In many Filipino households, the framed Naturalization Certificate is more than just a legal document. It sits on the mantle next to the family photos and the Sto. Niño; it is the “Holy Grail” of a journey that often spans decades — all for that moment when we raised our right hand and took the Oath of Allegiance and believed the American Dream was finally locked in.

But for a growing number of Filipinos, that dream is curdling into a nightmare.

Under the Trump administration’s renewed focus on denaturalization, the perceived ‘paper shield’ of citizenship is being tested by policies that treat old omissions or human errors as grounds for exile.

“Many of our kababayans are very fearful and are asking if they are covered by denaturalization,” said lawyer Lou Tancinco, a San Francisco–based immigration lawyer. “There is a legitimate cause for concern if a past criminal conviction or immigration fraud was not disclosed or resolved during the naturalization process.”

In 2024 alone, more than 41,000 Filipinos took the oath, making Filipinos the third-largest group of new US citizens that year. Of the roughly 2.1 million Philippine-born residents, an estimated 1.6 million — around 76% — are naturalized, one of the highest naturalization rates of any immigrant group.

A recent New York Times report said that the US Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS) is now operating under monthly referral targets, directing field offices to send 100 to 200 cases per month to the Department of Justice for possible citizenship revocation.

To understand the scale of this escalation, consider this: between 2017 and early 2025, the federal government filed only about 120 denaturalization cases in total. Under the proposed 2026 targets, that same number could be reached every single month. Because Filipinos have such a high naturalization rate, we are mathematically more likely to be part of any “audit” or “review” of citizenship papers.

The ‘Nevada Divorce’ Trap

For some Pinoys, the line between an innocent omission and a material misrepresentation has historically fallen along very specific fault lines.

“Misrepresenting marital status or those entering the US as unmarried when in fact they are married is a common fraud fact pattern,” Tancinco said. “USCIS examiners are already familiar with these cases, and it may be considered material because it would have disqualified them at the time. Similarly, failing to disclose children can raise red flags if it is from a concealed marriage that affects eligibility.”

Another area of concern involves fake marriages. While arranged marriages themselves are not illegal and are recognized under US immigration law if they are genuine, marriages entered into solely for immigration benefits are considered fraud. If a fraudulent marriage formed the basis of a green card and later naturalization, it can become grounds for denaturalization.

A common red flag involves those who marry a US citizen after obtaining a “quickie” divorce in a state like Nevada. If that Nevada divorce is found to be invalid — perhaps because the residency requirements weren’t met or it conflicted with an undissolved marriage in the Philippines — the subsequent marriage used for the green card can be declared bigamous. In the eyes of the law, this is “illegal procurement” of citizenship.

Much of the fear though is not about serious fraud, but about ordinary human error.

Naturalization forms ask applicants to reconstruct years — sometimes decades — of their lives in exact dates and legal categories. The most common mistakes are mundane: misremembered travel dates, incomplete job histories, or spelling inconsistencies, or confusion over legal terms such as “arrest,” “citation,” or “conviction.” Name variations are especially common among Filipinos, as are changes through marriage or Anglicization, like from Juan Batungbakal to John Stone.

Under normal circumstances, these errors are understood for what they are: the limits of memory, language, and bureaucracy – but probably not to a diligent USCIS fact-checker under duress to fill a monthly quota.

The courts still matter

As alarming as the rhetoric sounds, denaturalization is a complicated legal process. “USCIS cannot simply revoke citizenship,” Tancinco, a naturalized citizen herself, explained. “A naturalized citizen has the right to a hearing before a federal district court, and the burden is entirely on the government.”

Courts have consistently held that citizenship cannot be revoked for trivial mistakes. In a Maslenjak v. US Supreme Court ruling (2017), the Court said the government can’t revoke citizenship for trivial lies like a speeding ticket. It has to be a lie that, if known, would have legally blocked you from being a citizen.

“This fear should not guide our actions,” Tancinco warned: “When confronted by USCIS about possible denaturalization, do not sign any statement without consulting legal counsel. Know your rights. Fear-driven decisions can have permanent consequences.”

The most chilling aspect of this policy is the reported investigation of naturalized citizens for “anti-American opinions.” This is a psychological weapon to silence the minority, but it only works if we remain silent.

For the sibling who waited 30 years and the nurse who worked three jobs to reach that mantle, the pursuit of happiness shouldn’t end in a state of perpetual anxiety. By standing firm, we prove that our loyalty is not to a fearful silence, but to the constitutional freedoms we swore to uphold. We are Americans, period. It’s time we started acting like one. – Rappler.com

Oscar Quiambao is a former reporter for The Philippine Daily Inquirer who now lives in San Francisco.