600 Wendy Hunter and Francesca Reece hindered most in group B from even applying, let alone successfully completing the naturalization process to restore their citizenship (Wooding 2016, 111). Those found ineligible for naturalization at the end of the two-year process hit a roadblock. In other Latin American countries, the writ of amparo could be invoked by any persons who believe that their rights are being violated (Brewer-Carías 2009). Among lower income groups in the Dominican Republic, however, costs are prohibitive. A person would first have to know that such recourse is even possible, would need to possess a legal identity (which is precisely what they lack) to access the courts, and would need to have the material resources to seek legal counsel in a country where legal aid is highly deficient. In the few instances when the courts ruled in favor of plaintiffs’ petitions for amparo, the JCE dragged its feet and effectively failed to comply.19 In sum, because it is expensive and JCE noncompliance is a common problem, amparo is an ineffective remedy for the vast majority of those seeking to acquire or regain their ID documents. Voices of those trapped in the administrative maze of the Dominican state testify powerfully to these challenges. Accounts of learning and compliance costs are widespread. One individual (José), when asked if he appeared on the list of the nearly 55,000 that the JCE registered, went to his local government office and found he was not there. “I went to the oficialía in Santo Domingo and the hard part of the situation is that in the oficialía they don’t know how to explain to you why my documents are invalid. What they suggested to me is to find a lawyer” (Robert F. Kennedy Human Rights 2017, 34). Another individual had this to say: The judge tells me that I can register my son if I go to La Romana to find the certification of my mother’s identification card and they give me a number, they tell me the file it’s in, what record, and everything. I go and I write and I don’t find anything. Supposedly my mother had an old identification card that she believed was not a legal one. However she never tried to change the card or get a new one. So I went home to investigate. I went to my father, who was closer, to see what he could do, if he could find a birth certificate. When he went they told him no, they didn’t want to give it to him. I’ve waited a year by now. (IACHR 2015, 89–90) The psychological theme of being discouraged to the point of giving up pervades people’s accounts. For example: I went to apply for my identity card, and handed over my birth certificate. They took my application, put my name in the usual book, like any other Dominican, and told me to return in three months, which is the rule here, to get the identity card. But what happened? When I went back three months later, they began making excuses: that they were out of plastic, excuses, so many excuses. So much time went by and with so many excuses, I stopped going. (IACHR 2015, 109–110) In the end, the process of denationalization set in motion in 2004 resulted in an estimated 200,000 people no longer being Dominican. By the time the initial registration period ended, only 8,755 people in group B had completed the initial steps necessary to obtain (or regain) Dominican citizenship. Of those individuals, some 6,262 were approved to go further in the process.20 The more or less 2,500 remaining applicants were 19 Inter-American Commission on Human Rights 2015, 168; Felipe Fortines, National Subcoordinator of Reconoci.do and Dominican lawyer, interview with author, January 19, 2021, Zoom; Kacey Mordecai, staff lawyer for Robert F. Kennedy Human Rights and lead author of Dreams Deferred, interview with author, January 29, 2021, Zoom. 20 See IACHR (2015, 14), Sagás (2017, 10), and Wooding (2018, 16). https://doi.org/10.1017/lar.2022.48 Published online by Cambridge University Press