Bureaucracy and American awesomeness

I'm still not sure how I manage to do this, but for someone who dislikes bureaucracy with a vengeance, I somehow managed to put myself in yet another bottomless well of paperwork, forms, stamps, and apostilles. I've had to wrestle with the online application procedures for birth certificates, panicked and resolved the issue of the supposedly lost marriage certificate, and have filled out enough forms to make Kafka proud.

Now I would love to say that it makes no sense, as the sole reason I postponed applying for my citizenship was my intense aversion to paperwork, but in reality, this current bureaucratic mess can be directly traced back to my, recently acquired, US citizenship. You see, although I'm definitely an American now, I am, and always will be, Dutch as well. For those of you who just went, "What?!" I'm sorry. It's how it is. Anyone who loves licorice as much as I do will always be partly Dutch, you know. Anyway, fortunately, the Dutch government allows people like me (married to a citizen of the country whose nationality they adopted) to retain their Dutch citizenship, if, and this is the big "if", the reason behind this swamp of legalities, if I apply for a "Statement of Confirmation".

I won't bore you with all the paperwork required for this statement, at least not in this post. It's a very, very long list of lots and lots of obscure documents which each need to be supplied with variety of stamps and signatures. I might be mistaken, but I'm pretty sure they, among other things, require a footprint of your oldest living relative, the middle names of your great-great-grandmother, an affidavit from the kindergarten teacher who taught you how to tie your shoes, as well as a picture of you wrestling an alligator.

Anyway, much to my surprise, I was able to collect most of the evidence they require within a month or so.  Besides that Friday afternoon when I thought I was going to LOSE MY MIND when I received an email asking me if I was absolutely sure we got married in that town on that date, because they couldn't find any records of me or husband-dear, the whole procedure was definitely within acceptable limits of frustration. Until now. Until the very final document I need.

The apostille on the authenticated copy of my naturalization certificate.

What's that, you say?
I'm so glad you asked.

You see, for some reason the Dutch government has decided that chances are that most applicants for this statement of confirmation will make up the whole "I am now an American citizen" thing, simply because they LOVE to go through complicated, legalistic procedures, and they will subsequently show up with a fake certificate of naturalization. Now, in spite of my doubts about the likelihood of this actually happening, I can go along with this line of thinking, if I try. Really hard. Anyway, I'll contend that people could, technically, falsify their naturalization certificate. Sure. But then, and stay with me here, why does the Dutch government then insist on all applications showing a US passport as well? Logically, the one government that can assess if a certificate of naturalization is real, is the American government. Subsequently, if an applicant can procure a US passport, one would -think- that therefore their naturalization is the real deal. But no. Apparently, the Dutch government is also convinced the American government is so gullible it will accept a fake certificate of naturalization with one's passport application, and that therefore the US passport one also has to procure for this statement cannot be trusted as valid proof of citizenship either.

Hence the Dutch government, in all their infinite wisdom has decided that simply showing a certificate of naturalization is not enough. No, one's naturalization certificate does not only need to be authenticated by the USCIS (read: you drive a few hours to the same USCIS office that gave you your certificate, they make a copy, put a stamp on it, and sign it), oh no, that would be far too easy. Once you've authenticated your certificate, it needs to be declared bona fide by the department of state through the placement of an apostille on the copy.

So you mail off this authenticated copy to an office in Washington DC, and wait.
And wait.
And wait.
And try to email them once the 15 business days it should take (according to their website) have passed.
And then try to call them a week later, when no one responds to their email.
And then call them again, when no one returns your call after about ten days.

And then when an answering service picks up, and tells you that no, they can't possibly give you a status update on your case, and no ma'am, they also can't promise someone will actually call you back, you decide that. That. Is. It.
It's time for action.

And as a newly-minted American citizen, you do what you could only dream of as a permanent resident: You pay a visit to your local congressman's office.

Now I didn't really say this, but the the manner in which the congressman's aide raised her eyebrows at my story, asked, "So you all need is a stamp? A stamp? Really? Wow. That's ridiculous", and then said, "Yeah, I will call the office in DC this afternoon and see if we can get this taken care of today." was almost worth all the bureaucratic nonsense I had just been through.

There are a lot of things I like about this country (drive-through banking, Steak 'n' Shake, back porches, to name a few), but I've yet to find something I like as much as being able to call on your local representatives for help. It's not some consumer organization, or an ombudsman, no it's the government itself, helping you deal with that same government. When you come from a country where directly talking a politician is as likely as meeting up with the pope, this is really, very awesome.

However, before I get entirely carried out by this, let's see if he can actually do something....I will keep you posted.