Scottish town embraces immigration to reverse population collapse

Greenock's High Street has been hollowed out for decades, but in May a new shop opened that signals something shifting. Anik African Store sells yams, plantain, okra, and catfish—a corner of Nigeria transplanted to this Scottish coastal town. It is not alone. Another African grocer operates just metres away, both responding to a demographic transformation that would have seemed unthinkable five years ago, when locals say a black face on the street was a rarity. Now hundreds of Africans and refugees have moved to Greenock, and the town's council has made an audacious bet: actively recruit more immigrants to reverse the population collapse that has defined the region for a generation.

Inverclyde, the local authority encompassing Greenock, has been hollowed out like few places in Scotland. Since 1981, the area has lost 22,000 residents. The current population of 78,000 is projected to shrink by another 16 percent over the next two decades. No local authority in Scotland has been hit harder. The council's response is blunt: without an influx of people, the town will continue to die. Christianah Omilana, who owns the African store and arrived in the UK in 2021, sees the logic. "Immigrants will come when there is work," she says. "Scottish people are lovely and accommodating." But work is precisely what Greenock lacks, and that absence is the root of everything that follows.

The town's industrial heritage is now a museum piece. In the 19th century, Greenock earned the nickname "Sugaropolis" as a global refining hub. Thousands of ships were built here over nearly three centuries. IBM once employed more than 5,000 people at a sprawling campus nearby—until the site closed completely in 2016. In just the past four years, another 1,500 jobs have vanished. Amazon, EE, and other companies have relocated. This week alone, the local shipyard announced it was cutting roughly a quarter of its workforce. The football club is fighting financial collapse. The First Minister of Scotland is scheduled to visit this month to witness the crisis firsthand.

Yet the council's repopulation strategy is working, at least on paper. The number of overseas arrivals has trebled to about 750 per year since 2023. Many are African migrants who have come on skilled work visas, drawn by cheap housing and jobs in healthcare—positions in Glasgow hospitals and care facilities that desperately need workers. Others are refugees from Ukraine, Afghanistan, Syria, and Iran. Mo Almalarashid arrived as a Syrian refugee in 2018 speaking no English. He studied hard, found community support, and now works as a gym instructor. "There was always people there for me," he says. The council offers English classes and employment support. Schools have been directed toward anti-racist education. In May's Scottish Parliamentary elections, Reform UK—which campaigns to lower immigration nationally—came a distant third in Inverclyde, about 8,500 votes behind the winning SNP candidate, despite fielding its Scottish leader.

But the strategy contains a fundamental tension. Many of the African migrants work in Glasgow or Paisley and commute in for cheap housing. Asylum seekers, who make up a significant portion of arrivals, are largely forbidden from working while awaiting Home Office decisions. A woman was charged with a hate crime after a June protest outside a hotel housing asylum seekers. A local teenager was sentenced to ten years in prison last year for planning mass murder at the mosque. The Iranian refugees that the local Church of Scotland minister has been supporting are desperate for paid work but cannot find it. "They're wanting to contribute to the community," the minister says. "They want to be independent of receiving financial aid and they're not able to do it."

Walk into the Lyle Gateway Community Cafe near the High Street and you will find dozens of elderly residents playing table tennis over cheap, hearty lunches. They remember a vibrant town. Now the conversation is peppered with words like "depressing" and "empty." One woman, Tiffany, a 29-year-old mother who moved back to Greenock to raise her child, is already considering leaving again. "I'm struggling to find jobs that suit both childcare and myself," she says. "I've considered moving to Paisley because there is so much more to do there." The pensioners are skeptical of the repopulation strategy. "Where would they work?" one asks. "The people in Greenock can't get work, never mind bringing in other people."

Council leader Stephen McCabe, who has led the Labour-controlled authority since 2007, insists the strategy is beginning to take effect. The population has stabilised in the past two years, he says, largely because of immigration. He points to opportunities in maritime, renewables, and defence sectors along the Clyde, though these require significant government support. He acknowledges "an unease" about asylum seekers and believes the area has been allocated a disproportionate share through Home Office dispersal schemes. But migrants and refugees who can work are essential, he argues. "Without those people, our health service would really be struggling."

Other voices in Greenock are questioning whether the council's focus on job creation is even the right strategy. Matthew Quinn, a 19-year-old former member of the Scottish Youth Parliament, points to nearby Gourock, which has thrived by accepting its role as a commuter town. With Glasgow just 40 minutes away and remote work now common, perhaps Greenock should focus on public services and livability rather than chasing local employment. "It's not that people are desperate to leave," he says. "It's that there's no reason to stay." Derek Mitchell, a local entrepreneur, is attempting to convert a former sugar refinery into a hub for science, technology, engineering, arts, and maths education. "If you build a sense of belonging, naturally and organically, people don't want to leave," he says. He and a group of locals have purchased the building and estimate it will need £5 million in investment. "A lot of people are starting to do things for themselves," Mitchell says. "They see there's potential—they're fed up of waiting."

Greenock's embrace of immigration stands out at a moment when much of Britain is anxious about newcomers. The town's depopulation crisis is acute, and its solution is striking. Other communities across Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland will face similar population decline within the next decade. What Greenock is attempting—not as a moral choice but as an economic necessity—may become a template for survival.