Territories

'Ships of State and Empty Vessels: Critical Reflections on ‘Territorial Status in International Law’ byAlex Green in (2024) Oxford Journal of Legal Studies comments 

In his recent monograph, Territorial Status in International Law, Jure Vidmar offers ‘a new theory of statehood’ that consolidates his existing work and departs in important ways from legal orthodoxy. As a work of doctrinal law, the text is rigorous; however, its theoretical contribution is somewhat unclear. Vidmar’s central theoretical claim—that the status of individual states is established by discrete norms of customary international law—adds very little to his doctrinal argument. By examining his position, this review article examines what it might mean to provide helpful ‘theories of statehood’. It begins by framing the theoretical challenge posed by such work before setting out some desiderata for theoretical success in this area. Finally, it sketches out a general approach, grounded in Hannah Arendt’s conception of power, which offers a promising means for moving beyond doctrinal description within ‘reconstructive’ international legal theory. 

States are among the most powerful subjects of international law, not only in terms of their economic, military, political and social capacities, but also insofar as that legal order characteristically grants them a broad range of important immunities, liberties, powers and rights. These include, for example, the right to political independence, permanent sovereignty over natural resources and immunity from compulsory jurisdiction before international courts and tribunals. Moreover, for those who consider states to be necessarily territorial entities, their existence is intertwined with the presence of legally delineated physical spaces, in terms of which that existence must be identified and explained. Despite the centrality of both statehood and territory within doctrinal law, questions concerning their nature are some of the more complex and controversial within international legal theory. In his new book, Territorial Status in International Law, Jure Vidmar grapples with this complexity, seeking ‘a new theory of statehood’ by conducting an international legal analysis of territory in general. 

Vidmar makes this offering within an increasingly crowded field. There is a huge quantity of doctrinal and theoretical work on both statehood and territory, encompassing legal scholarship, political philosophy and the history of international relations, as well as interdisciplinary contributions across these fields. Given this, it is somewhat odd that Vidmar claims there to be a ‘paucity’ of scholarship on the legal nature of statehood. There are nonetheless a great many things to recommend his new monograph, which mirrors the meticulous doctrinal analysis of his earlier book, Democratic Statehood in International Law. It is refreshing to see mainstream legal work which critiques some distinctions between state and some non-state entities, as well as to see an analysis of statehood that goes well beyond the archetypal citation of article 1 of the 1933 Montevideo Convention on the Rights and Duties of States (‘the statehood criteria’, to use Vidmar’s phrase). Vidmar also gives detailed attention to the territorial and statehood-related elements of several contemporary and controversial international conflicts, such as that between the State of Palestine and the State of Israel, as well as between the Russian Federation and Ukraine. 

Notwithstanding the outstanding quality of this work, I disagree with Vidmar’s doctrinal analysis on a number of points. He alleges, for example, that several entities, including the Republic of Kosovo, Palestine and the Republic of Somaliland, do not possess statehood: on this we differ. Similarly, he disagrees with both Rowan Nicholson and myself about whether ‘effectiveness’ provides a basis for state creation—an orthodoxy that Vidmar completely denies. My focus in this review article, however, is not the detail and controversy of these doctrinal views, but rather the theoretical approach that Vidmar takes when seeking to elucidate them. In particular, what interests me is the question of what it means to provide a ‘theory of statehood’ and in particular what desiderata for success such a theoretical exercise might assume. At bottom, and despite his claims to have done so, I remain sceptical that Vidmar provides us with anything like a theory of statehood with Territorial Status in International Law, although that text does perform valuable work in clarifying several points about the legal concept of territory. 

To advance my argument, I begin by outlining three sets of questions one may wish to ask about states (section 2), before considering what desiderata a genuine theory of statehood would have to satisfy in order to qualify as a successful legal-theoretical contribution (section 3). Throughout both discussions, I highlight important contributions that Vidmar makes towards our understandings of both, as well as pointing out places in which his reasoning and conclusions fall short of the ideal. Having completed this task, I then sketch a theoretical approach to legal statehood that might satisfy the desiderata I identify (section 4). Although necessarily provisional, this sketch illustrates how an interrogation of statehood that employs non-positivist ‘rational reconstruction’ might yield more theoretically promising results than ‘black letter’ doctrinal analysis alone.

Atlantis

'Three Reconstructions of ‘Effectiveness’: Some Implications for State Continuity and Sea-level Rise' by Alex Green in Oxford Journal of Legal Studies comments 

Small Island Developing States (SIDS) are uniquely threatened by rising sea levels. Not only does the retreat of their coastlines place them in danger of losing maritime territory; the concurrent possibility of their landmasses becoming either uninhabitable or completely submerged also threatens their very existence. According to one understanding of the law that governs the continuity and extinction of states, political communities that permanently lose ‘effectiveness’—typically understood as sufficient governmental control of a relatively determinate territory with a permanent population—must lose their statehood as well. In this article, I provide three reconstructions of effectiveness, each of which rests upon a different normative rationale. My contention is that, regardless of which reconstruction one adopts, the continuity of submerged SIDS is eminently supportable, notwithstanding the arguments frequently made in favour of their formal extinction. 

 

The existence of states under international law turns on a range of connected factors, including a strong presumption in favour of continuity once legal statehood is established. When it comes to state creation, relevant factors include the presence of foreign recognition, the delimiting influence of treaties making territorial concessions, the express or implied consent of any ‘parent’ states, demonstrable commitments to democratic principles and human rights norms, and the provision of suitably constituted independence referendums at the point of emergence. It is arguable that some of these factors, particularly that of foreign recognition, also govern the existence of states beyond the point of their creation. 

 

Whatever the case, one concept almost always discussed whenever statehood is in question is that of ‘effectiveness’. Traditionally conceived, effectiveness concerns whether a given physical space and human population are subject to factual control by the governance institutions that partly constitute the state in question. It is often considered necessary for the creation of states, in addition to being an independent basis upon which territorial title can be grounded. This article partly concerns the nature of effectiveness in general. However, my primary focus is upon the role that it plays within the law of state continuity, which governs the conditions under which states persist through time. The antithesis of continuity is extinction, which usually occurs due to some disruptive event, such as destruction by a foreign power or voluntary dissolution. States are continuous to the extent that their existence under international law is not disrupted by events of this kind. State continuity is sometimes linked with the neighbouring question of state identity, which concerns whether (and why) a state at time T1 is the same entity as the one identified with it at time T2. These topics can nonetheless be treated separately, which is what I propose to do here. 

 

My analysis of effectiveness is partly theoretical, turning upon three distinct accounts of that concept and what each has to say about state continuity. However, my motivation is practical, stemming from the existential threats currently faced by Small Island Developing States (SIDS) in light of human-caused sea-level rise. I aim to show that even though the three ‘reconstructions’ of effectiveness I advance have different normative foundations, each one supports the existential resilience of SIDS notwithstanding the danger of sea-level rise. That danger might be crudely described as ‘loss of effectiveness’. Under austere accounts of the effectiveness principle, no entity without inhabitable land and a permanent population living upon that land can maintain statehood, particularly not if the loss of these factual prerequisites is permanent. I elaborate upon this ‘austere view’ below, arguing that each reconstruction of effectiveness I examine requires it to be rejected. 

 

All three accounts of effectiveness I advance are derived via the ‘rational reconstruction’ of international law. This hermeneutic method, sometimes called ‘creative’ or ‘constructive’ interpretation, seeks to induce from the social facts of international legal practice the set(s) of general evaluative commitments underpinning that practice. ‘Practice’, in the relevant sense, encompasses not only the state practice and opinio juris necessary for the formation of customary international law, but also the text and context of relevant treaties, the judgments of international courts and tribunals, and other international legal instruments with probative value on de lege lata. What distinguishes rational reconstruction from purely doctrinal legal interpretation is that it also relies upon ‘critically normative’ or ‘moral’ considerations to explicate the justificatory basis of the legal positions being examined. It takes social practices like international law seriously as sources of genuine practical reasons, and elucidates those reasons to yield prescriptive implications specific to these practices. Rational reconstruction, to that extent, exemplifies the ‘Grotian tradition’ of international law, as articulated by those such as Lauterpacht, and can be understood largely in those terms. The value of examining effectiveness in this way lies not only in the radical potential of rational reconstruction to generate progressive legal arguments, but also in its capacity to draw out the most foundational commitments of the international legal order. By asking why effectiveness matters in normative terms, we get a clearer picture of how it should be understood and applied in response to unprecedented legal challenges such as those of sea-level rise and the global climate crisis. 

 

To provide context, section 2 introduces the most commonly accepted elements of effectiveness and connects them to other aspects of the law governing state continuity. After this, three discrete reconstructions of effectiveness are advanced, each corresponding to a different conception of why effectiveness matters normatively. The first emphasises the value of stability within international relations (‘effectiveness as stability’, section 3). The second focuses upon the function of governments as fiduciaries for their people, emphasising the connection between effectiveness and the protection of human rights (‘the fiduciary model’, section 4). The third stresses the importance of states as the primary communities within which intrinsically valuable political action occurs (‘statehood as political community’, section 5). Sections 3–5 are each divided into two halves: a normative reconstruction of effectiveness, followed by an application of that analysis to state continuity and sea-level rise. I conclude by reviewing the contribution of all three reconstructions. To the extent that each has featured within legal scholarship before, all three are typically presented as incompatible competing reconstructions. I engage with them here on a different basis: as distinct but compatible conceptions of effectiveness, each of which reinforces the existential resilience of SIDS under contemporary international law.

Sovereignty

In Indigenous Land and Sea Corporation v Anderson [2022] NSWSC 1650 the NSW Supreme Court has taken judicial notice of the Uluṟu Statement from the Heart. 

It recognises the spiritual sovereignty of ATSI peoples over the Australian Continent and adjacent lands, co-existing with the sovereignty of the Crown.  The judgment will presumably be misread as recognising a non-spiritual sovereignty.

The Court states 

 It is convenient to set out the orders sought by Mr Anderson in his motion (without alteration): 

 

1   That the originating process by the Indigenous Land and Sea Corporation be dismissed in accordance with the NSW Uniform Civil Procedure Rules, Rule 12.11, 1(g) 

 

2   That the claim by the Indigenous Land and Sea Corporation be dismissed on the grounds that the Euahlayi/Yawaalaraay Nation falls within the definition of, Interpretation, 1 (b) of the Foreign States Immunities Act 1985. 

 

3 That this court make a declaration that to proceed with the plaintiff’s case without this court having the competency to adjudicate on Euahlayi laws and customary practices will prejudice the Défense of the First Defendant Michael Anderson and thus be in violation of section of the Commonwealth Racial Discrimination Act 1975. 

 

4 That this court make a declaration that this case cannot proceed without engaging ceremonially educated Aboriginal Senior law men and women who hold the sacred celestial knowledge law and customs. 

 

5 That the court make a declaration that the First named Defendant Michael Anderson’s Nationality is Euahlayi/Yawaalaraay (hereinafter Euahlayi) Dthane (man) 

 

6 That the court make a declaration that the first named defendant Michael Anderson (tribal birth name Ghillar) aka Michael Eckford (Registered Birth name) is the recognised Leader of the Euahlayi/Yawaalaraay Nation as recognised by the Foreign Sovereign Head of the Commonwealth of Australia, the late Queen Ngudthy 11, (for the purpose of observing Euahlayi law and customary practice. It a sign of respect not to name a deceased person) In regard to the recognition of the First Defendant See Cross Claim affidavit of Michael Anderson dated July 21, 2021, to Case No.2020/00363972 annexure C. 

 

7 The Euahlayi/Yawaalaraay Nation does not submit to the jurisdiction of this court but are making this submission in accordance with section 10 (7) (b) of the Foreign States Immunities Act 1985. That is: Section 7) A foreign State shall not be taken to have submitted to the jurisdiction in a proceeding by reason only that: (a) it has made an application for costs; or (b) it has intervened, or has taken a step, in the proceeding for the purpose or in the course of asserting immunity. 

 

8 That this court make a declaration that to proceed with this case number 2020/00363972 will violate section 10 of the Racial Discrimination Act 1975 on the grounds that the court fails in its ability to consider Euahlayi Laws and Customs because these laws and Customs belong to a Foreign Nation who have never been Conquered, ceded, nor acquiesced. 

 

9 Further to this, I respectfully submit that this court does not have jurisdiction to consider the origins of Euahlayi/Yawaalaraay ‘celestial law’ that establishes the laws and Customary practises of the Bhurrah (Peoples) within the boundaries as they are and always will be independent clans’ territories within that Euahlayi/Yawaalaraay boundary. 

 

This is a matter that falls within the same category as ecclesiastical law and does not fit within the scope of civil and common law jurisdiction. 

 

There is a fundamental inconsistency in Mr Anderson’s challenge to the Court’s jurisdiction. He seeks to have the plaintiff’s proceeding dismissed yet, on the other hand, he presses his Cross-Claim and also seeks various declaratory orders as set out in his motion. 

 

In brief, the challenge to jurisdiction raises the following four matters: Whether the Foreign States Immunities Act 1985 (Cth) applies. Whether the Pacific Islanders Protection Act 1872 35 & 36 Vict c 19 (Imp) and Pacific Islanders Protection Act 1875 38 & 39 Vict c 51 (Imp) apply. Related to issue (2), whether Mr Anderson can claim a sovereignty which takes him outside the Court’s jurisdiction. 

 

Whether the Court lacks competency and capability to adjudicate on Euahlayi laws and customary practices. 

 

It is convenient to address each of those matters in turn. 

 

(1) Foreign States Immunities Act 

 

The Foreign States Immunities Act provides for a general immunity of a foreign State from the jurisdiction of Australian courts, except as provided by or under the Act. 

 

There are several reasons why Mr Anderson’s reliance upon this legislation is misconceived. First, there is the fact that Mr Anderson is a party to these proceedings in his personal capacity, being a person occupying the lands without the permission of the registered proprietor. The ILSC did not challenge Mr Anderson’s claim to be the ceremonial Elder of the Ghurrie Clan and recognised ceremonial Elder and Leader of the Euahlayi Nation. The fact remains, however, that he is sued in his personal capacity. He personally does not qualify as a “foreign State” within the definition of that expression in s 3 of the Act, which means: … a country the territory of which is outside Australia, being a country that is: (a) an independent sovereign state; or (b) a separate territory (whether or not it is self-governing) that is not part of an independent sovereign state. 

 

Even if it be assumed for the sake of argument that the relevant State is the Euahlayi Nation and not Mr Anderson personally, the territory to which that Nation relates is not territory which is “outside Australia” for the purposes of the definition of “foreign State” in s 3. The term “Australia” is defined in s 3 as: when used in a geographical sense, includes each of the external Territories. 

 

There can be no question that the reference to “outside Australia” in the definition of “foreign State” is a reference to the country of Australia in a geographical sense. Thus, even though Mr Anderson asserts that the Euahlayi Nation has never been part of Australia in the sense of never having ceded its sovereignty, geographically speaking that Nation’s territory is physically part of Australia. 

 

Secondly, even if, contrary to the above, Mr Anderson could overcome these significant threshold obstacles to his reliance upon the Foreign States Immunities Act, the effect of s 14(1) of that Act is that a foreign State is not immune in a proceeding to the extent to which the proceeding concerns: (a) an interest of the State in, or the possession or use by the State of, immovable property in Australia; or (b) an obligation of the State that arises out of its interest in, or its possession or use of, property of that kind. 

 

There is no doubt that this proceeding relates to the possession or use of immovable property in Australia. 

 

Thirdly, and for completeness, it is also relevant to note the effect of s 10(6)(b) of the Act. It provides that, subject to ss 10(7), (8) and (9), a foreign State may submit to the jurisdiction in a proceeding by inter alia “intervening in, or taking a step as a party to, the proceeding”. As noted above (assuming contrary to the above that Mr Anderson personally is a foreign state), Mr Anderson has taken various active steps as a party to the proceeding, including filing a defence, an amended defence, evidence, and a notice of motion challenging the plaintiff’s claims of privilege in respect of certain documents. These various steps (which are distinct from the motion which challenges jurisdiction) cannot be described as steps taken in “the proceeding for the purpose or in the course of asserting immunity”, as referred to in s 10(7)(b). 

 

(2) Pacific Islanders Protection legislation 

 

As Mansfield J pointed out in Walker v South Australia (No 2) (2013) 215 FCR 254; [2013] FCA 700 at [54], this Imperial legislation was passed to protect the Indigenous peoples of the islands of the Pacific Ocean from kidnapping for the purposes of labour, a practice which is sometimes described as “blackbirding”. The preamble to the 1872 legislation expressly refers to “natives of islands in the Pacific Ocean, not being in Her Majesty’s Dominions” (emphasis added). Section 2 of that Act defined “Australasian Colonies” as including the colonies of New South Wales and Queensland. Those colonies were at the relevant time part of Her Majesty’s Dominions. 

 

The 1872 Act provided in s 3 that it was unlawful for British vessels to carry native labourers unless they had a licence granted, relevantly, by a governor of any of the Australasian Colonies. 

 

The fact that the legislation was directed to islands and places in the Pacific Ocean not being within Her Majesty’s Dominions is also made abundantly clear in s 6 of the 1875 Act. That provision empowered the making of Orders in Council to establish courts of justice with jurisdiction over Her Majesty’s subjects in such islands and places and to impose penalties etc. 

 

I respectfully agree with Mansfield J’s conclusions and reasoning in Walker at [56] as to why this legislation does not apply to Indigenous Australians, including Mr Anderson and/or the Euahlayi Nation: 

 

On their own terms, those Acts do not apply to the Indigenous people of Australia. Their application is clearly with respect to the peoples of the islands in the Pacific Ocean, who did not have the protection of the law. Hence, jurisdiction to try the offences created by the Acts was conferred upon the Supreme Courts of the Australasian colonies. Further, their application is with respect to the islands of the Pacific Ocean “not being within her Majesty’s dominions”. As at the passing of the 1872 PIP Act, the Province of South Australia had been for some time within Her Majesty’s dominion, as had all the other colonies of Australia. 

 

Similar reasoning was applied by McKerracher J in Prior v South West Aboriginal Land and Sea Council Aboriginal Corporation [2020] FCA 808 at [70], with which I also respectfully agree. 

 

(3) Sovereignty 

 

Order 6 sought by Mr Anderson in his motion appeared to raise a claim that the Euahlayi Nation constituted a separate sovereign nation in relation to which the Court had no jurisdiction. This claim also appeared to be supported by parts of Mr Anderson’s affidavit dated 21 September 2022, which included claims that “Sovereignty and Eminent Dominion over the said lands and waters of the Ghurriebhurrah are reserved to the ceremonial Elders” (at [12]) and that “the sovereignty of the Euahlayi/Yawaalaraay Nation continues and that we had Laws and Customs of our own” (at [19]). 

 

In oral address, Mr Anderson relied upon a “Declaration” and a “Declaration of Independence”, which documents appear to have been created on or around 1 July 2013. The Declaration states that the Euahlayi are the original peoples of the land and waters within certain defined territories identified in Sch 1 to the Declaration. The Declaration is signed by various persons. The Declaration of Independence, which is also signed by various persons, states that the “individual members of the Euahlayi State, representing each and all of our clans, are by virtue of our natural and historic inherrent (sic) right, resolve and declare the continuing sovereignty of the Euahlayi Nation, to be henceforth known as the ‘Euahlayi Peoples Republic’”. 

 

Mr Anderson said that copies of both Declarations had been sent to Her Majesty. Mr Anderson did not tender a copy of the letter which he stated he received in reply from Buckingham Palace. 

 

Notwithstanding these matters, and the fact that Mr Anderson also advanced arguments concerning the separate sovereignty of the Euahlayi people in his oral address in chief on the motion, in his oral address in reply Mr Anderson said that “… our argument is not about whether we’re a – about sovereignty. We’re not – that’s not the argument here. The argument here is about whether the Court has the capacity to deal with Yuwaalaraay law and make a decision over the land and the people who belong to the land as to whether or not they are entitled to be on that land. That’s the question here”. 

 

For completeness, however, I will now explain why the sovereignty arguments raised elsewhere by Mr Anderson must fail (as must also be his related reliance on s 10 of the Racial Discrimination Act 1975 (Cth)). 

 

To the extent that Mr Anderson advanced an argument that the Court lacked jurisdiction because the Euahlayi People had a separate sovereignty, the argument must be rejected. I respectfully agree with the reasoning of Mansfield J in Walker at [43] to [47] which is squarely in point: 

 

43 The contention that the Indigenous peoples of Australia constitute a sovereign nation or nations, has been expressly rejected. In Coe v Commonwealth [1979] HCA 68; (1979) 53 ALJR 403 at 408, Gibbs J, with whom Aicken J agreed, held: 

 

The aboriginal people are subject to the laws of the Commonwealth and of the States or Territories in which they respectively reside. They have no legislative, executive or judicial organs by which sovereignty might be exercised. If such organs existed, they would have no powers, except such as the laws of the Commonwealth, or of a State or Territory, might confer upon them. The contention that there is in Australia an aboriginal nation exercising sovereignty, even of a limited kind, is quite impossible in law to maintain. 

 

44 That is consistent with Mabo (No 2). The rights recognised with respect to native title in Mabo (No 2) are, at common law, subject to statutory modification: see at 110-111 per Deane and Gaudron JJ: Like other legal rights, including rights of property, the rights conferred by common law native title and the title itself can be dealt with, expropriated or extinguished by valid Commonwealth, State or Territorial legislation operating within the State or Territory in which the land in question is situated. To put the matter differently, the rights are not entrenched in the sense that they are, by reason of their nature, beyond the reach of legislative power. 

 

45 Mabo (No 2) reveals that, upon the settlement in New South Wales, and by extension later in South Australia, the English settlers brought with them the law of England, so that, at 38 per Brennan J: 

 

[t]he common law thus became the common law of all subjects within the Colony who were equally entitled to the law’s protection as subjects of the Crown. ... Thus the Meriam people in 1879, like Australian Aborigines in earlier times, became British subjects owing allegiance to the Imperial Sovereign entitled to such rights and privileges and subject to such liabilities as the common law and applicable statutes provided. 

 

46 Mason CJ in Coe v Commonwealth [1993] HCA 42; (1993) 68 ALJR 110 at 116 confirmed that Mabo (No 2) is inconsistent with the notion of sovereignty in the Aboriginal people of Australia: Mabo (No 2) is entirely at odds with the notion that sovereignty adverse to the Crown resides in the Aboriginal people of Australia. The decision is equally at odds with the notion that there resides in the Aboriginal people a limited kind of sovereignty embraced in the notion that they are “a domestic dependent nation” entitled to self-government and full rights (save the right of alienation) or that as a free and independent people they are entitled to any rights and interests other than those created or recognised by the laws of the Commonwealth, the State of New South Wales and the common law. 

 

47 That also follows from a series of decisions that say that the application of the laws of the various Australian Parliaments to Indigenous Australians does not depend on the acquiescence or consent of those people: see Walker v New South Wales [1994] HCA 64; (1994) 182 CLR 45 at 48-9 per Mason CJ; McDonald v Director of Public Prosecutions (2010) 26 VR 242 at [6] and [16] per Ashley JA and [191] per Neave JA, Redlich JA agreeing; Jones v Public Trustee (Qld) [2004] QCA 269; (2004) 209 ALR 106 at [14]-[15] per McPherson JA, Williams and Jerrard JJA agreeing; R v Buzzacott [2004] ACTSC 89; (2004) 154 ACTR 37 at [3]-[17] per Connolly J. 

 

It may be noted that similar reasoning was relied upon by Philippides J in Ngurampaa Ltd v Balonne Shire Council [2014] QSC 146 at [12]–[18] in rejecting a similar claim advanced by Mr Anderson on behalf of the plaintiff in that case. I respectfully agree with and adopt his Honour’s reasoning as well as the similar reasoning of McKerracher J in Prior at [64] to [71]. 

 

Nothing said above is intended to dispute the sovereignty of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples in a spiritual sense. That particular concept of sovereignty is well-reflected in the following extracts from the Uluru Statement from the Heart, of which the Court takes judicial notice (emphasis in original): Our Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander tribes were the first sovereign Nations of the Australian continent and its adjacent lands, and possessed it under our own laws and customs. This our ancestors did, according to the reckoning of our culture, from the Creation, according to the common law from ‘time immemorial’, and according to science more than 60,000 years ago. 

 

This sovereignty is a spiritual notion: the ancestral tie between the land, or ‘mother nature’, and the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples who were born therefrom, remain attached thereto, and must one day return thither to be united with our ancestors. This link is the basis of the ownership of the soil, or better, of sovereignty. It has never been ceded or extinguished, and co-exists with the sovereignty of the Crown. 

 

(4) Court’s competence or capacity 

 

As noted immediately above, in his oral address in reply, Mr Anderson identified his central argument as whether the Court has the capacity (or competency) to deal with the Euahlayi Nation’s law. That matter is also raised in orders 3, 4, 8 and 9 of his motion, and are elaborated upon in various parts of his affidavit dated 21 September 2022. For example, in that affidavit he claimed that Euahlayi laws and customs are foreign to the English common law, are sui generis and the Court lacked jurisdiction to “define and concluded (sic) the rights and interests of the Ghurrie clan under Euahlayi Law and Customs which are at the heart of the first defendants (sic) Défense and Cross Claim” (without alteration). He submitted that these matters were “more likely to be found in ecclesiastical laws”. He added that, because the Court could only adopt what he described as “a Eurocentric legal view of this case”, this prejudiced the Ghurrie clan’s rights and interests from being considered without apprehended bias.

Pseudostates

'Micronations: A lacuna in the law' by Harry Hobbs and George Williams in (2021) International Journal of Constitutional Law comments 

Around 100 active micronations exist across the globe. Led by committed and eccentric individuals, these aspirant or wannabe states assert their claims to sovereignty in myriad ways. In dressing in the language of statehood, they challenge understandings of, and approaches to, international legal personality. In this article we provide the first legal survey of micronations. We develop a conceptual framework to understand what it means to be a micronation, explore their various forms, and analyze key public law issues. Our survey reveals that, although public law has not engaged with this phenomenon, states respond to the assertion of sovereignty by micronations in both benign and violent ways.

The authors argue 

On December 2, 1977, Prince Leonard Casley of the Hutt River Province cabled a telegram to the Governor-General of Australia, declaring war. With a permanent population of fewer than twenty residents, no standing army, and the Province’s 75 km2 territory entirely enclosed by the state of Western Australia, Prince Leonard was unprepared for war. Two days later, on December 4, 1977, he cabled a second telegram announcing the cessation of hostilities. The Australian government responded to neither correspondence, but Prince Leonard nonetheless claimed victory. According to his reading of the Geneva Conventions of 1949, a state should show full respect to a nation undefeated in war. As the Hutt River Province was undefeated, Australia must recognize its sovereignty. 

Australia never recognized the sovereignty of what subsequently renamed itself the Principality of Hutt River, but Prince Leonard is not the only person who has claimed to secede and create his or her own state. Although a new state is, of course, the goal of secessionist movements across the globe, including in South Sudan, Kosovo, Scotland, Catalonia, Quebec, and elsewhere, Prince Leonard’s Principality differs from these efforts. Built around a committed and eccentric individual, possessing only a very small resident population and unrecognized by sovereign states, the Principality was an “aspirant” or “wannabe” state. More commonly, it was known as a micronation. 

In contrast to true secessionist movements, micronations are generally considered trivial and are often ignored by the state. This may be because a micronation poses no security threat to the state and lacks a foundation in domestic and international law for its claim to independence. They are also not recognized in domestic or international forums as nations. Despite this, micronations dress themselves in the language of statehood and perform acts of sovereignty. In doing so, they critique and challenge understandings of and approaches to international legal personality. 

Micronations are an oddity that sits outside conventional understandings of the law. Perhaps for this reason, no significant legal study of micronations exists. In this article, we rectify this by providing the first legal survey of micronations. We define what it means to be a micronation, explore their various forms, and analyze key public law issues relating to their establishment and existence. This provides a rich body of material from which to assess and understand these unique attempts to assert statehood. 

Micronations are diverse in form and function. In Section 2 we develop a conceptual framework for micronations to better understand and interrogate their common features and considerable diversity. We do so by first establishing a definition of what it means to be a micronation, and then situating that definition within understandings of statehood. This enables us to define and better understand micronations before exploring whether and how traditional frameworks of international legal personality relate to or comprehend this phenomenon. 

In Section 3 we explore that diversity in more detail. Drawing on our conceptual framework we survey a wide cross-section of micronations, focusing on the varied motivations for their creation. Owing to the general paucity of scholarly engagement, in many cases we rely on statements from founders and individuals connected to particular micronations. Such stories are part of a micronation’s self-created history and narrative, and are therefore valuable in understanding the reasons why a person chooses to found their own country. Our survey reveals that individuals and small groups from all over the globe purport to secede and establish their own countries for a wide variety of reasons. 

Documenting the sheer prevalence of micronations is valuable in itself. However, uncovering the multiplicity of motivations that underlie the reasons for their formation illuminates our understanding of the legal disputes they provoke. In Section 4 we discuss several key public law issues that pertain to micronations. We examine how micronations seek to assert their sovereignty and independence, as well as how recognized nations respond to such claims. As we note, while state responses range from the benign to the violent, all responses share a commitment to the full enforcement of their laws. ... 

Micronations have escaped sustained attention in the legal literature. There is no legal account that identifies and comprehensively outlines the common features and outer bounds of this phenomenon. In fact, very few non-legal efforts that offer an explanatory account of micronationalism exist. In this section, we examine three non-legal attempts to develop a typology aimed at understanding and explaining micronationalism. In doing so, we explore classificatory accounts that identify commonalities and distinctions among and between micronations with the goal of discerning a legal definition to guide our discussion throughout this article. 

Before commencing, it is important to note that all accounts agree that micronations are distinct from recognized states. While no unambiguously “accepted and satisfactory legal definition of statehood” exists, the Montevideo Convention definition is most commonly adopted. Under the Convention, an entity must meet certain conditions relating to territory, population, government, and a capacity for external relations, in order to be characterized as a state. Recognition by other states is not one of those conditions. Whether and how these conditions relate to micronations is explored in more detail in the following section. 

One of the few approaches to understanding micronations is provided by a geographer. Dallen Timothy offers a broad account that delineates between four distinct models, only two of which are properly characterized as micronations. At one end of Timothy’s spectrum sit internationally recognized, sovereign, non-state entities. These entities do not unequivocally meet the declarative criteria for statehood expressed in the Montevideo Convention, but are nonetheless formally recognized (by at least one other state) as de jure sovereign entities. For this reason, they are not strictly micronations but, usually, states with no control over physical territory. This category includes the Baltic states of Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania during the Soviet annexation, as well as the Sovereign Military Order of Malta. Founded in 1048, the Order of Malta no longer exercises jurisdiction over any territory and is not strictly a state, but nonetheless retains a “certain international personality.” While the Order once ruled (at different times) Cyprus, Rhodes, and Malta, its physical territory is now limited to two buildings in Rome. Nonetheless, it maintains diplomatic relations with 107 states, has UN permanent observer status, and issues its own passports, stamps, and coins. 

Timothy identifies his second model of non-nations as “semi-legitimate places.” These entities have some historical foundation for claims of independence but, unlike the former category, have not been formally accepted or recognized by the international community. He suggests that the Principality of Seborga, situated in the hills of Liguria, Italy, falls within this category. As we discuss in more detail below, however, the Principality lacks any reasonable legal foundation for independence. A more obvious candidate is the Republic of Somaliland, a semi-autonomous region of Somalia that declared its independence in 1991, claiming to be the successor of the State of Somaliland. The State of Somaliland was the name assumed by the former British protectorate upon independence from the United Kingdom on June 26, 1960. It lasted only five days, joining with the Italian-administered Trust Territory of Somaliland to form the Federal Republic of Somalia on July 1, 1960. Despite arguably meeting international law conditions for statehood, the Republic of Somaliland is not recognized by any other state. Nonetheless, because its claim has some basis in law it is not a micronation. 

The last two models are more traditionally understood as micronations. In the third, Timothy identifies places with little or no claim to historical legitimacy, but which have nonetheless “earnestly attempted to lay claim to national independence.” This archetype includes the most prominent micronations, like the Principality of Hutt River in Western Australia, and the Principality of Sealand off the United Kingdom’s Suffolk coast, as well as lesser-known wannabe states like Liberland on the Danube River. We place the Principality of Seborga within this category.  

Timothy’s fourth example largely eschews control of significant physical territory. Increasingly prevalent, these are “countries” that assert independence “but are in fact little more than social clubs.” While they engage in performative acts of sovereignty, this is conducted primarily for amusement or to seek attention rather than to actively challenge state sovereignty. Typically, the jurisdiction claimed extends to the real property owned by its founder, whether that is an apartment in London, a flat in Sydney, or a house in Nevada. 

Timothy’s typology usefully articulates major distinctions among micronations, as well as between micronations and other “non-nations.” However, it does not clarify all variances between such entities. Finnish artists Tellervo Kalleinen and Oliver Kochta-Kalleinen offer a more pronounced classification, distinguishing between three models: microstates, model-states, and new country projects. According to Kalleinen and Kochta-Kalleinen, microstates are very small countries whose territory is typically less than 20,000 km2. Although they generally meet common international legal definitions of statehood, their sovereignty may or may not be recognized. For instance, while the Vatican City, Monaco, and San Marino are all recognized as sovereign states, the Principalities of Hutt River and of Seborga were and are not. 

Model-states differ fundamentally from microstates. While microstates exercise (or purport to exercise) sovereignty over a small territorial expanse, model-states do not seek to establish legitimacy on the basis of territorial claims. Rather, they are “experiments in forming a state with all of its political institutions” and symbols. Like “real” countries, model-states perform acts of sovereignty; they write constitutions, compose national anthems, design flags, issue stamps and currency, and conduct diplomatic relations with each other (and seek recognition from recognized nations). As the founder of the Principality of Nova Arcardia, Steven Scharff, has explained, model-states are a “diplomatic version of a model railroad.” 

New country projects are similar to model-states in that they also engage in performative acts of sovereignty. However, while model-states generally do not lay claim to substantial physical territory, new country projects involve attempts to actually establish a viable state by “acquiring or creating territory which does not belong to any existing state.” This can involve sea-steading initiatives in which floating structures are “arranged into atolls and archipelagos,” allowing individuals to settle on the high seas outside national jurisdiction, like the Republic of Minerva, and the Floating Island Project’s South Pacific city. It can also include emerging efforts to develop permanent habitation on satellites like the Space Kingdom of Asgardia. Many new country projects have been influenced by libertarian philosophies, and their founders have sought to develop and operate economic schemes prohibited in their homelands. More recent initiatives, like Waveland and Asgardia, may also be inspired by cosmopolitan ideals of an integrated global pan-humanity. Nonetheless, even in these cases, new country projects can carry colonial overlays and resonances. In 2014, for instance, a United States man planted a flag in the Bir Tawil desert, asserting authority over 2060 km2 of land claimed by neither Sudan nor Egypt in order to establish a kingdom and fulfill a promise to his daughter to make her a princess. 

The typologies by Timothy, and Kalleinen and Kochta-Kalleinen, are helpful in identifying distinctions between different forms of micronations. However, they also make clear that there are “incredible differences” and “no clear sense of unity” among this diverse practice. Acknowledging this, sociologist Judy Lattas adopts a simpler definition. Lattas defines micronations as “tiny countries declared by ordinary people in an act that repeats the establishment of sovereign nations, at least in some of its protocols.” Lattas’s approach is valuable as it more clearly identifies what makes micronations distinct from similar entities. Nonetheless, it still fails to capture what we understand by micronations within the context of our legal analysis. After all, some micronations are established by prominent political actors rather than ordinary people. Other micronations might have only a very small resident population but may claim authority over large areas of land, or even outer space. Furthermore, spurred by the growth of the internet, some micronations claim hundreds of thousands of citizens, significantly more than many recognized states. 

This demonstrates the need to adopt a different definition. We define micronations as self-declared nations that perform and mimic acts of sovereignty, and adopt many of the protocols of nations, but lack a foundation in domestic and international law for their existence and are not recognized as nations in domestic or international forums. Our definition simply and accurately encompasses the diversity of micronations; it includes libertarian sea-steading efforts, experimental states formed within college dorm rooms or conceptual art projects, as well as states established to publicize political agendas. It also excludes similar but distinct phenomena, such as secessionist movements, Indigenous nations, microstates, and intentional communities. 

In contrast to micronations, secessionist movements and Indigenous nations enjoy some historical foundation for their assertions of independence, whether or not that claim has been formally recognized by domestic law or the international community. Indigenous nations, for example, are distinct political communities composed of individuals united by identity that have a long history of operating as a distinct society, with a unique economic, religious, and spiritual relationship to their land. Even where the state does not recognize this claim, their legitimacy is based on this status. By contrast, perhaps reflecting the relative moral and political strength of their respective claims and legal foundations, micronations tend to be ephemeral. One of the oldest continuing micronations, the Kingdom of Elleore, was established on the Danish island of Elleore in 1944. Designed to parody the royal traditions and government structure of Denmark, the Kingdom is now only occupied for a week-long celebration each year. 

Our definition also excludes microstates and intentional communities. Like many micronations, microstates have a very small population and control a very small geographic area. However, as “modern protected states,” microstates are internationally recognized sovereign political entities; a status that distinguishes them from micronations. Intentional communities, or communes, are communities of people that live together in common and assert authority to manage their internal affairs autonomously of the state. Such communities can be spiritual, like the Mennonites, or secular, like Twin Oaks Community eco-village, in the United States. In this sense, they are similar to micronations. Importantly, however, intentional communities do not use the language of statehood, instead seeking to operate within the state, albeit on a distinct basis.