The american embassy in Dublin called me for an interview in March 2010 when my number came up in the “greencard” lottery. I took proof that I was a qualified solicitor, had no criminal record and a clean bill of health. All I had left to do was prove I was Irish. Both my parents are; I live in Ireland and hold an Irish passport.

“Your case won’t be straightforward,” an elderly woman said, when I paid a €1,000 non-refundable fee and presented documents for inspection. “You were born in London.”

Natives of Great Britain were ineligible for the greencard lottery in 2010, having sent more than 50,000 immigrants to the States in the previous five years. However, I’d reviewed the application form, and concluded I was eligible. I expected some questioning; I did not expect the interviewer to hand my passport back, and suggest I submit documentation to prove I was a native of Ireland.

Despite a career in immigration law, I’d no idea where to begin. The statute books and Constitution were strangely silent on the subject of who was a native of Ireland. It was probably self evident once, before the era of mass transit and migration. The Irish government had recently started issuing certificates of Irish heritage to the diaspora, so I contacted the (then) Minister for Foreign Affairs Michael Martin TD for information. Surely he, a fellow Corkman and Coláiste Críost Rí alum, would recognise one of his own.

“Dear Mr Martin,” I wrote, “I wonder can you help me prove I’m a native of Ireland.”

Perhaps at a loss to know, his office contacted the American Embassy without my knowledge, which as an immigration lawyer was the last thing I wanted. The Minster communicated the feedback in a letter:

“How they categorise nationals is a matter entirely for the American authorities and it is not appropriate for the Department of Foreign Affairs to get involved (…) I am informed (by the US Embassy) that “native” ordinarily means someone born in a particular country, regardless of the individual’s current country of residence or nationality.”

Never mind that I agreed it certainly was inappropriate for his office to get involved, or that I wished they hadn’t, the news that it was up to the American Embassy to decide who was a native of Ireland came as a surprise. Far from getting a greencard, I was in danger of losing something I’d always taken for granted: my Irishness. I went into lawyer mode, and got to work.

Who – or what – is Irish?

The question of who, or what, is Irish has never been more open as Ireland nears its hundredth anniversary of independence. Bill De Blasio, the Mayor of New York, boycotted this year’s Saint Patrick’s Day Parade, explicitly rejecting a vision of Ireland that did not include the LGBT community. Major drinks companies withdrew sponsorship of the event for the same reason. Taoiseach Enda Kenny on the other hand did march, proclaiming the event an opportunity to express solidarity with Irish America, if not the LGBT community.

Were Irish Americans therefore somehow more Irish, more deserving of the Taoiseach’s support than their gay cousins? Who was deciding all this? Maybe Dáil Éireann had some kind of colour-coded chart, a pH scale in green that showed up shades of shamrock. For a while it seemed that what lay at the end of the rainbow might not be a crock o’ gold, but a bill o’ rights.

Other developments suggested the squabble was a symptom of malaise in Irish culture. Back in the old country, where three quarters of the population support gay marriage, the Lord Mayor of Dublin accused the Saint Patrick’s Day Festival of being “soulless”, as if the essence of Irishness was absent from the bumper cars, fireworks and tat that festooned the capital on our national day. Elsewhere, the Council of Europe warned Northern Ireland’s Stormont Assembly to promote the Irish language. Having once endured a physical partition, Ireland’s people were in danger of a psychic split.

I did not have the luck of the Irish

Back in 2010, I submitted affidavits, original correspondence and educational documents in support of my claim to be a native of Ireland. As if to confirm the American Embassy’s suspicions, I did not have the luck of the Irish. The Consular Section rejected my DV2010 application on the grounds of ineligibility and worse, for a lifelong Irishman, said that I was not only British, but a native of Britain; British to the core.

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