The natural right to citizenship for children born in Italy

As I was heading to vote in Florence for the 5 abrogative referendums held on June 8th and 9th – four to increase workers’ protections and one to halve the time required to obtain Italian citizenship (from ten years to five) - I found myself, on that warm Tuscan evening and filled with a subtle, positive energy, recalling from my university studies and my Political Economy course the concept of pure public goods.

Unlike private goods (a house or a pen, for example), which belong to individuals and exclude everyone else from their use, or common goods, owned by all but rivalrous and at risk of depletion (like water, which was the focus of another historic referendum in Italy in 2011 that affirmed its status as an inviolable common good), pure public goods never run out and can be enjoyed by everyone. They are both non-excludable and non-rivalrous: like street lighting, knowledge, and clean air.

But pure public goods (and I love emphasizing the purity of this category, its positive and clear character) aren’t just vital for our survival and growth - they’re a matter of profound justice. Born of community effort, care, and investment, these goods are available to every woman and man, regardless of wealth, life experience, or biography.

That’s how citizenship should be, I thought as I left the ballot box. What does it take away from my full right to citizenship—granted simply by chance, since I was born in Rome to Italian parents—if someone else enjoys that same right? Does it somehow exclude me from voting, or from declaring my patriotic identity with pride? On the contrary, shouldn’t I rejoice—if I truly value national belonging—that someone who shares the language I speak, contributes to the same public treasury, cheers for the same football team, savors the same food, and lives the same daily life, simply wants that little piece of paper to say they are Italian, too?

Yet what seems to me a straightforward and self-evident appeal remains divisive. Of the five June referendums that failed to reach the 50% turnout threshold required for validity under Italian law, the four labor‑rights questions received over 85% “Yes” votes—while the citizenship question attracted only 65%.

What remains truly incomprehensible to me, however, beyond any cultural or political affiliation, is the situation of all those young Italians born in this country who are officially prevented from publicly declaring themselves as such until the age of 18, and unfortunately even beyond, due to the lengthy, bureaucratic, and often costly naturalization process. Under Italian law, which follows the principle of ius sanguinis rather than ius soli, children born in Italian hospitals, who grow up speaking Dante’s language, complete the full cycle of compulsory schooling, and play amateur or competitive sports on Italian fields, can only request (and not automatically receive) citizenship upon reaching adulthood. And so it happens—not in theory, but in real life—that they’re prevented from joining a school trip requiring an EU passport, or from playing in a tournament, while their classmates freely do so. They’re left with the bitter realization that citizenship, for them, is treated like an excludable and rivalrous good—not a welcoming, fraternal one.

Though the referendum failed, the time is ripe for immediate reform of the citizenship law in Italy—one that is sensitive and intelligent enough to reflect today’s reality and adapt the legal framework in defense of the women and men of our future, who are still children and adolescents today. Nearly 914,000 young people in national schools are eager to call themselves full citizens and reclaim a natural right that has been denied them. It is our duty to listen to their voices.