After six decades together, America, I'm ending our relationship. Though fondness remains, the passion has diminished and I'm making the difficult decision to separate. I'm leaving by choice, though it brings sadness, because there remains much to admire about you.
Beginning with your magnificent protected lands, soaring ancient trees and distinctive animal species to the enchanting glow of fireflies between crop rows during warm nights and the brilliant fall colors, your natural splendor is extraordinary. Your ability to spark creativity appears limitless, as demonstrated by the motivational people I've encountered within your borders. Numerous precious recollections center on tastes that permanently connect me to you – cinnamon spice, seasonal squash dessert, fruit preserves. But, America, you've become increasingly difficult to understand.
Were I drafting a farewell message to the United States, that's how it would begin. I've been what's termed an "accidental American" since birth because of my paternal lineage and centuries of ancestors before him, starting in 1636 and featuring revolutionary and civil war soldiers, shared genetic material with a former president and generations of pioneers who journeyed across the nation, beginning in northeastern states to Ohio, Pennsylvania, Illinois and Kansas.
I experience deep honor regarding my ancestral background and their role in the national story. My dad grew up through economic hardship; his grandfather served as a Marine in France in the global conflict; his widowed great-grandmother managed agricultural land with numerous offspring; his relative helped 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 to the nation. This feeling intensifies given the perplexing and concerning political atmosphere that leaves me questioning the meaning of national belonging. Experts have termed this "citizen insecurity" – and I recognize the symptoms. Currently I wish to establish separation.
I've only resided within America for two years and haven't returned for eight years. I've held Australian citizenship for most of my life and have no plans to live, work or study in the US again. And I'm confident I won't require military rescue – so there's no practical necessity for me to retain U.S. citizenship.
Furthermore, the obligation as an American national to file yearly financial documentation, despite neither living nor working there nor qualifying for benefits, proves burdensome and anxiety-inducing. America stands with merely two countries globally – the other being Eritrea – that implement levies based on citizenship rather than residence. 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 from substantial amounts yearly for straightforward declarations, and the process proves extremely demanding and convoluted to complete each January, when the U.S. tax period commences.
Authorities have indicated that ultimately American officials will mandate conformity and administer substantial fines against non-compliant citizens. This enforcement doesn't target extremely wealthy figures like Boris Johnson but all Americans overseas must fulfill obligations.
Although financial matters aren't the main cause for my renunciation, the annual expense and stress associated with documentation becomes troubling and fundamental economics indicates it represents poor investment. But neglecting U.S. tax responsibilities 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.
Possessing American travel documentation constitutes a privilege that countless immigrants desperately seek to acquire. Yet this advantage that feels uncomfortable for me, thus I'm implementing changes, although requiring significant payment to finalize the procedure.
The threatening formal photograph of Donald Trump, glowering at attendees at the U.S. consulate in Sydney – where I performed the citizenship relinquishment – provided the final motivation. I recognize I'm choosing the proper direction for my situation and when the consular officer inquires about potential coercion, I truthfully answer no.
Two weeks afterward I obtained my official relinquishment document and my canceled passport to retain as mementos. My identity will supposedly be published on a federal registry. I simply hope that future visa applications gets granted when I decide to visit again.
Elara is a passionate storyteller and writing coach, sharing her experiences to inspire others in their creative pursuits.