Born in the U.S., But Does That Still Mean Citizenship?

A Closer Look at Trump’s Executive Order on Birthright Citizenship.

Trump 2.0 has unleashed a spectacle where every stroke of his pen is either hailed as a victory or met with dread. For his supporters, each executive action is a triumph, a promise kept, and a reaffirmation of what they perceive as strong, decisive leadership. For his critics, these same actions signal another assault on the already fragile political order, a direct challenge to norms once considered unshakable. In this divided climate, each move from the White House fuels either fervent celebration or mounting alarm, with little room for nuance or compromise.

So, when news broke that Trump had signed an executive order to abolish birthright citizenship, it was impossible not to be struck by the audacity of the move. I found myself wondering, 'What is this man thinking? Why would he want to end birthright citizenship?' This wasn’t just another routine policy shift—it was a direct challenge to a constitutional principle enshrined in the 14th Amendment for over a century.

The 14th Amendment, ratified in 1868, states:
"All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside."

This amendment was explicitly crafted in the aftermath of slavery, a brutal system that had deprived Black Americans of their humanity and basic rights for centuries. With the ratification of the 13th Amendment, slavery was formally abolished, but the deeper question of who was entitled to full membership in the political community remained unresolved.

The 14th Amendment’s Citizenship Clause was the answer to this question, establishing that anyone born or naturalized in the United States, regardless of race or previous condition of servitude, would automatically become a U.S. citizen.

This was not a mere technicality; it was an intentional effort to guarantee equality and full legal rights to the newly freed Black population, who had been relegated to second-class status for so long. However, as the debate surrounding immigration and national identity intensifies, the issue of birthright citizenship is now under scrutiny.

It’s critical to acknowledge that the U.S. model of granting citizenship based on the place of birth is, in fact, a rarity in the global landscape.

The majority of countries, including some of the world’s most developed democracies, follow a principle called jus sanguinis—citizenship based on parentage—where children inherit the nationality of their parents regardless of where they are born. For instance, Denmark does not grant automatic citizenship to children born within its borders unless at least one parent has been a permanent resident for at least nine years.

This contrasts with jus soli ("right of the soil"), or birthright citizenship, where nationality is granted based solely on being born within a country’s territory.

Some nations also apply conditional jus soli, meaning birthright citizenship is granted only if certain criteria are met, such as the legal status or residency of the parents. For example, in the UK, a child born on British soil becomes a citizen only if at least one parent is a British citizen or has settled status.

So, why is birthright citizenship uncommon? Many countries avoid it to deter “birth tourism,” where individuals travel solely to give birth and secure citizenship for their child. Additionally, some nations impose residency requirements on children born within their borders, ensuring they are integrated into society before granting citizenship. Since citizenship often provides access to social services, education, and healthcare, some governments fear that broad birthright policies could strain public resources. Others worry that granting automatic citizenship to children of foreign parents may create divided loyalties or lead to complex diplomatic challenges.

This forces an uncomfortable but necessary question: Why should a child born in the U.S. to tourists or undocumented immigrants automatically receive U.S. citizenship? What principle justifies this? Consider Japan: If an American citizen has a child while visiting Japan, that child is not granted Japanese citizenship by birthright. Why, then, does the U.S. adopt a radically different approach? What interests are truly served by maintaining this policy, and who benefits from it?

My initial reaction to this executive action was skepticism—disagreement mixed with confusion. But after examining it more closely, I have to acknowledge that it carries legitimate merit.

Ask yourself: is it not more logical—and legally sound—that only the children of actual citizens of a nation should automatically inherit that nation’s citizenship? If citizenship is meant to signify allegiance and participation in a political community, how does automatic birthright citizenship for those with no established ties to the country advance that principle? Shouldn’t national belonging be rooted in something more substantive than geography alone?

The debate over birthright citizenship raises essential questions about national identity and the modern application of the 14th Amendment. Trump's executive order, while controversial, sparks a much-needed conversation about what it means to belong to a nation. The 14th Amendment was groundbreaking in its time, addressing the rights of newly freed Black Americans, but in today’s globalized world, does an automatic birthright system still make sense?

While proponents argue that birthright citizenship reflects American values of equality, others see it as outdated in the face of shifting immigration patterns and national priorities.

Ultimately, the conversation must move beyond polarization and explore solutions that balance equality and fairness with the changing realities of immigration, resources, and national identity. What does it truly mean to be American today? These are the questions that deserve our attention moving forward.