marxism and socialism and supporting the policies of President Ronald Reagan. That took the form of publishing influential articles like ' The two men would go on to publish Horowitz was a pioneer in combating the Left in America, and today he has many imitators. He went on campus tours, where Horowitz even has some compatriots in academia with centers devoted to preserving and restoring Western civilization A major theme of Horowitz's memoir is the importance of family. Even when he was at the height of his left-wing political involvement, the journalist noted that his wife and children kept him more grounded than many of his peers. In an atomistic society, where Americans increasingly leave their homes for opportunities, and where digital interaction offers the false promise of genuine human connection, we could all do with holding our families a little tighter. Reprinted by permission from Views expressed in this article are opinions of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of The Epoch Times.
The Independent
30-04-2025
- Politics
- The Independent
Takeaways from AP's report on how Trump's immigration crackdown resonates in the Texas Panhandle
After his inauguration, President Donald Trump issued a series of orders ending legal pathways for immigrants to live and work in the U.S. Those orders resonate powerfully in the Texas Panhandle, where nearly half of workers in the meatpacking industry are thought to be foreign-born. Three months into the new administration, confusing government directives and court rulings have left vast numbers of immigrants unsure of what to do. Immigrants and Panhandle meatpacking Immigrants have long been drawn to the meatpacking industry, back to at least the late 1800s when multitudes of Europeans — Lithuanians, Sicilians, Russian Jews and others — filled Chicago's Packingtown neighborhood. For generations, immigrants have come to the Panhandle to work in its immense meatpacking plants, which developed as the state became the nation's top cattle producer. Those Panhandle plants were originally dominated by Mexicans and Central Americans. They gave way to waves of people fleeing poverty and violence around the world, from Somalia to Cuba. They come because the pay in the Panhandle plants starts at roughly $23, and English skills aren't very important in facilities where thunderous noise often means most communication is done in an informal sign language. What workers need is a willingness to work very hard. 'Leave the United States' 'It's time for you to leave the United States,' said the Department of Homeland Security email sent in early April to some immigrants living legally in the U.S. 'Do not attempt to remain in the United States — the federal government will find you.' This is what President Donald Trump had long promised. America listened when Trump insisted during the campaign that immigrants were an existential threat. Immigration into the U.S., both legal and illegal, surged during the Biden administration, and Trump spun that into an apocalyptic vision that proved powerful with voters. What was often left out, though, was the reality of those immigrants. Because while the White House focuses publicly on the relatively small number of immigrants they say are gang members, there are roughly 2 million immigrants living legally in the U.S. on various forms of temporary status. More than 500,000 Cubans, Nicaraguans, Venezuelans and Haitians were told they would lose their legal status on April 24, though a federal judge's order put that on hold - temporarily. About 500,000 Haitians are scheduled to lose a different protected status in August. 'It's all so confusing,' said Lesvia Mendoza, a 53-year-old special education teacher who came with her husband from Venezuela in 2024, moving in with her son who lives in Amarillo, the panhandle's largest city, and who is in the process of getting U.S. citizenship. An industry dependent on immigrants Now, an industry dependent on immigrant labor is looking toward a future where it could have to let go of thousands of immigrants. 'We're going to be back in this situation of constant turnover,' said Mark Lauritsen, who runs the meatpacking division for the United Food and Commercial Workers International Union, which represents thousands of Panhandle workers. 'That's assuming you have labor to replace the labor we're losing.' The last haul? Trucking seemed to be the key to the American dream for a Haitian immigrant named Kevenson Jean. Kevenson Jean's truck had taken him across immense swaths of America, taught him about snow, the dangers of high winds and truckstop etiquette. His employer owns the truck, but he understands it like no one else. He laughs and pats the hood: 'I love her.' He and his wife came to the U.S. in 2023, sponsored by a Panhandle family whose small nonprofit employed him to run a school and feeding center for children in rural Haiti. 'We are not criminals. We're not taking American jobs,' said Jean, whose work moving meat and other products doesn't attract as many U.S.-born drivers as it once did. 'We did everything that they required us to do, and now we're being targeted.' On a Tuesday in mid-April, Kevenson left Panhandle on what he thought would be his final haul. He looked miserable as he made his checks: oil, cables, brakes. Eventually, he sat in the driver's seat took off his baseball cap and prayed, as he always does before setting off. Then he put his hat back on, buckled his seat belt and drove away, heading west on Route 60. Days later, Kevenson got word that he could keep his job. No one could tell him how long the reprieve would last.
Winnipeg Free Press
30-04-2025
- Politics
- Winnipeg Free Press
Takeaways from AP's report on how Trump's immigration crackdown resonates in the Texas Panhandle
PANHANDLE, Texas (AP) — After his inauguration, President Donald Trump issued a series of orders ending legal pathways for immigrants to live and work in the U.S. Those orders resonate powerfully in the Texas Panhandle, where nearly half of workers in the meatpacking industry are thought to be foreign-born. Three months into the new administration, confusing government directives and court rulings have left vast numbers of immigrants unsure of what to do. Immigrants and Panhandle meatpacking Immigrants have long been drawn to the meatpacking industry, back to at least the late 1800s when multitudes of Europeans — Lithuanians, Sicilians, Russian Jews and others — filled Chicago's Packingtown neighborhood. For generations, immigrants have come to the Panhandle to work in its immense meatpacking plants, which developed as the state became the nation's top cattle producer. Those Panhandle plants were originally dominated by Mexicans and Central Americans. They gave way to waves of people fleeing poverty and violence around the world, from Somalia to Cuba. They come because the pay in the Panhandle plants starts at roughly $23, and English skills aren't very important in facilities where thunderous noise often means most communication is done in an informal sign language. What workers need is a willingness to work very hard. 'Leave the United States' 'It's time for you to leave the United States,' said the Department of Homeland Security email sent in early April to some immigrants living legally in the U.S. 'Do not attempt to remain in the United States — the federal government will find you.' This is what President Donald Trump had long promised. America listened when Trump insisted during the campaign that immigrants were an existential threat. Immigration into the U.S., both legal and illegal, surged during the Biden administration, and Trump spun that into an apocalyptic vision that proved powerful with voters. What was often left out, though, was the reality of those immigrants. Because while the White House focuses publicly on the relatively small number of immigrants they say are gang members, there are roughly 2 million immigrants living legally in the U.S. on various forms of temporary status. More than 500,000 Cubans, Nicaraguans, Venezuelans and Haitians were told they would lose their legal status on April 24, though a federal judge's order put that on hold – temporarily. About 500,000 Haitians are scheduled to lose a different protected status in August. 'It's all so confusing,' said Lesvia Mendoza, a 53-year-old special education teacher who came with her husband from Venezuela in 2024, moving in with her son who lives in Amarillo, the panhandle's largest city, and who is in the process of getting U.S. citizenship. An industry dependent on immigrants Now, an industry dependent on immigrant labor is looking toward a future where it could have to let go of thousands of immigrants. 'We're going to be back in this situation of constant turnover,' said Mark Lauritsen, who runs the meatpacking division for the United Food and Commercial Workers International Union, which represents thousands of Panhandle workers. 'That's assuming you have labor to replace the labor we're losing.' The last haul? Trucking seemed to be the key to the American dream for a Haitian immigrant named Kevenson Jean. Kevenson Jean's truck had taken him across immense swaths of America, taught him about snow, the dangers of high winds and truckstop etiquette. His employer owns the truck, but he understands it like no one else. He laughs and pats the hood: 'I love her.' He and his wife came to the U.S. in 2023, sponsored by a Panhandle family whose small nonprofit employed him to run a school and feeding center for children in rural Haiti. 'We are not criminals. We're not taking American jobs,' said Jean, whose work moving meat and other products doesn't attract as many U.S.-born drivers as it once did. 'We did everything that they required us to do, and now we're being targeted.' During Elections Get campaign news, insight, analysis and commentary delivered to your inbox during Canada's 2025 election. On a Tuesday in mid-April, Kevenson left Panhandle on what he thought would be his final haul. He looked miserable as he made his checks: oil, cables, brakes. Eventually, he sat in the driver's seat took off his baseball cap and prayed, as he always does before setting off. Then he put his hat back on, buckled his seat belt and drove away, heading west on Route 60. Days later, Kevenson got word that he could keep his job. No one could tell him how long the reprieve would last.
Associated Press
30-04-2025
- Politics
- Associated Press
Takeaways from AP's report on how Trump's immigration crackdown resonates in the Texas Panhandle
PANHANDLE, Texas (AP) — After his inauguration, President Donald Trump issued a series of orders ending legal pathways for immigrants to live and work in the U.S. Those orders resonate powerfully in the Texas Panhandle, where nearly half of workers in the meatpacking industry are thought to be foreign-born. Three months into the new administration, confusing government directives and court rulings have left vast numbers of immigrants unsure of what to do. Immigrants and Panhandle meatpacking Immigrants have long been drawn to the meatpacking industry, back to at least the late 1800s when multitudes of Europeans — Lithuanians, Sicilians, Russian Jews and others — filled Chicago's Packingtown neighborhood. For generations, immigrants have come to the Panhandle to work in its immense meatpacking plants, which developed as the state became the nation's top cattle producer. Those Panhandle plants were originally dominated by Mexicans and Central Americans. They gave way to waves of people fleeing poverty and violence around the world, from Somalia to Cuba. They come because the pay in the Panhandle plants starts at roughly $23, and English skills aren't very important in facilities where thunderous noise often means most communication is done in an informal sign language. What workers need is a willingness to work very hard. 'Leave the United States' 'It's time for you to leave the United States,' said the Department of Homeland Security email sent in early April to some immigrants living legally in the U.S. 'Do not attempt to remain in the United States — the federal government will find you.' This is what President Donald Trump had long promised. America listened when Trump insisted during the campaign that immigrants were an existential threat. Immigration into the U.S., both legal and illegal, surged during the Biden administration, and Trump spun that into an apocalyptic vision that proved powerful with voters. What was often left out, though, was the reality of those immigrants. Because while the White House focuses publicly on the relatively small number of immigrants they say are gang members, there are roughly 2 million immigrants living legally in the U.S. on various forms of temporary status. More than 500,000 Cubans, Nicaraguans, Venezuelans and Haitians were told they would lose their legal status on April 24, though a federal judge's order put that on hold - temporarily. About 500,000 Haitians are scheduled to lose a different protected status in August. 'It's all so confusing,' said Lesvia Mendoza, a 53-year-old special education teacher who came with her husband from Venezuela in 2024, moving in with her son who lives in Amarillo, the panhandle's largest city, and who is in the process of getting U.S. citizenship. An industry dependent on immigrants Now, an industry dependent on immigrant labor is looking toward a future where it could have to let go of thousands of immigrants. 'We're going to be back in this situation of constant turnover,' said Mark Lauritsen, who runs the meatpacking division for the United Food and Commercial Workers International Union, which represents thousands of Panhandle workers. 'That's assuming you have labor to replace the labor we're losing.' The last haul? Trucking seemed to be the key to the American dream for a Haitian immigrant named Kevenson Jean. Kevenson Jean's truck had taken him across immense swaths of America, taught him about snow, the dangers of high winds and truckstop etiquette. His employer owns the truck, but he understands it like no one else. He laughs and pats the hood: 'I love her.' He and his wife came to the U.S. in 2023, sponsored by a Panhandle family whose small nonprofit employed him to run a school and feeding center for children in rural Haiti. 'We are not criminals. We're not taking American jobs,' said Jean, whose work moving meat and other products doesn't attract as many U.S.-born drivers as it once did. 'We did everything that they required us to do, and now we're being targeted.' On a Tuesday in mid-April, Kevenson left Panhandle on what he thought would be his final haul. He looked miserable as he made his checks: oil, cables, brakes. Eventually, he sat in the driver's seat took off his baseball cap and prayed, as he always does before setting off. Then he put his hat back on, buckled his seat belt and drove away, heading west on Route 60. Days later, Kevenson got word that he could keep his job. No one could tell him how long the reprieve would last.
