Canada, in particular, is no longer a paradise awaiting American dissidents: whereas in 1970 roughly 20,000 Americans became permanent residents of Canada, that number has dropped over the last decade to an average of just about 5,000. Today it takes an average of twenty-five months to be accepted as a permanent resident, and this is only the first step in what is likely to be a five-year process of becoming a citizen. At that point the gesture of expatriation may already be moot, particularly if a sympathetic political party has since resumed power.
A more pleasant solution might be found in the Caribbean. Take, for example, the twin-island nation of St. Kitts and Nevis, which Frommer’s guide praises for its “average year-round temperature of 79°F (26°C), low humidity, white-sand beaches, and unspoiled natural beauty.” Citizenship in this paradise can be purchased outright. Prices start at around $125,000, which includes a $25,000 application fee and a minimum purchase of $100,000 in bonds. Processing time, which includes checks for criminal records and HIV, can take up to three months, but with luck you could be renouncing by Inauguration Day. The island of Dominica likewise offers a program of “economic citizenship,” though it should be noted that Frommer’s describes the beaches as “not worth the effort to get there.”
Speed is of the essence, however, because your choice of tropical paradises is fast dwindling: similar passport-vending programs in Belize and Grenada have been shut down since 2001 under pressure from the State Department, which does not approve. In any case, it should be noted that under the aforementioned IRS rules, you might well be forced to continue subsidizing needless invasions—or, to be evenhanded, needless afterschool programs.
It sounds like Canada is out, but if anyone wants to hit the tipjar to the tune of $125,000 I'd be more than happy to retire to the Caribbean. Otherwise, you're all stuck with me.
You gotta love this solution, though:
Imaginary nations
Perhaps the most elegant solution is to join a country that exists only in one’s own—or someone else’s—imagination. Many such virtual nations can be found on the Internet, and citizenships in them are easy to acquire. This, in fact, was the route most recently attempted by Kenneth Nichols O’Keefe, the unfortunate ex-Marine. In February 2003,
O’Keefe went to Baghdad to serve as a human shield, traveling with a passport issued to him by the “World Service Authority,” an outfit based in Washington, D.C., that has dubbed more than 1.2 million people “world citizens.” While laying over in Turkey, however, he was detained; Turkey, as it turns out, does not recognize the World Service Authority. O’Keefe was forced to apply for a replacement U.S. passport from the State Department, which rather graciously complied.
Upon his arrival in Baghdad, O’Keefe promptly set the replacement passport on fire. But he remains, to his dismay, an American.
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