British politics treats migration with a strange asymmetry. Small boats crossing the Channel spark headlines, press conferences, and promises of crackdowns. Yet the departure of high-value individuals — entrepreneurs, doctors, investors, technologists, and non-dom taxpayers — barely registers in national debate.
This imbalance tells us something important: Britain responds emotionally to the migration it can see, and economically ignores the migration it cannot.
The panic over arrivals is driven by visibility. A dinghy landing on a Kent beach is dramatic, photogenic and symbolic. It produces a sense of disorder, even when numbers are low by global standards. The story writes itself: “Britain is losing control.” In contrast, a billionaire or a surgeon leaving through Heathrow generates no viral image, no front-page headline, no political opportunity. Departure is invisible - and politically silent.
The second reason for the imbalance is cultural framing. In Britain, the word migrant is rarely applied to wealthy or highly skilled people leaving the country. They become “expats,” “relocators,” or “global citizens” - not “migrants.” Meanwhile, poorer arrivals with fewer resources are coded as migrants in the political imagination. One group triggers anxiety; the other triggers indifference. This linguistic double standard shapes public emotion far more than economic reality.
And here is the economic reality: the departure of high-value migrants hurts Britain far more than the arrival of low-income newcomers.
The top 1% of earners pay nearly 30% of all income tax.
Non-dom residents have contributed over £12 billion per year to the Treasury.
Many of Britain’s fastest-growing companies were founded or scaled by immigrants.
When these individuals leave - often for Ireland, Dubai, Singapore, or Portugal - Britain loses tax revenue, investment, and skills. The fiscal impact is quiet but enormous. Yet there is no political panic, because the damage is invisible and gradual, not dramatic.
The deeper explanation lies in political incentives. Talking tough on immigration wins votes; talking seriously about retaining wealthy taxpayers does not. Immigration is emotionally charged; emigration is technocratic.
A politician gains by denouncing boats but gains nothing by warning that innovators, investors and job-creators are slipping away. The result is policy driven by emotion, not economics.
Public psychology also plays a role. People respond to immigration as a question of identity, not numbers. They fear cultural change more than economic cost. By contrast, the loss of revenue from wealthy emigrants is abstract - it does not threaten identity, only the Treasury’s balance sheet. Cultural anxiety beats economic rationality every time.
The irony is sharp: the migrants Britain fears often strengthen its economy; the migrants Britain ignores often sustain it. Britain fixates on the visible inflow at Dover but overlooks the quiet outflow from Heathrow.
Until the country learns to distinguish visibility from value, and symbolism from substance, it will continue fearing the wrong migration - and losing the migration that matters most.
