Despite growing up in New Zealand my entire life, to many people’s surprise, I am a British citizen. I was born in Northampton but spent 25 years on the other side of the world, going to school and university, and working as a journalist. When I decided to move back to England last year, I didn’t need to pass a citizenship test or prove anything to the UK Government, I just got to settle right in.
Prime Minister Sir Keir Starmer recently caused controversy with his speech that some say is anti-immigration in which he insisted that new migrants must “learn the language and integrate” once in the UK. Having spoken English my whole life, I didn’t see that as being a problem – but it turns out that even for a British citizen, ‘integration’ can be challenging.
I used mock tests of the Life in the UK citizenship test, which gives you 45 minutes to answer 24 questions spanning food, culture, history and laws of England. The real version of this test costs £50 to take – a pretty significant chunk of change.
Introduced in 2005, this test is meant to prove that applicants have ‘sufficient’ knowledge of British life. However, the test has been criticised for including some questions even British citizens wouldn’t know. Sir Keir Starmer has promised a reform of this test, alongside his other immigration changes, but there is no information on what that reform will look like.
Both of my parents are English, so I thought this would be simple, but it turned out to be anything but. I failed the test twice, scoring 16 out of 24 on the first and a dismal 12 on the second.
Frustrated, I tried one more time and scraped a pass with 18 out of 24 – the bare minimum.
While some questions were simple common sense, others were so obscure it was impossible to know what the correct answer could be. Things like ‘What is associated with Carry On?’ and the options being film, music, theatre or art.
All of those are art forms, so surely art would be the correct option right?
Wrong.
For anyone else who doesn’t know, it’s a series of 31 comedy films. There was everything from the dates of the Habeus Corpus Act, to which country views roast beef as its national dish. Questions were worded confusingly and the whole thing felt more like a chance game than a citizenship test. If I, someone who grew up in a commonwealth country and has English parents, as well as a passport, had to take the test three times to pass, it’s no surprise that someone with fewer opportunities than I have had would find it near impossible.
At its core, this immigration test, which is part of the decision about who is worthy of living in England and who, to use Keir Starmer’s words, is “a stranger”, is little more than a pricey pub quiz where the questions are made up, and the points don’t matter.
