On Leaving America
I’ve avoided writing about this for many years, partly because I’ve feared separation from my family on the other side. The U.S. has recently denied entry to visitors due to their views on the current administration, so I’m hesitant to talk about being an expatriate and what that means to me. My transition into a “Nihilistic Violent Extremist,”[i] in their eyes, also gives me pause. Another part of me needs to tell the story of how and why I left America.
When my graduate advisor, who has campaigned for Democratic causes as long as I’ve known him, asked me if politics had anything to do with my decision to leave America, I could honestly say they didn’t. I moved here during the Clinton administration and renounced my U.S. citizenship during the Obama administration (both Democrats). Between the physical move to Canada and renunciation, there were the intermediate steps of becoming a permanent resident (called “landed immigrant” at the time) and then a citizen, but politics never crossed my mind as I followed the natural progression.
Coming to Canada in the first place was a result of clinical depression and suicidal ideation, seeking relief by dreaming of work in the pharmaceutical industry anywhere that would have me, and my only offer from a small biotech in Vancouver. I entered as a temporary foreign worker under the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) skilled labour category and had to renew my work permit at the border every year. Some of the executives treated me poorly, knowing that the threat of firing carried more weight—one thought my work permit was permanently tied to them and liked to say, “You’re fired!” when he passed me in the hallway.
I knew I’d have to find another biotech to offer me a work permit or leave the country if it happened. We had a mortgage on a townhouse under the costlier terms that banks offered foreign visitors, so I couldn’t go long without income, and the thought of finding a job in the U.S. and packing up our life again was too painful.
The HR manager knew what was going on and quietly suggested that I apply for landed immigrant status. I applied to become a permanent resident and Canadian citizen as soon as I was eligible, but even then, it took about six years. I took my oath of citizenship on Canada Day in a special ceremony at Vancouver Place, sang O Canada for the first time as a citizen, had my picture taken with a Mountie in dress uniform, and received a live Douglas fir seedling as a token of new citizenship.[ii]
It was one of the happiest days of my life. Why? I had secretly longed to leave America since childhood. I never felt like I belonged. Maybe because I was a science nerd, closeted as queer even to myself, or because I’d taken French since Grade 7. I visited the Netherlands, France, and Germany on a school trip as a teen and craved a different life from what I’d known in America. Even the UK would have been different enough, but I never found the opportunity or could convince Sarah to move that far away from her family and job prospects. With a PhD, I could find work almost anywhere. Canada was as far as she was willing to go. I knew that Vancouver had one of the largest Pride celebrations, and there was even a little French in B.C. (on the back of cereal boxes), so we moved and settled in.
I discovered that my political leanings were more socialist and aligned closely with the minority provincial and federal New Democratic Party (NDP). Growing up in progressive Minnesota during the 1970s and 1980s, I appreciated the politeness, peacemaking, social cooperation, healthcare, and stance on human rights that are at the heart of being Canadian (at least according to the citizenship test). The lower salaries and higher cost of living in Canada became part of my support for those core values.
Why give up U.S. citizenship? When I took my oath to the Queen, it was a potentially expatriating act, and when my U.S. passport expired, I had to either surrender it or declare that I didn’t intend to give up my U.S. citizenship by pledging allegiance to a foreign country. At the time, holding two passports wasn’t a significant expense, and it came with the right to enter the U.S. to visit family, to work if Canada’s economic conditions worsened, and, in my idealistic mind, to retire to Hawaii or California. I loved snorkelling in Hawaii and was drawn to the California beaches and canyons of my young adulthood. I think I also hoped, beginning when I lived there in graduate school, that I would find my way into Los Angeles’ entertainment industry.
Then, in 2009, a shock awakened me from my American dream. The Department of Justice and the Internal Revenue Service (IRS) started enforcing a neglected law requiring every U.S. citizen to report their foreign accounts and their balances every year. We, along with thousands of other American citizens abroad, faced fines of tens of thousands of dollars for not submitting forms that we didn’t know existed.
The anxiety was paralyzing. On top of that, the U.S. government began signing agreements with other countries, including Canada, to share the names and account balances of U.S. citizen account holders. Soon, some banks closed the accounts of all U.S. account holders to avoid the paperwork and potential fines. Some pensioned retirees in Canada were swept up in the U.S. government’s campaign to find wealthy tax cheats,[iii] and it cost them thousands of dollars to hire tax accountants and pay significant penalties for “hiding” their retirement accounts from the IRS.
Over a few years, the number of Americans abroad renouncing their citizenship rose over tenfold.[iv] For me and some dual citizen friends, fear of the U.S. government and the unending anxiety outweighed imagined future benefits. I made an appointment at the U.S. consulate in Vancouver, and on a cold January morning, I paid my fee, stood before a consular official and her miniature American flag, and took the oath:
I desire and hereby make a formal renunciation of my U.S. nationality, as provided by section 349(a)(5) of the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1952, as amended, and pursuant thereto, I hereby absolutely and entirely renounce my United States nationality together with all rights and privileges and all duties and allegiance and fidelity thereunto pertaining. I make this renunciation intentionally, voluntarily, and of my own free will, free of any duress or undue influence.
I surrendered my passport and left as an official expatriate. My name was published in the Federal Register and added to an FBI list that prevents me from buying or possessing firearms in the U.S. (per the Gun Control Act of 1968).[v]
The dreams of Hawaii and California are fading, but not entirely gone. Maybe once the ailing cat we’re caring for leaves this mortal coil, and we finish exploring Canada, we may visit again. If I’m asked at the border about my opinions on U.S. federal politics, I can honestly say that they’ve had a positive impact here in Canada. Canadian sentiment about the current U.S. administration saved us from a nearly certain Conservative government in the most recent federal election. Their leader, Pierre Poilievre, parroted many of the same anti-trans, anti-immigrant, anti-DEI rhetoric found in Project 2025, and it didn’t go over well here in Canada. Liberal support rose above sinking conservative numbers, and the trans community breathed a sigh of relief, for now. U.S. attacks on Canadian sovereignty have united the country like few other threats since World War II.
And I am so thrilled to be Canadian, and only Canadian.
What did you think? How are you doing? I’d love to chat…
[i] https://www.them.us/story/trump-admin-fbi-trans-nihilistic-violent-extremists-terrorist
[ii] The tree would have grown too large for our yard, so the seedling sat in the freezer for over twenty years before I composted it.
[iii] https://www.winnipegfreepress.com/local/2011/08/25/americans-renounce-citizenship-over-taxes
[iv] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Relinquishment_of_United_States_nationality
[v] I could still be drafted into military service if they expanded it to cover those older than twenty-six—the current administration considers anyone assigned male at birth as permanently male and eligible for the draft. They’ve also banned anyone who has transitioned from serving, so I have two or three reasons to worry less about my ongoing U.S. military obligation.