After six decades together, America, our partnership must conclude. While I still hold affection for you, the romantic connection has faded and I'm making the difficult decision to separate. This departure is voluntary, despite the sorrow it brings, because there remains much to admire about you.
From your breathtaking national parks, towering redwood forests and distinctive animal species to the enchanting glow of fireflies between crop rows during warm nights and the vibrant autumn foliage, your environmental beauty is remarkable. Your capacity to ignite innovation appears limitless, as evidenced through the inspiring individuals I've met throughout your territory. Many of my most cherished memories revolve around flavors that will forever remind me of you – cinnamon spice, pumpkin pie, fruit preserves. However, United States, I simply don't comprehend you anymore.
Were I drafting a farewell message to the United States, those would be the opening words. I've qualified as an "unintentional U.S. citizen" since birth because of my paternal lineage and ten generations preceding him, commencing in the seventeenth century including military participants in foundational conflicts, DNA connections to past leadership plus multiple eras of settlers who journeyed across the nation, from Massachusetts and New Jersey to Ohio, Pennsylvania, Illinois and Kansas.
I feel tremendous pride in my family's history and their contributions to America's narrative. My dad grew up during the Great Depression; his grandfather served as a Marine in France in the global conflict; his widowed great-grandmother managed a farm with nine children; his relative helped reconstruct the city after the 1906 earthquake; while another ancestor ran as a state senator.
Yet despite this quintessentially American heritage, I find myself no longer feeling connected to the nation. This feeling intensifies given the perplexing and alarming governmental climate that leaves me questioning the meaning of national belonging. This phenomenon has been labeled "citizen insecurity" – and I believe I experience it. Now I desire to create distance.
I merely lived within America for two years and haven't returned for eight years. I've maintained Australian nationality for most of my life and no intention to live, work or study in the US again. Furthermore, I'm certain I'll never need emergency extraction – thus no functional requirement for me to retain American nationality.
Furthermore, the obligation I face as a U.S. citizen to submit annual tax returns, although not residing nor working there nor qualifying for benefits, becomes onerous and stressful. America stands with only two nations worldwide – the other being Eritrea – that implement levies according to nationality instead of location. And tax conformity is compulsory – it's printed within travel documents.
Certainly, a tax agreement exists connecting both nations, designed to prevent duplicate payments, yet filing costs vary between A$1,200 and A$3,500 annually for straightforward declarations, and the procedure represents highly challenging and complex to undertake every new year, as the American fiscal cycle begins.
Authorities have indicated that eventually American officials will mandate conformity and impose significant penalties against non-compliant citizens. This enforcement doesn't target high-profile individuals but all Americans overseas need to meet requirements.
Although financial matters aren't the main cause for my renunciation, the annual expense and stress associated with documentation becomes troubling and basic financial principles suggest it constitutes inefficient resource allocation. But neglecting U.S. tax responsibilities would mean that visiting including extra worry about potential denial at immigration for non-compliance. Or, I might defer settlement for inheritance processing after death. Neither alternative seems acceptable.
Possessing American travel documentation constitutes an opportunity many newcomers desperately seek to acquire. Yet this advantage that creates discomfort personally, thus I'm implementing changes, despite the $2,350 cost to complete the process.
The intimidating official portrait featuring the former president, scowling toward visitors within the diplomatic facility – where I performed the citizenship relinquishment – supplied the ultimate impetus. I understand I'm choosing the proper direction for my circumstances and when the consular officer inquires about potential coercion, I truthfully answer no.
A fortnight later I received my certificate of renunciation and my voided travel papers to retain as mementos. My identity will supposedly be published within government records. I merely wish that subsequent travel authorization will be approved when I decide to visit again.