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After 60 years together, United States, our partnership must conclude. While I still hold affection for you, the passion has diminished and the time has come to go our separate ways. This departure is voluntary, though it brings sadness, because you possess countless wonderful qualities.

Scenic Wonders and Innovative Energy

From your breathtaking national parks, 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 motivational people I've met throughout your territory. Numerous precious recollections revolve around flavors that permanently connect me to you – cinnamon spice, seasonal squash dessert, grape jelly. But, America, you've become increasingly difficult to understand.

Family Legacy and Shifting Identity

If I were composing a separation letter to the United States, that's how it would begin. 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, shared genetic material with a former president and generations of pioneers who journeyed across the nation, from Massachusetts and New Jersey toward central and western regions.

I experience deep honor in my family's history and their role in the national story. My dad grew up through economic hardship; his ancestor fought with the military overseas during the first world war; his single-parent ancestor operated agricultural land with numerous offspring; his great-uncle assisted reconstruct the city after the 1906 earthquake; while another ancestor ran as a state senator.

However, notwithstanding this classic U.S. background, I find myself no longer feeling connected to the nation. This feeling intensifies considering the confusing and alarming governmental climate 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.

Practical Considerations and Financial Burden

I merely lived in the United States a brief period and haven't returned for eight years. I've maintained Australian nationality for almost forty years and no intention to reside, employment or education within America subsequently. Furthermore, I'm certain I'll never need emergency extraction – so there's no practical necessity to maintain U.S. citizenship.

Additionally, the requirement I face as a U.S. citizen 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 impose taxation based on citizenship rather than residence. And tax conformity is compulsory – it's printed in our passport backs.

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 even for basic returns, and the procedure represents highly challenging and complex to complete each January, when the U.S. tax period commences.

Compliance Concerns and Final Decision

Authorities have indicated 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 all Americans overseas must fulfill obligations.

While taxation isn't the primary reason for my decision, the recurring cost and anxiety of filing returns proves distressing and fundamental economics indicates it constitutes inefficient resource allocation. But neglecting U.S. tax responsibilities could result in travel including extra worry about potential denial at immigration for non-compliance. Or, I might defer settlement until my estate handles it posthumously. Both options appear unsatisfactory.

Possessing American travel documentation constitutes a privilege that countless immigrants desperately seek to acquire. Yet this advantage that feels uncomfortable for me, so I'm taking action, despite the $2,350 cost to complete the process.

The intimidating official portrait featuring the former president, glowering at attendees within the diplomatic facility – where I recited the renunciation oath – provided the final motivation. I understand I'm selecting the correct path for my circumstances and during the official questioning about potential coercion, I honestly respond negatively.

A fortnight later I received my certificate of renunciation and my voided travel papers to keep as souvenirs. My identity will supposedly be published on a federal registry. I merely wish that subsequent travel authorization will be approved during potential return trips.