The UK is facing a pivotal moment in its approach to immigration. Recent political rhetoric, including a headline-grabbing speech by Prime Minister Keir Starmer, has struck a tough tone on migration, one that critics say echoes the far right. As politicians compete to sound “tough” on immigration, there’s a hidden cost often overlooked: the damage this does to our charities, our care sector, and the very fabric of compassion in our society. In this article, we explore how anti-immigration politics is reverberating through the health and social care system and hampering charities that support migrants and refugees. It’s a call to recognise the essential contributions of immigrants and to champion a more compassionate, realistic narrative on immigration – one that supports both frontline services and the third sector.
A divisive climate: politics, rhetoric, and Starmer’s “Island of Strangers”
When Keir Starmer warned that Britain could become an “island of strangers” unless immigration was curbed, he likely intended to reassure a wary public. Instead, his May 2025 speech sparked outrage and alarm. Even members of his own Labour party and civil society leaders drew parallels to Enoch Powell’s infamous 1968 “rivers of blood” speech. Powell had ominously warned of a future where white Britons “found themselves made strangers in their own country”, a phrase Starmer’s language uncannily mirrored. For many, this was beyond the pale. One MP, Zarah Sultana, blasted Starmer for “imitating” Powell’s rhetoric, calling it “a disgrace” that fuels racism and puts migrant lives at risk.
Starmer has defended himself by insisting he “would never denigrate” migrants’ contributions. Yet in almost the same breath, he doubled down on a hardline stance, vowing to “take back control” of borders and impose language tests on newcomers. The political calculus is clear: with a general election looming, Labour is desperate to win over voters concerned about immigration, even if it means adopting slogans and policies that flirt with the rhetoric of the populist right. As observers noted, Starmer’s plans (such as raising English-language requirements and tightening visas) seem aimed at neutralising the rise of anti-immigration parties like Reform UK.
However, this “tough on immigration” posturing comes at a price. It shifts the Overton window – normalising harsher language and attitudes toward immigrants across society. What starts at the podium does not stay at the podium; it trickles down to communities, workplaces, and yes, even to our charities and care institutions. The current climate of hostile politics, amplified by media headlines, risks undoing years of progress in building inclusive communities. Over 100 refugee organisations recently felt compelled to sign an open letter urging an end to “hostile politics, racist rhetoric and demonising language” and calling for unity instead. They know that words have power: when leaders stoke division, vulnerable people on the ground pay the price.
Immigrants: the unsung heroes of health and social care
Behind the charged political debate, one truth remains undeniable – immigrants are indispensable to Britain’s health and social care sectors. Far from straining public services, migrant workers have long been propping them up. Consider the National Health Service: as of late 2023, one in every five NHS staff in England is a non-UK national. That’s a record 20.4% of the 1.28 million NHS workforce, the highest share since records began, and a dramatic rise from about 13% in 2016. These aren’t just ancillary roles either. Today, over 30% of NHS nurses and more than a third of doctors in England are foreign nationals. In some specialties and hospital trusts, the NHS would simply not function without overseas recruits. As one NHS Employers chief put it, without its international workforce the health service “could have very easily buckled” under the pressures of recent years.
In the care home down your street or the hospital ward you rely on, chances are an immigrant professional is keeping it running. Frontline care has quietly become a global effort: half of all hospital doctors trained abroad, and thousands of nurses are arriving each year from countries like India, Nigeria, and the Philippines. This isn’t anecdotal – it’s backed by hard data:
- NHS England: Nearly 265,000 NHS staff report a non-British nationality (19% of the workforce) as of mid-2023. They come from over 200 countries, underscoring how international our “National” Health Service truly is.
- Doctors and nurses: About 36% of doctors and 30% of nurses are non-UK nationals, a proportion that has surged in the past five years. In 2022, half of all new secondary-care doctors in England had received their medical qualifications overseas.
- Social care: The adult social care sector, including care homes and home-care services, has seen a flood of overseas recruitment to plug chronic staff shortages. In the year ending March 2023, about 70,000 care workers were recruited from abroad – a lifeline after the sector lost tens of thousands of staff the year before. Thanks to immigration rules being relaxed for care roles, 57% of all UK health and care work visas in 2022-23 went to social care staff, addressing severe vacancy rates.
This reliance on immigrant labour is not a failing, it’s a saving grace. Britain’s population is aging, and demand for care is rising. We do not currently train or recruit enough British-born doctors, nurses, and carers to meet the need. Migrant workers have filled the gap, often taking on difficult jobs that struggle to attract domestic applicants (due to low pay, tough conditions, or remote locations). The chief of Skills for Care, Oonagh Smyth, noted that international recruits were key to stabilising the care workforce, helping vacancies to dip slightly from record highs. As Unison’s general secretary bluntly put it, migrant carers are “propping up the broken system” of social care.
It is painfully ironic, then, that political leaders demonise the very people who keep our loved ones safe and our NHS alive. When migrants are cast as a “burden” on services, we should remember that they are also the hands and hearts delivering those services. Every time an anti-immigrant slogan goes unchallenged, morale in these vital sectors sinks a little lower. How must it feel for a Filipino nurse or a Nigerian care worker, hailed as a hero during the pandemic, to now hear politicians imply that people like them don’t belong? This rhetoric isn’t just cruel; it’s wildly out of touch with reality on the ground.
Danny Mortimer of NHS Employers warns that the NHS’s heavy reliance on international staff means we must value and retain them, not alienate them. Yet alienation is exactly what hostile politics achieves. Health and care workers from abroad may start to feel unwelcome, some may leave, and recruitment from overseas could slow if the UK is perceived as increasingly unfriendly. In short, an anti-immigration climate directly threatens the stability of our hospitals and care homes. What good is political point-scoring if it starves our NHS of the talent it desperately needs?
Rhetoric’s ripple effect: from public sentiment to plummeting donations
Anti-immigration rhetoric doesn’t just stay confined to Westminster social media feeds or party conferences, it seeps into public consciousness. When leaders lean into populist talking points, painting migrants as invaders, drains, or criminals, it shifts public sentiment in a harsher direction. That has real consequences for charities on the front lines of supporting refugees and migrants.
We have already seen how dangerous words can become. The “them-and-us” narrative around asylum seekers has fuelled tensions in communities, at times flaring into violence. Last year, fuelled mobs attacked hotels housing asylum seekers, even attempting arson in scenes disturbingly reminiscent of past dark chapters. Refugee charities directly link these attacks to the drumbeat of hostile rhetoric: when asylum seekers are relentlessly described as a threat, some people sadly will take that literally and act out. Enver Solomon, chief executive of the Refugee Council, has warned that “angry talk of invasion, stopping the boats and labelling everyone as ‘illegal’” has “raised the temperature” and stripped refugees of their humanity. In other words, dehumanising language from the top trickles down, making the public less empathetic to the plight of refugees.
This empathy gap affects more than attitudes, it hits charitable giving. The UK public is among the most generous in the world, but their willingness to give is shaped by who they feel is “deserving” of help. Sadly, migrants and asylum seekers are increasingly cast outside that circle of sympathy. Research has shown that people become significantly less willing to donate to a charity if its beneficiaries are described as immigrants. When the beneficiaries are undocumented immigrants or asylum seekers (those explicitly targeted by negative rhetoric), the drop in willingness is even more pronounced. In short, anti-immigrant rhetoric poisons the well of public goodwill. It makes it easier for potential donors to look away, or to prioritise other causes that feel “safer” or more politically neutral.
We can see this effect in action. A few years ago, the Royal National Lifeboat Institution (RNLI), a respected British charity, faced a storm of criticism simply for saving drowning migrants in the Channel. Attacked by a prominent pundit as a “migrant taxi service”, the RNLI thankfully also saw an outpouring of support from right-thinking Britons, with donations spiking 3,000% in solidarity. But not every charity’s controversy ends with a fairy-tale fundraising bump. For many organisations aiding refugees and migrants, the overall trend is a chilling effect on donations. Frontline workers quietly report that it’s getting harder to raise funds for refugee support projects in today’s climate, the compassion fatigue compounded by hostile narratives.
Look at the British Red Cross, the largest provider of support for refugees and asylum seekers in the UK. This year it revealed it had to dip into its emergency disaster fund for £220,000 just to buy clothes for destitute asylum seekers in Britain. That is an unprecedented step, essentially reallocating money meant for earthquakes and floods to cope with a humanitarian need on our own shores. Why was this necessary? One reason is that the normal sources of funding and donations for these migrants’ basic needs have proven insufficient in the face of growing demand. Thousands of asylum seekers arrived here with almost nothing, some even wearing only scabies-infested clothes on their backs. The public purse and traditional charity funding pots haven’t kept up. We should ask: would this gap be so dire if public sentiment was more supportive? The Red Cross’s situation hints at a sector under strain, a strain made worse when anti-migrant attitudes deter potential donors from giving to “those people”.
Another worrying trend is that charities helping refugees are being pulled into political crossfire, affecting their reputation among segments of the public. When ministers refer to lawyers and charities who defend refugee rights as “activist lefties” or imply they are subverting the law, it plants seeds of doubt. All of a sudden, a regular donor might wonder: “Is my money helping a genuine cause, or abetting something ‘illegal’?” This is deeply unfair – humanitarian aid is not political activism – but it’s a perception risk that charities must combat. Refugee support organisations have reported an uptick in abusive messages and suspicion, mirroring the hostile rhetoric swirling in politics.
To be clear, Britain is not a cold-hearted nation. We’ve seen tremendous generosity when the narrative appeals to our better angels. The public opened their homes to Ukrainian refugees in 2022, welcoming over a hundred thousand Ukrainians with empathy and solidarity (a response markedly different from how other refugee groups are sometimes received). That outpouring was no accident; it came on the back of leaders and media describing Ukrainians as innocent war victims deserving of help. Narrative matters. When refugees are humanised, portrayed with compassion, Britons respond with compassion. But when the story is one of “illegal migrants”, “swarms” or “strangers”, the public’s purse strings tighten, and even their hearts harden. Charities find themselves struggling to tell the human stories of refugees against a deafening chorus of dehumanisation.
Funding and reputational risks for the charity sector
For charities, especially those working with migrants, refugees, and other politically targeted groups, the current climate poses a double threat: financial strain and reputational risk. These two are interlinked and stem directly from the hostile narrative around immigration.
First, the funding challenge. Many charities rely on a mix of public donations, grants, and government support to run their programs. When public sentiment turns against migrants, charities aiding those groups can experience a drop in donations or find it harder to attract new donors. It’s not just individuals; corporate donors and grant-makers may shy away too, fearing controversy. A foundation might quietly decide now isn’t the time to launch that refugee integration project, given the charged politics. Even government contracts or local authority funding for migrant support services can become political footballs. We’ve seen aid budgets slashed and refugee resettlement schemes underfunded as the “hostile environment” policy prioritises deterrence over integration.
Studies of philanthropy reveal a stark truth: immigrant and refugee causes are chronically underfunded relative to need, often because they’re seen as politically sensitive. In the U.S., one analysis found that while foundation giving quadrupled in a decade, grants to immigrant and refugee groups actually dropped by 11%. The UK is not immune to this pattern. The more divisive the debate around immigration becomes, the easier it is for funders to allocate money elsewhere, where their charity won’t be dragged into a culture war. This leaves frontline organisations scrambling to do more with less. It is a quiet crisis in the charity sector: the needs of refugees and asylum seekers are rising (with record numbers displaced globally and domestically), yet funding is not keeping pace. Charities like Refugee Action, Refugee Council, and local asylum seeker support groups are stretched thin, precisely at the moment their work is most critical.
Secondly, reputational risk. Charities treasure their reputations for trust and impartial compassion. But hostile politics can tarnish those reputations by association. If a politician or pundit lambastes “migrant-helping charities” as naive or unpatriotic, it can sow doubt among the public. We saw this when RNLI was attacked for rescuing drowning migrants, suddenly a venerable rescue charity was forced to justify its humanitarian mission in the face of ugly insinuations. Likewise, refugee charities have been indirectly accused of “encouraging” illegal migration simply by providing food, shelter or legal aid to people in need. This rhetoric creates a chilling effect. Charity staff and volunteers may face increased harassment. Boards grow anxious about being seen as “too political”. In extreme cases, charities might self-censor their advocacy, toning down campaigns for fear of backlash that could scare off donors or prompt regulatory scrutiny under lobbying rules.
Even the Charity Commission has weighed in, albeit diplomatically. Orlando Fraser KC, the Commission’s chair, urged charities to model a kinder public discourse and avoid “inflammatory rhetoric” when campaigning on refugee issues. Reading between the lines, it’s a warning that the sector mustn’t get dragged into the mud-slinging, because if public trust in charities falters, everyone loses. Fraser affirmed charities’ right to speak up for their causes, but cautioned that aggressive exchanges could “undermine public trust in the sector”. This reflects a real concern: heated debates could erode the general goodwill that charities depend on.
For organisations working with politically scapegoated groups (be it refugees, homeless migrants, or other minorities), the current environment demands walking a tightrope. They must raise their voice to defend those they help, yet not be drowned out by noise or painted as “the opposition” by cynical actors. It’s not an easy balance. But many in the charity sector are rising to this challenge with courage and clarity. Over 130 refugee and human rights groups recently joined forces to condemn the toxic language in politics and articulate a better vision. This solidarity is crucial, it shows that charities refuse to be intimidated into silence, and that they stand firmly on the values of compassion and dignity.
At the same time, charities are doubling down on transparency and education to maintain public trust. They’re sharing more stories of the individuals they assist, humanising refugees through blogs, videos, community events, to counteract the faceless stereotypes peddled by some politicians. They are engaging supporters in conversations about why this work matters for all of us, emphasising solutions and shared humanity. The sector is sector-aware, learning that it must defend not only its beneficiaries but its own role in society. After all, a charity that helps refugees today may find another vulnerable group in the firing line tomorrow, whether that’s LGBTQ+ youth, the homeless, or any other marginalised community. Standing against divisive rhetoric is part of the mandate.
Compassion and common sense: a better narrative on immigration
It doesn’t have to be this way. Britain can chart a more compassionate and realistic course on immigration, one that values human lives and pragmatically addresses our needs. We at Fundin believe it’s time to reclaim the narrative, to reject false dichotomies, and to recognise that supporting immigrants goes hand in hand with supporting our society’s well-being.
What might this better narrative sound like? Firstly, it starts with honesty about our dependence on immigrants in key sectors. Rather than blaming migrants for straining public services, our leaders should acknowledge that without migrants many of those services would collapse. The next time a politician points to the “strain on the NHS” from immigration, journalists should ask them how they plan to staff the NHS without international doctors and nurses, given the 110,000+ vacancies currently open in health and social care. A realistic debate would focus on training more local workers and treating overseas staff as the valued colleagues they are, not as a problem to be solved.
Secondly, a better narrative puts human stories front and centre. Instead of “asylum seekers” as a faceless mass, we talk about families, children, engineers, caregivers seeking safety. We remember that nearly three-quarters of those who seek asylum in the UK ultimately get recognised as genuine refugees or are allowed to stay once their cases are fully heard (when appeals are accounted for). They are people fleeing war, persecution and hardship, not so different from the Ukrainians we welcomed, or even from previous generations of Europeans who found refuge in Britain. Humanising language, “people seeking safety” rather than “illegals”, can go a long way in changing the tone.
Charities have a role to play here, by continuing to share success stories: the refugee who became a nurse and saved British lives, the asylum seeker’s child who topped her class, the community that was revitalised by new neighbours opening businesses. These narratives remind us that immigration, when managed with compassion and fairness, enriches our communities and shores up our economy. They counter the fear with facts and empathy.
Thirdly, leaders must stop using migrants as scapegoats for systemic problems. It’s easy to blame lack of housing or struggling hospitals on “too many immigrants,” but that’s a dangerous cop-out. The truth is, our housing crisis and NHS crisis will not be fixed by slashing migrant numbers, in fact, draconian cuts could make things worse by shrinking the workforce in construction, healthcare, and social care. A more constructive approach is to invest in infrastructure and public services while creating an immigration system that is orderly and humane. Yes, we can discuss reasonable immigration controls and integration policies, but without demonising those who come here. As Refugee Council’s Enver Solomon urged, we need the language of “compassion and humanity” from all politicians. Tough problems like asylum backlogs can be addressed with efficiency and justice, speeding up processing, creating safe routes, rather than with rhetoric that “raises the temperature” and solves nothing.
For the charity sector, advocating this compassionate narrative isn’t just altruism, it’s self-preservation too. Our frontline services and third sector organisations thrive when society is cohesive and empathetic. When communities see the value in helping the vulnerable, charities find it easier to fundraise and mobilise volunteers. In contrast, when fear and distrust prevail, charities face uphill battles on every front. We must not allow the loudest voices in politics to drown out the better instincts of the British public. And those better instincts are still there, we saw it in the huge surge of donations to the RNLI when their lifesaving work was questioned, and in the multi-faith, multicultural networks that sprung up to welcome refugees across the UK. There is a deep well of generosity in our society. The task now is to ensure it isn’t poisoned by cynical political narratives.
Moving forward together
In conclusion, the impact of anti-immigration politics on charities and care is a warning sign we cannot afford to ignore. The political climate may feel hostile now, but climates do change, especially when people of goodwill work to change them. It falls to all of us, charity professionals, donors, policymakers, and socially conscious citizens, to push back against divisive rhetoric. We must champion facts over fear: immigrants are our colleagues, neighbours, and friends, integral to our health service and our communities. We must defend the charity sector’s role in upholding human dignity, whether it’s rescuing people at sea or helping refugees rebuild their lives.
Most importantly, we should demand better from our leaders. As that open letter from 130+ refugee groups declared, “Now is not the time to play into the hands of those seeking to build them-and-us division… It is the time to move away from the hostile politics… and unite our communities for a different way forward”. A different way forward is possible, one where immigration is discussed with level-headed compassion, where policies are firm but fair, and where charities are celebrated rather than vilified for extending a helping hand.
At Fundin, we are passionate about this values-led approach. We stand with those calling for a kinder, more realistic narrative on immigration, one that reflects Britain’s true character. Such a narrative would acknowledge our reliance on immigrant carers and nurses, reinforce public support for inclusive charities, and ultimately build the cohesive society we all want to live in. It’s time to turn the page on fear and write a new chapter, one of empathy, solidarity, and shared success. The health of our communities, our charities, and indeed our national soul, may depend on it.
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