The Foreigner In My Home
An Open Letter To Amber Rudd and Theresa May
Dear Amber, dear Theresa,
You have called for firms to disclose lists of their foreign employees. I would like to go beyond the call of duty and denounce the presence of a foreigner in my own home.
I live with a foreigner. She’s my partner. And not until now did I acknowledge her filthy, scheming nature. She’s been living in England for decades — longer than myself, in fact (more on that later). She’s never been unemployed. She’s payed her taxes — thus contributing to the NHS, benefits, pensions, etc — and been a model citizen, but it was a cover. All along, she only had one intention: stealing the jobs meant for decent, British people. She’s guilty of plunging this country into the deep, dark abyss you are so valiantly trying to lift us from.
They say ‘know your enemy’, and I know mine intimately. We share the same bed. It’s a sad time in our household. As you can imagine, there’s a lot of tension. Mealtimes are especially testing, and mostly silent; consumed with shame, my partner can barely meet my eyes over the dinner table. Even watching TV is problematic — she favours Eastenders (years of conditioning) while I have a soft spot for the news, which keeps me well-informed and prepped to stand up for my country when called upon.
I’d like to commend you both for taking the example of Nazi Germany. While events back then degenerated somewhat, their ideas came from a good place. They recognised the need to identify the elements of society holding them back (in their case Jews, homosexuals, Gypsies, the mentally ill, the physically disabled… all the usual suspects) and were unafraid to employ extreme measures to deal with them. That you are willing to follow in their footsteps by blaming all foreigners — not just illegal immigrants and refugees — for Britain’s numerous ills takes courage, and it makes me proud to be half-British.
Ah yes — I almost forgot. I’m no thoroughbred; I’m only half-caste, in its Latin sense. I was born and raised on the continent (it doesn’t matter where exactly — trust me, it’s all the same once you cross the Channel), then came here to study, and stayed. I cannot begin to express the self-loathing and confusion I feel for stealing my own jobs. It breaks my heart, which, if I’m honest, has always been split down the middle, one ventricle pumping out pure British blood, the other coughing up cheap, less-than-vital fluid. My bastard heritage tears me apart from within.
I do see a problem, however, with your proposal, and by extension with everything emanating from your unelected government. I’m worried that, with the way things are going, a lot of talented people — nay, people in general — will become hesitant to live in the UK.
The UK —its growth long driven by a spirit of competition, itself fueled by the flocking of said talented people from across the world — may well stagnate, and possibly even fade to insignificance, if you keep steering it down this path. I can’t be the only one for whom Britain’s perma-grey skies and tepid summers were made endurable solely because of the nation’s quality as a forward-thinking hub of creativity and tolerance. Take that away, and I fear Britain may crumble to dust like a poorly-baked scone.
At this rate, it won’t be long before you, Amber, and you, Theresa, have this little island all to yourselves. You’ll have all the space you need to thrive and roam the land, like happy, free-range poultry. You won’t need that third runway in Heathrow after all. You’ll be able to use the space for more football fields — God knows your team needs the practice.
So, Amber, Theresa: my partner and I won’t be waiting for your Secret Police to break down our door (although if they were to show up early, we’d welcome them with a nice cup of tea). Our plan is to leave of our own volition — it’s the best thing for all concerned. Thankfully, the remorse I’ve felt at cheating on the UK by holding a second passport was worth something in the end, although I realise other sensible Brits wanting to leave may find it impossible, and I feel sorry for them.
It’s been tough reaching this decision, but I’m now ready to do the half-patriotic thing and give you your country back, because it sure as hell isn’t mine anymore.
Sincerely,
A concerned half-citizen.
