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It was with a mixture of scepticism and excitement that I headed for my British citizenship ceremony.
当我前去参加自己的英国入籍仪式时，心中掺杂着怀疑和兴奋的感觉。
Rituals have never been my thing. I haven’t been to any of my own graduations, despite having had three such opportunities. Dress up in an overpriced robe, listen to lofty lectures then clap for hours while queueing to receive a decorative piece of paper from a total stranger. How about no? Some weddings I find equally ridiculous. Why invite your favourite people from all geographies to one place just to not hang out with them? Instead of catching up, the couple reaches the pinnacle of a once-in-a-lifetime feat of logistics, recites a legally binding incantation and disappears on holiday.
仪式从来都不是我喜欢的场面。我没参加过自己任何一次毕业典礼，尽管有过三次这样的机会。穿着昂贵的礼服盛装出席，听着长达数小时豪情壮志的演讲而后鼓掌，同时排着长队等待从一个完全陌生的人手中接到装点门面的一纸文书。没有又能怎么样？我发现有些婚礼也是一样的荒谬。为什么要把你喜欢的人从各地请到一个地方，只为了不和他们共聚？新婚夫妇不和朋友们叙旧，而只是专注于完成自己的终身大事，背诵一句具有法律约束力的咒语，然后就消失度蜜月去了。
By contrast, the ritual by which one completes the final step to becoming British proved surprisingly enjoyable. The ceremony I enrolled in took place two weeks ago in a south London registry office. The weather was on form — a mixture of grey skies, indecisive rain and occasionally worrying thunder. There was tea, biscuits and a longer wait than I was expecting before we even began. All in, it was the perfect setting in which to cement one’s place in the UK — in my case, after having studied here for seven years and worked for six, with stints in a couple of other countries in between.
相比之下，成为英国人的最后一步的仪式却愉悦得令人意外。我参加的那场仪式是最近在伦敦南部的登记办公室进行的。天气中规中矩——灰蒙蒙的天空、连绵不断的细雨、偶尔响起的令人担忧的雷声。官方准备了茶和饼干，仪式开始前等待的时间比我预期的长些。所有这一切构成了夯实外国人在英国地位的完美情境——就我而言，这种身份是在英国学习了7年、工作了6年（其间曾在另外两个国家短期居住）之后才获得的。
But something important was missing from the proceedings. Namely natives. Each soon-to-be Brit could bring up to two guests, and most appeared to be relatives or close friends. There wouldn’t have been space for more.
但是，过程中少了某些很重要的事——本土英国人。每个准英国人都可以带来两位客人，其中多数客人似乎都是亲戚或密友。现场也没有场地让更多人参加。
The danger of holding these ceremonies in small rooms off to the side is that few British people bear witness to the successes of settled migrants. Instead there are just headline statistics that group everyone together: those coming here to study, as I did back in 1997; or to work; or, in the case of refugees, to reach safety. Big faceless numbers can stoke fears about how many incomers the country can support, even though not all become permanent residents.
在一个不起眼的地点的某个小房间内举行这类仪式的危险在于，鲜有英国人能亲眼见证新移民的成功。相反，人们看到的是把同一类人捆绑在一起的整体数据：那些像我这样1997年就来英国学习的人；或者来英工作的人；再或者那些为了获得安全的难民。不分个体的大数字激起人们对这个国家能够承受多少移民的恐惧，即使并非所有来英国的人都会成为永久居民。
What is clear, however, is that, for those who make it all the way to citizenship, it’s something to be celebrated by all. Ideally in a more public and personalised manner.
然而，显而易见的是，对于那些终于成功入籍的人来说，这是值得所有人庆祝的事。在理想情况下，最好是以更加公开而个性化的方式来庆祝。
It wouldn’t be practical for every citizenship ceremony to be open to a broader audience, of course. But, when naturalisation is approved, there could be an invitation to apply for a more elaborate public ceremony. From the applicants, a diverse group of people could be selected — from different parts of the world and professions. Much like how the recent “I am an immigrant” poster campaign in the UK did, when its organisers endeavoured to highlight the positive side of migration. A Polish firefighter was featured on one poster; a Syrian occupational therapist on another; and, full disclosure, this FT columnist made an appearance.
当然，让每一场入籍仪式都向更多观众开放也不实际。但是，当入籍获得批准后，不妨邀请人们申请参加一个比较隆重的公众仪式。有关方面可以遴选来自世界不同地区、不同职业、形形色色的申请者来参加。就像英国最近“我是移民”的海报活动（其组织者努力彰显移民的积极面）。一名波兰消防员上了海报；还有一名叙利亚的职业理疗师也出现在海报上；基于全面披露原则，身为英国《金融时报》专栏作家的笔者也出现了。
Given a larger venue, we could add local dignitaries, perhaps an MP, plus a touch of pomp and circumstance. This might entice British-born residents to accept invitations, without regarding the event as a duty akin to jury service. More tickets for applicants to give to friends and neighbours would further increase turnout.
有了更大的场地，我们还可以邀请当地政要，或许请一位议员到场，再把排场搞得稍微隆重些。这或许会促使本土出生的居民也能欣然接受邀请，而不是把这当做类似于陪审团工作的义务。申请者可以向朋友和邻居分发的入场票更多，出席仪式的人数也会进一步增加。
To make it more personal, would-be Brits could write their own vows in addition to the usual affirmation of allegiance. And participants could also do something natives struggle with but enjoy hearing others do: say how wonderful the UK is. Coming from the US, I’d have liked the chance to say how grateful I am for the National Health Service. I love it when, at the end of a doctor’s appointment, you just walk out. Straight past reception. There’s no “Show me your insurance, this is the co-payment you have to make, please can I have your credit card”. Having a health service looking after you, rather than a medical industry profiting from you, is just wonderful.
为了使入籍更加个性化，准英国人不妨在标准版本的效忠誓词以外加入自己所写的誓词。同时，参与者还可以做一些本土居民自己很纠结、但又喜欢听到别人做的事：诉说英国有多么美好。来自美国的我，很愿意能有个机会表达一下自己对英国国民保健体系(NHS)的感激之情。医生问诊结束后，你可以一走了之，我非常喜欢这一点。直接走过前台。没有什么“给我看看你的保险，这是你必须做出的共同支付，请把你的信用卡给我”之类的流程。拥有一个照顾你的医疗体系、而不是一个从你身上获利的医疗行业，那感觉太美妙了。
Others less fortunate than me — trading one peaceful, developed country for another — would have even more solemn things to say.
我是从一个和平的发达国家入籍到另一个和平的发达国家，没我那么幸运的人甚至会有更多事情需要郑重表达。
As the UK prepares to welcome more migrants of all kinds, ceremonies should be open to the public to celebrate both those who make this country their permanent home and those born here who welcome them. Tea, biscuits, bad weather and all.
在英国准备欢迎更多形形色色的移民之际，入籍仪式应该向公众开放，既让那些在英国安居乐业的人庆祝，也让出生在英国的本土人有机会欢迎他们加入。茶、饼干、坏天气以及所有的一切。
