Built to counter attacks in World War II, this platform had to be demolished as it was out of British waters. But this never happened.
The Principality of Sealand, an unrecognized micronation installed on a former military platform off the coast of the United Kingdom, firmly resists the British government … but also the coronavirus.
About ten miles off the Suffolk coast in eastern England, This former WWII anti-aircraft base was proclaimed an independent micronation 54 years ago. And the British family that reigns there boasts of having also resisted the coronavirus pandemic.
Sealand, the peculiar story of the small micronation that survives off the coast of the United Kingdom
“We have not had any cases of COVID-19. At the moment, I think we are one of the only countries in the world that can say that, ”says 32-year-old Liam Bates. one of the self-proclaimed “princes” of Sealand.
Built to counter Nazi attacks, the platform, which sits on two hollow concrete towers, had to be demolished after the war because it was outside British waters, in international waters. But this never happened.
Seeing this as an opportunity, Liam’s grandfather, Roy Bates, a businessman who ran a pirate radio station, seized the fort and declared independence from the Principality of Sealand in 1967.
He gave him a national flag and a motto in Latin: “E Mare Libertas”, translated to “From the sea, freedom”, and wrote a Constitution.
Peculiar access
With its black, red and white flag blowing in the wind, Sealand looks like a pirate’s den.
Visitors, who must prove a negative COVID-19 test, access with a winch, holding tightly to the ropes as the waves churning under their feet. The first formality: stamp the passports.
On board, tools, paint cans and tin cans are carefully stored. Potted plants brighten up the kitchen, and bedrooms include books such as “Far From the Madding Crowd” by Thomas Hardy.
Inside the concrete towers there is a multi-denominational chapel, a games space with a pool table and sports equipment, and a meeting room.
Some of these rooms are below sea level and you can hear a constant splash from them.
Liam Bates runs the principality’s activities, while his older brother James runs the family’s cockle fishing business on the mainland.
Since he has an American girlfriend and an older brother, Liam jokes that he is a kind of “Prince Henry” of Sealand. His father, “Prince Miguel”, is “working less” as a result of an operation, he explains.
Titles of nobility
The Principality of Sealand has found a business: sell titles of nobility on the internet. For £ 29.99 ($ 40) one can become “Lord of Sealand”, to be a duke you have to pay 499.99 pounds (665 dollars).
These revenues, Liam notes, are “enough to support Sealand for now.”
Between the Bates’ visits, the rig is maintained by two men who take turns every fortnight: Joe Hamill, 58, and Michael Barrington, 66.
During the lockdowns, Hamill volunteered to spend two 11-week spells on the high seas alone.
In the end, “I think my mental state was deteriorating a bit,” admits this Londoner, who used to work in insurance. “It was total isolation.”
Despite everything, Sealand is now much more comfortable than at the beginning. Wind turbines and solar panels have replaced diesel generators, one of which caught fire in 2012, causing extensive damage.
There is hardly any trace of World War II, since American businessmen tried to install a data storage center in the towers.
The servers remain in a room as a testament to “our national history,” says Liam Bates, who continues to see the digital sector as the future of Sealand and has plans to launch a cryptocurrency about which he remains a mystery.
Coup
There is also a small cell with an iron bed, which once housed the principality’s only prisoner, in 1978, during the Sealand “great coup”.
After an argument with Roy Bates, a German businessman sent mercenaries to storm the platform while he was away.
Roy Bates and his son Michael they recovered it with a helicopter raid at dawn and freed the mercenaries, but retained the businessman’s lawyer. Accused of treason, he was finally released after the intervention of a German diplomat.
This is not the only violent episode in Sealand history: In 1967, the Bates family repelled a pirate radio crew with Molotov cocktails.
A year later, Roy and his son Michael were indicted after shooting past ships, but the court ruled that the platform was not under British jurisdiction.
And although Sealand has been in British waters since 1987, the UK is not trying to get it back..
“They like to pretend we don’t exist and just hope that one day we’ll pack up and leave,” says Liam. But “of course, that will not happen.” (I)
Paul is a talented author and journalist with a passion for entertainment and general news. He currently works as a writer at the 247 News Agency, where he has established herself as a respected voice in the industry.
