After six decades together, America, our partnership must conclude. While I still hold affection for you, the passion has diminished and I'm making the difficult decision to separate. This departure is voluntary, though it brings sadness, because you possess countless wonderful qualities.
Beginning with your magnificent protected lands, soaring ancient trees and distinctive animal species to the enchanting glow of fireflies amid cornfields on summer evenings and the brilliant fall colors, your environmental beauty is remarkable. Your capacity to ignite innovation appears limitless, as evidenced through the motivational people I've encountered within your borders. Many of my most cherished memories revolve around flavors that will forever remind me of you – cinnamon spice, pumpkin pie, grape jelly. 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 qualified as an "accidental American" from delivery because of my paternal lineage and ten generations preceding him, starting in 1636 and featuring revolutionary and civil war soldiers, DNA connections to past leadership plus multiple eras of settlers who journeyed across the nation, beginning in northeastern states to Ohio, Pennsylvania, Illinois and Kansas.
I experience deep honor in my family's history and their contributions to America's narrative. My father experienced childhood through economic hardship; his ancestor fought as a Marine in France during the first world war; his widowed great-grandmother managed agricultural land with numerous offspring; his relative helped reconstruct the city after the 1906 earthquake; and his grandfather campaigned as a state senator.
However, notwithstanding this classic U.S. background, I discover myself increasingly disconnected to the nation. This feeling intensifies considering the confusing and alarming governmental climate 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 in the United States for two years and haven't visited in nearly a decade. I've maintained Australian nationality for most of my life and have no plans to live, work or study 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, despite neither living nor working there nor qualifying for benefits, proves burdensome and anxiety-inducing. America stands with only two nations worldwide – the other being Eritrea – that implement levies based on citizenship rather than residence. And tax conformity is compulsory – it's documented within travel documents.
Certainly, a tax agreement exists between Australia and the U.S., designed to prevent duplicate payments, yet filing costs vary between A$1,200 and A$3,500 annually even for basic returns, and the process proves highly challenging and complex to undertake every new year, when the U.S. tax period commences.
I've been informed that eventually American officials will mandate conformity and administer substantial fines against non-compliant citizens. These measures affect not only extremely wealthy figures like Boris Johnson but every U.S. citizen abroad need to meet requirements.
While taxation isn't the primary reason for my decision, the recurring cost and anxiety associated with documentation becomes troubling and fundamental economics indicates it constitutes inefficient resource allocation. However, ignoring American fiscal duties could result in travel involves additional apprehension about potential denial at immigration for non-compliance. Alternatively, I could postpone resolution until my estate handles it posthumously. Both options appear unsatisfactory.
Possessing American travel documentation constitutes an opportunity many newcomers desperately seek to acquire. But it's a privilege that feels uncomfortable for me, so I'm taking action, although requiring significant payment to complete the process.
The intimidating official portrait featuring the former president, 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 during the official questioning about potential coercion, I truthfully answer no.
A fortnight later I received my certificate of renunciation and my canceled passport to retain as mementos. My identity will supposedly be published within government records. I merely wish that future visa applications will be approved during potential return trips.
Elara is a passionate storyteller and cultural critic, dedicated to exploring the depths of narrative and its impact on society.