When Concern Turns to Hate

Scrolling through social media before bedtime, I saw it on my feed. “None in, all out” stamped boldly across a photo of asylum seekers in a small boat. Another post from the same page smeared “illegal” immigrants with allegations of paedophilia. This was not from a stranger, but from someone I know and am connected to through family. I replied with a few facts about asylum claims. By morning I had been unfriended.

Racism is not new here, but it has grown bolder, using immigration as a route into everyday conversation. Social media rumours and racially framed fears are fuelling a climate in which violent mobs roam the streets, convinced they have a mandate to target neighbours who look different. That sight should sicken us all, especially in a place that knows how intimidation can cast shadows for decades.

A danger lies in the comfortable belief that because we see ourselves as morally above the problem, we cannot be part of it. In truth, we often are. Dismissing every concern about immigration as racist is easy and can make us feel briefly righteous, but it shuts down conversation and leaves unease to deepen.

Concerns about immigration are not always rooted in prejudice. Sometimes they are about numbers and pace. Immigration has long been minimal here, so even modest change can feel significant.

We notice it in schools and shops, in the park, at the pharmacy, on public transport, and on familiar streets. Some welcome the diversity it brings. Others struggle with the pace of change and the numbers they think are arriving, and fear or resentment can take hold. The changes themselves are not harmful, but they can feel unsettling.

Unease is less likely to harden into hostility when people meet in the ordinary flow of life. A neighbour is harder to resent once you have spoken in the shop, worked alongside them, shared a park bench, or watched your children play together. Playing sport on the same team can break down barriers fast.

Small efforts to connect make a difference. When I lived in North Down, I sometimes saw asylum seekers around the marina, and a simple smile helped. Shared spaces and small exchanges erode fear more than debate because they replace the imagined with the familiar.

The better question is not who has arrived, but how we adapt. Integration is a two-way process. Established residents need to make space for newcomers to belong, while newcomers need to learn and contribute. Hostility makes integration harder. When integration falters, it is too easily taken as proof that immigrants have not tried, which entrenches the very division people claim to fear.

It is possible to talk about immigration without sliding into racism, but it takes discipline. If the concern is housing shortages, focus on housing policy and supply, not where your neighbour was born. If GP waiting times are rising, look to staffing levels and funding, not the nationality of the person ahead of you in the queue.

If there are crime issues, target the individuals and networks responsible, not an entire nationality. When we raise a complaint about someone’s behaviour, there is rarely any need to mention nationality or ethnicity. Doing so shifts the focus from action to identity and invites others to see the whole group as part of the problem.

Even comments that sound like compliments can box people in. Saying “Filipinos are gentle” might seem harmless, but it assumes fixed traits and can be used to justify underpayment or to take advantage.

Listening matters as much as talking. Check whether the information you rely on is the full picture or just the part that supports what you already believe. Remember that fear and frustration can push you towards bad conclusions.

Try, for a moment, to live inside someone else’s day. You are marked out as different, watched by strangers, conscious of eyes that follow you into a shop. You brace for the muttered insult, the cruelty that can come without warning, and even your home may not feel safe. Hypervigilance becomes a second job, one that drains the ease from ordinary life and replaces it with constant anxiety and the sense that it is better to move unseen. No one should have to live like that.

Most of us like to think we would step in if we saw prejudice, but in reality, these moments crop up more often than we admit. A racially prejudiced joke, message, or comment can pass without challenge. For those willing to speak, there can be a sense of pointlessness or foreboding that deters action.

Silence is taken as permission to go further. Online, most people just read the comments without responding. When no one speaks up, prejudice stands unopposed and becomes normalised.

Racism is never acceptable. There is no “but” after that sentence. If we want credibility in challenging it, we need to decide when to listen to genuine concerns and when to speak out. Failure to do both feeds the ugliness of racism, and that should always be resisted.

The hardest question is not what we think about immigration, but whether we can grapple with what is driving those thoughts. Does the aura of moral superiority some adopt in debate stop people from voicing fears that could be eased? Is ranting about the problem without offering solutions an act of self-indulgence?

Real change comes from action where it matters, not from the comfort of feeling right. The ugliness we scroll past at night has consequences for real people in the daylight.