Last chance on a stairway

We've been living in New Zealand over a year now. A year and about four months, in fact, and at long last we're starting to feel settled. I've got my New Zealand residency (whew!). We sold our house in Colorado and survived the stressful NZ auction process to buy one in Lake Hawea. My husband has a job at a cool new NZ company focused on practical uses of geospatial remote sensing data. Our nine year old has made new friends and discovered a passion for trampolining.

Enjoying the new Casa Schafer

The view from my computer desk. I'm looking forward to finally making progress again on new novel The Dreaming Sea and also my Shattered Sigil novellas/stories now that all the real estate drama is over. 

We're not quite done replanting our lives yet, even after all this time. Our household goods, which were in storage for so long in Colorado, are currently on a container ship taking a slow tour of the southern Pacific. It'll be another month or more before our boxes arrive at our door and I am finally reunited with my beloved book collection. (Oh happy day!) Plus we're still figuring out how to handle our suddenly far more complicated tax situation. Taxes, I've learned, are the bane of ex-pat living. So long as we remain U.S. citizens, we have to file tax returns in both the US and NZ, and the tax treaty between the two countries doesn't prevent all forms of double taxation. Remote work such as I am doing throws in a whole host of additional complications.

But I don't mind one bit that I still pay U.S. taxes, because it means I still get to vote in U.S. elections. We may live far away, but I could never, will never turn my back on what's happening in the country of my birth. I've watched in dismay and sadness and sometimes fury as those in power make one terrible choice after another. Forcibly separating children from parents seeking asylum, despite the lasting psychological damage caused to those children, without any system in place to allow reunification. Repealing environmental regulations on air and water quality, because who cares if cancer rates skyrocket so long as companies make bigger profits?

Oh, the list goes on and on. Fawning over dictators while insulting and antagonizing our staunchest allies. Ballooning the deficit while wages remain stagnant. Gutting health care options while people are dying because they can't afford vital medicines like insulin. Ignoring the desperate pleas of climate scientists trying to warn the world of oncoming disaster. And all of this, ALL of it, simply out of greed. The love of money, as the Bible says, is the root of all evil. As was pointed out in a cogent Atlantic article, Trump's many scandals all come down to one: corruption.

Maybe you think all politicians are corrupt. If you are okay with corruption and constant lying, if you're willing to turn a blind eye to the disastrous consequences of current policies in the name of "owning the libs"...well. I don't know how to explain to you that you should care about other people. But if you're apathetic because you can't imagine that things could ever change, so why even bother trying...please listen.

Living in New Zealand, I've experienced a taste of the kind of happier future that America could have. One where nobody has to worry about affording life-saving drugs, or fear that serious illness will bankrupt their family. Seriously, it's amazing to see what a difference that makes. Nobody's afraid to start their own business or work part time or switch jobs; people seem so much less stressed and happier in their work because of it. Nor is there the constant fear of litigation, because nobody has to worry about being sued to pay massive medical bills in the case of an accident. (Even tourists are covered here for accidental injuries, thanks to NZ's ACC scheme.)

It's not just the universal health care that makes life in NZ feel brighter. Here, politicians from opposing parties work together to combat climate change. Leaders emphasize compassion and integrity in government, rather than depending on cruelty and crudity. In 2017, NZ police fired their guns just 10 times while responding to 3.5 million incidents throughout the country.

America could have this kind of future. We don't have to succumb to fear and hatred and greed. But if you want that brighter future, you have to get off your ass and vote. We have to stop the current slide into ruin before it's possible to take a better path. 

The midterm elections are in a scant few days. Maybe it's not America's absolute last chance--as Alex Steffen said on Twitter in a thread about climate change, "At no point on this trajectory will it be too late to work to make things better." But the longer people wait, the harder the climb back toward the light will become, and the smaller the chances of success.

The recent NYT article "How to Make America America again" sums up my feelings:

"One day I hope the truth will be enough again. One day I hope great journalism will be enough again. But today only a lever of power — the House or the Senate — will make it so. Facts, science and truth — without power — are just leaves floating through the air in the age of Trump, scattering aimlessly without impact.

So, this year: No third party, no Green Party, no throwing up our hands and saying, “They’re all bad.” All of that’s for another day. For today, in these midterm elections, vote for a Democrat, canvass for a Democrat, raise money for a Democrat, drive someone else to a voting station to vote for a Democrat. It’s the only hope to make America America again."

Let me be clear: I am not and have never been a registered Democrat. I have plenty of issues with the party. But like the author of the NYT article, I believe that right now they are America's best and possibly only hope. So, please. If you're a U.S. citizen who feels anything like I do, vote. I already have. All I can do now is hope that Nov 6th will bring a glimpse of light.

Storm clearing to let in the day's last light

Leaving America

When we first arrived in New Zealand, our intent was to stay for 9 months. A sabbatical spent enjoying new mountains, new adventures, in a country that neither me nor my Australian husband had ever lived in before.

That 9 months is almost up, and we've made a big decision: we are not going home. Or rather, New Zealand will become our new home. 

It hasn't been an easy choice. Staying here means giving up my job in the space industry, a job that I love and that pays better than any work I'm likely to find here. It means we'll be far from friends and from my family. It means we have to sell our car and our home and figure out what in the heck to do with all our stuff in storage back in Colorado. It means saying farewell to all the wilderness areas we loved so much while we lived in Boulder, from Rocky Mountain National Park to the rugged San Juans to the glorious desert canyons of southwest Utah.

But the benefits outweigh the drawbacks, and I don't just mean because New Zealand's mountains and lakes and beaches are amazing. 

It's because I haven't yet talked to a single New Zealander who worries over medical bills or has had to declare medical bankruptcy. Because here innocent people don't have to fear getting shot by over-aggressive police. Because schools teach children the importance of caring for the earth and fighting climate change. Because even when NZ's political parties disagree sharply on issues, they still seem to agree on the importance of intelligence, reason, and respect. Because country over party is still the expected norm, not the other way around. 

You know the classic boiling frog analogy? I honestly did not realize just how crazy life in America has become until we moved here. Don't get me wrong, New Zealand is not a problem-free paradise. They're struggling with drug addiction and racism and pollution and inequality just like so many other countries. 

The difference lies in how New Zealand handles the struggle. Facts still matter here. So does integrity. I had not realized how deeply I missed that until I came here and saw truth and principles still in action. 

I grew up hearing the good old catchphrase of "America: love it or leave it." I still love America. I weep to think of my country falling ever further into greed and hypocrisy and corruption and lies. I honor everyone at home that is fighting for honesty and fairness and justice, the ideals that form the true American dream. I will do all I can to help that fight. 

But I want my son to grow up in a country where his medical issues will not mean that he struggles to get healthcare. Where he can have a childhood not steeped in a cultural miasma of tension and fear. (I remember the lockdown drills at his school where kids practice hiding from shooters. The letter we got from the school district discussing their policy on deportation. The little friend of my son's who said he hoped Trump would start a nuclear war, because then the school would get vaporized and nobody would have to do classwork ever again. Haha, kids are so funny, right? And yet, and yet. A thousand little things add together into an ever-rising water temperature, slowly boiling us until we accept all kinds of craziness as a regular part of life.)

So, like my own ancestors that came to America searching for a better life for their children, I, too, am emigrating with my family.

I know we are tremendously lucky to have emigration as an option. The "love it or leave it" crowd often ignores just how difficult gaining residency in a foreign country can be. It's a little easier if you're young. Many countries, New Zealand among them, offer "working holiday" visas for the under-30 crowd that allow you to live and work and seek an employer willing to sponsor you for a longer-term visa. The older you are, the more difficult it is to get approval in "skilled migration" categories. Plus you have to be able to pass the health exams. (That said, those with chronic conditions like diabetes often assume it's impossible to pass when it may be very possible. If your condition is well-managed, you have a chance.) 

In our case, I lucked into the easiest path by marrying an Australian, lo these many years ago. Aussies are allowed to live and work in New Zealand without visas, and after a certain period of time living in the country, apply for permanent residency. My husband is able to sponsor me for a partnership-based work visa and then for residency, although this is not cheap (the residency application fee is almost $2K). It also requires a mountain of documentation to prove that our relationship is real. Pictures, joint bank accounts, utility bills, cards, letters, text messages, proof of shared residence, etc. Doesn't matter how long you've been married (15 years, in our case). You still have to prove your relationship remains valid and stable. We went through this process once already, back when I was sponsoring my husband for US permanent residency, so we're familiar with the drill. (There's a certain symmetry in each of us taking our turn under the microscope of immigration. Except I'll say that so far INZ is far, FAR easier and more friendly to deal with than US immigration ever was, even 15 years ago in happier times.)

Just yesterday I read Kameron Hurley's powerful, moving post on her own decision to emigrate. The hope she talks about, the sheer relief of having hope, is what I've also experienced. Ripping out our roots and replanting them is a huge change. I've done plenty of agonizing over the decision. But when I recently opened the letter from NZ immigration that contained my brand-new 2-year work visa...in that moment, it felt like the best decision I've ever made.