The Northern Irish identity is tricky. My mum’s passport says British, but her accent says decidedly not, and yet over her dead body will you find a “tricolour” in our house (referring to the Irish flag). As of a couple weeks ago, however, my mum’s citizenship says, “United States of America.” Set against the backdrop of an election season, this recalls the question: What does citizenship and engagement imply? When I spoke with my mum about what it feels like to pledge allegiance to the stars and stripes instead of the Queen, she reminded me that just like material objects, the places we doggedly pin our identities to hold a kind of fragility as well.  

So, take some wisdom, from a Northern-Irish expat turned American (or is she?), as my mum shares her experiences and what it means to belong anywhere.  

Question and Answer 

What has it been like the past 20 years “looking in” on the US? 

“There was this sense [that] I was stateless. …With not living [in Northern Ireland], I’m so far removed, that I was never moved to organize to vote there because I live [in the US].  

When I first came [to America] I remember [thinking] ‘With this massive land area, it’s amazing that it all functions. …I think people are grappling with identity, and they’re seeking to define themselves with these subjective moral standards, and of course the compass depends on who’s holding it.” 

How has becoming a citizen impacted the way you view your Northern Irish identity? 

“I don’t know that it’s necessarily done anything to impact my Northern Irish identity, because I still talk like I’m from there, I don’t sound like a native speaker. [Becoming a citizen] more consolidated a sense of belonging in this country, I moved from [a] position of observer to participant. It empowered me but… I’m still Northern Irish, because the first 18 formative years of my life were spent there and my family is still there, but I don’t participate in that government. I’m not an active agent there. So honestly, I think [citizenship and identity] are two separate things.”  

Do you consider yourself an American now? 

“I’m American by citizenship, but still culturally Northern Irish. … Having lived through a civil war in Northern Ireland, that’s not what I think of when I think of home. I think of sheep and hills and getting on the bus to Belfast. I think of family and cousins. The first place my mind goes to is not roadblocks and snipers on rooftops [or] armored vehicles. Places get imprinted on us. And it’s like if we leave, or if we relinquish our identity, it’s like we relinquish a part of ourselves. I think that’s how I think about Northern Ireland. I’ll always be Northern Irish in my head, even if I’m externally American in my citizenship. 

How does being Northern Irish and becoming a citizen differ from someone who is English becoming an American citizen? 

“People from Northern Ireland have a very complicated relationship with the British government, [because] the only reason Northern Ireland exists is because of colonialization. But as a protestant, I’ve benefited from that [because] I was never discriminated against in the way that Catholics were. … [But] I don’t identify as British, I don’t identify as Irish, I’m Northern Irish. … [That’s why] I don’t feel disloyal to the British government.”  

What has changed, in your perspective, about America’s politics? 

“[In Northern Ireland] they voted to keep the other person out* [and used] religion as a convenient guise–that’s what I’ve seen grow here. … [This] sense of other [and] one line voting. …I see that, and it doesn’t seem like what I see democracy to be. …That’s what motivated me [to get my citizenship] …I have to be civically engaged.” 

*My mum is referring to the period between 1972 and 1998 known as “The Troubles,” a series of violent clashes and demonstrations that erupted in Northern Ireland because of long-seated tensions brewing between Catholic and Protestant groups (mainly the Irish Republican Army, a catholic paramilitary group, and British government agents like the Royal Ulster Constabulary, which my grandfather was a part of). Political parties hid behind religious identity markers to gain followers and establish footholds in communities; ex. If you were part of the Catholic community, you voted for Sein Fein because they were Catholic, regardless of their actual policies. 

Why is it important to vote? 

“Our democracy feels tenuous, because of all the different versions of truth out there… So it’s all the more important to participate.” 

How are you going to let your faith inform your responsibility? 

“One way is to not be riled up by the vitriol. …To be Christ-like, I have to view all people involved in this political race as beloved humans made in the image of God. We chose not to put a sign up in our yard [because] certain actions can be a stumbling block for others and alienate me from others.”  

Do you find a newfound sense of authority or agency now that you can vote? 

“I think it’s pride. I take pride in the fact that I’m going to take part in this democracy. … I’ve always felt like an outsider looking in [so] I did feel differently leaving that building knowing I’d passed by citizenship test. …I am [now] a more equal participant.” 

Do you consider yourself an American now? 

“I’m American by citizenship, but still culturally Northern Irish. … Having lived through a civil war in Northern Ireland, that’s not what I think of when I think of home. I think of sheep and hills and getting on the bus to Belfast. I think of family and cousins. The first place my mind goes to is not roadblocks and snipers on rooftops [or] armored vehicles. Places get imprinted on us. And it’s like if we leave, or if we relinquish our identity, it’s like we relinquish a part of ourselves. I think that’s how I think about Northern Ireland. I’ll always be Northern Irish in my head, even if I’m externally American in my citizenship. 

Does citizenship also mean donning the responsibility of bearing the past? 

“Yes, [because] in many ways it’s a shared past, that of [the] white European [who] exploited people. I’m as much a part of it–as a white individual I benefited from colonialism. …It’s easy [for Britian] to become self-righteous and say, ‘oh we didn’t have slavery.’ Actually, we did. It just wasn’t as glaring. Often it was overseas, but it was still slavery, just not in my backyard. So I think I do have to bear that. By advocating, by participating, [and] in many ways, I feel I do that through my work. [I work with] people who are all marginalized through their poverty, [so] I think that’s–as a global citizen that’s my responsibility [to care]. People aren’t ours to exploit, [and] the planet is not ours to exploit and extract from what we want.” 

What does it mean to be a part of a place? What does this look like?  

[I think] it has a lot to do with nostalgia and memories, which are the partials that make up who we are. You know I have this nostalgia of Northern Ireland because I have these memories of beautiful places and this sense of wonder, [and] as I’ve had children, I’ve felt like, that’s what has given me a sense of place and purpose. Where my children are, and where I can raise them in a safe and just environment. [But] do I have a fealty to Columbus Ohio? No. I just sort of roll my eyes at it.  

It’s a weird, complicated relationship, and it’s more about people rather than institutions. [You belong somewhere] because it’s a place where memories are made, a place of safety and generational investment. …I can reflect on the presence of my family in Northern Ireland and Scotland for centuries. [Whereas] we’re not even one generation deep [in Ohio], so I don’t have an overwhelming sense of ‘we need to stay here.’ I believe that places are imprinted on us irrevocably.  

It’s interesting, we did the pledge of allegiance last night, …I said the pledge of allegiance with everybody else, normally I don’t but I felt, no, ‘This is my allegiance. I need to raise my voice with other people in this room.’”