Micronations and Statehood: Why Pretend to be a State?

Harry Hobbs & George Williams

University of Technology Sydney & University of New South Wales

There are many ways that citizens express their dissatisfaction with the policies and outcomes delivered by government. One unusual way is to create their own nation as a means of bypassing the constitutional structures and limitations of an existing nation. This can be a vehicle for political protest as well as a means to promote legal change.

One example is the Gay and Lesbian Kingdom of the Coral Sea Islands. In 2004, a small group of LGBTQI activists landed on the small uninhabited island of Cato in the Coral Sea Islands, 200 nautical miles off the coast of Queensland, Australia. There they raised the rainbow flag, issued a Declaration of Independence, and declared the Coral Sea Islands Territory an independent Gay and Lesbian state. They did so to protest the passage of Australian legislation prohibiting same-sex marriage. 

Anderson was realistic about the prospect of creating a new country but explained why statehood was important. In an interview he noted: ‘The government’s obviously not going to recognise it but if we can force them to do something about it [discriminatory legislation], then they can’t ignore it’. Reflecting its existence as a political statement, the Kingdom was dissolved in 2017, following the legalisation of same-sex marriage in Australia.

Others have sought to establish their own nations by taking advantage of gaps in domestic laws. On 16 June 2014, Jeremiah Heaton, a 38-year-old American farmer planted a flag in the Bir Tawil desert and proclaimed the creation of the Kingdom of North Sudan. Bir Tawil is a 2,060 square kilometre uninhabited area along the Egyptian and Sudanese border. The land is claimed by neither Egypt nor Sudan because of an inconsistency between the political and administrative borders that separate the two countries. Egypt follows the 1899 political boundary which places Bir Tawil within Sudan (and the much larger Halayib Triangle within Egypt). Sudan follows the 1902 administrative boundary, which follows the actual use of land by tribes in the region. Its boundary places Bir Tawil within Egypt (and the Halayib Triangle within Sudan). Heaton ‘discovered’ this anomaly and decided that he would take advantage of it by creating his own country.

The Kingdom of North Sudan has a flag. It also has a constitution that incorporates a digital, economic, and environmental bill of rights. It has laws that regulate citizenship (you can become a citizen by filling out a form and paying a fee on the Kingdom’s website). The Kingdom has applied for observer status at the United Nations and appointed several ambassadors across Europe. 

The Kingdom of North Sudan and the Gay and Lesbian Kingdom of the Coral Sea Islands look a bit like independent sovereign states, but they are not states. They are micronations. Micronations are self-declared nations that perform and mimic acts of sovereignty and adopt many of the protocols of nations. They draft constitutions, mint currency, issue passports and compose national anthems. Sometimes they even declare war on sovereign states. However, they lack a foundation in domestic and international law for their existence and are not recognised as nations in domestic or international forums. Around 130 micronations exist across the world. Many more exist entirely online. 

Micronations are distinct from microstates like Liechtenstein, Tuvalu and Andorra. These nations may be small relative to their neighbours, but provided they possess formal and actual independence and exercise political authority over defined territory not lawfully claimed by another state, they meet international conditions for statehood. 

Micronations have no basis in domestic or international law for their existence. And yet, they make an earnest or eccentric claim for sovereignty. Why? Why do micronations assert sovereignty and dress in the language of statehood? Why do they draft bills of rights and enact various laws and regulations? What value do they see in the status of a state, as opposed to adopting corporate personhood, organising as an autonomous community, or even simply starting a book club?

Developments in international law have affected notions of international legal personality. Although states were historically considered the sole subjects of international law, today a variety of non-state entities, including ‘international organisations, individuals, minorities, corporations and even animals and rivers’, enjoy some form of international personality. Even so, in the creation of international law and popular consciousness, the perception that states are ‘paramount’ remains. It is still true, as James Crawford noted, that international forums ‘are created and ultimately controlled by States or by intergovernmental organizations, and it is these entities that remain the gatekeepers and legislators of the international system’. A claim of statehood might be seen as a ticket into that system, and the associated privileges and immunities that accompany it. 

This appears to be the motivation behind the Kingdom of North Sudan. Heaton initially explained that he claimed statehood simply to fulfill a promise he made to his daughter Emily to make her a princess (film rights to the story have been bought by Disney). Other accounts suggest different motivations. Heaton has also suggested that his Kingdom ‘could offer the world’s great innovators a place to develop their products unencumbered by taxes and regulation, a place where private enterprise faces no socially prescribed borders of its own’. Actual statehood may be a goal only for dreamers and the deluded, but if Heaton succeeded, statehood would carry considerable advantages. 

The Gay and Lesbian Kingdom also saw statehood as a means to an end. Anderson explained that creating a state could give ‘give gay people a voice’ in the United Nations and in international affairs:

only sovereign states and territories can access an international court. So…we can’t as a community take on Iran and say, look, why did you, you know, kill those two teenage boys last month because they were gay…we thought, if we have a sovereign, if we have some type of sovereignty that could access the courts and give gay people a voice on the international stage, whether it be through the UN or [whatever]…then why not look at doing that?

States often act swiftly to deny the capacity of micronations to assert their sovereignty. Understanding these claims as geared towards secession, independence and competition, states jealously guard their exclusive authority and jurisdiction. States can respond forcibly, peaceably or in coalition with others to decisively quell incipient challengers. The Republic of Minerva in the Pacific Ocean was squashed by the Tongan Navy. The UK offered Roy Bates money to abandon his occupation of a WWII-era anti-aircraft platform in the North Sea, and walk away from the Principality of Sealand. These responses are supported by international law, which does not generally recognise unilateral secession outside the colonial context as lawful. However, not all micronations are interested in wielding power, challenging existing states, or even achieving statehood. 

A micronation may be created to parrot the workings of a state simply because this offers a path to material advancement. Con artists have fabricated intricate micronations to engage in large-scale financial fraud. Some, like the Dominion of Melchizedek, are purportedly located in very remote areas of the world to make it difficult for innocent parties to check if the country is real. Scottish General Gregor MacGregor – the supposed Cazique of Poyais – profited handsomely from his brazen confidence trick in the 1820s. 

Micronations can turn a tidy profit by attracting tourists. The Principality of Hutt River in Australia welcomed thousands of tourists each year. Many micronations sell statehood symbols, such as stamps, coins, and passports. So long as the ‘nation’ admits that their passport has no legal value but is merely a collectible, it is likely that recognised states will permit their design and sale. In this regard, micronations may be no different from small states that ‘profit by selling or renting out their sovereign prerogatives’. Many states, even larger ones, sell citizenship, diplomatic recognition, and votes on international organisations. Founders and proponents of micronations may be interested in profiting likewise.

Other reasons exist. A claim for statehood does not necessarily need to be politically or financially motivated. Micronations may not be established to access the range of entitlements, duties and liabilities imposed by international law on states, but for something more intangible – relevance. To lay claim to international legal personality is an argument that ‘the subjectivity of the entity in question merits international legal notice and respect’, that it deserves ‘to be taken seriously’. By asserting their status as states, even though they lack any legal claim to such status, micronations ‘come into sight’ and are made ‘visible’ to the domestic and international legal community. 

Recognising this, micronations should not always be conceived as initiating a challenge over jurisdiction, but perhaps as a means to draw attention and engage with particular issues and claims. In this sense, an interest in statehood goes well beyond the statehood spectrum. It has meaning even as an unattainable goal. There is a power in attracting attention and gaining relevance. Aspiring to statehood can be attractive even to those who can never attain it. As Prince Graeme of the Principality of Hutt River explained, following the death of his father, Prince Leonard: ‘Hopefully, the Australian Government will sit around the table and talk to us about things, which is what Prince Leonard had been asking for the 47 years he was sovereign of the principality’.

Assertions of statehood should not necessarily be taken literally, but as an avenue to promote dialogue, either with a state or with fellow citizens. Statehood as dialogue can be effective. Residents of the Florida Keys found the United States government far more amenable to their concerns over traffic jams when they styled themselves as citizens of the breakaway Conch Republic. 

Connected to ideas of relevance is the notion of belonging. Some micronations are more akin to a social club than a secessionist project; they do not want statehood and would not take actual power even if it was offered to them. The Queen of Ruritania enjoys the sense of belonging generated by micronationalism. Located in Stone Mountain in Georgia, USA, the Kingdom of Ruritania is named for the fictional central European country in the novels of Anthony Hope. The Kingdom styles itself as ‘an actual nation under the Montevideo Convention with the right of self-determination’; it is ‘not a game, model, or secessionist state’, but it is also particularly active in the micronational community. In a documentary for Vice News, Queen Anastasia hinted at the reasons for the Kingdom’s endurance, noting that when her husband, King Wilhelm-Rudolph, passed away she received ‘about 100 condolence letters from other micronations’.

People looking for a sense of community have many options. They may volunteer for a local organisation, join a sporting team, or start a book club. Those that found micronations may do so because they are drawn to the pageantry of statehood and diplomacy. They enjoy designing flags, wearing medals, and dressing up as a king or queen. Once again, these types of micronations are not interested in genuine authority, but the satisfaction that comes from ‘a big fantasy role-playing game’. As Queen Anastasia has explained, ‘when I am not being the Queen, I am being what other people want me to be. When I am being the Queen, I’m who I want to be’.

Micronations also draw on a rich cultural tradition that celebrates the underdog and the improbability of tiny nations holding their own against larger states. Many founders and proponents cite the 1949 British comedy, Passport to Pimlico and/or Leonard Wibley’s 1955 cold war satirical novel, The Mouse that Roared, as an influence on their own claim to statehood. 

Such cultural traditions are not limited to Anglophone countries; popular fiction launched a micronation boom in Japan in the 1980s. Drawing on reports of Leicester Hemingway’s ‘New Atlantis’, novelist Hisashi Inoue authored Kirikirijin, a satirical tale that centred on a secluded village in rural northern Japan that seceded, made their regional dialect an official language and fought a war of independence. The success of the book sparked much excitement; within a few years, more than 200 communities had declared their own independence. Most of these efforts were primarily concerned with attracting tourists to promote revenue and counter the effects of out-migration of young adults, rather than genuinely engaging in micronational rituals. However, some did engage in performative assertions of statehood. The Nikoniko Republic established Nikoniko Standard Time (set at one hour behind Tokyo), constructed welcome signs at their border, minted their own currency, and renamed the local tofu shop, the National Protein Research Institute. The Japanese Minister of Internal Trade and Industry even signed a parodic treaty of friendship between the nation of Japan and the Kingdom of Inobhutan. Several of these nations also established their own Olympic Games, which received primetime television coverage, and micro-United Nations, which held summit talks between 1983 and 1985. However, when the Japanese asset price bubble burst in 1991, many villages were forced to merge with neighbouring larger cities and the micronations they had established dissolved.

Micronations reflect their founders’ quirks, passions, and desire for attention. They allow people to experiment with state creation by devising intricate systems of government and utopian constitutions. They also generally act through their own understanding of the law, rather than outside of the law. Instead of unilaterally declaring independence, they send letters to government officials, foreign states, and even the United Nations, informing them of their planned actions, and justifying those actions under their interpretations of domestic and international law.

Micronations are frequently dismissed as trivial or mere oddities. However, in dressing in the garb of statehood and purporting to claim sovereignty these non-state entities provoke important questions. Whatever their character or form, micronations catalyse enquiries over the nature of statehood, international legal personality, and legitimate authority. Their existence and persistence forces renewed consideration as to why some political communities are accepted as states, and others are not, and what significance, if any, should be attached to a micronation with a façade of constitutional government. 

Harry Hobbs is a Senior Lecturer at the University of Technology Sydney Faculty of Law

George Williams AO is the Deputy Vice-Chancellor, Planning and Assurance, Anthony Mason Professor and a Scientia Professor at UNSW

Harry and George’s new book, Micronations and the Search for Sovereignty is out this month with Cambridge University Press.

Suggested Citation: Harry Hobbs & George Williams AO, ‘Micronations and Statehood: Why Pretend to be a State?’ IACL-AIDC Blog (16 December 2021) https://blog-iacl-aidc.org/2021-posts/2021/12/16/micronations-and-statehood-why-pretend-to-be-a-state.