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By Tábata Martín Olea
Migration remains a central issue in European politics, and in Italy, questions of citizenship and national identity have increasingly taken center stage. Recently, two political developments in particular have sparked widespread debate across the country.
First, the rules for Italian descendants to access citizenship have been tightened. Before the law was amended, access to Italian citizenship was based on the principle of jus sanguinis (right of blood): anyone could qualify if they had an ancestor who was alive when the Kingdom of Italy was formed on March 17, 1861. Under the new regulations, however, applicants for citizenship must have a parent or grandparent who was an Italian citizen by birth.
The second development is the referendum that was held on June 8 and 9 to accelerate the naturalization process for third-country nationals. The proposed reform sought to reduce the required period of uninterrupted residency from ten to five years. But only 30% of Italian voters took part, falling well short of the 50% plus one threshold required for the referendum result to be legally binding.
“I feel very disappointed”
Vanessa, a 34-year-old social worker and second-generation migrant whose mother migrated from Cabo Verde to work as a housekeeper at age 16, shares her thoughts on the outcome.
“I feel very disappointed,” she says of the referendum. “1.5 million people could have had access to citizenship, but we didn’t manage to reach the benchmark. I work with a Rome-based association called QuestaèRoma, which fights all forms of discrimination, including racism. We were campaigning and organizing talks and workshops in the lead-up to the referendum. I think we need to do more of that. I was talking to some friends to raise awareness on the issue, but they didn’t understand. They don’t know how hard it is [to access Italian citizenship]. They think it’s something that’s handed out lightly, like a gift.”
She notes the contrast with those who gain citizenship through ancestry. “Until recently, it was much easier for someone with Italian roots, even very distant ones, to get citizenship than it is for someone who’s lived here their whole life.”
“For the rest of us,” she continues, “there are only three ways to get it: you either live here for ten years before applying, you marry an Italian citizen, or you apply when you turn 18. That’s what my mother did; she applied on my behalf when I turned 18, and I received citizenship when I was 19 or 20. They read me my rights, took my fingerprints, there was a swearing-in ceremony, and that was it. For them, it was just a bureaucratic procedure: routine, almost lifeless. But for me, it was a big thing. I was so excited, because I could finally present myself to the world the way I saw myself: as Afro-Italian.”
“I’m always offered the same roles: an immigrant”
Reflecting on her experiences growing up in Italy, she recalls, “It was really difficult. We struggled a lot financially because it was just me, my mother, and my older sister living on one income. My mother had to work long hours, so my sister was often looked after by nuns at a convent, and they would only see each other about once a week. I was always seen as an outsider because of my skin color, even though I was born here. When I was with my mother, people assumed I was adopted because I’m mixed race—my mother is white and my father is Black, which is common in Cabo Verde.
“Until recently, it was much easier for someone with Italian roots, even very distant ones, to get citizenship than it is for someone who’s lived here their whole life.”
Today, the challenges persist. “I began building my identity at 17, but it’s still an ongoing process. People assume I can’t speak Italian, or that I’m uneducated, even though I’m the first person in my family to earn a university degree, and that’s something I’m proud of. I’ve worked in the film industry as well, I’m always offered the same roles: an immigrant or a sex worker. All these experiences pushed me to start reading about race, migration, and social justice, and they have empowered me to embrace my identity as a Black Italian woman and work to challenge dominant narratives through activism.”
This sense of exclusion is echoed by Ruth, a 56-year-old woman from Eritrea who moved to Italy in 1983 on a family reunification visa and now works on the social and professional integration of migrants through various organizations.
“The citizenship process is very inconsistent”
“I’ve tried to live as an active citizen, fully aware that my skin color marks me out as a foreigner. I try to rise above racist attitudes and focus instead on building relationships based on cohesion and harmony. My experience has been positive overall—I’ve managed to build the life I wanted, both professionally and personally.”
When asked about her citizenship process, she explains, “I’m married to an Italian man. Applying for citizenship was very simple and very fast for me. I was the first in my family to apply, back in 1987. After earning my accounting diploma, I needed to be an Italian citizen to register professionally and practice as an accountant. At the time, no special requirements were needed—just a clean criminal record. There wasn’t even a swearing-in ceremony at the town hall, nor was a presidential decree required.”
Although her own process was smooth, she says the experience was very different for the rest of her family. “My parents came to Italy in the late 1970s, around the beginning of the Eritrean War of Independence. My mother, my brothers, and my sister applied after Law No. 91 on citizenship came into force in 1992. Despite having over 30 years of residence, owning a home, earning a good income, and having a solid knowledge of Italian, it took more than four years for my mother’s application to be processed. For one of my brothers and my sister, it took around two years. Another of my brothers had his application rejected after four years due to ‘insufficient income,’ even though the household income was well above the threshold. He then submitted a new application, which took about a year and was approved.”
Reflecting on the experience, she points out the unpredictable nature of the system. “The citizenship process is very inconsistent. There are no guaranteed timelines. Two identical applications submitted on the same day can have completely different outcomes; one might take four years, the other two. There’s no legal certainty; it depends on luck.”
These women’s experiences reflect a larger truth: while migration continues to shape the country’s future, the path to full belonging in Italy remains uneven and uncertain for many.
The failure of the labor-related referendums
When asked about the referendum, Ruth shares Vanessa’s disappointment.
“I did a lot of awareness-raising among people I know and took part in several conferences. I hoped for a ‘yes’ victory, but I wasn’t really counting on it. It’s an important issue with significant implications for Italy and should really be addressed in Parliament. A lot of factors need to be taken into account: an ageing population, low birth rates, equal rights, and the need to create a society based on cohesion and social justice for the benefit of both Italians and foreigners. Unfortunately, Italian politicians don’t want to take responsibility for changing the 1992 citizenship law. What I’m most disappointed about, though, is the failure of the labor-related referendums. I’m bitter about the lack of labor protections, the poor wages, and the unsafe working conditions.”
These women’s experiences reflect a larger truth: while migration continues to shape the country’s future, the path to full belonging in Italy remains uneven and uncertain for many.
Vanessa sees a persistent imbalance. “We pay taxes, contribute to pensions, we work. There are people being exploited for their labor, like those harvesting in the countryside. Without citizenship, you’re often forced to work illegally just to survive. Italy benefits from our presence. But we’re still denied access to the same rights as everyone else.”
For Ruth, the right to citizenship carries deep democratic weight. “It gives you the power to choose who governs you, but it only makes sense if it’s free from racial discrimination,” she says. “In a country where people still speak of ‘native ethnicities,’ that right often feels like an afterthought.”
