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Open Democracy, UK
July 12 2005
Recognise us! The Unrepresented Nations & Peoples Organisation
Andrew Mueller
12 - 7 - 2005
The world's stateless nations are fighting against local oppressors and
global invisibility by sharing experiences, problems - and soccer skills.
Andrew Mueller reports from the conference of the Unrepresented Nations &
Peoples Organisation.
They sound more like Monty Python sketches than sporting fixtures: football
matches pitting the Chechen Republic of Ichkeria against Southern
Cameroons,and West Papua versus South Moluccas. Yet these games occurred, in
June 2005, in the yet more unlikely setting of The Hague, and they may -
eventually - add up to the precursor of a small revolution in the
geopolitical consciousness.
This four-team tournament (won, incidentally, by South Moluccas in a
spirited 3-2 final against Ichkeria) was a curtain-raiser to the seventh
general assembly of the Unrepresented Nations & Peoples Organisation (Unpo),
a sort of un-UN for countries which, if the United Nations were a nightclub,
would be rebuffed by the bouncers with a firm `your name's not down, you're
not coming in'.
Despite the notable absence of solidarity and goodwill from the final -
which might, by all accounts, have necessitated the deployment of some sort
of international peacekeeping force had it gone to extra-time - the first
Unpo Cup was judged a success. One of the resolutions agreed by the general
assembly was the establishment of a full-scale World Cup for non-nations, an
event which could result in some truly fantastical contests: Tatarstan vs
Buryatia, Cabinda vs Nagaland, Kurdistan vs Somaliland, East Turkestan vs
Circassia, Zanzibar vs Scania, Assyria vs Mapuche.
The Unpo general assembly on 24-26 June looked like any international
summit: there was a circular arrangement of sombre delegates, most in suits,
some in more exotic national dress, their flags arranged along the wall
behind the conference chair.
It also sounded like any international summit, which is to say that a great
deal of the deliberations was devoted to eye-watering procedural detail and
speeches which could have benefited from rigorous, if not actually brutal,
editing. The only immediately noticeable difference was that the flags were
not the ones usually flying at such wingdings. These, instead, were the
banners of those nationalities who, due to varying combinations of bad luck,
betrayal, occupation, injustice, invasion, indifference and the whims of
history, have missed out on the security and standing of statehood.
The anguish of the invisible
Some of the entities represented by these flags of the Unpo delegations were
entrancingly obscure: aside from the above-mentioned, there were
representatives from Chuvash, Abkhazia, Aceh, Khmer Krom, and the Buffalo
River Dene Nation, an Indian community in Canada.
A couple are reasonably well-known: Kosova (Kosovo), which was bombed into a
limbo of semi-independence from Serbia by Nato in 1999; Tibet, which has
become a popular cause among actors, rock groups and others whose likelihood
of being able to point to Tibet on a map would seem a poor bet. Another is a
full-fledged first-world powerhouse: Taiwan, owner of the world's
17th-largest economy, and a formidable modern military.
There were also a couple of delegations clamouring for entry to this club
for peoples with nowhere else to go: Baluchistan and Talish, both of whom
reacted to their formal admissions to the Unpo with a delight which was
genuinely moving.
The existence of the Unpo and, more to the point, the sixty organisations
and parties which constitute its membership, seems an anomaly. We are,
allegedly, and especially in Europe, living in an increasingly post-state
world, where national identity counts for less and less, and borders for
even less than that. This is, of course, a wholly logical approach: given
that we do absolutely nothing to earn or deserve a national identity beyond
being born or raised on one or other side of a line on a map, it is absurd
that people regard their nationality as important.
We all do, though: go anywhere in the world, stop anyone in the street, and
ask them to describe themselves. In no particular order, they'll tell you
their name, their job, and where they're from. That being the case, it is
possible to imagine the anguish of people for whom where they're from isn't
an instantly recognisable brand, but the beginning of a sequence of
bewildered questions.
The ladder of recognition
I can go anywhere in the world and tell people I'm Australian. While many
people will have only a cartoonish image of what that means, the not
displeasing idea often arises that, despite appearances, I'm a rugged son of
the bush, capable of killing a crocodile with my bare hands. At least no one
asks: `where the hell's Australia?' or `is that even a place?'
Statehood, and the right to think of oneself as the citizen of a state, are
precious prizes which history and geography distribute with terrifying
caprice, something illustrated perfectly by the situation of the Unpo's
office in The Hague.
The Netherlands is a small country with no obvious natural borders which has
been invaded, occupied, liberated, united and separated many times, and
which could have ceased to exist on several occasions; it was once, indeed,
rent by a secessionist movement similar to those attending the general
assembly, when the southern Netherlands seceded in 1830 and established
itself as Belgium.
There is no especially good reason why the Netherlands should have a seat in
the United Nations, ambassadors in every capital, a monarchy, its own
military and a place in the World Cup draw and why Kurdistan (to pick but
one example) should not.
The Unpo is regarded by the members I met at the general assembly as an
important and necessary halfway house, especially in facilitating contact
with international bodies like Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch,
whose attentions are often all too necessary in places where questions of
nationality and sovereignty are in dispute.
The Unpo is, however, struggling for funds. In its fourteen-year history,
six of its former members have been promoted up a division to full-fledged
statehood: Estonia, Latvia, Armenia, Georgia, Palau and East Timor. It would
be a splendid gesture on the part of all six if they spared a thought, and a
few dollars, for those still struggling in the lower leagues who aspire to
join them.
July 12 2005
Recognise us! The Unrepresented Nations & Peoples Organisation
Andrew Mueller
12 - 7 - 2005
The world's stateless nations are fighting against local oppressors and
global invisibility by sharing experiences, problems - and soccer skills.
Andrew Mueller reports from the conference of the Unrepresented Nations &
Peoples Organisation.
They sound more like Monty Python sketches than sporting fixtures: football
matches pitting the Chechen Republic of Ichkeria against Southern
Cameroons,and West Papua versus South Moluccas. Yet these games occurred, in
June 2005, in the yet more unlikely setting of The Hague, and they may -
eventually - add up to the precursor of a small revolution in the
geopolitical consciousness.
This four-team tournament (won, incidentally, by South Moluccas in a
spirited 3-2 final against Ichkeria) was a curtain-raiser to the seventh
general assembly of the Unrepresented Nations & Peoples Organisation (Unpo),
a sort of un-UN for countries which, if the United Nations were a nightclub,
would be rebuffed by the bouncers with a firm `your name's not down, you're
not coming in'.
Despite the notable absence of solidarity and goodwill from the final -
which might, by all accounts, have necessitated the deployment of some sort
of international peacekeeping force had it gone to extra-time - the first
Unpo Cup was judged a success. One of the resolutions agreed by the general
assembly was the establishment of a full-scale World Cup for non-nations, an
event which could result in some truly fantastical contests: Tatarstan vs
Buryatia, Cabinda vs Nagaland, Kurdistan vs Somaliland, East Turkestan vs
Circassia, Zanzibar vs Scania, Assyria vs Mapuche.
The Unpo general assembly on 24-26 June looked like any international
summit: there was a circular arrangement of sombre delegates, most in suits,
some in more exotic national dress, their flags arranged along the wall
behind the conference chair.
It also sounded like any international summit, which is to say that a great
deal of the deliberations was devoted to eye-watering procedural detail and
speeches which could have benefited from rigorous, if not actually brutal,
editing. The only immediately noticeable difference was that the flags were
not the ones usually flying at such wingdings. These, instead, were the
banners of those nationalities who, due to varying combinations of bad luck,
betrayal, occupation, injustice, invasion, indifference and the whims of
history, have missed out on the security and standing of statehood.
The anguish of the invisible
Some of the entities represented by these flags of the Unpo delegations were
entrancingly obscure: aside from the above-mentioned, there were
representatives from Chuvash, Abkhazia, Aceh, Khmer Krom, and the Buffalo
River Dene Nation, an Indian community in Canada.
A couple are reasonably well-known: Kosova (Kosovo), which was bombed into a
limbo of semi-independence from Serbia by Nato in 1999; Tibet, which has
become a popular cause among actors, rock groups and others whose likelihood
of being able to point to Tibet on a map would seem a poor bet. Another is a
full-fledged first-world powerhouse: Taiwan, owner of the world's
17th-largest economy, and a formidable modern military.
There were also a couple of delegations clamouring for entry to this club
for peoples with nowhere else to go: Baluchistan and Talish, both of whom
reacted to their formal admissions to the Unpo with a delight which was
genuinely moving.
The existence of the Unpo and, more to the point, the sixty organisations
and parties which constitute its membership, seems an anomaly. We are,
allegedly, and especially in Europe, living in an increasingly post-state
world, where national identity counts for less and less, and borders for
even less than that. This is, of course, a wholly logical approach: given
that we do absolutely nothing to earn or deserve a national identity beyond
being born or raised on one or other side of a line on a map, it is absurd
that people regard their nationality as important.
We all do, though: go anywhere in the world, stop anyone in the street, and
ask them to describe themselves. In no particular order, they'll tell you
their name, their job, and where they're from. That being the case, it is
possible to imagine the anguish of people for whom where they're from isn't
an instantly recognisable brand, but the beginning of a sequence of
bewildered questions.
The ladder of recognition
I can go anywhere in the world and tell people I'm Australian. While many
people will have only a cartoonish image of what that means, the not
displeasing idea often arises that, despite appearances, I'm a rugged son of
the bush, capable of killing a crocodile with my bare hands. At least no one
asks: `where the hell's Australia?' or `is that even a place?'
Statehood, and the right to think of oneself as the citizen of a state, are
precious prizes which history and geography distribute with terrifying
caprice, something illustrated perfectly by the situation of the Unpo's
office in The Hague.
The Netherlands is a small country with no obvious natural borders which has
been invaded, occupied, liberated, united and separated many times, and
which could have ceased to exist on several occasions; it was once, indeed,
rent by a secessionist movement similar to those attending the general
assembly, when the southern Netherlands seceded in 1830 and established
itself as Belgium.
There is no especially good reason why the Netherlands should have a seat in
the United Nations, ambassadors in every capital, a monarchy, its own
military and a place in the World Cup draw and why Kurdistan (to pick but
one example) should not.
The Unpo is regarded by the members I met at the general assembly as an
important and necessary halfway house, especially in facilitating contact
with international bodies like Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch,
whose attentions are often all too necessary in places where questions of
nationality and sovereignty are in dispute.
The Unpo is, however, struggling for funds. In its fourteen-year history,
six of its former members have been promoted up a division to full-fledged
statehood: Estonia, Latvia, Armenia, Georgia, Palau and East Timor. It would
be a splendid gesture on the part of all six if they spared a thought, and a
few dollars, for those still struggling in the lower leagues who aspire to
join them.