The big news in the expatriate community is the recent change to the Canada Citizenship Act under which children born to Canadians abroad are only entitled to citizenship if at least one of the parents was born inside Canada. In other words, Canadian citizenship now only passes for one generation outside the country.

The change has its merits and demerits (some of which I’ve explored on my blog). But whatever the merits of the amendment, you can't change the definition of Canadian citizenship without changing what it means to be Canadian. Or can you?

I'm a Canadian citizen – though I currently live in the United States. But because I was born overseas, any kids I have during my stay in the U.S. won't be Canadian citizens. Having kids right now is a purely speculative notion (to my mother's chagrin), but the idea that my hypothetical kids wouldn't be Canadian has got me thinking about what being Canadian means.

Living in the U.S., I think about being Canadian a lot. Maybe it's just me – maybe it's an expatriate thing. Either way, living here has undoubtedly increased my sense of Canadian identity. Part of it is linguistic (I once had to spell out the word "produce" before a Midwestern friend could understand what I wanted at the grocery store). Part is cultural – for all our self-congratulation, Canada is remarkably racially homogenous (at 86 per cent white) compared to the U.S. (75 per cent). Part is geographic – we complain about the frost in October, but I tell you in all honesty that I miss it (not too much.)

Most of all, Canada is where I come from. Canada is part of me in a thousand different ways – some ways obvious, some not, but all contributing to who I am. I want to pass this identity on. I want to be able to say to my children: your ancestors lived on the land from time immemorial; your ancestors crossed the seas; your ancestors fought one another, and then made their peace; your ancestors confronted a land that cannot be tamed, and learned to live with it (and off it); your ancestors went to war to fight for freedom and justice, not always without honest reservation; your ancestors persecuted one another, felt shame, begged forgiveness, and forgave; your ancestors stood tall, lived honest lives, held out a helping hand, said please and thank you. I want to be able to say to my children: you have the spirit of the north inside of you – you are Canadian.

Can I say that if my children aren't citizens? If they never vote, or expect to vote, or pay tax? If they pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America? Can my kids be Canadian, even if they aren't Canadian citizens?

Why not? Tying Canadian identity to Canadian citizenship reduces Canada to a mere political entity, to a government. But it's more than that. It’s a nation – with national history, national culture, national past-times, national quirks, national shames, and national triumphs. Surely there's more to being Canadian than having a passport. Surely being Canadian is being a product of all of the experiences of all of the Canadians who have come before.

The recent change to the Citizenship Act seems to have been drafted on the assumption that, for many Canadians living abroad, identity and citizenship are the same – and that's probably true. Those who don't identify as Canadian won't bemoan the loss of citizenship, and those who do will take the steps necessary to pass citizenship along. But I suspect there's a third group: those who want to pass along Canadian identity without passing along citizenship.

If I'm right, tightening the citizenship rules might result, somewhat paradoxically, in the growth of a new sort of Canadian diaspora – one maintaining a cultural and emotional connection to the motherland even while participating politically and socially in countries around the world.

That's what I've been telling myself, anyway: I'm not Canadian because I'm a citizen, I'm just Canadian. If that’s true, it follows that my kids don't have to be citizens to be Canadian as well. But for all of that, I'd still rather they were.