Westarctica, Sancratosia, Slowjamastan, and other fake nations may have some things to teach real ones
Earlier this summer, dozens of world leaders — including kings, queens, and even the odd dictator — gathered in an unlikely place: a Holiday Inn conference center in Joliet, Ill. Among those in attendance were the grand duke of Westarctica, the princess of Sancratosia, and the self-styled sultan of Slowjamastan.
Perhaps it’s obvious that this wasn’t a G20 summit, and you will be forgiven for not having heard of these leaders or their respective countries. This was, instead, the fifth biennial MicroCon — the world’s largest gathering of so-called micronations and their leaders.
Micronations are self-declared nationstates that are not recognized by any other nation. Since each is an attempt by its ruler to secede from their former country, most micronations are only the size of their ruler’s property. For instance, Emperor Eric of the Aerican Empire claims a house in Montreal for his new-nation project, and the country of Obsidia is so small that its leader can carry it around in a briefcase.
With over 100 micronations in existence — each with its own beliefs, government, and reasons for secession — any attempt to define “micronation” is not without certain slippages. However, whether these reasons are serious or satirical, micronations follow a similar script. They replicate the symbols, documents, and acts of legitimate states. Micronations create flags, passports, and currency; establish constitutions; and hold elections or plan their lines of succession. During a Q&A with attendees in Joliet, someone asked “why — why do you do this?” Several micronationalists in the room, seemingly taken aback by such a stark question, yelled “Why not?”
While it might be easy to dismiss micronations as quirky endeavors led by eccentric individuals, I believe they offer a vehicle — a microcosm — through which to explore the macro. In their challenge to traditional paths to statehood, they ask us to consider: What makes a nation “real”? And in their performances of sovereignty, they reveal the constructedness of any nation-state.
Because these are self-declared countries, with many projects that skew to the libertarian side of the political spectrum — founded on a belief in personal freedom and in the notion that “I” can do “this” better — it would be easy to assume that micronations would strive to remain independent. However, over the last decade, these individuals have cultivated a rich community and perform a type of inter-micronational diplomacy through events like MicroCon.
Attending the event as an observer, I was struck by the degree of acceptance among this community. With a large representation of LGBTQ+ individuals, those in the libertarian movement, and those who self-identify as on the autism spectrum, MicroCon is a rare space where, as blogger Stefene Russell put it, “someone who feels out of step with the world can create a world where they belong.” By inviting citizens to join their cause, micronationalists extend this spirit of belonging. Ladonia (in Sweden) claims 27,000 “digital citizens” and continues to accept requests through a form on its website. I have passports and citizenship certificates from Ladonia and seven other micronations — though I probably won’t attempt to use them for travel.
The event’s presentations focused on inclusion. Featured topics included transgender rights, women in government, and youth in micronationalism. Attendees between the ages of 7 and 70 greeted one another as “Your Excellency” or
“Your Highness” as they walked through displays of flags and currencies — stamping their passports at every booth. Despite the wide range of political beliefs, micronations signed treaties of mutual recognition and awarded medals to acknowledge allegiances. In closing, Ladonia, the host micronation, described the event as a “family reunion.”
That’s a strange juxtaposition in our current political environment: a warm, receptive “reunion” centered on . . . politics. However, the historian Benedict Anderson describes all nations as “imagined communities” — meaning that they depend on communal ideas of what is it to be, say, American or Canadian. And while the inclusive, community-building world of micronationalists is a very low-stakes environment, MicroCon left me hopeful that the world isn’t as deeply partisan as our institutions make it seem.
It should be said that micronations are not without ethical faults. Their online citizenship applications have been known to accidentally deceive individuals who legitimately hope to immigrate. And since most declare a “land claim,” they echo the larger colonial project of drawing borders and asserting sovereignty over partitioned land.
Still, MicroCon is a rare space where libertarian presidents and socialist dictators blur partisan lines and invite us to ask: If you could invent a new nation, what would it be?