Adios, America!

A moving guide for disgruntled Democrats.

In 1979, I ran away from home. Things had gotten pretty bad—my mom wouldn’t let me take my cat to school for show-and-tell, our new house in the country didn’t have cable TV, my older sister had hidden her diary in an annoyingly clever spot I couldn’t find for the life of me, and nobody would buy me the Saturday Night Fever album I desperately wanted.

It was insufferable. Unbearable. I had to get out of there.

One day after school, I tossed my Wonder Woman bookbag onto the bed, plopped down at my desk, and pulled out my Very Special Occasion stationery. It was meant to look like denim with little embroidered patches on it and it was the finest, fanciest letterhead my ten-year-old mind could imagine. I’d never been able to bring myself to use even a single sheet of it. Until now.

If ever there was going to be a Very Special Occasion, I figured announcing my daring and dramatic departure was it. Mom would save this note forever.

I wrote:

I was right. She did save it forever.

I placed this masterpiece smack in the middle of the orange formica kitchen island, yelled “BYE!” as loudly as I could and bolted out the front door, letting it slam behind me. I ran all the way to the neighbor’s barn next door. I could see my house plainly from my perch atop a bale of hay and was ready to savor Mom’s desperate, frenzied search.

She’s probably calling Dad. Or the police. Or organizing a search party. Or looking for a photo of me to send to the milk carton people. These were my actual thoughts as I watched her not running around frantically looking for me and shouting my name. A few hours went by, or it might have been twenty minutes. All I know is that at some point I realized with certainty that either she didn’t care that I was living on the streets [some people are born to be dramatic] or she was calling my bluff. Both options stung. The only thing that would have made it worse was if she’d strolled over to the barn and offered me a few bucks and a ride to the bus station.

It was getting dark. I was hungry. The neighbor’s barn was creepy and had spiders and probably snakes. I was not cut out for life on the streets. I slunk back home, defeated, just like she knew I would, and ate my Shake ‘n Bake chicken in stony silence.

It’s a funny story because what an immature, melodramatic little brat! She actually thought the world revolved around her and her petty needs—and that it would come to a stop if she didn’t get everything she wanted. Classic ten-year-old histrionics hahahahaha.

As you are likely aware, the cackle of petulant celebrities who threatened to run away and never come back the last time Trump was elected is at it again. I hadn’t thought much about their grousing beyond “good riddance” to be honest, until I saw a headline from The Independent wondering where are the easiest countries for American citizens to move to?

I was curious indeed. You know, so I could help Whoopi and Cardi B. find their new forever homelands.

“How easy is it to move to a new country?” asks the clip’s somber host. “After the last two presidential elections, plenty of people have had the same idea. And with this election proving just as divisive, the question is back.” The reporter (?) then proceeds to rattle off a list of super-simple transnational moves an aggrieved Yankee might make.

1. MEXICO: You can apply for a Temporary Resident Visa that’s good for up to four years, as long as you can show you earn at least $2,100 a month and have more than $35,000 in the bank. After four years, you are eligible to apply for a Permanent Resident Visa, which requires passing a Spanish proficiency test (so racist and xenophobic!) and ups those numbers to $3,500/month in income and a savings account balance of $140,000. Weird and not all that welcoming of them to want to make sure you can actually take care of yourself, but okay. Proceed with caution.

2. PORTUGAL: Start with a Temporary Stay Permit, then graduate to a Temporary Residence Permit (requires proof of employment and health insurance coverage). If you’ve got a half million euros in the bank, you can request a Permanent Residence Permit, and in five years you may be eligible to apply for Portuguese citizenship (just make sure you have a clean criminal record, are actively involved in the local community, and speak the language fluently). Easy peasy!

3. THAILAND: For the privilege of freely coming and going to Thailand for five years, expect to pay around $25K, a number that increases incrementally to $140,000 for twenty years. (If your annoying kids want to join you, you can add $55K per head to the high end.) For expats with a million USD or more in assets making at least $80K a year, they *may* waive these fees. Conditions apply.

4. CANADA: You’ll need to qualify to even be considered; fortunately Canukistan has created a handy social credit score Comprehensive Ranking System (CRS) for hopeful immigrants. This “merit-based” scale ranks applicants on education, language proficiency, work experience, and age (younger is better; apparently Canadians aren’t too concerned with age discrimination, eh?). Once installed as a resident, you’ll luxuriate in just the sort of dictatorship you would have enjoyed here if only all those dumb white women like me had stayed home on November 5. This one’s probably your best bet, TBH.

5. UNITARIA: This little-known republic welcomes just about anyone. In fact, for a limited time* they’ll pay you to move there. You don’t need to speak the language or have health insurance or even two wooden nickels to rub together. Violent criminal record? Pshaw. Unitarians understand that people can change, although they’re also fine if you don’t because they pride themselves on diversity, equity, and inclusion, a kindness that extends to murderers and gang rapists you’re welcome. They’ll feed you (except not in that one selfish province of Yew Nork; sorry) and house you for free (don’t worry; they’ll happily toss a few 95-year-old veterans on the street to make sure you have a bed!), provide no-cost health care, and even help you buy your first home. The only catch—and it’s a doozy—is that this otherwise idyllic country is run by a rich white guy with a combover who’s known for his impromptu Twitter tirades. May or may not be worth the hassle of moving, frankly.

*offer expires at 12PM EST on January 20, 2025

“If you’re serious about making the move, there are options,” the Independent’s talking head assures. But you might want to do it soon… before that fascist dictator sweeps in and takes your every last right away (*even though he didn’t do that the last time around). Also please be serious about making the move; 2028 will be here before we know it and I don’t think I can take a third round of your whiny, empty threats.

Those holiday gifts aren’t going to buy themselves, you know.