The narrative that Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) routinely deports U.S. citizens, while emotionally charged, stems from a complex legal area: derivative citizenship. This isn’t about birthright citizenship, but a status automatically conferred upon a child when a parent naturalizes, a process riddled with potential pitfalls and often, a lack of definitive proof.
Derivative citizenship hinges on specific conditions – the child must be under 18, a lawful permanent resident, physically residing with the citizen parent, and the parent must naturalize *before* the child reaches adulthood. It’s a subtle distinction, easily overlooked, and often discovered only when an individual encounters the criminal justice system.
These cases frequently involve individuals with prior criminal records, where citizenship claims emerge *during* removal proceedings. The common thread? A lack of readily available documentation proving their U.S. status at the time of arrest or detention. A verbal claim, however emphatic, isn’t enough.
Consider Chanthila Souvannarath, born in a Thai refugee camp and brought to the U.S. as an infant. He claimed citizenship through his father’s naturalization, but his case surfaced after convictions for firearm possession and domestic assault. Despite a judge’s temporary restraining order acknowledging a “substantial claim,” he was deported to Laos, a stark illustration of the challenges involved.
Mario René López’s situation is equally intricate. Born in El Salvador, he entered the U.S. as a lawful permanent resident and claims citizenship through his mother. The dispute centers on his birth status – whether he was considered legitimate under El Salvadorian law, impacting his eligibility. His case remains pending, highlighting the legal battles these claims often ignite.
The case of Brian Bukle gained notoriety, often portrayed as a clear instance of ICE overreach. However, the reality is more nuanced. Bukle, convicted of assault and firearm possession, was transferred to ICE custody *after* completing his state prison sentence. He repeatedly asserted his citizenship, but lacked the documentation to substantiate it.
Bukle’s twin brother and sister had both obtained Certificates of Citizenship, based on their parents’ 1968 naturalization. An earlier INS investigation even concluded he was a citizen. Yet, without his own certificate, immigration databases showed only a foreign-born individual with a criminal record. It took 36 days to gather the necessary records and establish his derivative citizenship.
Ultimately, Bukle received a $150,000 settlement, but it’s crucial to understand a settlement isn’t a judicial finding of wrongdoing. It simply represents a compromise, often without admission of liability. The case underscores the importance of proactive documentation, even when citizenship seems automatic.
Davino Watson’s story is perhaps the most harrowing. He arrived at 14, his citizenship automatically conferred when his father naturalized. Yet, after a conviction for selling cocaine, ICE detained him for over three and a half years. A simple phone call to his parents, whose information was readily available, could have resolved the issue.
However, ICE mistakenly searched for a different “Hopeton Watson,” with a different history and no connection to Davino. This error led to prolonged detention, a judge’s finding of false imprisonment, and a subsequent reversal on appeal due to statute-of-limitations issues. Watson finally received his certificate of citizenship in 2013, a testament to a painfully protracted ordeal.
These cases aren’t about systemic deportation of citizens, but about the complexities of proving a status that, while legally automatic, requires documentation. They reveal vulnerabilities in the system, the potential for errors, and the devastating consequences of failing to establish one’s citizenship beyond a doubt.
