It was Thursday 22 October 2009. This was the night that the BBC decided to invite Nick Griffin, the leader of the British National Party, to join its Question Time panel. It was the first time anything like this had happened – and the decision drew a public outcry as well as an appeal by Peter Hain to block it. All to no avail.
Controversy can attract a crowd – and this one did. The full panel of Griffin alongside Jack Straw, Baroness Warsi, Chris Huhne and Bonnie Greer, chaired by David Dimbleby, was viewed by over eight million people – more than twice the show’s previous record high. Everyone was expecting a verbal fight and the audience was not left disappointed. There was a tension in the air so thick you could see it from your sofa. From start to finish, each panellist denounced Griffin’s views on immigration and being British.
The BNP might have enjoyed little support that night, but there were serious concerns expressed about Britain’s borders being out of control. For every welcome denunciation of the far right, the Question Time audience was equally clear that not enough was done to keep immigration in check.
I sat cold listening to the hostile crowd, wondering if they were talking about some other place. Surely it was not the Britain I knew. And was about to join.
That afternoon I had carefully looked over my application form for what the government calls ‘indefinite leave to remain’; permanent residency in the plain English conspicuously absent in the countless immigration documents spread across my desk. I had printed off a copy several months earlier and kept it to one side until that day. I had received a message out of the blue from Human Resources at my then employer Newcastle University, informing me of something important: if I did not extend my work visa, such as through permanent residency, I would be fired when my current visa expired. Not the kind of email anyone wants to see. A lovely start to a long day. OK, so I can do sarcasm. Isn’t that enough to become British? Turns out it is a lot more complicated than most people think.
The application form was long and confusing. The accompanying guidance was little better. Its careful prose the masterpiece of a committee that probably never once spoke to anyone who had to complete their paperwork. Like doing a tax self-assessment form, but duller.
The form wanted to know everything about me worth knowing – or, at least, worth knowing to a bureaucrat – covering the previous five years, including home addresses, where I had worked and my bank account details. Oh, and it asked me if I had ever ‘glorified’ terrorism – presumably suicide bombers would come clean and answer that honestly. There were the sections I expected, such as questions asking about my non-existent criminal record. But there were others I didn’t care for, like having to list each and every day I had spent outside the United Kingdom since I moved from America.
But then I discovered it, catching me by surprise. Buried in the middle was a section I had overlooked when I first scanned the form months earlier – and I began to panic. The section clearly stated that I should bring proof of having passed the Life in the UK test. Huh? No one had ever said a peep about this – and not the surprise I wanted with only two months left before my temporary work visa expired.
A quick search on Google revealed this test was none other than the Life in the United Kingdom citizenship test. Confession time: I did not want to become a British citizen.
I enjoyed my job lecturing university students. Academic positions are hard to find and I was not looking for a change after only five years in my role. I was not looking for handouts – after all, I was an American and as a non-EU citizen I was forbidden from claiming public benefits. That could change if I had citizenship, but that was not part of my plans at that time. Besides, becoming a permanent resident wouldn’t change that anyway. Once upon a time US patriots fought a battle for independence with the motto ‘no taxation without representation’ – and yet here I was happy to pay my tax with no vote to show for it. Feel the earth move? That is my American forefathers spinning in their graves. They’ve been doing that a lot ever since.
Still shocked I had to pass a citizenship test simply to keep working in the same job, I did what anyone in my position would do: I found an online practice test – and I failed it big time. Like, only a couple correct and almost every one categorically wrong. I remember thinking to myself, ‘Oh no. This was a test I had to actually study for!’ I ordered the official handbook and a sample test guide that would be delivered in the post by the end of the week. Twenty pounds not so well spent.
I then went home hoping to forget about the test until morning. The number and scale of requirements for permanent residency were quickly doing my head in. But that was simply not to be as soon I switched on my telly to find the Nick Griffin Show courtesy of Question Time, capping off an awful day.
There is a serious gulf – maybe the size of an ocean – between what the public says it wants on immigration and how governments respond to it. A generally popular perception exists – and many readers will share it – that Britain’s borders are uncontrolled. ‘How can they be controlled if net migration is rising?’ some might ask. Certainly newspaper headlines readily give the impression that the UK’s borders are as watertight as a damp sponge.
The reality would shock most people. New immigration rules are changed all the time. Virtually every day I receive messages from the Home Office alerting me to that day’s changes to what the rules are and how they are to be applied. This makes it very difficult to keep up. Welcome to the not-so-glamorous coal face of British immigration policy.
There is no better illustration of how good intentions can turn out so very badly than the British citizenship test. It fundamentally changed how becoming British works. Previously, people learned they had citizenship when it was confirmed through the post. The test now meant there was more to it than simply living in the country for a few years and then filling in an application form.
The Life in the UK citizenship test is essentially a short exam. There are twenty-four multiple-choice questions to answer in forty-five minutes. Eighteen or more must be answered correctly to pass. Over 1.5 million tests have been sat since it was introduced in 2005.
In 2009, the test cost £32.24 in exact change payable only immediately before sitting the test. I used to think having the correct coinage was a secret extra question meant to trip applicants up and see if they knew their pounds from their pence. Times have changed since. Now the test costs fifty quid and payable online when booking. The golden rule of immigration is the costs keep going up and the bills keep coming earlier.
If you fail the test, you can retake it until you pass. The current record is held by an unknown and unfortunate soul who sat the citizenship test sixty-four times before passing. At the current price of £50 a sitting, this would cost £3,200. The test can be sat no more than once per week. This may not sound like a problem, but it can be difficult to book a time at a local test centre. The earliest I could book was one month later.
Failing the test costs not just the fees, but also precious time you might not know is needed before a visa expires. If I had failed my test, I would be unable to book a second before my visa ran out and I would be forced to sell off everything I had in a fortnight before returning back to my former home town of New Haven, Connecticut. Quite simply, if I didn’t pass my test, I would be sent packing. No pressure then.
The aim of the citizenship test is a popular one. It is meant to confirm that someone shares the same basic values as others in society and has sufficient general knowledge about the country. Former immigration minister Phil Woolas told me that backing for a citizenship test by Tony Blair’s government was ‘given a boost’ by a combination of factors, including rising immigration from Eastern Europe, riots in cities like Oldham and Burnley, and 9/11.
In short, passing the test is supposed to show a person has integrated into the community and is not about, as Woolas told me, ‘what plays Shakespeare wrote’. Just about everybody I have spoken to who was born in the UK believes it is crucial that anyone wanting to become British is willing and able to integrate into and contribute to British society. The citizenship test is a certification that someone makes the grade.
The British citizenship test is best known as the test few British citizens can pass. The irony that foreigners must know more about their new country’s institutions and cultural history than native Britons in order to share equal citizenship is lost on no one. An American lawyer from the south-west told me that fellow solicitors at her UK firm barely knew a correct answer to any of the questions. An Australian currently applying for British citizenship told me it is like the government is trying ‘to trip people up’ with inessential facts that would require effort to memorise. Laura, who was born British, told me, ‘I think the current citizenship test is ridiculous – I would fail it and I’ve lived here all my life!’ It’s hard to disagree with the view that any test of Britishness for migrants should be a test most British citizens could pass too.
We immigrants do rather well in spite of the abstruse questions. Most pass on the first attempt. Of the 737,559 tests sat between January 2011 and June 2015, there were 539,958 passes – 73 per cent. This pass rate is declining in recent years, dropping from 77 per cent or higher to about 62 per cent over the past two years. The cause is that more people are required to take the test in order to have permanent residency or citizenship. Pass rates can vary widely by nationality. The Americans and Australians pass 98 per cent of tests sat – coincidentally, they also use citizenship tests – while Bangladesh and Turkey nationals pass only 45 per cent of the time. There are no statistics for pass rates by gender or age.
This does not mean it is easy. The Australian singer Natalie Imbruglia has said becoming British was a very emotional experience after living in Britain for over twenty years. She admitted that, despite her long acquaintance with the country, passing the Life in the UK test was no simple matter. ‘None of my friends knew any of the answers,’ she said, so ‘I had to study – I got a tutor!’
The citizenship test has been through several editions. Each has had its share of problems. The first test handbook appeared in 2004 ahead of the test launch in 2005. The text was immortalised in the London Review of Books as ‘the funniest book currently available in the English language’. Perhaps the most famous of questions reported from the test was about what to do if you accidentally knock over someone’s drink in a pub. Answer: apologise and offer to buy them another. Once the giggling subsided, a lot of people I spoke with thought that was probably an acceptable query about British etiquette – almost as crucial as knowing how to queue! But any trace has since been removed from subsequent tests. Such is the high price to be paid when any hint of public ridicule sets in.
There were errors galore. These ranged from mistakes about which country Charles II was exiled in to misquoting Sir Winston Churchill. The most glaring mistake the first test made was the total number of MPs in the UK. The citizenship test claimed there were 645. This was one off – there were actually 646 at the time. A simple mistake to make for probably most citizens, but it makes you wonder when even ministers and distinguished authorities don’t know the answers to a test migrants must pass to become British.
Bernard Crick had led the advisory group that recommended to the Blair government how the test should be structured. He and several group members then wrote the test handbook. When asked about the many avoidable factual problems in the test handbook, Crick told The Guardian that ‘there are errors in it because it was done fairly quickly’. If only that excuse would suffice these days for anybody else. To be fair, his group was under intense time pressure because relevant immigration applications had been put on hold until its release.
Unsurprisingly, Blair’s government swiftly produced a revised, polished and more readable second edition two years later, during the last weeks of John Reid’s short stint as Home Secretary. If the first edition read like a poorly written textbook, the new edition was more like a boring handbook more effective at inducing sleep than any medication. Confusingly, not all chapters in the test handbook were included in any test questions, such as information about British history, like the Magna Carta or World War II, and some basic law, like what rights someone has under arrest. This gave space for key questions about the technicalities of government departments and their programmes. Not the kinds of things someone might expect from a test aiming to ensure integration into British society unless you were in the Home Office.
But, what everyone really wants to know is what is actually in the test. What does the government consider to be a good test for Britishness?
I know this edition of the test very well: I sat and passed it. The questions can be divided into three groups: the good, the bad and the very ugly.
The ‘good’ questions are the kinds of things most people would expect to find on the test. These include whether ‘the Geordie dialect is spoken in Tyneside’ – getting that wrong is near-certain automatic rejection in Newcastle, where I took the test. Another is knowing which ‘government department is responsible for collecting taxes’. This is also fairly easy, with HMRC flanked by incorrect answers like the Home Office and ‘the Central Office of Information’.
Some of the good questions are intentionally tricky. I know that GCSE stands for ‘General Certificate of Secondary Education’, but others might be thrown off guard by alternative answers like ‘Graduate Certificate of Secondary Education’ or ‘Grade Certificate of School Education’. So far, so OK.
Then there are the ‘bad’ questions. These are a problem largely because they became quickly outdated: there was a gap of six years between the second and third editions of the test, during which much changed. For example, the second edition corrected the number of MPs from 645 to 646.
The only problem was that Parliament changed it to 650 for the 2010 general election. But still the question remained on the test: ‘How many parliamentary constituencies are there?’ The options were 464, 564, 646 and 664. The correct answer – 646 – was factually untrue. The test also failed to identify the number of British Members of the European Parliament, claiming it was seventy-eight when it had changed to seventy-two.
We all have our favourites and for me these are the ugly questions. A question I actually had on my test was ‘Which two places can you go to if you need a National Insurance number?’ To get this right, both correct options must be selected. The options were Department for Education and Skills, Home Office, Jobcentre Plus and Social Security Office. The ‘correct’ answers were the last two, but there is a big twist. One of the correct answers – the Social Security Office – no longer existed while the test was run. People had to select it as a place you could go even though there were none to be found any more. The Department for Education and Skills had also been rebranded while this was a live question.
But the fact that two departments no longer existed, including one of the correct answers, is not why this question was my favourite. The reason is that I went to none of them to get my National Insurance number. While living in Sheffield, I phoned the local Home Office number and they arranged for me to be interviewed in city centre at an office in the Department of Work and Pensions. So to actually acquire my number I went via one of the ‘incorrect’ answers – and yet had to say something different to pass a test so I could confirm I had sufficient institutional knowledge warranting my becoming a permanent resident. The mind boggles – and it makes you seriously question if anyone really knows what is on the test beyond the people like me who have to pass it.
It is easy to wonder what any of this has to do with British values and integration. One clue to what the revised test makers thought important is a question that really stands out: what is a quango? Yes, a quango. I genuinely wonder – I really do, or at least when I am restlessly bored – about how many British-born citizens believe the fact that this acronym stands for ‘quasi-autonomous non-governmental organisation’ is crucial information. These are not the values of British citizens, but the bureaucrats who assess their paperwork – and maybe even enjoy it.
To be clear, I have no problem with bureaucrats. Some are my proverbial best friends. But there is a problem when the values of a professional class become substituted for those of everyone else. And worst of all, no one seems to notice.
It would be fair to say that the problems with the test were obvious from the start. I taught political philosophy to university students and had little idea how many MPs there were – I could not vote, after all, as an American – and I had not heard of half the government departments listed. This was a test I did not want to take for citizenship because at the time I had given virtually no thought to it.
Want to liven up a dinner party? Whip out the citizenship test handbook and see how many answers no one in the room knows. It’s a laugh. The test became a part of my life. I clearly live on the edge. When I went out to see friends, people would inevitably ask what I was up to and the answer was simple: I had a few weeks only to ace the British citizenship test. Cue surprised faces, and the sound of audible gasps followed by begging to hear some of the questions. If it hadn’t been such a serious matter, it might have even been a bit enjoyable.
It was in running sample questions past interested friends and students that I gradually came to discover how much of what the test claimed was correct was actually factually untrue. Yes, this did increase my insecurity about how well I would perform. As an academic, I always did very well on tests. But those were exams based on correct facts. Until the UK citizenship test, I had not sat a test based on incorrect and outdated information before. I was in a brave new world.
Admittedly, I did not shout out to all who would listen that the test was becoming a farce. My successfully applying for permanent residency was too important to wake sleeping beasts in Whitehall. I made a vow to myself at the time that when this matter was finished I was going to make a difference in improving the system for others coming through after me. Sitting the citizenship test changed me – literally – for ever. I’m still talking about it. The experience affected others too, but the normal reaction is to forget about it and move on. But I could not – and cannot – do that. Citizenship can be so easily taken for granted until you find yourself fighting – and at substantial financial costs – to earn it.
An immigration officer told me that the British citizenship test ‘creates a large degree of anxiety in applicants that seems unjustified’ and avoidable. That is an understatement. Preparing for and taking the test is a lonely business. Of course, there is no reminder in the post or by email, pointing out that the test must be passed and offering advice on how to succeed. Everyone is left on their own to figure this out and then pass or fail.
Test centres I have visited tend to be in the worst parts of town. One person I spoke with described them as places where ‘you should not walk to by yourself’. My test was in a building site directly opposite the local hospital. This was convenient in case my day went wrong – I might need to be admitted to A&E if I failed, to help me recover from the shock.
To be fair, the test was over in a few minutes. I had studied my test handbook until I knew it cold and spent most of the forty-five minutes allowed for the test waiting for others to finish. This is not unique among those who have passed. Carol, a South African, completed the test alongside her son in six minutes and passed. Similar stories are reported to me all the time. There was no truth or falsity, only what was correct or incorrect for the test. Lauren, a researcher in the Midlands, said the test was ‘the worst I’ve ever taken in my life – and I am a PhD student’. Quite.
Our ‘test authoriser’ for the UK citizenship test was a Polish national named Ryszard. He logged us each into a separate computer and the test was taken online through a secure website. When finished, the results were submitted and we left the room to sit in a waiting area until the full time for the test had passed. Not all were able to complete the test on time in my group. We were each called individually to be told the good or bad news.
Failed tests can be resat and another must be booked online. If you pass, the good news is it is over, although the bad news is no one who has not taken the test understands what passing it means. One of the first things you do when the citizenship test is passed is tell the world on social media. Maybe two hundred people congratulated me on becoming British – only to have me inform them that the citizenship test is a test required for permanent residency: it is after you have residency for a year that citizenship can be applied for. Not only has the government failed to make a British citizenship test most Britons can pass, but even fewer know its purpose. This is through no fault of the public. Ministers can and should have done much more. They have dropped the ball.
On guessing the test questions correctly, I received a ‘Pass Notification Letter’, which is as soulless and anticlimactic as it sounds. A computer print-off in black and white on standard paper with a splotchy red stamp bearing the crucial words ‘Life in the UK Test Pass’. Not the kind of thing you put on the wall to brighten up a room. Dated November 2009, my letter states up top in prose that will only stir the most unfeeling bureaucrat from a deep fog:
Following your test today in knowledge of life in the United Kingdom this is to certify that you have reached the level required for the purposes of obtaining indefinite leave to remain under the Immigration Rules or for naturalisation as a British citizen under Section 6 of the British National Act 1981.
No need for Byron or Shelley when you have these deep words to ponder.
Now that I had passed, I could book an appointment to submit my permanent residency application in person and have it approved that day. This cannot be done until the citizenship test is passed. It was a good thing I phoned immediately because there was only one slot left in the UK. It was in Liverpool early on a Saturday morning – this meant booking return trains and accommodation for the Friday night so I could make the appointment.
The journey was unforgettable. I sat scrunched in a seat that seemed built for young adults – I did not seem to fit comfortably in my Transpennine Express coach. It did not help that I spent the full journey clinging to my luggage and briefcase. I was required to show original documents, including at least five years of bank statements and payslips. Nothing was left to chance.
The Friday evening wait was awful. I was consumed by stress. I have always sailed through every interview I have had with anyone in the immigration business, but the stakes were so very high: success, and life continues as normal; failure, and it’s time to start all over again in the US. I do not think I have ever known such anxiety.
I arrived early for my appointment. After clearing security, I was led to a room upstairs where the first thing they did was take my money. At least I knew what the priorities were. About £1,100 disappeared before my eyes in the time it took to punch my four-digit code in the card machine. No cheques accepted.
Once I had paid, I could join the queue. The atmosphere was uncomfortably tense. I sat in an open, square-shaped room alongside the other hapless souls gathered that morning. The wet drizzle outside mimicked the soft tears on the faces of many of us inside. There were four people ahead of me to speak to border agents. All their conversations took place in the same open space while the border agents sat behind thick glass. Each of the four before me were rejected. I could hear why – as we all could. Privacy was kept outside the waiting area. We were in the jungle now.
The biggest hurdles were not accepting British values or making a contribution to society, but satisfying box-ticking technicalities designed to exclude – and that is what they did. The first couple I noticed being considered were rejected for submitting the wrong form. If they had selected differently, things might have turned out very differently. A second person came with the correct form, but lacked some supporting documents – I came fully prepared yet these were not requested from me. If only he had been so lucky. Getting permanent residency should not be like a crap shoot.
A particularly awkward moment was sitting on a stool next to a Spanish citizen. He and I were both applying for permanent residency, sitting opposite our own border agents carefully flipping through our applications. As my application was being checked to ensure I had not been out of the country beyond a set number of days that would make me ineligible, I heard the other agent tell the Spaniard that she had counted his time out of the country and ‘I am afraid your application will be unsuccessful’. He had visited his young children living in Spain with his ex-partner more often than the Home Office allowed.
I will never forget her using the future tense as if dangling it in front of him like it was conjured from a crystal ball. The man just wept. He had spent much more than I had, as he had to pay additional charges for dependents. My border agent swiftly confirmed everything with my application was in order and I was successful. But I can still visualise the man who sat next to me. For an hour or so we sat side by side, only to have different fates.
Being a permanent resident without citizenship is an odd status to have. As your official letter explains, you have the right to work wherever you like in the UK, but you have no entitlement to vote or take public benefit. Despite not being British citizens, permanent residents can make British citizens: any child born in the UK would be a British citizen regardless of parentage. Most people find that surprising.
After a year and a day of being a permanent resident, you can apply for British citizenship. This can be done through a local council – for a fee, of course – and it is largely a quick box-ticking exercise. Most migrants who have permanent residency in the UK and apply for British citizenship are successful: 91 per cent were accepted in 2015. This is because both have the same requirements: so long as there is no change in status, all tests – including the citizenship test – are fulfilled.
When I became a British citizen at a local ceremony in 2011, I made a vow to myself to make some contribution to improving how citizenship is done. Later that same afternoon I was contacted by a producer at BBC Radio 4. His wife worked for local station BBC Newcastle and had phoned me earlier to talk on air about being from the greater New York City area on the ten-year anniversary of 11 September. She had naturally asked just where I was from when she heard my accent and I happened to mention how much I wanted to change the citizenship test run by the then coalition government. She sensed this was more a national story that could go big, and had her husband ring me as soon as I finally had my citizenship – I was not doing anything until I had that in hand.
We agreed I would be interviewed on air. But first he wanted to get the Home Secretary Theresa May on air with me. As it turned out, this was the first rebuff of many. To this day, May has never agreed once to go live with me on immigration. I can only ponder the reasons why. So I recorded the interview for Radio 4 on a Thursday. And then I waited.
In my interview, I highlighted the many problems that existed in the system. Primarily, my concern was that much of the test had become outdated and even obsolete. I explained that I wanted an updated test for British citizenship, but I also said something I have come to regret. I called on the government to act and in particular to include information about British history and culture. I ended by offering my help to improve the test, as someone who had taken it, an immigrant on the front line. Someone was listening.
The programme finally aired the following Monday – and immediately before a new speech on immigration from none other than the Prime Minister, David Cameron. Snuggled in his comments were words that rang out loud and clear to me. I was right. It was time for a substantively updated test – and it was to include British history and culture questions for the first time. I was delighted. So much progress with my first effort! Little did I know how difficult further progress would be.
I first wrote to Damian Green, the Minister of State for Immigration, that week. I highlighted errors I had found in the citizenship test handbook and offered my assistance to help fix the test. The following month I heard back from Ann Robertson, the Migration Policy Leader at the Home Office. She wrote to say her team had ‘recently commenced a full review’ and ‘we will take on board your helpful comments’ with possible opportunities for further involvement ‘at a later stage’. I never heard from Green or Robertson about this again and felt like I might give up.
A full year went by without hearing another word. I later spoke on a panel at a migration conference alongside Newcastle MP Chi Onwurah at the Tyneside Irish Centre. My talk about the problems with the citizenship test went over well and Chi wrote to the government to find out what was being done about false answers counting as correct on the test. She forwarded to me the reply from Damian Green in September 2012 that the new test handbook planned for that year would remedy ‘some out of date information’. Invalid questions were removed in the meantime.
And then it happened. Later than promised, the government finally produced its new, glossy Life in the UK test handbook. A bright red, white and blue cover with full-colour photographs throughout, in a far more readable layout. The book’s appearance gave the impression the government might actually want more migrants to come into the UK and become citizens.
The current citizenship test is a missed opportunity that deserves all the criticism it receives. It’s difficult to know where to start. The handbook appeared in January 2013 for use on all tests from late March. However, the Home Office was publishing two different test handbooks – the second edition and the third edition – at the same time. Both stated on their covers that they were the one and only ‘official’ handbook for the test. But one was for tests until the last week of March and the other for those afterwards. Neither book said which test it was for. This was important because they tested very different things and studying for one would not help in passing the other. It is fairly certain that people used the wrong books for the wrong exams.
That was not all. The new handbook said there were twenty-four questions on the test. But it said nothing about how many must be answered correctly to pass or what format the questions would take. Any school or university that tried to pull off a similar assessment stunt for their qualifications would be shut down as incompetent. But not a single Tory or Liberal Democrat minister in the coalition government seemed to notice. Why would they?
The only way to find out what to expect on the test is to buy more books from the Home Office. The handbook itself is £12.99. There is also a companion practice test book costing £7.99 and a very curious ‘Official Study Guide’ also worth £7.99. The official study guide is bizarre because, like the handbook, it lists the number and types of test questions, but not how many need to be answered correctly. It is as if the government does not want anyone to know.
Stranger still, the official study guide – which is cheaper and more compact than the official handbook – is no official study guide. It can help someone study for parts of the test, but it is openly selective in the material it includes, and only the official handbook – it can get dizzying how many of these texts remind you how ‘official’ they are and yet seem so badly put together – actually has everything one needs to know. Only the Home Office would produce a study guide that is an incomplete resource for its official tests.
The closer I looked into the new test, the more I found that had been badly bungled. Inspecting the practice test booklet, I discovered that studying only two or three of the five chapters should be enough to pass any test – the chapters were weighted very differently and skewed. This meant that to become British you need not know much of what the government thought important.
In 2013, I published the only comprehensive report on the UK citizenship test, concluding it was ‘unfit for purpose’, and my press release stating it was like ‘a bad pub quiz’ went down a real treat. My report was covered in over 300 media outlets worldwide and even got a mention on BBC2’s Mock the Week.
I uncovered several serious problems with the current citizenship test. The first was that it is impractical. The test handbook exclaims it is ‘a compendium of useful information’ to help migrants ‘integrate into society and play a full role in your local community’ – so this key idea motivating the creation of the citizenship test remains rock solid. The Home Secretary Theresa May claimed the new test would enable migrants ‘to participate fully in our society’ and her then immigration minister Mark Harper said only ‘mundane’ information had been ‘stripped out’.
But what was actually removed from earlier editions was information everyone must know. This included how to contact emergency services, report a crime, register with a GP and use the NHS – all of this was cut out. In its place, May and Harper wanted migrants to know the approximate age of Big Ben’s clock (apparently 150 years) and the height of the London Eye in both feet (443) and metres (135). The test handbook is clear that ‘questions are based on ALL parts of the handbook’ and nothing, save the glossary, was off limits. The citizenship test had a new focus – out with the practical trivia, in with the purely trivial.
The government did not like it one bit when I started doing national and local press interviews highlighting how impractical their new test was – and it caught them off guard. After all, why would anyone know about this stuff? They certainly did not know much of what they were talking about. Their best response came from Lord Taylor of Holbeach, who said, ‘The majority of those applying will have been in the UK for at least five years and should therefore be aware of practical matters, such as emergency services.’ That’s all right then.
In fact, the handbook does require people to know a full range of ‘practical matters’ someone resident for several years would know, such as: London and Edinburgh are UK cities; London is the UK’s biggest city; British currency includes the £1 coin and £5 note; Christmas Day is 25 December; the Queen is the head of state; refuse bags should only be out when due for collection; social networking – according to the citizenship test handbook – is ‘a popular way for people to stay in touch’; and – my favourite – everyone must be reminded that, yes, the United States of America is an independent country. Facts like how to contact emergency services are precisely the kinds of things most people would expect a test about ‘Life in the UK’ to include. After all, immigration minister James Brokenshire said in a written statement in spring 2016 that the test is meant to reinforce a shared ‘expectation’ that new citizens will abide by the law, engage in our society and respect ‘our shared values’. But the evidence for the test meeting these expectations is difficult to find. The test migrants sit can seem very distant from the claims ministers make to defend its continued use.
Inconsistencies were another problem. As noted previously, earlier editions of the test handbook got wrong the number of MPs. I have heard many people say that getting this right did not seem all that important to becoming British – although hugely embarrassing for governments to have left it uncorrected for so long. The new test avoids getting it wrong by cutting it out. So no one need know how many MPs are in Parliament. But you still must still know the number of elected representatives in the regional Welsh Assembly, Scottish Parliament and Northern Ireland Assembly. It is difficult at best to see why knowing the number of MPs is unimportant, but these other bodies are crucial.
There are other examples. You need not know there is a UK Supreme Court, but you are required to know about the lesser courts. The strangest inconsistency is that the test handbook includes five telephone numbers. These include the national domestic helpline and HMRC self-assessment hotline. But there are also the phone numbers for the House of Commons, Scottish Parliament and Welsh Assembly so that ‘you can get information, book tickets or arrange tours through visitor services’. I have never met anyone who did not work for these bodies that knew the contact numbers or thought it important in the slightest. But, incredibly, the test handbook neglects to include the Northern Ireland Assembly. Another rushed – and botched – job?
The current citizenship test is chock full of spurious information that serves little purpose in testing Britishness. The test handbook catalogues nearly 3,000 facts, including 278 historical dates covering seventy-seven people. None of these dates includes either of the Queen’s birthdays – and it might be obvious that this quirky British fact would merit inclusion if any birthday did. But it does not.
Instead, the handbook lists four dates and several key events for the only non-royal in the book deemed so important he is the only one over 280 pages whose spouse is named – and must be memorised. I am not talking about Sir Winston Churchill, Admiral Nelson or William the Conqueror. No, I refer to Sake Dean Mahomed.
The citizenship test handbook requires everyone to know that Mahomed was born in 1759 and raised in ‘the Bengal region’ of India, later serving in the Bengal Army. Everyone is to know he moved to Ireland to elope with ‘an Irish girl called Jane Daly’ in 1786. But it is what we learn next that might explain why a Tory-led coalition government included him at all: ‘In 1810 he opened the Hindoostane Coffee House in George Street, London.’ The significance? ‘It was the first curry house to open in Britain’ – at least it is an insight into the minds of whatever committee rushed this through to print.
We can delve further into the government’s thinking behind the test when we look carefully for specific changes made for the third edition. The previous version had a lengthy glossary running to more than thirty pages. This was now reduced by two-thirds. Look at the terms cut out and see if any pattern emerges: antenatal care, asylum, bursary, disability, discrimination, emergency services, free press, harassment, higher education, immigration, legal aid, maternity and paternity leave, racially motivated crime, sick pay, torture, victim and welfare benefits. Only a few terms were added, like ‘House (history, for example, House of York)’, rural and sonnet. Out with the new and in with the old in an antiquated vision of Little Britain by committee. We can only speculate why it is that the government no longer thinks being British includes knowing about education, health care and protection from discrimination.
Unsurprisingly, the test handbook forgets that many British citizens are women. The historical chapter lists the dates of birth for twenty-nine men and just four women. Only male musicians get a mention. In the Home Office’s triumphant press release announcing the new test handbook’s launch and noting the ‘people that have shaped Britain’, nine men are noted but no women. How interesting it would be to learn if any women were in the group that wrote the handbook – I suspect not.
And then there are the new questions. Would-be citizens need to know that people spoke Celtic during the Iron Age. My favourite true-or-false question is ‘Catherine Howard was the sixth wife of Henry VIII’ – the answer is false because she was not the sixth, but the fifth. Being one off on who married Henry VIII in which order can see someone barred from becoming British. I doubt most people know that Inigo Jones designed both the Banqueting House in Whitehall and the Queen’s House at Greenwich.
But there are some other treats. One question asks, ‘When walking your dog in a public place, what must you ensure?’ My first guess would be to keep the dog on a lead, especially around other people. However, this is a multiple-choice test and that is not an option. Instead, we have options like: ensure the dog wears a special coat, keep the dog no more than three metres away, make sure there is no contact with other dogs – all of these are incorrect – and then the right answer: the dog must wear a collar with its name. That is what being British means to people writing the test: knowing where to find the name of someone else’s dog. I admit this never came up remotely in any discussion I’ve had with anybody on what Britishness is and what should be tested, across hundreds of conversations.
Another question asks about what responsibility someone might have as ‘a citizen or permanent resident’ of the UK. The first option is ‘using your car as much as possible’. That might be the kind of answer that former Top Gear presenter Jeremy Clarkson might give, but it is false. A second is to visit local pubs regularly. Many pubs are struggling at the moment and this might sound plausible, but it is also not right. The third choice is to keep an allotment – a very British pastime and you need not ask Alan Titchmarsh to know that. Still not correct. The true answer is ‘looking after the environment’. Surprised? Welcome to the new politics.
If any of this sounds confusing, it is because the test is confusing. The House of Lords held a short debate not long after my report was published and peers from the Labour, Liberal Democrat and Tory benches made reference to it, including Angela Smith, Baroness Smith of Basildon, now shadow Leader of the House of Lords, and Roger Roberts.
When asked about whether information in the test handbook like the age of Big Ben’s clock and height of the London Eye was actually on the test, Lord Taylor again spoke for the government and announced that no one need memorise these facts because – take his word for it – neither appears on any test. This confirms the test handbook has more information than necessary – perhaps intended to ensure more people fail. It is shocking that some facts presented are actually omitted from every test – but this information avoided discovery until months after its release, when the government was asked more than once to respond to the criticisms in my critical report about the test. There is still no note in the handbook confirming this. So memorise everything in the book except the stuff not on the test, which is only knowable if you ask the right questions in the House of Lords.
Despite its many flaws, I remain in favour of the citizenship test – just not the one we have. Several countries introduced similar tests in the wake of 9/11. But often the information is easy to locate, more transparent and freely available. The Australian test includes information about what being a citizen of Australia means, listing such things as a duty to vote, to work in the Australian defence force or public service, and to serve on a jury. Australian values include a respect for equal worth, freedoms of speech and religion, support for democracy and the rule of law, and tolerance. There is also information on demographics and general history.
Not everything in the Australian test handbook is commendable. Some of the descriptions read awkwardly. For example, consider: ‘Sir Donald Bradman was the greatest cricket batsman of all time. He was small and slight but amazingly quick on his feet, playing his shots almost like a machine.’ Perhaps knowing about Sir Donald’s cricket acumen is an important part of Australia’s cultural history. I am much less sure that ‘so who was small and slight, but like a machine’ is the best way to test that point.
The American test – first launched in 1986 – is more straightforward. It includes historical and political facts, but these are much less contentious in the form and content. Questions range from knowing the US Constitution is the supreme law of the land to identifying the name of the sitting US President. Someone might be asked to name one of the many Native American tribes or one of the two longest rivers, the Mississippi and the Missouri.
My report into the UK citizenship test did not simply expose problems, but also highlighted recommendations – twelve in all. I still think the current test handbook is presented well and should retain its full-colour, reader-friendly format. The test should keep its broad coverage of subjects. There are minor, but not unimportant, points made: for instance, each new edition should state clearly its start date, to avoid confusion. All information included should be consistent and gender balanced, and should correct for errors or omissions in the current test handbook.
But the main recommendation is that a full public consultation is now long overdue. We need to ask what new citizens should be expected to know and gather some evidence in support. It should be shocking that more than a decade has passed since Bernard Crick led a group to write the citizenship test, which came into being long before net migration rose sharply and immigration became a top public concern. Over 1.5 million tests have been sat and I am now one of many who have become British through the new, post-2001 rules.
Surprisingly, there has never been any consultation with either the general public or the naturalised British citizens who have sat the test. This is a failure of policy management. If the test is meant to help ensure new citizens are integrated, they must be asked about their experiences. This is not about giving migrants or new citizens a veto, but about drawing attention to the importance of hearing their voices: they do not have a monopoly on assessing how well they have integrated, but similarly any feelings of alienation or estrangement ought to become known.
Yet it is doubtful the government wants to listen. When I sent a copy of my report to 10 Downing Street, it received a frosty reception. Thanks, but no thanks, more like.
If ministers bother to ask, what they hear may alarm them. The feedback I received from people who have sat the test is damning. ‘Silly and patronising’, ‘an utter waste of time’, ‘I don’t understand why we have a citizenship test that most citizens would fail’, ‘a relief to get it over with’ and ‘an experience to forget’. These are the words not of people who failed and are bitter but of those who passed. The view of the many who take the test is not a feeling of belonging and solidarity, but of alienation. This should be alarming.
After speaking with so many applicants, I have come to the conclusion that the current test is counterproductive. More see it as a barrier than a bridge. One person who became British said it was ‘another hurdle meant to make immigration policy look legitimate’ to native Britons. A former immigration tribunal presenting officer called it ‘pure drivel’. The problem here is legitimacy – neither citizen nor prospective citizen has much confidence that the test as currently designed is fit for purpose.
It does not help that what everyone knows as the citizenship test is not the last step to citizenship. A more accurate description is the Life in the UK test for residency, because passing it is necessary for permanent residency, whereas applying for citizenship must wait for at least another year. This is now reflected in an unreported change to the test handbook’s subtitle, from ‘A Journey to Citizenship’ to ‘A Guide for New Residents’.
There are also more deep-rooted problems. Education experts I spoke with have expressed serious concerns about the ‘quite poor design’ that raises questions about the validity of the citizenship test. Dr Simon Child is a senior researcher at OCR, a leading awarding body for A-levels and GCSEs. It was unclear what systems were in place to ensure that each test examined the same kinds of things with equal difficulty when the types of questions were so varied and wordings vague.
An expert who attended meetings with Crick when the test was first launched – and asked not be identified – said it was nothing short of a ‘reputational car crash’ because it was ‘testing completely the wrong things’. This person agreed that the test was neither valid nor reliable.
Both highlighted to me how the test has evolved to become a very different type of qualification but this has yet to be acknowledged. Their point is that the current test is a decisive break away from earlier versions. In essence, it is simply ‘not testing the same things’. This is emphasised by the fact that from 2005 to 2013, the test had been a confirmation that the taker had not only sufficient knowledge of life in the UK, but also sufficient knowledge of English. This latter requirement has changed and is no longer a part of the citizenship test; this is discussed in the next chapter.
The result is that we have had fundamentally different tests over the past ten years, all resulting in the same qualification. Not only is this an appalling failure of quality control, but it raises serious questions about the exercise as a proper test, whatever one’s views on British values and wider immigration policy.
So what is the purpose of the test? If it is to be a barrier to residency and citizenship, it should be modelled very differently. Research by Oxford University’s Migration Observatory found that the test has not appeared to have had much of an effect on the number of people becoming British. Their report says it is ‘possible that there would have been more’ new British citizens had we not introduced the test – but then again it is possible that there would have been fewer.
The Office for National Statistics shows there were notable increases in applications for citizenship from 211,911 in 2005 to 232,262 in 2013. This probably reflects the launch of the citizenship test in November 2005 and the requirement that all naturalisation applicants take the test from October 2013. Of the 125,653 grants of citizenship in 2014, most were to nationals from India (22,425) and Pakistan (13,000), followed by Nigeria (8,076), South Africa (5,289) and Bangladesh (3,892). All these countries are part of the Commonwealth – and their citizens were once British nationals as citizens of the United Kingdom and Colonies. The UK’s imperial history continues to have relevance for immigration to Britain.
David Blunkett was the Home Secretary who led the introduction of the test. He wrote to me thanking me for the work I had done examining the citizenship test’s development. Blunkett said the government had made ‘a complete dog’s dinner’ of the test and he was pleased to see the publicity I had drawn to it. He added: ‘I hope the front bench start using this and making a monkey out of the Home Office ministers,’ while admitting, ‘We didn’t get the first test entirely right, but this one is a complete mess.’
A similar view was expressed by another former Home Secretary, Jacqui Smith. She told me that ‘the principle is right’ regarding the citizenship test. It’s useful to have such an exercise. Like so many things, though, the devil is in the detail, and she admits it is difficult to construct a multiple-choice exam that can demonstrate whether or not someone should become a British citizen. No test can be a guarantee of loyalty or acceptance of values. In the aftermath of the 2013 Boston Marathon bombing, it emerged that Tamerlan Tsarnaev, the eldest of two brothers behind the deadly attack, had passed his US citizenship only three months before. The test can serve a useful purpose, but we should not expect or demand too much for what it can deliver.
Blunkett and Smith are right: the test is worth keeping, if we are up for the challenge of reforming it. What is needed is a review that asks current citizens about their views on Britishness and British values and what this means to them today. Crucially, any such review must engage with people who have sat the test. They might listen to one naturalised citizen who told me the test should be improved to ‘make information useful – I can’t remember any of it now’. This is not good enough. If the test is to remain a key requirement for permanent residency and citizenship, it should include information worth knowing.
The citizenship test should be relevant. Elena, originally from Russia and living in the north-east, told me she just had ‘to pass, not to learn’. Ideally, we should work towards a hurdle worth jumping. For the moment, the test is more like a necessary procedure to be merely endured for no greater purpose than sticking a cross in a box on a long application form.
But, what is also needed is public confidence. Arizona, where I used to live, now requires high school students to pass a citizenship test in order to graduate. Other states have also followed suit, including Idaho, Louisiana, North Dakota, South Carolina, Tennessee, Utah and Wisconsin. This is an excellent idea championed by Labour MP Tristram Hunt for the UK. This is not about creating barriers that keep people apart, but about building a bridge that brings people together.
If the test is only meant to help keep people out, there are more efficient and fair ways of doing it. The residency requirements can be lengthened or the income threshold raised. But if this is not the citizenship test’s purpose, we must ensure that passing it is a worthwhile achievement and not only a way to collect further fees. The test and its reputation are broken. It is often mocked with little concern for the tens of thousands of people who take it each year. Ministers can be quicker to say they share public concerns about immigration than to act to resolve them. A national conversation is waiting to be had. Testing citizenship may not be easy, but we can do much better than the dog’s dinner we have at present. The test should be either reformed or binned – skipping along singing, ‘It’s all right, Jack’ is as defeatist as it is counterproductive. British citizens deserve better.