I stopped believing in America

Somewhere along the way, I stopped believing in America.

I moved to New Zealand over eight years ago. At first, all I noticed were the similarities to the place I'd lived for nearly 40 years of my life. Then, little by little, I noticed the differences. The fact that ambition didn't permeate every aspect of life here. That family was more important than work.

Yesterday, I renounced my US citizenship.

In this post, I want to unpack how I got there, in part to help me process, but perhaps to help anyone reading this to also process their own thoughts about America.

You grow up being told that America is the land of opportunity. That it's a place you can make your way. When I look at it now, from the 10,000km away, I see something else. I see a place that lied to its people, that didn't tell them that such dreams were meant only for the blessed, lucky few.

I also see an America that lies to itself about how it got there. How many indigenous peoples were killed to make space for the Europeans? How many slaves were brought over and tortured to generate wealth? How many prisons were built to continue slavery after it was formally abolished? I'm not saying anything new here. The work to illuminate these facts comes from folks working in America to help show the problems that persist.

These problems feel woven into the American way of thinking for so many folks. The promises carry with them the need to continue the system as it is, with all its flaws.

But, Soph! I hear folks say. Other countries have problems, too!

Of course they do. Yet that fact doesn't stop America's problems from being profound.

Watching America be consumed by corporate power feels like watching a massive conflagration. Nothing seems to be spared the flames. As if exhaling a long-held breath, corporations let go of their DEI initiatives, whole groups of employees trying to secure equality for LGBTQ+ folx in the company, and progressively anyone and everyone who would stand in the way of unfettered sights of the free market.

In short, anyone who might remind the company it needed to have a conscience.

Yet America has looked on for decades as it built these giants. Corporations, after all, are merely the offspring of the American dream, the product of the successes of capitalism. The line must go up, both legally and "morally", and so everyone salutes them. They invest in them and hope the windfall carries them into retirement. They work for them and help them grow, often as a means to survive.

The separation of church and state felt like a noble effort. Keep those with one kind of power away from those with another kind of people. Corporations, America's real church, has managed to shrug off any such shackles to grab the reins of governance for themselves.

When I say that I stopped believing in America, it is that we are all watching this happen, but I don't think Americans will stand up against it. Will Americans support dissolving monopolies? Will they remove corporate interests from politics? Will they disallow billionaires from forming?

Such possibilities feel counter to what has become the American way. It would require a complete rethink of everything. Admitting that everything for decades (well, centuries, really) was based on hurting others to get on top.

America would have to admit that it isn't the best. And has never been. That would be a big pill to swallow.

Having said all that - renouncing my citizenship gives me mixed feelings. You can't forget the moments of joy on the soil America was founded on. A fertile place that did indeed have promise. The place that held you as you took your first steps. Had your first kiss. It's bittersweet to see those superimposed over everything else that has happened, and continues to happen, on that same soil.

After eight years here of detoxing from the American way, of living and working differently, I realised that I'm just not an American anymore. I've changed. When I visit the US, I feel like an outsider. I listen to people, and I don't understand their motivations. Even the accent sounds strange.

I feel like an alien to how America works and how many Americans act. I don't want to move back. I don't want to try to reintegrate. I want instead to respect the journey I'm on, one that's made me significantly more healthy than I was before. To do so, sometimes we must leave our motherland behind.

I just got a call. My renunciation will misgender me because of the recent policy changes. The person I talked to even mentioned "I bet this is part of the reason you made this decision." Yeah, you don't say.

Do I believe America will eventually remove the boot from the backs of minorities? Yes, but only to move it to the next minority in line. Any pause seems only long enough to congratulate itself for its liberality, and then at the next opportunity to plant its heel again.

I don't want to be a part of it. It's time for divorce. If things deeply change. If America repents and actually makes amends for its original sins so that it can put itself on the path of being an actual land of opportunity for everyone. If all this happens and more, will I reconsider? Will I find it in my heart to fall back in love, decades from now? Perhaps.

But first, it's got to do something it's never done before as a society: to care.