I’m a typical Canadian: a hybrid transplant, born in New York City to an American father and a British mother. I was three months old when we moved to Canada. My father was forced to leave the States because of right-wing fanatic Joseph McCarthy’s relentless Red baiting; Dad was a democratic socialist and could not work there in the early fifties. Canada took us in.

It took me a few decades to get Canadian citizenship. I just always felt Canadian, though with a healthy dose of American impatience.

A decade ago, like most American dual citizens living in Canada, I learned to my horror that — despite never having lived or worked in the States, with no financial dealings there whatsoever — I was supposed all my life to have filed U.S. tax returns. A friend in the same position told me she’d decided to “fly under the radar,” hoping American authorities would not check her tax status when she visited there. But I didn’t want my children to have to wrestle the American government for their inheritance, such as it is, after my death.

So I began the journey of renouncing my U.S. citizenship, which eventually cost me, a writer not far over the poverty line, over $10,000. I had to pay an accountancy firm to file six years of back tax forms — owing nothing, of course, a complete waste of money — and then shell out over $3000 cash for the Americans to release me. But when I was preparing to renounce, in the summer of 2024, it looked like Kamala Harris would win the American election, and Pierre Poilievre would win in Canada. I almost decided not to go ahead, assuming things would be much better in the U.S. than Canada for at least the next four years.

Luckily I did go ahead. Because as we all know, a malignant narcissist man-baby won in the States, and a smart, decent grownup in Canada. Now I am genuinely, 100%, forever and ever, Canadian.

And at this moment, I’ve never been more grateful to be so, watching Mark Carney strong, clear, honest, and eloquent at Davos, lauded around the world. What a superb speech. I marvel at the way Canadians, during the 2025 election campaign, changed political allegiance according to what they saw; predictions about a Conservative win were so sure, and yet many citizens switched their vote to elect Carney with a miraculous near majority. Sensible, pragmatic, wise.

And then there’s the phenomenal Heated Rivalry series on TV — are we Canucks leading the way or what? The international hysteria around the show reminds me of Beatlemania; at this dark time, as in December 1963, the world desperately needed something lovely and has relished the phenomenon of talented, handsome young men who care for each other. Shot in Ontario, almost entirely Canadian, a series about tenderness, trust, diversity and inclusion, and real true love. Featuring our fierce national sport, the warbling cry of the loon, and more than a smidge of hot gay sex. Could we enjoy it more?

My parents loved their adopted land, but they never stopped revealing their roots. Dad was always a bit too big and noisy in Canada, most comfortable in New York surrounded by family, telling jokes with Yiddish punchlines. My mother kept her cool British reticence and caution and accent. But both, like me, were proud to take on their new citizenship.

I am a child of immigrants and an immigrant myself, all of us glad to have made permanent lives in this magnificent country, which had and has its flaws, yes, but has not invaded another country, keeps a peacekeeping force instead of a nuclear stockpile, enjoys universal healthcare, albeit underfunded, a sturdy, if fraying, safety net, and gun control. Canadians have a fundamental sense that we must all look after each other, although a few premiers aren’t getting that at this time. Even right now, hunkered down in a polar vortex with gale-force winds and another snowstorm pounding down, I know I live in the best country on earth. And my children do too.

Thank you to Senator McCarthy for forcing my family to make the most important move of our lives. To our despairing, disgusted, terrified American friends, family, and allies: come on up. Take it from me: you won’t regret it.

What you’ll find is cheesy poutine, a stupid Canadian wolf bird, and peace, order, and good government.

This essay first appeared in Alice Goldbloom's Substack, Postcards from a Canadian.

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