Relinquishing U.S. citizenship in Tokyo (part 1 of 4)

Like many (but not all) countries, Japan requires that you relinquish / formally abandon / renounce your other original citizenship as a condition for naturalization, if that country allows it. The U.S. does, and the procedure is called "relinquishment", not "renunciation". The U.S. system is unique in that there are two ways to lose your U.S. citizenship, and the better way to lose it is through "relinquishment". It's a bit of a contortion of the word, as the U.S., due to the way the 14th amendment in its Constitution works, doesn't actively go out and seek out people that have committed "expatriating" acts, such as naturalization to another country or formally choosing another existing nationality like some dual-national Japanese-Americans do. Relinquishing has some benefits over renunciation:

1. It is [was] free (renouncing is $2,350) [at the time I did it].
2. Certain parts of U.S. law that punish people who expatriate for tax purposes do not apply (such as The Reed Amendment) to those who relinquish their citizenship.
3. The effective date of your loss of nationality on your CLN (certificate of loss of nationality) back dates to the day you naturalized. So legally you were never a dual citizen!
4. There is no Renunciation Oath or ceremony; you simply raise your right hand and swear that all the oral and written answers and forms you've provided are true.
5. It is slightly easier to appeal after the fact. Although you should consider both renunciation and relinquishment permanent and irrevocable; renunciation is almost impossible to appeal. Relinquishment is very difficult to appeal. Note that this does not mean you can never have U.S. citizenship again. It just means that you can't make it as if the renunciation never happened. If you want U.S. citizenship again, you have to do it the hard way and get in line just like every other foreigner wanting U.S. citizenship; you need to naturalize. According to 7 FAM 1211:

   “h. Relinquish v. renounce: INA 349(a)(5) prescribes how renunciation of U.S. citizenship must occur. This is explained in detail in 7 FAM 1280. A citizen may also voluntarily relinquish U.S. citizenship upon committing voluntarily one of the other potentially expatriating acts enumerated in INA 349 and possessing the requisite intent to relinquish. The distinction becomes meaningful when a person who has been found to have lost U.S. citizenship later requests an appeal or administrative review of that decision. It is much more difficult to establish a lack of intent or duress for renunciation of U.S. citizenship.”

When you're at the U.S. embassy, you do have to watch your mouth and your actions a bit when you do the procedure: if for some reason the officer is not made aware of your naturalization (for example, for some bizarre reason you decide to lie and say you've always had Japanese citizenship and you didn't do the Choice of Nationality Form), it is possible they might judge your actions to be a renunciation. I've never read about a case like this happening though. The closest I've seen is 有道出人 {ARUDŌ Debito}'s documented encounter where he tried to insist that the U.S. consular officers proceed even though they thought he thought he was doing the procedure against his will. His cancelled passport and CLN, which he posted, show that his loss of U.S. nationality was indeed a relinquishment, not a renouncement.

Japan's naturalization system understands how U.S. naturalization laws work, and thus the U.S. is a special case in that it sets it up so you do your business with the U.S. after you acquire Japanese citizenship. This is to set up the "expatriating event" number in INA (immigration and nationality act) 349(a)1, so you are recognized as having relinquished as opposed to renouncing your citizenship so the harsher laws don't kick in. Likewise, this is also one reason why Japan has Americans do the 国籍選択届 {kokuseki sentaku todoke} (Choice of Nationality Form) separate and before the 外国国籍喪失届 {gaikoku kokuseki sōshitsu todoke} (Loss of Foreign Nationality Form): doing the formal choice on paper first sets up the 349(a)2 expatriating event: taking an oath, affirmation or other formal declaration to a foreign state.

Contrary to popular belief, you can renounce your U.S. citizenship without having any other citizenships and make yourself stateless; there are a few documented cases of people doing this on the net. I will go out on a limb here and state that, regardless of whether you prefer one state's government or another, being stateless is still, even in the 21st century, a very bad idea.

So, how do you go about relinquishing your U.S. citizenship? Step 1 is going to an embassy or consulate. You can do this anywhere, no matter what state you're a new citizen of. The only place you can't get rid of your U.S. citizenship is when you're physically inside the United States (except during a time of formal declared war — and even if you do this, there is no guarantee, like U.S. taxes, that the U.S. will not try to hold you to the duties of the draft).

But here's the problem: at least in Tokyo, the U.S. embassy does not allow civilians to enter the U.S. embassy without an appointment, unless it's an emergency. And the preferred way to set up an appointment is to use their web site. I say "preferred" because they've done a pretty good job of hiding their phone number on the web site, and when you do find their phone number, you are put through DTMF push touch tone phone menu hell, with each step reminding you of oh-how-convenient the web site is and are you sure you wouldn't rather hang up and do this on the web rather than wait on hold? And if you do get to the end of the menu, you will probably go straight to voice mail, where you will leave your name and number and if you're lucky they will call you back when it's convenient for them and inconvenient for you — for example, when you are in a tunnel in the subway and they get your voice mail and they tell you they called but don't leave a name or direct number so you have to go through phone menu hell again to leave yet another voice mail message in a game of phone tag. Yes, you can tell by this rant that I've done this and I did not consider it to be a customer satisfaction moment.

Here's the second problem: on their U.S. embassy site and appointment system, "renunciation" and/or "relinquishment" is not on the menu. While the State Department has many pages about what it is, what the laws are, and the warnings about the consequences, the web page templates for most U.S. embassies and consulates around the world do not list "citizenship renunciation or relinquishment" as a service available from the ACS (American Citizen Services).

Going through the web menu, I pick the closest thing I can think of, "Passport Services: Other", and schedule a half-day paid leave from my work vacation allotment to spend at the embassy.

Arriving on time at the embassy, I wait my turn inside the section called "American Citizen Services" until my number is called. I watch a few downs of a NFL game being rebroadcast over a high def TV connected to some U.S. military satellite channel. It takes about 15 minutes for my name to be called.

A nice Japanese woman who spoke English with an non-native accent calls me up. She asks how I can be helped.

I am forced to speak to her through a thick bulletproof glass with perforations for speaking, a slit for transferring documentation, and a microphone and speaker in case the holes in the thick glass aren't enough. It's a lot like a 24 hour gas station in the states. Or an OTB (off-track betting) site that deals with a lot of cash.

The woman elects to use the speaker and microphone, meaning there's no privacy and everyone else in ACS can hear our conversation. I state my purpose.

"Hi. I recently naturalized to Japanese and as part of that formal process I need to renounce my citizenship."

"Excuse me?"

Apparently this takes her by surprise. I think she, based on me selecting "Passport services: other", is expecting me transfer a visa or something like that. So I reword my statement and repeat myself.

"Oh no! You know that America won't do anything to your U.S. citizenship if you decide to keep it." This comment took me by surprise. I expected embassy officials to give advice by the book, and not encourage people to disobey Japanese law.

"Yes, I understand. However, I'm more concerned as to what Japan might someday do to me if I don't follow their laws concerning naturalization. I'd prefer to do things by the book, thank you."

She then explains to me that she's not authorized to handle this sort of transaction, and I really need to talk to an official "consular officer" to do this procedure.

"May I speak to the consular officer then?"

"Unfortunately, the consular officer is very busy. You will need to make an appointment."

So I explain to her that the web site doesn't really have a menu option for either renouncing/relinquishment or "speaking to a consular officer."

"Correct. I am not in charge of making appointments for the consular officer. You will need to make an appointment with Oshima."

"Okay, got it. May I speak to Oshima?"

"She's not in today. But here's her direct line so you can call her to arrange an appointment with a consular officer." She slips a phone number on a Post-It through the slit at the bottom of the window.

Sigh. A half-day of work leave wasted. Oh well. It's not all for naught. I got a phone number that's not on the web site out of it. I thanked her and told her I will call immediately after I leave the embassy — they confiscate your cell phone when you are inside the embassy.

"One last thing", she says to me. "Are you being coerced or forced against your will to renounce your citizenship?"

I'm taken aback by this question too, because although I know this is a by-the-book question (the 14th amendment won't allow you to lose your U.S. citizenship against your will), she had just told me that she is effectively powerless with respect to matters involving naturalization. Against better judgement, I decide to test her sense of humor.

"Actually, now that you mention it, there is this guy waiting for me outside the embassy with a gun..."

What seemed like just a split second after I say "gun", I see her eyes open manga-wide and her eyebrows rise up in alarm, like a TSA agent who has just been told at the security check point that actually, yes, I do have some box cutters in my check in baggage.

"No, no, no, no! Sorry, bad joke. I'm Sorry. So Sorry. I think I'm dehydrated. The vending machines are over there, right? Really, I'm sorry. No, I'm doing this willingly under my own volition."

I look around for any signs that say making bomb jokes is a felony — similar to the ones you see at airports. There are none. Still, lesson learned. Embassy people are jumpy. And they assume the people they deal with are potentially dangerous and they are in a dangerous foreign land. The fortress-like security, where American citizens are handled the same way that American citizens are handled when they visit federal prisons to visit incarcerated people, should have tipped me off that this is a no-black-humor zone.

I would later learn, after explaining my day to a friend that works at the embassy, that like bank tellers, all of the windows at ACS (and the visa area) are equipped with "panic buttons" under the counter, which sounds a silent alarm and alerts the armed U.S. Marines who guard the embassy.

After I leave the embassy, I collect my bag from security, turn my returned cell phone back on, and immediately call the direct number that I was given.

It goes straight to voice mail. I silently sigh and leave my name, number, and purpose.