Turkish Citizenship Begins
Plan Before You Leap
A Checklist Before You Begin Your Leap
I’ve been married to a Turkish national for over thirty years.1 All the members of my family have dual citizenship except for me. Although my spouse and I have discussed it over the years, we kept putting it off. Finally, given the change in tourist visa rules, we started the process in December.
“Why the delay?” you ask. I expected either the U.S. or the Turkish government to dishonor dual citizenship at some point, and I did not want to go through the hassle only to have my second citizenship taken away. And all that paperwork and visits to the consulate or embassy would have to be scheduled into our already furiously busy lives.
The Past Affects the Future More Than You Think
There is also the lingering memory of what happened when I married in Türkiye three decades ago. Then, the U.S. required American citizens to obtain written permission from the embassy in Ankara before completing a marriage ceremony in Türkiye. The day I went to the embassy was one of the most embarrassing days of my life.
I made an appointment, arrived on time, and was shown to a window occupied on the other side by an enlisted U. S. Marine. (Remember, this is over thirty years ago. Things are different now, I’m sure, or maybe not in our current climate.) I requested the Affidavit of Eligibility to Marry, a document the Turkish government needs for us to get married in Türkiye.
For the next twenty minutes, I was quizzed, then lectured, and ultimately angrily chastised for wanting to marry a Turk rather than an American. While he didn’t call me a whore to my face, his meaning was clear. I was embarrassed, and the line of people behind me listening to this man’s diatribe made it even more humiliating. Unrelenting, I stood my ground, and the marine finally gave up and slid the document through the window's opening.
As an American citizen in the early 1990s, I expected to be treated fairly and professionally. Instead, I was treated as if I was renouncing my U.S. citizenship, which was not the case. I was in love and had dated my fiance for years. I brought the correct documents that were needed for the Embassy's approval. All I wanted was a stupid piece of paper from my government.
Lesson #1: If you are getting married in a country different from your nationality, talk to the consulate or embassy to ensure you know what to expect. And then go with the flow.
For anyone attempting to gain citizenship in a different country, being married to a citizen of that country is the easiest solution. This seems true in most countries I researched, not just Türkiye.
My husband talked by phone to several persons, getting as much information as possible before making the first appointment with the Turkish Consulate. He then attended alone and asked as many questions as possible. We didn’t intend for him to go alone, but a medical conflict caused me to be late. It all worked out, and he had a written checklist, a new Turkish contact for assistance with some of the needed documents, and a budding relationship with our Turkish consulate advisor.
Lesson #2: The staff at the consulate or embassy (despite my adventure thirty years ago) are there to help. Please don’t make them your enemy.
Our next step was to collect all the documents on the list:
U. S. passport.
U. S. birth certificate.
Apostille2 for my original birth certificate from that state’s secretary of state.
Turkish translation of the birth certificate and the apostille.
Two passport-type photographs. Don’t smile.
Criminal Clearance from the local police department where we live in the U.S.
Apostille from my current state for the Criminal Records Clearance.
Turkish Translation for the Criminal Records Clearance and apostille.
Recent banking records proving joint ownership of funds.
A deed or other title or rental document showing joint ownership or rental of property.
Apostille for the deed.
Translation of the deed and apostille in Turkish.
Birth certificates of all children of the couple and their citizenship documents.
Certificate of translation accuracy.
Receipt showing all funds paid in full.
Completion of the Application for Turkish Citizenship and payment of their fees.
As you can see from most of these documents, the Turkish consulate wanted to see evidence that we were indeed married and that our marriage was not a sham arrangement to get citizenship. I fully understood the logic since this occurs frequently with those applying for U.S. citizenship.3 Waiting for all these years made this so much easier. We had fully grown children, we purchased real estate together, we lived in it for years, etc.
Lesson #3: Get a written checklist from the consulate or embassy, and be sure you understand every document and the correct format you need to supply.
We submitted our documents to our exceptionally friendly consulate advisor. Pulling me aside without my husband, she made sure I knew that Turkish law required me to take my husband’s last name. I was aware of that requirement, so it wasn’t a surprise. Then, she gave me various options for having my name listed on my Turkish citizenship documents. I selected the option with every name possible (first, middle, maiden, married surname) to avoid confusion in the future.4
What do we prepare for now?
Will there be an interview?
Will it be conducted in the language of your new country?
I’ve been told an interview is unnecessary, but I will prepare for one anyway. Because I am not yet fluent in Turkish, I am scrambling to learn more in case I am tested. If you will remember, I also overstayed my visa (twice) during the last two years, and I fully expect to be taken aside at Passport Control this summer and questioned. That might not be in English, and I might be alone. And even though I’ve applied for Turkish citizenship, until that right is granted, I’m still a yabancı.5
Now We Wait.
We were told the paperwork would be processed in eight to twelve months. If the Turkish office in Ankara needs additional information, that time will be extended. Even though we asked, the consular officer would not speculate about what might be requested.
She provided an email showing all the documents forwarded to the office in Ankara, along with the tracking numbers and our case number. We will eventually receive a link to the site to track the application process, but that link has not yet arrived.
Lesson #4: Be patient.
Since I’m a control freak, thinking about the waiting is stressful. This process would be exponentially more stressful with a different type of application other than through marriage, so I need to chill a bit.
I’ll keep you posted, and we’ll ride the waves of embassy paperwork together. Cross your fingers.
Yes, he is an American citizen. ↩
An Apostille is “a legal certification that makes a document from one country valid in another.” Both countries must be signatories to the 1961 Hague Convention Abolishing the Requirement for Legalization for Foreign Public Documents. ↩
In the U. S., additional evidence is obtained verbally by an immigration officer during the interview process. In obtaining my husband’s citizenship, it was clear to the officer we had been together for years, and our relationship was not a sham. I didn’t know it would be an easy interview. My friends had told me otherwise. To prepare for the interview, I was frantic, memorizing what brand of underwear we both wore, what type of toothpaste we preferred, and all the millions of little things your spouse loves or hates about you. ↩
Because my husband’s name is difficult for Americans to pronounce, I kept my American name when we married. Now, everyone in the village calls me “Yenge,” a translation for aunt or sister-in-law. They never use my name. For a second, I almost asked her to put “Yenge” as my first name with my husband’s last name, but I didn’t think my husband would appreciate the joke. ↩
In Turkish, a “foreigner.” ↩