The Delusion of Citizenship

Exactly one week after the election, something unexpected happened. I became a naturalized US Citizen. People usually don’t “unexpectedly” become a US citizen, so let me explain what I mean.

I’ve lived in the US since I was seven-years old, so most people don’t even realize that I was not a US citizen until a few weeks ago. I was born in Japan – a country that does not allow for dual citizenship. I’ve had a green card since I was young, so I’ve had the opportunity to apply for citizenship for many years, but because I would have had to give up my Japanese citizenship, I’ve always hesitated.

At some point, I realized that this was tied to my ego. I was attached to the idea of being a “Japanese citizen.” For one thing, it was always fun to half-jokingly live in the delusion that because I was not American, I could somehow maintain some distance from US policies that I opposed. That the politicians that I did not support were not “my” elected officials.

Secondly – as an immigrant who sometimes lived in majority white communities, I’ve had to fight hard to maintain my identity as a Japanese and Asian person. The overt racism I experienced everyday as a young person made me ashamed of my heritage, and it took decades of work to reclaim pride in who I am and where I came from. In elementary school, I even wanted to change my name to “Ken” because of how often people would make fun of my name.

So giving up my Japanese passport felt like I was moving one step backwards in my journey to accept who I am.

At some point I realized two things. One, that I actually have no interest in ever living in Japan again. My entire life is in the US, and I now feel much more comfortable here than in my home country. Second, the idea of citizenship is just a delusion made up by bureaucracy. It’s just a piece of paper, and doesn’t actually change the inner landscape of who I am.

But I still procrastinated. The amount of paperwork and the $800 application fee made it really easy to deprioritize it.

And then I started reading about Project 2025. I started reading about mass deportations. I started thinking about the possibility of another Trump presidency. I started thinking about all of the protests and demonstrations I might find myself in in the coming years, and what may happen under a Trump presidency if I ended up getting arrested.

So I bit the bullet, filled out pages and pages of paperwork, paid the fee and submitted my application. And shortly before the election, I received a notice that I was scheduled for my interview and civics test. The date was November 12th, exactly one week after the election.

To be honest I’m still processing the outcome of said election, and will be writing more about that in the coming weeks and months. But for now, I will just share that I went to my interview still in somewhat of a daze, trying to figure out how I am supposed to feel about becoming a US citizen under a second Trump presidency.

The Interview

A scene from The Matrix: Reloaded

I showed up for my scheduled interview on Tuesday morning, checked in, and proceeded to wait for about three-hours until I finally heard my name being called. I tried some light-hearted conversation with my interviewer as she guided me through a labyrinth of government hallways reminiscent of the endless doors in The Matrix Reloaded, but her professional demeanor left little room for a personal connection.

We sat down and she proceeded to ask me about my life, my desire to become a US citizen, my travels abroad and my criminal history. She then went onto ask me about my “oaths.”

Her: Do you absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty, of whom of which you have heretofore been a subject or citizen?

Me: Um, sure.

Her: Do you swear to support and defend the Constitution and laws of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic?

Me: Yes.

Her: Do you swear to bear arms on behalf of the United States when required by law?

Me: Ummmm…. Wait, what? Uhhh, not really? I mean, it depends? Wait, what did you just ask me? Do I have to say yes to this?

The question caught me off guard. I told myself going into this interview that I would not think too hard about the politics of this endeavor, and just provide the responses I know they needed to hear. But this one threw me off, and my immediate response was to yell “hell no!!! I will NOT fight for this country!!!”

Which threw her off. She was confused. Why wouldn’t I, if required by law, fight for the country to whom I am pledging my undying fealty to? Part of me regretted my response immediately. “Of shit, did I just screw up my chance at getting approved for citizenship?” I thought to myself.

We ended up having to take a 15-minute detour, with me telling her about my commitment to conflict reconciliation, my Buddhist practice, and how I have spent my entire adult life practicing nonviolence.

After some conversation and her googling my name, she received approval from her supervisor to let me off the hook of having to fight for the US. The oath she asked me to sign literally had that sentence crossed out! I wish I had taken a picture of it, as it was probably the proudest moment during the entire day for me.

After talking to her for well over an hour, she asked me, “so do you want to take your oath later today?”

This threw me way off again! I had thought that the oath ceremony happened months after the interview, and did not realize that I could do it later that same day!

While I was not emotionally ready to go through with this, I realized that because of my upcoming travel schedule, if I didn’t do it that day, I may not have a chance to until after the next presidential inauguration – when I would be looking at a picture of Donald J. Trump as I took my oath. I could not imagine how I would have felt to receive a “welcome message” from Trump.

While I am no fan of Joe Biden, it felt like a significant difference that it was worth taking the plunge. So I waited another three-hours, and along with about 50 other immigrants from all over the world, I stood up, said the oath and watched a recording of President Biden welcoming us as the newest US citizens…

The Privilege

I have such mixed emotions about it all. Losing my Japanese citizenship does hurt. I know it’s just a piece of paper, but it does feel like I lost a piece of my identity. 

And what does it mean to be “American” during times of such turmoil in this country? What am I “pledging allegiance to?” A country that Dr. King called the “greatest purveyor of violence in the world.” I don’t even believe in the concept of nation-states! So people “congratulating” me felt really strange. It didn’t feel like cause for celebration for me.

But as I walked home, I bumped into a community member who is mono-lingual Spanish speaking and does not have US papers. I told him what had just happened to me, and he was overjoyed. His entire face lit up, and he literally could not have been happier for me.

And it did hit me. The privilege I have of even having complicated feelings about it at all. For so many people in this country, it is not complicated. Their status means that they could get deported any day. That they could get separated from their families any day. That their entire lives could get upended any day.

And now, I don’t have to worry about that. I never have to worry about getting deported – and that is an incredible privilege not shared by so many people.

My main reason for finally going through with this was my legitimate fear of getting deported – under Trump, and under the draconian policies of Project 2025. And that is an incredibly unfortunate reason for anyone to apply for citizenship. However, I cannot deny the incredible privilege, for which I do find a ton of gratitude in.

While my many complex feelings about this remain, I am also practicing simply being with that gratitude, and committing to utilizing this newfound privilege to fight as best as I can to defend those who do not have such privilege.

The Delusion

While the removal of the fear of getting deported is very, very real, I also realized throughout this whole process how much of a delusion things like citizenship and nation-states are.

At the start of my interview, my interviewer asked me to stand and hold up my right hand. She asked me, “do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you god?” After repeating the mantra I am supposed to respond with (“I do”), she told me I could sit back down.

What does this silly little ritual do? How is it that she can trust my words now anymore than she could have 10 seconds earlier? It's all just theatrics—performative gestures wrapped in tradition that we collectively agree to pretend give them meaning.

The same could be said about the entire concept of citizenship: a construct that decides who belongs where, who gets to cross an imaginary line, and who doesn’t. It’s all made up, but these arbitrary systems still shape the course of our lives in very real ways. The absurdity is almost laughable—until you realize how much pain and division they can cause.

Even more strange than “do you swear to tell the truth” thing was the actual oath to become a citizen. It is the final step in the process, where we have to stand, face the American flag and repeat these words.

At the end, the person leading the ceremony says, “congratulations, you are all now US citizens!!!” and we all cheer and celebrate. Somehow, us saying these magical words changes so much in the material realm. We can not only vote, but we are now able to travel freely to many more countries, do not have to worry about getting deported, and our entire identity changes.

But on a deeper level, nothing changes just because we said some series of words. I am still the same person, standing in the same government building.

This whole process revealed to me just how much of our world is shaped by shared delusions. Words, rituals, and symbols—all of them carry power only because we collectively agree to let them. Citizenship is no different. It is not a universal truth; it’s a human invention, a story we all choose to believe in. A few sentences spoken in front of a flag transform you from "outsider" to "insider," granting rights and privileges that are otherwise denied. It's the adult version of a childhood game where someone shouts, "You can't play unless you say the secret password!" Only, in this case, the stakes are infinitely higher.

And as we imagine another Trump presidency, it is disturbing knowing how many of our communities will suffer, how many people will be mistreated, how many lives will be upended based on this delusion.

In the end, the ritual didn’t change who I am. But it does change how the world perceives me, and in turn, how I get to move through it. The delusions may be silly, but they are also profound, shaping lives and fates in ways we can’t ignore. My hope is that by naming the illusion, we can start to imagine a world where our shared humanity matters more than the lines we draw on maps or what color our passport is.

As naïve as it may be, I’ll side with John Legend and choose to image that world.