Dear Great Britain,
I still feel like I am on a very very long vacation on your tiny island.
I like your Quorn products, I am thrilled about your Royal Baby No. III, I discuss Great Bake Off in the office. See, not that new after all.
I always hated the ignorant hysteria that came from the EU-citizens after Brexit. Many fears were based on rumours and headlines. I found them just as useful as those of the Brexit voters, who have themselves chasing rumours and headlines. The self-proclaimed lobby 3Million has never represented me and I would rather rally for the Labour Party than for them. I have never felt myself to be a hostage or a bargaining chip, as they wanted to convince me.
But, dear Great Britain, you are shouting at me on the way to work, that I should not be the beneficiary of your generousity.
A leaked document from the Brexit negotiators from Downing Street No 10 says exactly this: fingerprints, registration, the most complicated settled status for those who can proof employment, border controls for everybody else.
My German passport has my fingerprints on it, just like my phone. Please, have my fingerprints and iris and DNA, if it makes you this happy, in addition to the ever so present video surveillance. I understand that you can not administrate me, if I am not registered. And your insane refusal of federal ID cards now means that you can’t actually tell who lives where. It’s okay, dear Island, I get it. Unfortunately, you only register criminals’ fingerprints.
I pay for your BBC, your Guardian, your incredible train prices.
I go to rallies, vote locally and donate to for two different of your charity organizstions.
I even work for one. For your ridiculous minimum wage, and under your perverted workers‘ rights.
I love to be here, because I want to be with my dear favourite Britons, in Wales & Manchester, close to pop culture & pub culture, fashion, urban trouble and breathtaking landscapes. THESE are the reason why I am still here. Do not think I am more than tolerating anything else you offer, such as:
Your ridiculous public transport system. Your Five-Eyes-Big-Brother Paranoia. Your cost of living. Your torn and broken society. Your polluted air.
Do not think that you offer anything for free for me to take advantage of: What I got from you are an education and health insurance – both came and come with an excessive bill.
I will never get a mobile phone contract as long as I live here, because my credit score as a foreigner is too low. I almost failed to get a lease because I could not submit three landlord references from past few years. A decent part of my minimum waged salary goes directly into the NHS – and because I deem it the world’s best system, I happily pay for it.
But do not dare to tell me that I am the beneficiary of a system that I support by all means, a system your ruinous austerity is driving towards a mercy killing.
Because you do deprive yourself of a future, dear Great Britain. You are privatised bit by bit, the rest given up to decay, by people who are laughing at Grenfell victims, hate against refugees and dwell in the cigar-smoked, fat bellied remains of your wealth.
Of course you are angry, of course you want more than what the last years have offered you. Landscapes and inner cities like in Scunthorpe or Blackpool are rough, drug-contaminated e-cigarette retail malls. But do not tell me that it i somehow my fault, or my bare existence is cutting your slice of the cake in half.
My job could easily be done by a British person. But as I work for a social care charity and know how urgent we need social workers, nurses, carers and other support workers, I also know how many others vacancies remain open, even with EU citizens.
You want EU funding without the checkout bill. You want to know your grandparents are well taken care of, while you are deporting their nurses. You just want to be thrilled about the third Royal Baby, while the government caps the support after the second child.
Dear island, you fell for imbeciles, con artists and Facebook campaigns and now you can’t find workers for the harvest season.
Perhaps your government is trying to create so much drama and chaos that the Brexiteers change their minds.
But I don’t hold my breath for this to happen.
If I had wanted a state with an impossibly complicated immigration policy, I could have had Australia, Canada or Sweden.
I wanted you, but not for your sake and not at all costs.
I like to live and work here. I pay taxes for your ridiculous infrastructure, your NHS, your pension fund.
I accept your shortcomings when it means that I can live with my friends in one of the most exciting places in the world.
But I’m not your flagship academic you can use as a distraction to harass my Polish colleagues. I am not the scapegoat for your corrupted social policy.
I’m not a criminal.
Now I’m off watching Bake Off.