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They grow up so fast. As we will see, Paddington himself has almost certainly reached the age of ursine majority, whatever that might be. When I took my children to see the first Paddington film in 2014, they were aged just two and a half and four. Too young then fully to understand the film’s deep currents on strangers, differences, refuge and hostility. Too young now, perhaps, to understand the slightly melancholy themes of growing up, moving on and multiple identity that run through the third film in the series, Paddington in Peru.
But my children know a British passport when they see one. And we see Paddington’s new, blue, shiny, post-Brexit British passport in the new film. Paddington has always been supremely British, of course. But now it’s official.
Having arrived as an illegal entrant and asylum seeker in the first film and survived the United Kingdom’s hostile environment in the second, Paddington ends his metaphorical journey in the third when he becomes a British citizen. How realistic is Paddington’s experience? As an immigration lawyer, I can report that it’s pretty typical in lots of ways.
Right to remain
We saw Paddington arrive as a refugee back in 2014. I didn’t fancy his chances. As a victim of a natural disaster, it didn’t look to me like he met the definition of a refugee in the 1951 Refugee Convention. And, given he is a bear, he had some pretty obvious problems qualifying to stay under the Human Rights Act.
But I was wrong. Like most refugees, he must have won his case.
Well over half of asylum seekers will ultimately do likewise and be recognised as a refugee. In recent years, the proportion of successful asylum applications rose as high as 76% in 2022 (admittedly on a relatively small number of decisions) before falling back to around 60%. And that is before appeal outcomes are taken into account. Around half of asylum appeals have been succeeding in recent years.
Once a person is recognised as a refugee, they are given five years of leave to remain. After that, the vast majority will qualify for settlement, called indefinite leave to remain. And a year after that, a refugee is potentially eligible to apply to naturalise as a British citizen.
It isn’t unusual for a former asylum seeker like Paddington to become British. In fact, 70% of all refugees granted asylum over ten years ago ultimately went on to naturalise as British.* What are the requirements that Paddington and others like him must have fulfilled?
Becoming British
One of the requirements to naturalise as a British citizen is to be 18 years of age. Having arrived Ursa Minor back in 2014, Paddington is probably therefore now an adult. There is a way by which a non-British child born outside the United Kingdom can be registered as a British citizen but it is at the discretion of the Home Office and requires some pretty special circumstances as well as some pretty skilled lawyering. Check out section 3(1) of the British Nationality Act 1981, search up the associated Home Office guidance and check out the PRCBC website if you want to know more about it.
Aside from age and immigration status, the main other requirements are to pass two tests: the good character test and the citizenship test.
Paddington, of course, is of very good character. After being very hairy, it is his defining trait. But is he of Good Character, as defined by law and interpreted by officials at the Home Office?
Let’s not beat around the bush. Paddington Bear is a serial criminal. We see him commit the offence of illegal entry in the first film and the offence of illegal working in the second. This behaviour is considered grounds for refusal even if the person was not prosecuted and convicted. Happily, the official considering Paddington’s application seems to have paid attention to the part of the guidance that says — and I’m paraphrasing quite a lot here — that refugees should not be penalised for illegal entry.
The other test Paddington will have had to pass is the citizenship test. Essentially, those taking the test have to study a handbook published by the Home Office and then answer multiple choice questions on its rather random contents. Ironically, two thirds of British citizens can’t actually pass the test. Can you say in which year the Battle of the Boyne was fought? Who started the first curry house? The height of the London Eye?
We know Paddington passed. Can you? Helpfully, CNN have a version you can take yourself to see how you would fare.
The cost of Britishness
There is a literal cost to becoming British: £1,630 plus £50 for the citizenship test and potentially another £150 for an English language test.
It is sometimes an insurmountable barrier to becoming a full member of British society. Given that Paddington struggles to save up £250 for a present for Aunt Lucy in the second film, it seems reasonable to assume the Brown family forked out for him. Paddington is very, very fortunate to have such support. Without it, citizenship would have been beyond his reach.
There are other less obvious costs to consider as well.
One is that by becoming British, a refugee will lose their formal refugee status. The Refugee Convention only offers protection to those who are outside their country of nationality. If you are a refugee and you become British, you are now in one of your countries of nationality. But in losing your refugee status you will also lose the enhanced right to family reunion from which refugees benefit. Applications for a spouse and children to join a refugee sponsor are free and the requirements are less onerous than for British citizens.
The second is that by becoming British you may lose your previous nationality. Not all countries allow their citizens to be a national of another country. The United Kingdom does allow dual and multiple citizenship and so does Peru. So, unlike some, Paddington need not make a choice here. He can be both British and Peruvian.
Or is to be both to be neither, to be a “citizen of nowhere” as former Prime Minister Theresa May once infamously said?
The third cost is what the journey to becoming British takes out of you. The literal cost is part of that. As well as the naturalisation fee there’s also the cost of the prior immigration applications leading up to it. And the cost of the lawyers, because the applications are complex and the consequences of getting it wrong calamitous. The stress and the emotional costs should not be underestimated. Nor should the impact of the prolonged uncertainty and lack of security. Some — those who have not lived though it — will say all that is a small price to pay for the privilege of becoming British. But the prolonged hazing we inflict on those who will become our fellow citizens serves no useful purpose, makes them and their families poorer than they would otherwise be and leaves some with very mixed feelings about their new home.
Mixed feelings
One reason the Paddington books and films work so well is that Paddington is an outsider. It is through his eyes that we see ourselves and our own strange ways. His written reflections on the Brown family resemble the notes of a previous generation of anthropologists. He lives among us but is never quite one of us.
Paddington’s elderly friend, Mr Gruber, himself a Jewish refugee, observes that one can sometimes have mixed feelings about one’s old country. Once in Peru, Paddington speaks but haltingly in his old tongue. He literally casts off his adopted coat and hat to reassimilate with his own kind. But, as Mr Brown rather brutally says at one point, not only do the Browns not belong in Peru, neither does Paddington.
Ultimately, Paddington belongs with his family. He is mixed, as he puts it himself. Part London. Part Peru. And we love him for it.
* With thanks to the marvellous Madeleine Sumption of the Migration Observatory. Figures are for those granted asylum between 2004 and 2013.
