Month: February 2016

Dear Katie Hopkins,

I came across your article in my English lesson about migrants and I was appalled by your complete lack of care towards human life. Indeed, your attitude is almost un-human. If this is the example you’re setting to the younger generation of Britain, we are closer to the Apocalypse and getting further away from where the rest of us would like to be heading  – utopia.

“No, I don’t care, show me pictures of coffins, show me bodies floating in water, play violins and show me skinny people looking sad”. This sentence alone shows me how ignorant you are. You’re saying if you saw a young child’s lifeless body floating in the ocean you would feel no sympathy? Last time I checked that’s the mindset of  a psychopath. Is it the media’s agenda to make refugees look like vile criminals? This is so far from the truth. They actually contribute to the British economy immensely:  20 billion pounds to be exact. They don’t just sit around claiming benefits, they do the jobs that most British people wouldn’t dream of doing and their wages are less than the average British worker. This sounds like a form of modern day slavery – the workers can’t complain for fear of losing their jobs and  livelihood. The 170,000 migrants who came last year and  spread  like norovirus probably contributed more than you, which makes you a liability. Were the 492 migrants from Jamaica in June 22 1948 a norovirus? No they weren’t, because they helped build the foundation of the land we live on today. Isn’t that what’s happening in modern day Britain? Migrants are helping to build the very foundation we stand on.

The Western world has killed billions to create the ground we live on today, but you want to complain about only 170,000. It’s ironic how the Australians don’t give entry to thousands of migrants, but turfed the Aborigines from their homeland in 1788. Has history not taught them a lesson, or are they just ignorant? History is meant to be there so we as humans can better ourselves and  not commit the same atrocities. Thousands of years of colonisation has upset the natural order of the world, yet you look upon what you call a virus as if you didn’t know where it stemmed from. Fear not, Miss Katie Hopkins, you only need to look in the mirror to understand.

You can’t deny the wonders of migration and what it has brought to Britain.The nation’s favourite dish  is curry, and this would have never been possible without people from India migrating to England and sharing their culture. Most British people are proud to live in such a diverse environment with different cultures. Technology wouldn’t even be as  advanced if people didn’t migrate and share their ideas. You regard  immigration as a bad thing because you are too ignorant or maybe just too careless to look at the positives. You try to indoctrinate people through hate and that’s bad because instead of taking one step forward you’re taking two steps back. So next time think before you inflict this dangerous hate upon the British public.

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It was pitch black: the night blinded my eyes like a void. I had to rely on my senses to guide my way through the dense darkness, but they were rendered useless against the forces of mother nature; the only thing that I was certain of was that I had to get there to change my life for the better.

That said, it would take nine days of non stop walking from Honduras to the American border, although in actual fact it felt like an eternity. My feet were starting to develop blisters, and every step felt like I was walking on needles. Hungry animals were quarrelling and barking at the middle of the night. I had to stay vigilant just in case they tried to attack: in this desert it was survival of the fittest and you had to have knowledge of the land. I had none of those traits. The cyote smuggler, who my mum paid $300 to take me across the border, left me for dead in a decrepit tent where the smell of old firewood permeated everything and I had to share my temporary home with  insects who didn’t seem happy that I’d entered their personal space. That’s when I heard the sound of an engine: it sounded like a cat trying to roar like a lion, and that’s when my worst fears came into reality. My heart began to sink. My breathing started to become more dense – I started to uncontrollably sweat, and overwhelmed with fear, anger and sadness, I began to cry. I cried so much that my tears would have probably overflowed an ocean, but at that moment when I thought all was lost I began to remember stories of America my mum had told me. Stories of clean water, and children who didn’t have to beg on the street so they could get a few pesos to find a decent meal, and who didn’t live in fear of being swept out of existence by traffickers. America was the land where dreams came true and this gave me hope. It led me to the point that I was now at, walking through the cold desert only using my sheer willpower to inch my legs forward.  My body didn’t agree. I passed out from dehydration and lack of food.

I started to regain consciousness. To my horror, it was morning.  The sun’s scorching heat was beating down on my face, slowly burning the left side. I tried to turn my cheek, but it felt like it was being grated on sand paper.  No matter how hard the pain was I had to carry on, I had to. But deep down I knew it was impossible, because my body was consumed with fatigue and hunger. There was a shrill squawk – a family of vultures circled my body. They could sense  death closing in. Then one of the vultures landed in front of me and stared  into my eyes. The hairs on the back of my neck jumped up. It was like the bird was staring into my soul;  it was  fight or flight, and I could do neither. It would take a miracle to get me out of this situation.