The concept of citizenship is undoubtedly a topic of debate that leaves very few indifferent. The importance of identifying with a nationality is a right for everyone. For some, identifying with a nation is taken for granted, while for others, it is complex. Humans, as social beings, find value in perceiving themselves as part of a group and a community, where they feel connected through customs, traditions, language, and culture. This sense of community and belonging is not only satisfied by individual feelings, through which a person may feel more or less aligned with a social group, but also by external confirmations—whether they come from other members of this group, expressed through acceptance and mutual recognition as similar beings, or from institutions that formalize it by granting citizenship.
In the modern world, having one citizenship rather than another represents a status. Think of all the opportunities we are offered based on our nationality, from simple travel to foreign countries, to job opportunities, to the ability to vote and contribute as an active voice in decision-making debates that affect our lives.
The way nationality is granted is a subject of debate in various countries around the world: is it fairer to acquire it by blood or by geography at birth? What truly ties us to a country? What makes us citizens? These are certainly complex questions that different scholars try to answer. But in this context of major ideological questions, we are talking about real stories—stories of authentic lives that are as important and unique as they are reflective of complex and not always fair systems. Considering tangible examples of real lives is the goal of this article.
Alice and Valeria, daughters of the co-founder and creator of KISEDET, were born and raised in Tanzania by Italian parents and have spent their entire lives in the East African country. Despite this, the two young women are not recognized as Tanzanian citizens because, in Tanzania, as in many countries around the world, dual citizenship does not exist. To remain in the country where they were born and raised, they must renew their visa every two years. Currently, they hold student visas, but if they wanted to work, they would face a significant issue: obtaining a work and residence permit, which in Tanzania has a high cost of $1,550. This means that even if they find a job that does not pay much (as young people usually do at the start of their carreers), they would hardly earn enough to cover this expense every two years. Their connection to Tanzania is deep and authentic, yet bureaucratic rules impose barriers that make it difficult to live and work peacefully in their own country of origin.
Even though Swahili is their native language and they have never lived in any other country, the two young women are constantly questioned with inquiries from both Italians and Tanzanians, such as: “But do you prefer Italy or Tanzania?” (to which they could easily reply with a blunt “I don’t know, I’ve never lived in Italy”), or “But how do you find living there?”—as if this “there” referred to a land alien and foreign to them, as if it were unimaginable to conceive of a girl of European descent being born and raised in an African country, speaking Swahili as her first language, and knowing Tanzania, her land, like the back of her hand.
Tanzanians are often shocked that the girls speak Swahili with an accent identical to theirs: “How do you speak Swahili so well?” To this question, they respond that, if anything, the real surprise should be if they didn’t know any Swahili at all.
Perhaps these questions stem more from prejudice and the desire to confirm the preconception that a person with dark skin cannot feel or be European, while someone with light skin certainly cannot be African. Skin color should not determine nationality, and while the predominant features of a people remain, in most cases, a visible reality, it is important not to categorize. The constant questioning of one’s identity is not easy and can often be unsettling. Unfortunately, this is a reality for many individuals around the world, and these persistent questions, which may seem harmless, often become a source of distress. Children and young people all over the world find themselves questioning their national identity, which does not always coherently reflect their sense of belonging.
When we let ourselves be guided by prejudices and stereotypes, where physical appearance always and automatically indicates nationality, we forget that the world continues to change and evolve, and individuals are not necessarily definable within a strict framework of national appearances. Truly “living” a nation, respecting its customs and traditions, creates a genuine and undeniable relationship with a country.
The lack of recognition of national identity, when it reflects an individual and authentic experience, is an institutional gap. In these cases, it is up to our sensitivity and our due consideration for others to integrate and include with greater intention those who are excluded from the system due to bureaucratic reasons.
It is in everyone’s interest to live in a society where integration and mutual respect, even in diversity, exist in order to develop tolerant communities that are oriented toward respect for others.