Tasneem adjusted her veil. It was her best veil, decorated with large shiny spangles. Every strand of hair was covered, and the veil lay flawless over her matronly figure. Her neighbours were waiting for her outside. It was Sacrifice day. Within the hour, the Immigrant Community would choose their Sacrifice, to be sent by ambulance to St Lucas hospital, where they would be administered a painless, lethal dose. The last step, before the select members of the Immigrant Community would be able to receive their passport. After years of filling forms, paying fees, waiting, interviews, more forms, more waiting, Tasneem and her family, and other members of her Community had become eligible to be nominated as the Citizenship Sacrifice.

Tasneem joined the group of women standing by her gate. There were subdued greetings. It was a day of contradictory feelings- one of them would die, but the rest of them would get citizenship- that cherished passport. In an era of nonstop global crises, the passport of a country such as the one they had the good fortune to live in was invaluable, and well worth a death. When the legislation demanding a Sacrifice as a Citizenship requirement was passed, there had been some protests – but the legislation stayed. Hate crimes were spiralling, crises had brought the economy to its knees and the far right swept into power- they had pushed through the legislation fairly easily and some Immigrant Communities had even welcomed it, hoping it would put an end to the hate crimes.

Government guidelines recommended the elderly, the sick, and the disabled as candidates, discouraging the sacrifice of mothers, workers, and taxpayers, although they could be nominated. Many Immigrant Communities instituted their own way of choosing the Sacrifice. Tasneem’s Community used the lottery method which came from a respected narrative taught at schools. When the time came, all eligible adults drew from a lottery. The one who drew the flag would be the Sacrifice. And because they were civilized, the Sacrifice was done professionally and painlessly. The Community supported the remaining family.

Tasneem’s children were now over eighteen, so the whole family was entering the lottery. Tasneem prayed hard that it would be her who drew the flag, not her children. Around the city square, whiteboys were prowling, hoping for a ruckus. Sometimes there might be a scuffle, but generally, the procedure was managed respectfully. The Community would visit the mourning family and console them. Traditional foods and ceremonies had evolved for this particular form of grieving. Even though it had started only 15 years ago, it felt like an ancient ritual.

Everybody was gathered round the lottery apparatus now. Two elders operated the machinery. When Tasneem drew the flag, as she had hoped she would, there was a ripple across the crowd, and then silence again. People drew away from her. The sun struck the sparkling spangles on her veil. There was no time and no need for goodbyes. She walked towards the ambulance without looking back.