Little Countries, Big Ideas: Inside the World of Micronations Like Zaqistan

Getting to the Republic of Zaqistan feels like embarking on a journey to the other side of the world. There are no roads, rail stations or airports in this nation. Instead, reaching Zaqistan requires loading up a four-wheel-drive vehicle, packing plenty of food and water, and trekking through the desert. It’s easy to get turned around, as there are no official markers to guide you. But if you manage to make it there, you can’t miss the Zaqistan border station, which guards entry to this unique nation.

But the Republic of Zaqistan isn’t a "real" country — at least not in the eyes of the international community. It’s a parcel of land in a remote section of northwestern Utah’s Box Elder County, several hours west of Salt Lake City. Known as a micronation, Zaqistan exemplifies how these small, self-proclaimed countries challenge the traditional boundaries of what constitutes a nation.

The Kingdom of the Cocos

Micronations are small, self-proclaimed countries, lacking recognition from other nations or international bodies. Unlike de facto or quasi-states, which may have some degree of autonomy or governance despite not being universally recognized, micronations often exist in a more symbolic or performative realm.

The concept of micronations has been around since the early 19th century, often founded by adventurers or with business intentions in mind. Take, for instance, the story of Capt. John Clunies-Ross. In 1827, this Scottish trader made landfall on a collection of coral islands in the Indian Ocean, more than 2,000 miles west of Australia. He originally made landfall there two years prior, and found them uninhabited, but upon his return Clunies-Ross displaced a wealthy Englishman who had set up camp there in his absence and claimed dominion over the entire atoll, declaring himself king. Thus, the Kingdom of Cocos was born.

By the mid-1800s, through the use of slave labor, Clunies-Ross had established a thriving coconut plantation on the islands. Eventually, the family even created their own currency. For more than 150 years, the Ross clan controlled the Cocos (Keeling) Islands through their fictional “kingdom.” (Though, aren’t all kingdoms fictional when you get down to brass tacks?)

The family officially ceased dominion over what came to be known as the Cocos (Keeling) Islands in 1978, when John Cecil (aka Ross V) sold them to the Commonwealth of Australia for just under $5 million (USD). The Kingdom of Cocos was a prime example of a micronation in the model of a business. But there are other ways micronations form.

The Principality of Sealand

During World War II, the British government created several sea forts in the North Sea to defend against encroaching Nazi forces. Some of these were built in international waters, outside English territory. After the war, the British military vacated these forts, and they sat unused until the 1960s when a young Brit decided to occupy one of these abandoned forts and launch a radio station.

Unlike in the United States — where I imagine most of you reading this story reside — the British government held a monopoly on radio broadcasting at the time through the publicly financed British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC). Roy Bates, like many young Brits, wanted to listen to music that the BBC wouldn’t play, so he established his pirate radio station in an abandoned fort off the shore of Suffolk, England, and called it Radio Essex. However, the British government declared Bates’ occupation of the fort known as “Knock John” illegal since it was located within three miles of shore, thus in English waters.

Undeterred, Bates set his sights on a similar fort seven miles out, in international waters. On Sept. 2, 1967, Bates, accompanied by his wife, two children and several friends, declared the Principality of Sealand. The British government responded by filing charges against Bates’ son, Michael, related to an incident in which the young prince of Sealand fired warning shots at a British vessel that encroached on the principality in 1968. The resulting court case helped establish a sense of quasi-sovereignty for Sealand when British courts ruled that the fort fell outside the country’s jurisdiction and thus outside its rule of law.

Over time, the Bates family developed a constitution, national anthem, flag and many other trademarks of nations. Sealand even suffered an armed conflict in 1978 when a man named Alexander Achenbach launched an invasion of the “island.” After taking Roy’s son, Prince Michael Bates, hostage for several days, the invaders dumped him onto a passing boat and took control of the fort. The Bates family, with the help of some burly fishermen and family friends, launched an armed counteroffensive. After a showdown that unfolded over several weeks, German diplomats helped negotiate the return of Sealand to the Bates family. Though it hasn’t always been easy, the Principality of Sealand remains a functioning microstate to this day.

In many ways, with its various court cases, dramatic military scuffles and location in what is widely considered to be international waters, Sealand is one of the most legitimate micronations. It can check off many of the boxes required of nation-states to be deemed sovereign. Yet, its origins as a pirate radio station in protest of government censorship and the fact that it’s a man-made structure are also hallmarks of common microstate traits.

The Republic of Zaqistan

In 2005, a young artist named Zaq Landsberg based in New York, disillusioned with the political climate at the time, came up with an idea: What if he tried to make his own systems of government? Could he do better? He stumbled across a plot of land for sale in Utah and bid $610 for it.

So later that year, Landsberg trekked out to the Utah desert to visit his land and declare National Independence Day for his nation. The Republic of Zaqistan was born. There are no buildings in Zaqistan. Instead, Landsberg — who specializes in large scale sculptures often depicting absurd scenes — has filled it with monuments. “Robots” guard Zaqistan from intruders. A Victory Arch commemorates an unspecified victory. And the tallest and largest monument is the Decennial Monument, a giant sheet-metal sculpture that looks part-ramp, part-robot.

Like Sealand and other micronations, Zaqistan features many hallmarks of a legitimate state. Passports are available, and citizens can apply for citizenship. Landsberg refers to his annual property tax payments as a tribute to the state of Utah.

In Zaqistan, Landsberg has created a physical manifestation of the questions around who decides what is — and isn’t — a nation.

“Is Taiwan legally a country? Is the Vatican?” Landsberg told People in 2015. “Really, there is no legal standard for what is a country and what is not. I would describe Zaqistan as a de facto sovereign."

Redefining Nationhood: What Micronations Teach Us

While many micronations can feel like a joke, they often highlight a deeper question: Who gets to decide what is and isn’t a country? They challenge us to reconsider the traditional definitions of nationhood and sovereignty.

Whether viewed as political experiments, artistic endeavors, or whimsical pursuits, micronations offer unique insights into the human desire for self-determination and creativity. In a world of increasingly complex global politics, these tiny territories remind us that the concept of a nation is, in many ways, a construct — one that is constantly being negotiated and redefined.

Next Week on Feed Your Curiosity

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I'm Bryan M. Vance, a writer who hunts down stories that make people say "wait, really?" Every two weeks, I share fascinating tales about our wonderfully weird world — from mind-bending scientific discoveries to bizarre historical footnotes that time forgot.

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