![]() The rules vary greatly from country to country. If you’re a British citizen living in Britain without hundreds of thousands of pounds to spare, you need an ancestral connection that allows you to claim citizenship by descent. The places with the most popular ‘golden visa’ schemes include Malta, where you must buy property worth €700,000, Portugal (€500,000) and Greece (€250,000) although richer EU countries have their own slightly less obvious loopholes. (This isn’t a particularly high number: Britain comes nineteenth in the table for 2021, with the top spots taken by Morocco, Syria and Albania.) If you’re extremely wealthy, meanwhile, you can try to buy your way to citizenship. In 2021, the most recent year for which figures are available, more than 10,600 British citizens were granted forms of EU citizenship by residency. If you live and work in an EU member state you can apply for citizenship based on residency, usually after a minimum of five years. This is part of a wider phenomenon, with many other British citizens who want to retain a link to the European Union looking for connections that will secure them a passport. Before 2016, only a handful applied each year by 2019, more than three thousand had applied and the number has continued to grow. Most of them are descendants of Jewish refugees. Since the Brexit referendum, the number of British people applying to have German citizenship restored has rocketed. I was dazed as I made my way out of the building and somehow, between the meeting room and the front door, I managed to lose the German-British friendship pin – a pair of crossed flags – the official had given me with my certificate. ‘What have you just done?’ went a voice in my head. I felt stupidly grateful, as if I’d just received praise from a teacher, then ashamed for feeling so grateful. Her statement seemed absurd: what are you apologising to me for? And if you are going to apologise to me for what the Nazis did, losing a legal status I never thought I was entitled to is the least of it. All the same, a jolt ran through me when she delivered the apology. The official was at pains to make the five-minute handover as cheerful as possible. Should we do this in German, then? Sorry, mine’s a bit rusty. Had I been to Germany before? Yes, lots of times – in fact, my mum taught German in secondary schools and used to bring me along on her exchange visits. On the day I arrived to collect the certificate, I made small talk with the official as she gave me some papers to sign. The application process had taken three years, and the officials had been friendly and helpful throughout. I was there thanks to Article 116 of the German constitution, which states that those deprived of citizenship between 19 on political, racial or religious grounds are eligible to have it ‘restored’, as are their descendants. I hope this brings you great joy.’ It was last October, and I was at the German Embassy on Belgrave Square to collect my naturalisation certificate – the moment I officially became a German citizen. It should never have happened, and you should always have been a German citizen. ‘This is in recognition of the great injustice done to you and your family. ![]() ‘Mr Trilling, it is an honour,’ she said. T he embassy official paused, collecting herself for a moment, before handing me the document. ![]()
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