🔗 Share this article

After six decades together, United States, I'm ending our relationship. Though fondness remains, the romantic connection has faded and the time has come to go our separate ways. This departure is voluntary, though it brings sadness, because there remains much to admire about you.

Scenic Wonders and Innovative Energy

Beginning with your magnificent protected lands, soaring ancient trees and distinctive animal species 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 demonstrated by the inspiring individuals I've encountered within your borders. Numerous precious recollections center on tastes that permanently connect me to you – cinnamon spice, seasonal squash dessert, grape jelly. But, America, you've become increasingly difficult to understand.

Ancestral History and Changing Connection

If I were composing a separation letter to America, that's how it would begin. I've qualified as an "unintentional U.S. citizen" from delivery due to my father and centuries of ancestors before him, starting in 1636 and featuring military participants in foundational conflicts, shared genetic material with a former president plus multiple eras of settlers who journeyed across the nation, beginning in northeastern states toward central and western regions.

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 ancestor fought with the military overseas in the global conflict; his single-parent ancestor operated a farm with nine children; his relative helped rebuild San Francisco following the seismic disaster; and his grandfather campaigned for political office.

Yet despite this quintessentially American heritage, I discover myself increasingly disconnected to the nation. This is particularly true given the perplexing and concerning political atmosphere that leaves me questioning what American identity represents. This phenomenon has been labeled "citizen insecurity" – and I recognize the symptoms. Now I desire to create distance.

Logistical Factors and Economic Strain

I've only resided in the United States 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 within America subsequently. And I'm confident I'll never need emergency extraction – thus no functional requirement for me to retain American nationality.

Additionally, the requirement I face as a U.S. citizen to file yearly financial documentation, although not residing or employed 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., intended to avoid double taxation, but preparation expenses range from substantial amounts yearly even for basic returns, and the process proves highly challenging and complex to complete each January, as the American fiscal cycle begins.

Regulatory Issues and Ultimate Choice

Authorities have indicated that eventually the U.S. government will enforce compliance and administer substantial fines on delinquent individuals. These measures affect not only 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 represents poor investment. However, ignoring American fiscal duties would mean that visiting involves additional apprehension regarding possible border rejection for non-compliance. Or, I might defer settlement until my estate handles it posthumously. Both options appear unsatisfactory.

Holding a U.S. passport represents an opportunity many newcomers desperately seek to acquire. But it's a privilege that feels uncomfortable for me, so I'm taking action, despite the $2,350 cost to complete the process.

The threatening formal photograph featuring the former president, glowering at attendees at the U.S. consulate in Sydney – where I recited the renunciation oath – provided the final motivation. I understand I'm choosing the proper direction for my circumstances and when the consular officer inquires about potential coercion, I truthfully answer no.

Two weeks afterward I received my certificate of renunciation 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 during potential return trips.