After 60 years together, United States, our partnership must conclude. Though fondness remains, the passion has diminished and I'm making the difficult decision to separate. I'm leaving by choice, 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 magical illumination of lightning bugs amid cornfields on summer evenings and the brilliant fall colors, your environmental beauty is remarkable. Your capacity to ignite innovation seems boundless, 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 – aromatic cinnamon, pumpkin pie, grape jelly. However, United States, you've become increasingly difficult to understand.
If I were composing a separation letter to America, those would be the opening words. I've qualified as an "accidental American" since birth due to my father and ten generations preceding him, commencing in the seventeenth century and featuring military participants in foundational conflicts, shared genetic material with a former president and generations of pioneers who traversed the country, from Massachusetts and New Jersey toward central and western regions.
I feel tremendous pride in my family's history and their role in the national story. My father experienced childhood during the Great Depression; his grandfather served 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 following the seismic disaster; while another ancestor ran as a state senator.
However, notwithstanding this classic U.S. background, I find myself no longer feeling connected with the country. This is particularly true given the perplexing and alarming governmental climate that makes me doubt the meaning of national belonging. This phenomenon has been labeled "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 held Australian citizenship for almost forty years and have no plans to reside, employment or education within America subsequently. And I'm confident I'll never need emergency extraction – thus no functional requirement to maintain U.S. citizenship.
Furthermore, the obligation I face as a U.S. citizen to submit annual tax returns, although not residing nor working there or eligible for services, proves burdensome and anxiety-inducing. The United States ranks among merely two countries globally – including Eritrea – that impose taxation according to nationality instead of location. And tax conformity is compulsory – it's printed in our passport backs.
Admittedly, a fiscal treaty operates between Australia and the U.S., intended to avoid double taxation, yet filing costs vary from substantial amounts yearly for straightforward declarations, and the process proves extremely demanding and convoluted to undertake every new year, when the U.S. tax period commences.
Authorities have indicated that ultimately American officials will mandate conformity and impose significant penalties against non-compliant citizens. This enforcement doesn't target extremely wealthy figures like Boris Johnson but every U.S. citizen abroad 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 basic financial principles suggest it represents poor investment. But neglecting U.S. tax responsibilities could result in travel including extra worry regarding possible border rejection due to irregular status. Alternatively, I could postpone resolution for inheritance processing after death. Both options appear unsatisfactory.
Holding a U.S. passport represents a privilege that countless immigrants desperately seek to acquire. But it's a privilege that creates discomfort personally, so I'm taking action, despite the $2,350 cost to finalize the procedure.
The intimidating official portrait featuring the former president, scowling toward visitors at the U.S. consulate in Sydney – where I performed the citizenship relinquishment – provided the final motivation. I understand I'm selecting the correct path for my circumstances and when the consular officer inquires regarding external pressure, I honestly respond negatively.
A fortnight later I obtained my official relinquishment document and my voided travel papers to retain as mementos. My identity will supposedly be published within government records. I simply hope that subsequent travel authorization gets granted during potential return trips.
Kaelen Vance is a seasoned esports journalist and former competitive gamer, passionate about sharing strategies and industry trends.