I was standing in Heathrow Terminal 5 when it properly hit me.
Not the mild inconvenience of a delayed flight or the soul-crushing boredom of airport retail. No, this was different. I was watching a family… Nigerian, I think… being questioned by Border Force. The father kept producing documents. More documents. Then more. His kids looked exhausted. His wife looked like she’d aged a decade in the queue.
Meanwhile, I’d just waltzed through with a scan of my British passport. Ten seconds, tops.
Same planet. Same species. Wildly different realities.
And that’s when I thought: this is completely fucking arbitrary, isn’t it?
The Accident of Geography
Here’s the uncomfortable truth nobody wants to talk about at dinner parties… your entire life trajectory was largely determined by a biological lottery you had zero control over.
Where your mother happened to be when her waters broke, that’s it. That’s the game.
Born in Sweden? Congratulations, you’ve won access to 188 countries visa-free, excellent healthcare, and a social safety net that actually works.
Born in Afghanistan? You’re looking at 27 countries visa-free, and good luck with… well, everything else really.
The system we’re sold as “natural” and “necessary” is actually just an elaborate game of musical chairs where most people never even got a seat to begin with. And the people who did get seats? They’re told to be grateful, to protect what they have, to be suspicious of anyone who suggests the game might be rigged.
Which it absolutely is.
The Controllers (And Why They Love Borders)
I’m not talking about shadowy cabals or lizard people here. I’m talking about something far more mundane and far more insidious… systems that benefit from your immobility.
Think about it.
Nation-states need you to believe you belong to them. They need you to think your identity is wrapped up in their flag, their anthem, their arbitrary borders drawn by colonial powers or medieval warlords. Because if you don’t believe that? If you start thinking of yourself as a citizen of Earth rather than a subject of a specific patch of dirt? Well, that’s terrifying for them.
Can’t tax someone who doesn’t recognise your authority.
Can’t draft someone who doesn’t believe in your wars.
Can’t control someone who refuses to stay put.
Corporations love borders, too, by the way. They get to arbitrage labour costs (pay someone in Vietnam a fraction of what they’d pay someone in Germany for the same work), whilst simultaneously selling you nationalism as a virtue. “Buy British!” they say, whilst manufacturing in Bangladesh and banking in the Cayman Islands.
The whole thing is theatre. And we’re the audience pretending not to notice the wires.
What Global Citizenship Actually Means
This isn’t about abandoning culture or heritage or where you come from. I’m not suggesting we all become bland, homogenised corporate drones speaking only English and eating only McDonald’s.
Quite the opposite, actually.
Being a global citizen means recognising that your identity can be layered, complex, and utterly your own. You can be deeply connected to the place you grew up whilst also refusing to let that place define the limits of your compassion, your curiosity, or your freedom.
It means looking at the world and thinking: why shouldn’t I be able to live in Portugal if I want to? Or Thailand? Or Argentina? Why should the circumstances of my birth determine the entirety of my options?
It means rejecting the idea that someone born in Syria is inherently less deserving of safety, opportunity, and dignity than someone born in Switzerland.
It means understanding that “illegal immigrant” is a phrase designed to dehumanise people whose only crime was being born in the wrong postcode.
And yes, it means getting comfortable with the uncomfortable fact that most of what you’ve been taught about national pride, borders, and citizenship is propaganda designed to keep you compliant.
The Practical Rebellion
Now, I can already hear the objections.
“But we need borders for security!”
Do we? Or do we need functioning social systems, equitable distribution of resources, and an end to the foreign policies that create refugees in the first place?
“But we can’t just let everyone in!”
Why not? And who’s “we” in that sentence? The people who happened to be born inside the line?
“It’s not realistic!”
Neither was democracy once. Or the weekend. Or the idea that maybe we shouldn’t own other human beings.
Here’s what is realistic… you, right now, making different choices.
You can refuse to participate in the theatre. You can structure your life to be as geographically flexible as possible. You can learn languages, build relationships across borders, and stop viewing the world through the lens of nation-state propaganda.
You can vote with your feet (and your money) by supporting systems and countries that align with your values rather than the ones you happened to be born into.
You can call out nationalism when you see it. Not aggressively. Not performatively. Just… honestly.
“Why does it matter that they weren’t born here?”
“What does this flag actually represent to you?”
“Who benefits from us believing this?”
Small questions. Big impact.
The Freedom They Can’t Tax
The most radical thing you can do in a world obsessed with borders is to simply refuse to believe in them.
Not in a delusional “I’m going to walk across a militarised checkpoint because sovereignty is a social construct” way. I’m not suggesting you get yourself arrested.
But in your head. In your heart. In how you see the world.
You can look at a map and see, not countries, but bioregions. Ecosystems. Cultures. Communities.
You can look at another human and see, not a nationality, but a person with dreams and fears and complexities exactly like yours.
You can build a life that exists in the gaps between borders. Digital nomad. Perpetual traveller. Whatever you want to call it. The labels don’t matter. What matters is the refusal to be confined.
Because here’s the thing they don’t want you to realise… you’re already free.
The borders exist in policy and on paper. But they don’t exist in reality unless you allow them to. Your mind can go anywhere. Your empathy can extend everywhere. Your life can be structured around curiosity rather than constraint.
And that… that terrifies the controllers more than anything.
The Quiet Revolution
I’m not suggesting you burn your passport (though I understand the urge).
I’m suggesting you stop letting it define you.
You’re not British. Or American. Or Indian. Or Nigerian.
You’re human. You’re a member of a species that has walked across continents, sailed across oceans, and built homes in every climate on Earth.
The fact that some relatively recent political structures have tried to divide us into manageable, taxable, controllable units doesn’t change that fundamental truth.
So be ungovernable.
Not through violence or chaos, but through simple, stubborn refusal to accept the story they’re selling.
You’re a citizen of Earth.
Act like it.
Until Next Time
Discover more from Dominus Owen Markham
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