A Loyal American Ponders Leaving the Country

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Not since the days of the Vietnam War have so many progressive-minded citizens considered leaving the country. Part of this, of course, is due to the militarism and civil liberties abuses of the Bush administration, but the increasing greed and incivility of daily life in the United States also feeds the drive to get away. And while there are plenty of good reasons to explore living abroad, there are plenty of pitfalls as well -- not the least of which is the notion that leaving home will somehow solve the issues that persuaded us to flee in the first place.
-- The Editors

See editor Jay Walljasper's "Confessions of a Failed Expat."

The Canadian Consulate General in Minneapolis is housed on the ninth floor of one of those modern downtown skyscrapers that call into question the whole idea of architecture. All blue and orange steel, marble, and glass, it seems an uninspiring gateway to the dream that I am harboring. Still, the distinctive maple leaf flag is flying outside next to Old Glory, and as I shuffle through the lobby toward the elevators I find myself oddly buoyed in its presence.

Upstairs, the consulate shares a beige hallway with some corporate law firm, but the bronze coat of arms (A MARI USQUE AD MARE) on the door is impressive, and, inside, a beatific Queen Elizabeth smiles from the wall. But when I ask the guy behind the bulletproof glass about immigration information, he slides a cheesy-looking flyer through the slot and informs me I've come to the wrong place. There's now a Web site for that (www.cic.gc.ca).

"You can't just move up there," says Jerry Foley, public affairs officer for the consulate. "That was more easily the case 30 years ago, when a lot of people did it."

I'm no 18-year-old draft dodger. Indeed, I spent four years in the Air Force during the early 1970s -- the only time in my life that I've lived away from the Twin Cities. My roots in this place run deep. My siblings all live within a 45-minute drive; my mom's less than a half-hour away. I've got a nice home in a decent part of town, a good job, a wife and two kids -- a package of implausible good fortune I could not have imagined 10 years ago. And yet, last spring, my wife, Sharon, and I began talking seriously about leaving it all behind.

This wasn't newfound desire for the simple life in the South Pacific. Like most families, we operate under a certain level of stress, but not enough to get us to pitch everything and start over in an exotic locale with large insects. Nor were we hungering for the cosmopolitan charm of a spot like Paris or Buenos Aires. We can't take advantage of even a fraction of the cultural opportunities right here in Minneapolis. It had little to do, in fact, with the realities of our personal life. We were just pissed off about being Americans.

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