The big news in the expatriate community is a recent change to the Citizenship Act under which children born to Canadians abroad are only entitled to citizenship if at least one of the parents was born inside Canada. In other words, Canadian citizenship now only passes for one generation outside the country.

The change has its merits and demerits; I’ve explored some of them on my blog. But whatever the merits of the amendment, you can’t change the definition of Canadian citizenship without changing what it means to be Canadian. Or can you?

I’m a Canadian citizen, though I currently live in the United States. But because I was born overseas, any kids I have during my stay in the States won’t be Canadian citizens. Having kids right now is a purely speculative notion (to my mother’s chagrin), but the idea that my hypothetical kids wouldn’t be Canadian has got me thinking about what being Canadian means.

Living in the United States, I think about being Canadian a lot. Maybe it’s just me; maybe it’s an expatriate thing. Either way, living here has undoubtedly increased my sense of Canadian identity. Part of it is linguistic. (I once had to spell out the word “produce” before a midwestern friend could understand what I wanted at the grocery store.) Part is cultural: for all our self-congratulation, Canada is remarkably racially homogenous (at 86% white) compared to the United States (75%). Part is geographic: we complain about the frost in October, but I tell you in all honesty that I miss it. (Not too much.)

Most of all, Canada is where I come from. It’s part of me in a thousand different ways, some obvious, some not, but all contributing to who I am. I want to pass that on. I want to say to my children: your ancestors lived on the land from time immemorial; your ancestors crossed the seas; your ancestors fought one another, and then made their peace; your ancestors confronted a land that cannot be tamed, and learned to live with it (and off it); your ancestors went to war, time and again, to fight for freedom and justice, not always without honest reservation; your ancestors persecuted one another, felt shame, begged forgiveness, and forgave; your ancestors stood tall, lived honest lives, held out a helping hand, said please and thank you. I want to say to my children: you have the spirit of the north inside of you. I want to say to them: you are Canadian.

Can I say that, if my children aren’t citizens? If they never vote, or expect to vote, or pay tax? If they pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America? Can my kids be Canadian, even if they aren’t Canadian citizens?

Why not? Tying Canadian identity to Canadian citizenship reduces Canada to a mere political entity, to a government. But it’s more than that; it’s a nation, with a national history, a national culture, national past-times, national quirks, national shames and national triumphs. Surely there’s more to being Canadian than having a passport. Surely being Canadian is being a product of all of the experiences of all of the Canadians who have come before.

The recent change to the Citizenship Act seems to have been drafted on the assumption that, for many Canadians living abroad, identity and citizenship are the same. That’s probably true: those who don’t identify as Canadian won’t bemoan the loss of citizenship; those who do will take the steps necessary to pass citizenship along. But I suspect there’s a third group: those who want to pass along Canadian identity without passing along citizenship. If I’m right, tightening the citizenship rules might result, somewhat paradoxically, in the growth of a new sort of Canadian diaspora, connected culturally and emotionally to the motherland even while connected politically and socially to countries around the world.

That’s what I’ve been telling myself, anyway: I’m not Canadian because I’m a citizen, I’m just Canadian, and it follows that my kids don’t have to be citizens to be Canadian as well.

But, for all that, I’d still rather they were.

From this point forward, any person born abroad to Canadian parents will be a Canadian only if their father or mother was born in Canada, or if one or more of their parents became a citizen by immigrating to this country.

The amendment was clearly designed to deny citizenship to those who have no real and meaningful attachment to Canada, and for whom citizenship is simply a bundle of benefits to be claimed at an opportune time.

Well, fair enough. It’s hard to argue against the change. But the amendment has some hidden consequences, and—if you’ll forgive the solipsism—I’m going to explore one of them.

Section 3 of the Citizenship Act designates as citizens those who (inter alia) were born in Canada [subsection (1)(a)], those who immigrate to Canada [subsection 1(c)] , and—currently—those who were “born outside Canada . . . and at the time of his birth one of his parents, other than a parent who adopted him, was a citizen” [subsection 1(b)]. The Amendment affects this last class of citizens. It provides (in pertinent part):

Subsection (1) does not apply to a person born outside Canada (a) if, at the time of his or her birth or adoption, only one of the person’s parents is a citizen and that parent is a citizen under [subsection] (1)(b).

In other words, a person born abroad to a Canadian parent will only be a Canadian citizen if that parent was born in Canada or immigrated to Canada. If the parent is a Canadian citizen merely because his or her parents were citizens, the person is not entitled to Canadian citizenship.

Here’s the thing—or rather, here’s the solipsism: I was born outside Canada (to parents born in Canada), and therefore I am a citizen only by virtue of subsection (1)(b). And, as you know (and as my sidebar indicates), I currently live in the United States—although I am not a legal resident of this country. (I am admitted to work under NAFTA only on condition that I return to Canada at the end of my time-limited employment.) As of tomorrow, if I were to have a child with an American citizen, my child would not be Canadian.

I hear you say: “So what? Mader, we like you and all, but them’s the breaks.” And it’s true. But my situation is different, I think, at least in this respect: I was born abroad, rather than in Canada, because at the time of my birth my father was posted to the Canadian Embassy in Ireland. I am not Irish; from the moment of my birth I was categorically ineligible for Irish citizenship (on the ground of local birth) as the child of a foreign diplomat. (It is an interesting coincidence that tomorrow’s amendment denies citizenship to the children of foreign diplomats in Canada.) I am, and have only ever been Canadian; and I was born abroad only because my father was serving his country. And yet any children born to me during my current temporary sojourn in the United States—temporary by law—would be denied Canadian citizenship.

Tomorrow’s amendment does carve out an exception for the children of parents posted abroad—but the focus of the amendment is on the parents rather than the children. The Amendment states:

Subsection (3) does not apply to a person if one or both of the person’s parents, as provided for in that subsection, were, at the time of the person’s birth or adoption, employed outside Canada in or with the Canadian armed forces, the federal public administration or the public service of a province, otherwise than as a locally engaged person.

In other words, a person born to a foreign service officer, or a soldier, will be entitled to citizenship even if their parent is a citizen only by virtue of “inherited” citizenship—that is, only because the parent’s parent was born in Canada. Put more simply, if I had been posted to New York, any children born to me (and an American citizen) here in the United States would be entitled to citizenship. But because I have pursued other employment opportunities, I and my (still entirely prospective) children are out of luck.

The simple fix would be a further amendment stating that children born to persons “employed outside Canada in or with the Canadian armed forces, the federal public administration or the public service of a province, otherwise than as a locally engaged person” are deemed to be persons born in Canada for purposes of the Citizenship Act. But I suspect we are a rather small constituency, since not all children of Canadian diplomats and military personnel are born abroad. (My brother, for instance, was born in Ottawa between posts.)

I suppose it’s no big thing; ultimately I, like any other citizen born abroad, can choose (to a certain degree) where to have children. But the prospect that my children might not be Canadians, despite the fact that I am only and ever have been a Canadian citizen, inevitably affects my own sense of Canadian identity. I’m sure that’s true of those born abroad to non-diplomats as well. It is no small thing to think that one’s children will not be of the same nationality as one’s self; and will not be Canadian, particularly. I am not a nationalist in the contemporary Canadian sense—I am not a protectionist, and I do not fear the cultural influence of the United States or any other country. But I am a nationalist in the sense that I am proud of my homeland, affectionate of its quirks, and committed to the principles for which it stands. I hope I may pass that along to my children, wherever they are born; but I say again that it is no small thing to think that I may not be able to share that innate connection with my own flesh and blood.

I can’t argue with the general policy that motivates tomorrow’s amendment. But I remain ambivalent about it—not just as it affects me, but as it affects all citizens born abroad. I am Canadian. I’d like to pass that along.