The major reason I gave up my nationality is the US FATCA that blackmails banks all over the world to report American bank accounts held in their banks to the IRS. Huge fines are their alternative. Most of these account holders are in compliance with the US tax structure of Citizen-Based Taxation rather than the rest of the world's Resident Based Taxation. Most expats find themselves being double taxed on things like capital gains, unemployment, investments and pensions. Mortgages are being called in.
Anyone born in the US or the child of US citizens will owe tax on every cent they have for their entire lives even if they only spent one day in the US and none of the money ever touched US shores.
The result is that banks are closing American accounts.
My choice was to have a bank account or be an American. Since I never planned to live in the US, the bank won. The blog from the day I renounced in Dec. 2011 is below under the title One of the Saddest Days.
As soon as I got the State Department certificate that I was no longer American I took it to my bank.
Today the bank called.
It is not enough. They need another copy and I need to file more forms to make sure, really sure I'm not American.
I want the nightmare of being American to be over so I can bank like a normal human being.
One of the saddest days
Part of me will always love the country I thought I grew up in. Like trying to save my marriage, I tried everything. I’ve made hundreds of overseas calls to Congress and sent thousands of emails. I’ve followed legislation from committee to signing. Most was about Bill of Rights issues such as the loss of habeas corpus. If the president does not veto the new amendment just passed by the Senate, than the military will have the power to arrest anyone, anywhere with no charges, no trial indefinitely. I have made no calls and sent no emails on this one. I am disengaging.
Today I divorced my country. The decision was not easily reached with too many facets to recount here just like I won’t recount the whys of my divorce to my ex-husband.
The U.S. Consulate is in Bern. The rain on my umbrella drowned out normal street sounds.
I was told I could tap on the door. A guard came out and growled I couldn’t bring in my pocketbook.
“What should I do?”
“Leave it in your car?”
“I haven’t a car.”
“The bakery down the street to the right will keep it for you. Three Swiss Francs.”
The woman at the bakery was friendly and told me I also had to leave my phone, my camera and my medicine. I could take my wallet and my passport.
Back at the consulate there was an airport-type examination, and then I went down stairs for a second examination. This man was friendly and we chatted as I waited my turn.
A woman called my name and asked for verification on the information I already provided.
Then the Counsel came out, a thin man with glasses.
He told me that my decision was irrevocable—I could never live or work in the U.S. again. I could never get my citizenship back--not tomorrow not in 30 years. I signed that I understood.
He asked me to raise my right hand and swear that I was renouncing. My eyes blurred. “Are you certain you want to go through with it.”
Then I had to take a second oath. “What if I change my mind here?” I asked. I didn’t want to change my mind, I was just curious.
“Then I would take this back and we could probably . . .”
I shook my head. “It hurts, but I’m sure.” I took the second vow.
Within two weeks to two months I will get my cancelled passport and my certificate of renunciation. I will then pay $450. I can take that around to the banks so I can resume normal banking relations because I will not be subject to U.S. FATCA legislation that has caused so many problems for Americans and will continue to cause problems and other financial institutions. If Switzerland and the US do not come to agreement about the US have access to Swiss police records, it is possible I would need a visa to enter the U.S. It is also possible I wouldn't get one. I knew when I started this that I might never be able to enter the U.S. again.
Leaving the consulate to retrieve my bag at the bakers, I vomited.
Like the day I was divorced, this was one of the saddest of my life. I don't regret the choice.
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