COLUMN: Trump strips citizenship from 17 Americans — tomorrow, it could be you

Seventeen proceedings, one systemic threat

In June 2026, the United States Department of Justice announced denaturalization proceedings against 17 naturalized American citizens accused of serious crimes. On paper, the argument is defensible: American citizenship should not protect those who obtained it fraudulently or who committed serious criminal acts. But in practice, what the Trump administration is establishing is a legal precedent of a far broader scope.

These 17 cases are not simply 17 individuals. They represent the first milestones of a legal infrastructure capable, tomorrow, of targeting far larger populations. Legal scholars are unanimous on this: once denaturalization again becomes a routine tool of the state, the question is no longer about who it will be used against today, but against whom it could be used tomorrow.

A context of immigration offensives on all fronts

These proceedings are part of an unprecedented wave of actions since Trump's return to the White House. In parallel, the administration suspended green card applications for nationals from 39 countries, a measure struck down by a federal judge in June 2026 according to New Indian Express. The Supreme Court has since cleared the way for several of these policies, as reported by Le Monde on June 26, 2026.

The combination of these measures sketches an immigration policy that no longer merely controls border flows — it reaches back in time, seeking to reverse naturalizations already granted. This retroactive approach is unprecedented in contemporary American history, and its constitutional implications are far from resolved.

I do not defend the individuals concerned in these 17 cases — if they committed the crimes of which they are accused, the law must apply. What deeply concerns me is the normalization of denaturalization as a governance tool. When the state begins to revoke citizenship, it fundamentally alters the nature of the American social contract.

A vanishingly rare mechanism before Trump

The denaturalization procedure has existed in American law for more than a century. But until recently, it was used with extreme sparingly — a few dozen cases per decade, targeting principally Nazi war criminals and individuals who had fraudulently obtained their citizenship. Under previous administrations, from Obama to Bush, denaturalization was an exceptional tool reserved for the most extreme cases.

The Trump administration systematically expanded this use beginning with its first term. Operation Janus, launched in 2019, had identified thousands of potential cases. This second term goes further still: 17 proceedings announced simultaneously, in a logic of political signaling as much as legal rigor. The message sent is clear — naturalized citizenship is conditional, revocable, precarious.

Legal bases contested by experts

The proceedings rest on several provisions of the Immigration and Nationality Act. They can target individuals who lied on their naturalization applications, belonged to proscribed organizations, or were convicted of certain serious crimes. But lawyers from the ACLU and other civil rights organizations point out that the current DOJ's interpretation is expansive to the point of being potentially unconstitutional.

According to experts cited by McBean Law in its bulletin of June 12, 2026, some ongoing proceedings target individuals for facts that, at the time of their naturalization, did not legally constitute an obstacle to citizenship. This retroactive application of stricter criteria raises fundamental questions of due process and equality before the law.

The central question is this: should American citizenship be treated as a revocable privilege or an acquired right? If it is a privilege, the state can always find a reason to take it away. And in a political environment as polarized as the United States of 2026, that logic is terrifying in its implications.

A measure struck down by courts, but partially revived

In parallel with the denaturalization proceedings, the Trump administration suspended green card applications for nationals from 39 countries. A federal judge struck down this measure in June 2026, ruling that it violated the immigration procedures established by Congress. But as with so many other policies of this administration, the judicial decision is only a temporary obstacle: the case was immediately appealed.

This suspension affects millions of people awaiting permanent residency — Indian engineers in Silicon Valley, doctors in understaffed American hospitals, families reunited after years of legal proceedings. The geographic selectivity of the measure — primarily targeting countries in Africa, the Middle East, and South Asia — raises serious questions about its deeper motivations.

TPS and the Supreme Court decisions

The Supreme Court of the United States issued several decisions in June 2026 that bolstered the administration in its restrictive immigration policy. The decision on Temporary Protected Status (TPS), reported by NPR on June 27, allowed the administration to end protections granted to hundreds of thousands of people — notably Haitians, Salvadorans, and Ukrainians — who had been living legally in the United States for sometimes several decades.

The combination of these favorable judicial decisions with the denaturalization proceedings creates a legal environment without precedent since the exclusion laws of the nineteenth century. The legal architect of this edifice, the Trump administration's DOJ, advances methodically, stone by stone, toward an immigration regime fundamentally different from the one the United States has practiced since 1965.

I am struck by the surgical precision with which this administration dismantles immigration protections. It is not chaotic. It is methodical. And it is precisely this cold methodology that makes it more dangerous than the loud and improvised policies of Trump's first term.

When 17 cases open the door to thousands more

Constitutional law professors at Yale, Harvard, and Georgetown have been particularly vocal about the risk these 17 proceedings represent. Not for what they do today, but for what they make possible tomorrow. Each case decided in the administration's favor establishes a precedent that future prosecutors can invoke to expand the scope of denaturalization.

If courts validate the argument that certain criminal convictions justify retroactive denaturalization, the question will inevitably arise of the definition of the crimes concerned. A violent crime? A fraud offense? A common-law crime? And who draws the line? In a political system where the administration can direct prosecutions, the answer to that question is not reassuring.

Case law as a long-term political weapon

What the Trump administration is building, with the help of increasingly favorable courts — notably following the nominations of Neil Gorsuch, Brett Kavanaugh, and Amy Coney Barrett to the Supreme Court — is a body of case law that will survive well beyond this term. Future administrations will inherit these precedents. And some may use them in ways that even the current administration does not contemplate.

This is the most powerful argument against these policies, and the one that administration supporters have the hardest time countering. The question is not only: will Trump use denaturalization abusively? The question is: will a future president do so? And the honest answer is that no one can guarantee they will not.

I recognize the difficulty of the argument to make publicly: defending the rights of convicted criminals is not a popular position. But constitutional law was never designed to be popular — it was designed to protect individuals against transient majorities. It is precisely in these difficult cases that constitutional protections demonstrate their value.

Fear as a governance instrument

Beyond the 17 individuals targeted, the immediate effect of these announcements is the spread of a diffuse anxiety throughout naturalized immigrant communities across the United States. Millions of naturalized citizens — who believed they had permanently resolved their legal status — find themselves reconsidering their security. Emergency consultations with immigration lawyers have exploded since the announcement of the proceedings, according to several specialized law firms.

This anxiety has concrete effects on the American social fabric. Naturalized parents now hesitant to appear publicly at political demonstrations. Workers fearing that minor infractions in their past will be re-examined. A blanket of fear extending far beyond the 17 cases announced, transforming the daily experience of millions of naturalized Americans.

Legal and civic resistance is organizing

Immigrant rights organizations, relayed notably by the Boston Globe on June 25, 2026, are organizing legal resistance. Coalitions of pro bono lawyers are preparing challenges before federal courts. Democratic members of Congress have introduced bills to strengthen protections against denaturalization.

Resistance exists. It is real and determined. But it operates in a context where courts are increasingly favorable to the administration, where the Republican congressional majority supports these policies, and where public opinion remains divided on immigration. The battle will be long, uncertain, and its stakes extend far beyond the 17 cases currently on the table.

What strikes me is the asymmetry between the power of the state and that of individuals in these proceedings. The federal government has virtually unlimited resources to pursue these cases. The people targeted must finance their own defense in a costly and opaque legal system. This is a structural asymmetry that the administration is deliberately exploiting.

Birthright citizens versus naturalized citizens

One of the most profound implications of the denaturalization proceedings is that they create de facto a distinction between birthright American citizens and naturalized citizens. The former can never lose their citizenship — the 14th Amendment is clear on this. The latter, by definition, are subject to denaturalization proceedings. This asymmetry already existed in American law, but it was largely theoretical as long as denaturalization remained so rare.

By making it more common, the Trump administration transforms this theoretical asymmetry into daily reality. It signals to naturalized citizens that they hold their citizenship under conditions — that the state retains a right of repossession. This is a fundamental transformation of citizenship status, achieved not through a constitutional amendment, but through the aggressive use of pre-existing legal provisions.

The gaze of the international community

This policy is being observed with growing concern by the United States' international partners. The United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees has expressed concerns about American policy toward TPS beneficiaries. The international perception of the United States as a land of welcome and renewal — an essential component of American soft power for decades — is weakening under the weight of these policies.

The strong America that Trump claims to build is losing something precious: the moral appeal that has always been one of its most effective geopolitical weapons. Nations looking to the United States as a model of liberal democracy and immigrant integration draw today less enthusiastic conclusions than before January 2025.

I appreciate the complexity of this subject. There are genuine legitimate debates about immigration control, about the consistency of the American immigration system. But stripping already naturalized citizens of their citizenship means crossing a line that all advanced democracies learned not to cross after the tragic experiences of the twentieth century.

Immigration policy as electoral strategy

It is impossible to separate these denaturalization announcements from the electoral context of the 2026 midterms. The Trump administration is well aware that the immigration question remains one of the most mobilizing for its electoral base. Spectacular announcements like the simultaneous denaturalization of 17 people produce powerful political images, reinforce the perception of an administration that acts, and feed the narrative of border security.

The coincidence of the timing with midterm preparation — and with polls showing a drop in Trump's popularity — is probably not a coincidence. Administrations in difficulty tend to harden their immigration rhetoric to remobilize their base. This move is predictable, documented, and has been repeated for decades in American politics.

The risk of political backlash

But this strategy carries risks. Naturalized immigrant communities represent a growing and increasingly mobilized electorate. Asian Americans, Latino Americans, and naturalized African Americans who observe these policies will not forget them in the voting booth. And moderate Republican allies in competitive districts know that images of Americans stripped of their citizenship could turn against them electorally.

The history of aggressive immigration policies in the United States shows that they often produce boomerang effects — mobilizing the targeted communities and their allies far beyond what political strategists anticipate. California under Pete Wilson is the most famous example. Will history repeat itself at the national level? The verdict will be rendered in November 2026.

I have no certainty about the electoral effects of these policies — the data is still too fragmented to draw conclusions. What I know is that policy decisions made today for immediate electoral gain often have lasting institutional consequences that far exceed their short-term impact at the ballot box.

A Court transformed by Trump's nominations

The United States Supreme Court, composed since 2020 of a conservative supermajority at 6 to 3, issued several decisions in June 2026 that bolstered the administration's immigration policies. The metering decision of June 25, the partial validation of TPS, the opening of the way for anti-immigration policies signaled by Le Monde — all these decisions show a Supreme Court that has chosen its side in the immigration debate.

This creates an unprecedented situation: the institution that should serve as a bulwark against executive excess becomes, in this specific domain, its facilitator. Immigration lawyers who had hoped to block denaturalization proceedings before the Supreme Court must now revise their strategy. The battlefield has shifted to the federal circuit courts — the 4th Circuit and the 9th Circuit — where judges appointed by previous administrations maintain greater independence.

The limits of available legal remedies

Even in the most resistant federal circuits, remedies against denaturalization proceedings are limited by positive law. The Immigration and Nationality Act grants the executive considerable latitude in denaturalization procedures. Challenging these proceedings requires demonstrating either a procedural violation or an unconstitutional application of an otherwise valid law — a high threshold to meet.

The most promising strategy for defense attorneys involves substantive and procedural due process arguments, contending that the people targeted did not receive adequate notice of the risks of denaturalization at the time of their naturalization. This approach has worked in a few isolated cases, but its reproducibility at scale remains uncertain.

It is difficult not to feel a certain discouragement in the face of this picture. Judicial remedies are eroding. Congress is gridlocked. Public opinion remains divided. Resistance exists, but it confronts a state that has methodically built its legal positions over years. This is not a lost battle — but it is a battle that will require sustained mobilization well beyond 2026.

The long term: an irreversible transformation

The 17 denaturalization proceedings announced in June 2026 are not the end of a process — they are the beginning of a profound change in the American conception of citizenship. If these proceedings succeed legally, if the courts validate them, they will establish a regime in which acquired citizenship is fundamentally different — and less secure — than birthright citizenship. Legal precedents outlast the administrations that created them.

This is a transformation that cannot easily be undone. Immigrant communities marked by this anxiety will not easily recover the confidence they had in their status. And the next administration — whatever it may be — will inherit a legal framework that will allow it to go even further if it wishes.

The price of policy without guardrails

American democracy has always been a fragile balance between majority sovereignty and the protection of individual rights. That balance rests on institutions — independent courts, a vigilant Congress, an active civil society. These institutions are resisting, but they are eroding under the pressure of policies that test them a little more every day. The history of great democracies teaches that their decline, when it comes, is rarely brutal — it is progressive, almost invisible.

I do not know whether the United States is approaching a point of no return. I hope not. But I know that these 17 proceedings announced in June 2026 are not an administrative detail. They are a symptom of a profound transformation of what it means to be American — a transformation that millions of naturalized citizens feel in their bones, even if they are not yet among those targeted.

By Maxime Marquette, columnist

Editorial stance

I am not a journalist but a columnist and analyst. My expertise lies in observing and analysing the geopolitical, economic and strategic dynamics that shape our world. My work is to take political strategies apart, to understand global economic movements, to put the decisions of international actors in context and to offer analytical perspectives on the changes that are redefining our societies.

I do not claim the cold objectivity of traditional journalism, which stops at reporting facts. I claim analytical clarity, rigorous interpretation and a deep understanding of the complex issues that concern us all. My role is to give meaning to the facts, to place them in their historical and strategic context, and to offer a critical reading of events.

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