I Moved Abroad to Escape U.S. Politics. Turns Out the Grass Is Always Greener.

“So when is the inauguration?”

My question was met with laughter and bemused looks from my new coworkers. I had just moved to Australia after living in Washington, D.C., from 2020 to 2022, and I was still adjusting to the differences. When Anthony Albanese was elected as Australia’s Prime Minister, I was struck by the quiet efficiency of it all. There was no grand inauguration, no pomp and circumstance—just the signing of a piece of paper and a quick transition of power. No drawn-out disputes over vote counts, no major protests in the streets, and no claims of a stolen election. 

The entire process seemed almost mundane compared to the political spectacles I had grown used to in the U.S. In Washington, D.C., elections felt like existential battles for the country’s soul, but here, it was just another change in leadership. The stark difference in political climates left me reeling, highlighting just how intense and polarized American politics had become.

I had come to D.C. from rural Texas as a left-wing activist, hoping to find more people with shared interests and job opportunities to help my career take off. But, after years of riots, teargas, National Guard escorts, and general chaos, I decided to move abroad. Australia provided an ideal setting for advancing my career in international affairs. With its robust social programs and strategic proximity to Asia—home to many countries central to U.S. debates—I’d found the perfect environment to study geopolitics. The opportunity to engage with the region's complexities from a more stable political climate made Australia an excellent fit for my professional and personal aspirations.

The first few months in Australia made America feel more dystopian. As a new employee at a high-level public policy think tank, my desk was positioned directly across from a TV with a 24-hour news cycle. I’d glance up at headlines that displayed exactly the reasons I’d left: “Roe v. Wade overturned by the Supreme Court.” “14 people shot in a mass shooting in Chattanooga.” “Congress to show Trump’s involvement in fake elector plot.”

My first year in Australia was the honeymoon phase. I was amazed by the programs and policies I had longed for in the U.S. When I visited a doctor for strep throat, the entire visit, including antibiotics, cost AUD $75, which was without insurance. (If I had been an Australian citizen with access to Medicare, the visit would have been free.) This was a stark contrast to the high costs I would have faced in the U.S., even with private insurance. At work, I enjoyed four weeks of paid leave and unlimited sick days, and it was illegal for workplaces to contact me outside of work hours unless it was a dire emergency. I didn’t meet two of my female coworkers at my first job because they were on paid maternity leave for a full year. 

My time abroad has taught me that escape is not worthwhile and not the answer.

I was also struck by the contrast in gun control: After the Port Arthur massacre in 1996, which led to the deaths of 35 people, the conservative Australian government enacted strict gun control laws, effectively outlawing most firearms. This stood in sharp contrast to the frequent gun violence headlines I had seen in the U.S.. I felt a newfound sense of safety and freedom, no longer worrying about going to the movies or attending big sporting events. I felt like I could finally breathe for the first time in years, without navigating between the Charybdis of political tumult and the Scylla of the cost-of-living crisis.

My second year in Australia, however, I started to notice some challenges. While Australia’s benefits had initially been impressive, I found daily life more complex. Grocery options were limited and expensive due to the country's reliance on imports. I was paying the equivalent of $20 USD for a single meal from McDonald’s. Casual workers receive a “casual loading”—an additional payment of around 20% on top of the base wage to compensate for not having benefits like paid leave. This means they can earn up to approximately AUD $30, which, while beneficial for workers, further drives up living expenses. The astronomical rent prices, combined with stagnant productivity growth, made living expenses a concern. Despite these issues, I reminded myself that every country has its own challenges, and that given how increased my quality of life was here, I was happy to bear the minor inconveniences that came along with my new home.

In my third year living abroad, it became undeniable that Australia heavily relied on the U.S., with their military strategy depending on U.S. funding and advice, and large portions of private research grants in critical sectors supported by the State Department. Working at a policy think tank, I noticed a concerning pattern: Defense officials held roundtables on “the future of military partnerships with the U.S.,” embassies prepared two separate four-year plans for each potential U.S. presidential candidate, and finance offices struggled to finalize their budgets until the U.S. Congress determined aid amounts. It seemed, and still seems, that no matter which country I’m meeting with or who I’m speaking to, the reach of the U.S. was inescapable.

Even as the headlines continued to roll in with mentions of Donald Trump’s felony convictions and Joe Biden’s mental fitness, I began to miss home. Sure, the current political environment was turbulent and the American people were divided over serious issues, but I missed feeling like my vote made a difference in the nation that was able to call the shots. People abroad were electing officials and making decisions about their own country, but still were unable to fully decide for themselves critical topics given the U.S. 's funding or involvement in the decision. 

And the more I interacted with people abroad, the more I saw the positives of the U.S. I met disaster relief victims in Fukushima, Japan where the U.S. Agency for International Development had helped them with medical care when the Japanese government wasn’t doing enough. I met victims of concentration camps in Taiwan who lauded the American military for providing protection against dictator aggression. I met school children of Cambodian girls who were recipients of American scholarships and would not have had the ability to attend school otherwise. 

It was in these moments that the turbulent events in D.C. and the bombardment of headlines felt small. These people didn’t see America as a lost cause nor a vast wasteland of political corruption and division. They felt a life-changing, positive impact as a result of the U.S.’s generosity. I began to question when I started feeling disillusioned and why the international community seemed more patriotic than I did.

When I watched the Olympics last month, I got a glimpse of the national unity I wish we had more of. It was exhilarating to see Team USA dominate events like swimming or gymnastics. Even when our athletes are losing or performing poorly, we cheer them on with unwavering faith that they can do better. We don't view their failures as a reflection of our nation's worth, but rather as opportunities to improve and come back stronger.  Living abroad has made me realize that the grass isn't greener on the other side—it’s green where you water it. My time abroad has taught me that escape is not worthwhile and not the answer. I feel certain now, more than ever, that despite our vast internal difference, our values and contributions are worth fighting for.