🔗 Share this article

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.

Natural Beauty and Creative Spirit

From your breathtaking national parks, soaring ancient trees and unique wildlife to the magical illumination of lightning bugs between crop rows during warm nights and the brilliant fall colors, your natural splendor is extraordinary. Your ability to spark creativity appears limitless, as evidenced through the motivational people 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, grape jelly. However, United States, I simply don't comprehend you anymore.

Family Legacy and Shifting Identity

If I were composing a separation letter to America, those would be the opening words. I've qualified as an "unintentional U.S. citizen" from delivery because of my paternal lineage and ten generations preceding him, commencing in the seventeenth century and featuring military participants in foundational conflicts, DNA connections to past leadership and generations of pioneers 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 dad grew up during the Great Depression; his grandfather served with the military overseas during the first world war; his widowed great-grandmother managed a farm with nine children; his great-uncle assisted reconstruct the city after the 1906 earthquake; and his grandfather campaigned for political office.

Yet despite this quintessentially American heritage, I discover myself increasingly disconnected to the nation. This feeling intensifies considering the confusing 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.

Practical Considerations and Financial Burden

I've only resided within America a brief period and haven't returned in nearly a decade. I've maintained Australian nationality for most of my life and no intention to reside, employment or education in the US again. Furthermore, I'm certain I won't require military rescue – so there's no practical necessity to maintain American nationality.

Furthermore, the obligation I face as a U.S. citizen to file yearly financial documentation, despite neither living or employed there or eligible for services, proves burdensome and anxiety-inducing. America stands with merely two countries globally – including Eritrea – that impose taxation based on citizenship rather than residence. And financial compliance is mandatory – it's printed in our passport backs.

Admittedly, a fiscal treaty operates between Australia and the U.S., intended to avoid double taxation, but preparation expenses range between A$1,200 and A$3,500 annually even for basic returns, and the process proves extremely demanding and convoluted to complete each January, when the U.S. tax period commences.

Regulatory Issues and Ultimate Choice

I've been informed that ultimately the U.S. government will enforce compliance and impose significant penalties against non-compliant citizens. This enforcement doesn't target high-profile individuals but every U.S. citizen abroad must fulfill obligations.

Although financial matters aren't the main cause for my decision, the recurring cost and anxiety of filing returns proves distressing and basic financial principles suggest it represents poor investment. But neglecting U.S. tax responsibilities would mean that visiting including extra worry about potential denial at immigration due to irregular status. Alternatively, I could postpone resolution for inheritance processing after death. Neither alternative seems acceptable.

Possessing American travel documentation constitutes a privilege that countless immigrants earnestly attempt to obtain. Yet this advantage that creates discomfort personally, so I'm taking action, despite the $2,350 cost to finalize the procedure.

The threatening formal photograph of Donald Trump, glowering at attendees within the diplomatic facility – where I recited the renunciation oath – supplied the ultimate impetus. I understand I'm choosing the proper direction for my situation and during the official questioning regarding external pressure, I honestly respond negatively.

Two weeks afterward I received my certificate of renunciation and my voided travel papers to keep as souvenirs. My identity will supposedly be published within government records. I simply hope that future visa applications will be approved during potential return trips.