Until recently, I thought I did not much care if Scotland voted for independence. But, now, as the prospect becomes very real, I am surprised by how upset I feel. I follow the polls obsessively. I fume at the incompetence of the No campaign and the insularity of the Yes. And my sense of foreboding grows as the day grows closer.
Why should that be? The answer is that the Scottish referendum has made me realise how much my own sense of identity, and personal security, is tied up with my British nationality. Meanwhile my job – covering world affairs – tells me that the world is in a more dangerous state than for decades. That makes it a terrible time to break up Britain.
As the child of immigrants, I always feel a sense of gratitude and pleasure when I write on a customs form: born London, nationality British. My forebears were not so lucky. My grandparents were Jews from different parts of eastern Europe who emigrated to South Africa in the years before the Holocaust. My parents emigrated again, not wanting to live or bring up children in apartheid South Africa. It feels like a personal triumph that my own children were born in the same country as me.