As an EU migrant, the Brexit vote changed everything for me

For right up until then, I had not believed it would happen (2016 was not a year of solid predictions on my part, as I never believed Donald Trump would be elected US President either, but there we go).

Only a week or so before, I had a bit of a fierce head to head, arguing with a UK national I met who supported Leave. He said that it would happen, that it would be better for the UK, and that then Chancellor of the Exchequer George Osborne was fear-mongering when in May 2016 he cited HM Treasury analysis on the immediate economic impact of leaving the EU which claimed that if Britain left the EU, the economy would shrink, the value of the pound fall, inflation would rise, real wages and house prices would be hit, and more.

And while I, obviously, have to admit the UK national I spoke to was right in his first prediction, I have to also admit that thinking about him and his claims that nothing would change for the worse, I have sometimes felt a twinge of Schadenfreude – “oh, how wrong you were! Look at it all now.”

I feel the same when I see polls like the ones published by YouGov, which the body says detail “the highest levels of Bregret among Leave voters to date”: 62% of Britons described Brexit as “more of a failure”, and only 9% considering it “more of a success”; 56% say Brexit was the wrong choice, versus 31% saying it was right to vote leave.

That smugness never lasts long, however. Because for me, as an EU migrant, Brexit changed everything. On top of the same worries many will feel due to the economic impact of the decision – paired with the aftershock of other events such as the pandemic, the war in Ukraine, and the cost of living crisis – it turned my relationship with the place I called home upside down.

For as long as I can remember I always wanted out. Out of my hometown, out of my comfort zone, out of Germany.

I don’t know whether it was teenage lust to see the world or maybe a form of youthful rebellion. Or maybe it was because my family in itself is a patchwork made possible through globalisation and international ties – my mum, an American, came to Germany with the army where she met my father and settled.

Mulling it over, my sights soon set on Scotland. I had already spent a year going to school in the Scottish Highlands and, growing up bilingual, I took comfort in the knowledge that the ‘culture shock’ a move to a new country would bring, would at least not be paired with a language barrier.

When I arrived, I was a teen who had left school early with hardly any qualifications but lots of dreams, with one suitcase and barely more than a few hundred quid to my name.

What I didn’t know was that the one year would become ten and counting. That I would spend my formative years here. That this place would be what I now call home. That I’d build strong friendships, change my habits; milk in my tea, vinegar on my chips – the second being a thought that has made many of my German friends shudder.

That I would be building roots and a future here; find love, invest in advancing my career. That I would find myself not aligned to one national identity, but something far more complex. I don’t know what I am; ask me, and I’ll say German, but that’s not exactly how I feel (my partner recently asked me who I would cheer for if Scotland qualify for the Euros next year and were to play Germany and I have, thus far, been unable to answer that question with certainty).

Neither did I know that I would be facing an emotional turmoil about my future in this country. I felt at odds. Not at home in the place of my birth, after so much time apart. Not belonging or welcomed to the place I now called home.

Then there came existential fear. Like so many others during this time of uncertainty while rights were debated and policies, like the EU settlement scheme discussed, I felt worried and anxious about my future. Assurances that we will be fine, were paired with stories where people clearly weren’t; “hostile” attitudes at border controls, people detained at borders, people waiting months for visas.

Seven years on, my fears are different. Less about whether I will be able to stay – I now have “settled” status and I again feel I belong and that Scotland is my home – and more about what my future in this country I call home will be like.

The rising inflation, soaring mortgage rates, the workers shortage affecting so many businesses, the continuing toxic anti-refugee sentiment are all things I worry about.

Of course, to attribute all wrongs to Brexit would not be fair nor realistic. The pandemic, as well as the war in Ukraine surely fuelled what Brexit had started.

But that the decision to leave the EU and the resulting policies like the points-based immigration system have contributed to some of the economic impacts we see today, as well as things such as labour shortages in many sectors – including the hospitality and tourism industry, as well as the NHS – is undeniable.

Mostly because such a return, for now anyway, seems unlikely. Sunak and the Conservatives continue to paint Brexit as a success despite evidence for the contrary. Keir Starmer recently asserted that “Britain’s future is outside the EU.”

Would independence and a return to the EU then be the answer? First Minister Humza Yousaf has said on Twitter that “the only way to reverse the damage and restore the benefits is for an independent Scotland to rejoin the EU”. Maybe that is the case, but it isn’t the only way to reverse the problems we face currently – at least not in the short term. Because it is undeniable: we have a lot to grapple with right now.

That needs action ahead of any such plans, because one thing is certain: Brexit changed the UK and those that live in it, and its effects are something we’ll need to deal with for years to come.