Same old story of anti-immigration fear plays out with new faces

If we can’t look at those arriving and see a reflection of who we were — frightened, hopeful, desperate for a new start — then we’ve learned nothing

Growing up during the Troubles, you learned the sound of danger early, the whine of a British Saracen on patrol, the thud of boots, the crashing of glass bottles, the way the streets could break out in riots in seconds, writes Jane Buckley. File Picture: PA

I grew up during the Troubles in the North, in a place where fear was part of everyday life. You learned the sound of danger early, the whine of a British Saracen on patrol, the thud of boots, the crashing of glass bottles, the way the streets could break out in riots in seconds. I remember the smell of petrol bombs and fires, the nights you couldn’t sleep for house raids. That was normal. Our normal.

When I left Derry in the early 1980s for London, I thought I was leaving all that behind. But the first weekend I arrived, the Brixton riots broke out in Stoke Newington. I stood on a street corner watching smoke balloon out of shop windows, people running, shouting, police sirens.