After 60 years together, United States, I'm ending our relationship. While I still hold affection for you, the romantic connection has faded and the time has come to go our separate ways. This departure is voluntary, despite the sorrow it brings, because you possess countless wonderful qualities.
Beginning with your magnificent protected lands, soaring ancient trees and unique wildlife to the magical illumination of lightning bugs between crop rows during warm nights and the vibrant autumn foliage, your natural splendor is extraordinary. Your ability to spark creativity seems boundless, as evidenced through the inspiring individuals I've met throughout your territory. Numerous precious recollections revolve around flavors that will forever remind me of you – cinnamon spice, seasonal squash dessert, fruit preserves. However, United States, you've become increasingly difficult to understand.
Were I drafting a farewell message to America, that's how it would begin. I've qualified as an "accidental American" from delivery due to my father and centuries of ancestors before him, commencing in the seventeenth century and featuring military participants in foundational conflicts, DNA connections to past leadership plus multiple eras of settlers who traversed the country, beginning in northeastern states to Ohio, Pennsylvania, Illinois and Kansas.
I experience deep honor regarding my ancestral background and their contributions to America's narrative. My dad grew up through economic hardship; his grandfather served as a Marine in France during the first world war; his widowed great-grandmother managed a farm with nine children; his great-uncle assisted rebuild San Francisco following the seismic disaster; while another ancestor ran as a state senator.
However, notwithstanding this classic U.S. background, I discover myself increasingly disconnected with the country. This is particularly true given the perplexing and alarming governmental climate that makes me doubt the meaning of national belonging. Experts have termed this "national belonging anxiety" – and I recognize the symptoms. Now I desire to create distance.
I've only resided in the United States for two years and haven't visited in nearly a decade. I've held Australian citizenship for almost forty years and no intention to reside, employment or education within America subsequently. And I'm confident I won't require military rescue – thus no functional requirement for me to retain American nationality.
Furthermore, the obligation as an American national to file yearly financial documentation, although not residing nor working there nor qualifying for benefits, becomes onerous and stressful. America stands with only two nations worldwide – including Eritrea – that impose taxation according to nationality instead of location. And financial compliance is mandatory – it's documented within travel documents.
Admittedly, a fiscal treaty operates between Australia and the U.S., designed to prevent duplicate payments, yet filing costs vary between A$1,200 and A$3,500 annually for straightforward declarations, and the process proves extremely demanding and convoluted to complete each January, when the U.S. tax period commences.
I've been informed that eventually the U.S. government will enforce compliance and administer substantial fines against non-compliant citizens. This enforcement doesn't target high-profile individuals but all Americans overseas need to meet requirements.
While taxation isn't the primary reason for my decision, the annual expense and stress of filing returns proves distressing and basic financial principles suggest it constitutes inefficient resource allocation. However, ignoring American fiscal duties could result in travel involves additional apprehension regarding possible border rejection due to irregular status. Or, I might defer settlement until my estate handles it posthumously. Neither alternative seems acceptable.
Holding a U.S. passport represents a privilege that countless immigrants earnestly attempt to obtain. Yet this advantage that creates discomfort personally, thus I'm implementing changes, despite the $2,350 cost to finalize the procedure.
The threatening formal photograph featuring the former president, scowling toward visitors within the diplomatic facility – where I recited the renunciation oath – provided the final motivation. I understand I'm selecting the correct path for my situation and during the official questioning about potential coercion, I truthfully answer no.
Two weeks afterward I obtained my official relinquishment document and my canceled passport to keep as souvenirs. My name will reportedly appear within government records. I merely wish that future visa applications gets granted when I decide to visit again.
A tech enthusiast and gaming aficionado with over a decade of experience in digital media and content creation.
