“More people moved out of the U.S. last year than moved in for the first time since the Great Depression as a record number of citizens moved abroad following Donald Trump’s return.” — The Daily Beast
Ever since Trump returned to office, I have been outraged by everything he is doing to this country. I can no longer stand idly by while he enriches billionaires, ruins the environment, and treads on human rights. That is why I have decided to fight the good fight by moving to Portugal.
While I could call my reps or sign a petition, it feels too hard to take five minutes out of my day. So instead, I am putting my house on the market, carefully wrapping up all my delicate possessions for shipment, setting up mail forwarding, saying goodbye to everyone I know, and doing the paperwork to close on a property in a village just outside Lisbon.
I considered going to a protest downtown. But that seemed a little far, so I am crossing the ocean to Europe.
In the face of autocracy, we must make our voices heard. I spoke truth to power by calling a real estate agent who caters to Americans relocating to the Iberian Peninsula and telling him the truth about my dream of owning a charming three-story villa on the Portuguese Coast.
It is time to take to the streets. The streets that are windy and cobblestoned and upon which there are bakeries that sell fresh pastéis de nata.
Some people donate money to the ACLU or mutual aid organizations. I, too, am happy to part with my money if it means living in a free and fair democracy. That’s why I paid a small fortune to the Portuguese government to get expedited citizenship.
Let it be known that while in America, I always stood with the immigrant farmworkers who picked our food. Most recently, I stood in line at Erewhon to buy a nineteen-dollar basket of strawberries that they surely picked. All so I could bring a snack for the plane ride to Lisbon.
Nor do I shy away from using my connections to bring about change. After chatting up a guy at my health club, I convinced him to share his Babbel account with me. The change I wish to see in the world is me being proficient enough in Portuguese to ask locals, “Where is your nearest pickleball court?”
I draw inspiration from those who came before me in the fight against tyranny when I say, “Give me liberty or give me the chill life of an expat in a foreign city that has a similar climate to San Francisco.”
This is not a time for cowardice. It is a time for strength. The strength to pack my bags. The strength to choose which of my electric toothbrushes to bring. And the strength to trust that if I make the wrong decision, I can probably get a new one in Lisbon. They have Walgreens there, right? Worst case, I can just order one from Amazon.
We must stand up, sit in, walk out, and strike. I stand up at my standing desk as I google which cafés are within walking distance of my new villa. I sit in at the vet’s office as I make sure my dog Pumpkin’s shots meet EU requirements, and when I walk out of my house for the last time, I will be participating in the ultimate strike—the strike against the embarrassment of living in the US.
Now who’s with me?! Oh, I didn’t mean “who” as in those who might actually need political asylum abroad during these times of ever-increasing fascism. I meant who of my friends? Because I realize I might be a tad lonely, especially if the whole Babbel thing doesn’t work out, and after two months, I cannot say more than “Onde fica a casa de banho?”
Regardless, I am committed to the cause. When I get to Portugal, I plan to join the resistance abroad and ferry secret information to my comrades. Yes, I will write a blog for fellow exiles on the best hidden beaches Portugal has to offer. After all, it’s the least I can do.
