A Plop in the Ocean
Eat Issue 13: Exile

This article was originally published in February 2003.

It’s not a pretty sight, but people are fighting their way onto this little concrete platform in the sea. Eat checks out the lure and lore of Sealand.

Ever fancied a place of your own? Country we mean, not house. Believe it or not ‘micro nations’ are rife in the world today – primarily on paper. Few major nations acknowledge these 20th century upstarts but this isn’t deterring the most determined would-be rulers pursuing maverick quests for independence.

One of the most stalwart (and least eye-pleasing) of these is a tiny state 13 kilometres off the east coast of England. The entrepreneurial brainchild of former English major Paddy Roy Bates, this realm was conceived as a home for 1960s pirate radio station Radio Essex. On the hunt for a base in international waters, he found what he was looking for in an abandoned and derelict British WWII gun tower. One renegade idea led to another and on September 7th 1965 a red, white and black flag was hoisted on the platform and Major Roy became Prince Roy, sovereign of the new Principality of Sealand.

Although Lilliputian in size and a mere baby as most nations go, Sealand has all the hallmarks of a proper polity: stamps and passports in circulation since 1969, currency pegged to the US dollar, a coat of arms, a royal charter, an established code of law and a territory that claims to extend 25 kilometres into the surrounding sea.

And then there’s the army. No strangers to conflict – Sealand’s troops have exchanged gunfire with British troops on the high seas, and were solicited to assist Argentina in their 1982 campaign against the British (they declined). A 1978 coup attempt plunged the nation into a mini-war involving the kidnapping (and eventual safe recovery) of the dauphin Michael. The disgruntled ex-Sealander responsible had also been hawking false passports to all comers, including Andrew Cunanan, Gianni Versace’s killer.

Official passports are hard to come by; the handful of legitimate holders all gained their citizenship by “helping the cause in some substantial way,” according to a spokesperson. For those that make the grade, life on Sealand is, in the words of new resident Laurie-Ellen Wiebe, “first-class”. No rodents, ‘roaches or dust; just fresh sea air and the occasional British fly gone astray. In place of the noise pollution endured by grander nations, Sealand enjoys the rustle of the wind across the waves and the splash of sea water against the metre-thick concrete walls. And remote it may be, but Sealanders don’t go hungry. An enormous pantry complements a kitchen equipped to cook everything from lobsters to soufflés.

Sealand’s recreational facilities are fuller than you might expect – with gyms, internet and golf ranges to while away the hours. Despite such benefits, Sealand residencies tend to be short term. Perhaps it’s the nationwide ban on drugs and alcohol, but nobody yet has spent more than a year on the platform. Or it could be a question of space. On less than an acre of land, where national tradition dictates that you inform people of your destination whenever you part company, remoteness from the rat race might not count for much.

But Sealand appeals to more than self-exilers on the run from the grind. HavenCo, a private American company, see big money in establishing an offshore ‘data haven’ free from the usual government regulations and have teamed up with Sealand to provide the 21st century with what they term ‘managed co-location services’: web server hardware housed in nitrogen-filled chambers, protected by gunmen and miles of deep blue sea; conditions ripe for online casinos or any other venture that might appreciate the lack of taxes or data restriction laws.

Photos courtesy of Principality of Sealand

For peace and harmony or the bottom line, Sealand is a unique place to send yourself. But be warned, if you want to take a closer look you’d better sort your visa out first. Forget any James Bond style stop-offs by helicopter (the only way to get there) – turn up unannounced or without consent and you could be shot.

Text: Jennifer Purvis