In an era where there’s such political polarity, one item has established massive support among all. Voter I.D. The concept enjoys 80-20 support among Dems, Republicans, and Indies.
Yet, the current Congress could not bring itself to pass the SAVE Act, requiring proof of citizenship to vote!
We want it. The political class does not.
Why?
Citizenship is one of those rare things in life that sounds incredibly boring until you don’t have it. It’s like Wi-Fi: you only truly appreciate it when it’s gone. Most of us born into it treat citizenship like we treat our left sock—useful, always there, and completely taken for granted until laundry day hits and suddenly everything feels wrong. Yet behind the paperwork, the flag-waving, and the occasional awkward national anthem karaoke lies something profoundly valuable: a formal membership card to the human club with actual benefits, responsibilities, and the occasional free fireworks show.
At its core, citizenship is identity with infrastructure. It gives you a team to root for, even when your team is currently losing 3–0 in the global standings, and the coach (also known as “the government”) keeps substituting your best players with people who can’t kick straight. When you’re a citizen, you belong somewhere. You have a legal home base, a set of rules everyone around you is (theoretically) playing by, and—most importantly—the right to complain about those rules without being politely escorted to the border.
Non-citizens can complain too, of course, but there’s always that tiny voice in the back of their head whispering, “Careful, or you’ll be tweeting from economy class on the way home.” The practical value is obvious once you start traveling. A strong passport is basically a golden ticket that says, “This person is unlikely to overstay, start a revolution, or demand free healthcare while photographing every lamppost in your capital.”
Citizens of fortunate countries breeze through immigration lines like celebrities avoiding paparazzi, while others stand in the “additional screening” queue long enough to grow a beard and learn a new language. It’s not fair, but international relations have never been mistaken for a kindergarten playground. Your citizenship is your reputation by proxy—sometimes earned by ancestors who did impressive things, sometimes inherited like that weird uncle’s collection of lawn gnomes.Yet citizenship isn’t just about easier airport experiences and the divine right to mock your own politicians on social media. It carries real responsibilities that, if taken seriously, make societies function.
Paying taxes, for example, is the adult version of chipping in for pizza at a group hangout—except the pizza is roads, schools, and emergency services, and some people always seem to “forget their wallet.” Voting is another underrated superpower. Sure, your single vote feels as impactful as a polite cough in a hurricane, but collectively it’s how citizens steer the ship. When enough people treat voting like choosing a Netflix profile (“I’ll just let someone else decide”), the ship starts doing donuts in the ocean while the captain argues about the playlist. There’s also emotional value most people never articulate.
Citizenship gives you roots in an increasingly rootless world. In an era where you can work from a beach in Bali while your tax forms are filed in Berlin, having a defined “home” provides psychological ballast. It’s the place where, no matter how badly you mess up abroad, they still have to take you back (barring extreme cases involving international warrants or truly legendary bad behavior). That safety net—imperfect as it is—has immense mental health value.
Knowing there’s a country that legally claims you means you’re never truly stateless, a terrifying condition that turns every border crossing into an existential game of “Mother, May I?”Humorously enough, citizenship also turns ordinary people into accidental patriots during major sporting events. Suddenly, folks who can’t name three laws in their constitution are painting their faces in national colors and screaming at referees as if the fate of Western civilization depends on whether our guys can kick a ball into a net better than their guys.
This tribal instinct, while occasionally embarrassing (see: shirtless men with flags and capes at the World Cup), actually serves a purpose. It reminds us that humans are wired for belonging. Citizenship channels that are wired into something slightly more constructive than gang warfare or fantasy football leagues.
Of course, citizenship has its absurdities. Some countries sell it for investment money, like it’s a limited-edition sneaker drop. Others make the naturalization process so difficult it feels like applying to Hogwarts while simultaneously solving a Rubik’s Cube blindfolded. And let’s not forget dual citizens, the magical unicorns who get to collect passports like Pokémon cards and confuse customs officers for fun. “Sir, which country are you betraying today?”
The deepest value of citizenship, however, may be its quiet promise of mutual obligation. In a world that often feels atomized and transactional, citizenship says: “We’re in this together—messy democracy, flawed institutions, weird food traditions, and all.” It asks us to contribute more than we extract, to defend the system when it’s under threat, and to improve it when we can. That social contract, frayed as it sometimes appears, remains one of humanity’s better inventions.
In the end, citizenship is less about the fancy document in your drawer and more about the invisible web of rights, duties, and shared stories that make collective life possible. It’s imperfect, occasionally ridiculous, and frequently taken for granted. But like that reliable left sock, you only realize its true worth when you’re hopping around trying to make do without it.
So next time you roll your eyes at jury duty, tax season, or another political scandal, remember: these minor annoyances come bundled with something priceless—the right to stand somewhere on this planet and say, without fear or apology, “This is my home. I belong here.” In a world of seven billion people searching for connection, that’s no small thing. Remember to vote on the 19th of the month. If we do, we’ll get what we deserve.
If we don’t, we’ll get what they think we deserve.
We’ll have only ourselves to blame.
Greg Budell has lived in Montgomery for 20 years. A 50+ year veteran of radio, TV and writing, Greg hosts the Newstalk 93.1FM Morning Show with Rich Thomas and Jay Scott, 6-9 AM Monday – Friday. He returns weekday afternoons from 3-6 PM for Happy Hour with Pamela Dubuque and a variety of sidekicks. His favorite topic is life! Greg can be reached at gregbudell@aol.com.