As I’ve mentioned before, I’m applying for a master’s in English at the end of the year in England. These programmes are pretty expensive. I’m looking at Oxford, which costs c. £6000 for tuition, plus a £2000 college fee and a recommended budget of £13,000 for living expenses for a year. About £21,000 in total. Expensive, but pretty standard for Britain. We can’t all be Sweden, I suppose.
A lot of grants and funding opportunities in Britain are only available to UK or Commonwealth students. Even the AHRC (Arts and Humanities Research Council) awards will only cover fees for EU students. That’s a £13,000 difference depending on where you’re from. So, I decided to look into British citizenship. My father, uncle and aunts are all Scottish after all. But that’s where I ran into a snag. If your mother is British, then you’re automatically a British citizen. If, however, you’re claiming British citizenship through your father and you were born after a certain year, British law goes by the law of your mother’s country. And in my case, that’s the gloriously forward-thinking, socially emancipated, progressive Republic of Ireland.
It was perfectly possible, I learned, to claim citizenship from one’s father. I, however, am not eligible because, under Irish law, I am illegitimate. That’s right. In this, the twenty-first century, in a first-world, EU member-state, I am deprived of rights other citizens enjoy because I, like Jon Snow here, am a bastard.
I was born before my parents married, and they have since separated. That fact, over which, I remind you, I had no control, means a difference of £13,000 if I am lucky enough to win funding. It means I am limited in the types of funding I can seek and it makes it all the more likely that I’ll have to go into debt to pay for my education. All because my parents got a little frisky a little early.
I’m amazed that my bastardy (a really fun word, incidentally) is having such a quantifiable effect on my life. I know the constitution was composed in 1933 but I assumed that 80-odd years of statehood would have curbed De Valera’s more excessive church-appeasing pseudo-medieval sycophancy.
So there’s not really much I can do. I’m in good company, though. The bastard as a historical and literary figure is an old archetype. They range from the aforementioned Jon Snow of A Song of Ice and Fire to Edmund in King Lear. William the Conqueror was William the Bastard before he got motivated and Confucius, Da Vinci and Thomas Paine all seemed to get by despite their less than immaculate conceptions. It’s telling though, that the most recent figure on lists of ‘bastards what done good for themselves’ is Eva Perón, who died in 1952. It really doesn’t seem to figure in recent history and barring a sudden time jump to 1259, it wasn’t something I ever thought I’d have to worry about.
The ‘bastard speech’ in King Lear reads a little differently now. ‘Wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custom, and permit The curiosity of nations to deprive me, For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base?’ The question stands.
Now Gods, stand up for bastards. Someone’s going to have to.