If you don't want to seem like a mean-spirited knob it is hard to have a conversation about immigration where you say anything other than la-la-la more the merrier, c'mon over, the welcome mat's out babes because you start sounding like a racist or a Brexiter or that toff in the Titanic lifeboat who pokes drowning people back into the icy water with your oar.
Maybe the reason there is an awkward who-just-farted aspect to talking about immigration, is because much as we'd rather not admit it, we all know getting born in New Zealand was just a spin of the genetic lottery wheel. It could just as well have been welcome to Aleppo. Acknowledging the randomness of life means risking falling down the rabbithole of existential angst: why does anything happen at all? What's the point Bertie? Also, most of us are immigrants of one sort or another so it seems a bit daggy to pull the ladder up behind us. My family moved here when I was eight.
The upshot of this is we end up with an all-or-nothing narrative around immigration in which there seem to be only two positions. Either dirty foreigners are to blame for our housing crisis, traffic crisis, education crisis and any other problem you'd like to name including the extinction of the dotterel. Oh, also, the crisis of needing a PhD if you have any hope of getting a job where you don't have to smile and say "enjoy". The other option: immigrants are our saviours and are bring only wealth and skills and good dumplings. You can now get samosas at the dairy in Opononi!
I find myself feeling a bit squiffy in either camp. Maybe immigrants are neither the scourge or the solution. Not such a sexy idea, I know.
But it is hard to ignore the glaring fact that we have been through a decades-long grand immigration experiment. Our economy seems to function largely through the import of people. This notion, that immigration is a valid instrument of growth, seems to have become so accepted that it doesn't even get questioned much.