The Nevada Sagebrush

Emily Katseanes

A weekend ago, I spent a few hours relaxing away from the United States. Just an hour outside Reno, the foreign country of Molossia was the second house on the left, the one with flags and signs.

The Republic of Molossia is one of about 10 United States micronations, small swaths of land or sea declared independent by men or women.

Micronations span in seriousness from teenage boys declaring their rooms independent to the Principality of Sealand, a radio broadcast tower off Great Britain that got into an international kerfuffle when German citizens tried to take it over.

Though micronations are largely unrecognized by more legitimate governments, Molossia, like other micronations, has its own money, measurement system, monuments, post office (with stamps), rail system, national holidays, time zone, navy and dictator, President Kevin Baugh. Well, he was a dictator, until he overthrew himself and established a Republic.

Baugh was also the first national leader I’ve shaken hands with and my personal tour guide around his country.

President Kevin Baugh of the Republic of Molossia, an independent micronation outside of Dayton. Micronations are areas of land or sea declared independent, though they are largely unrecognized by world governments. (Photo by Nick Coltrain)

Baugh greeted me in his driveway and waved toward where it met the road.

“Over there is the U.S.,” he said.

One of the first stops was Republic Square, a paved sitting area with a flagpole and bench in front of Baugh’s house. This was where the Carson City Symphony brought out its brass section to play for Founder’s Day last year. It’s also where the blue, white and green striped Molossian flag flies every day (“Unless it’s snowy and I don’t feel like getting up off the couch,” Baugh said).

Though Baugh admits Molossia is mostly silly, small bits of more serious business creep in on our tour.

He displays a Peace Pole in the front yard (“because we always want peace on Earth”) and works to unite other microleaders, from a virtual Olympics (competitors ran separately and compared times) to giving out microloans in the name of micronations through Kiva, a charity that connects individual donors with people in Third World nations seeking small loans to start businesses.

“Yeah, it’s essentially a hobby, but we’re coming together from all over to make a real difference,” Baugh said.

Baugh has also waged wars with his coworker in the Moustachian War (to prove he could) and his neighbors in the Dead Dog War (to get them to re-bury a deceased pet on their own property). Molossia even experienced a health care crisis (when they ran out of Band-Aids).

“Take a look at what I’m doing because that’s what ‘real’ countries do,” he said. “As a citizen of a ‘real’ country, do you want your country doing these things?”

Behind the Government House, where Baugh and the five other Molossian citizens live, I met half the population and saw the national railroad.

I was formally introduced to Tigger, a Chihuahua mix, Annie, a Boston Terrier, and Duncan, a West Highland White Terrier.  Molossians are very friendly, but be warned: They may lick. (Later in my visit, there was a small insurrection when Annie wouldn’t listen to the President and refused to jump down from a picnic table.)

The Molossia Railroad is a G scale model set that snakes around Norton Park — a backyard with the miniature railroad as a centerpiece. The train goes through two tunnels and stops in the tiny towns of Steinsdorf, a German villa with a plastic man perpetually waiting for a train over a beer stein, and Silver Hill, an Old West mining town, as only befits the history of Molossia’s neighbor, Nevada.

“When I’m famous, I’ll have one I can actually ride,” Baugh said. “That’s my goal.”

Beyond Norton Park are Molossia’s war monuments, the space program’s stomp rocket launch pad and the country’s first tourist attraction, a small metal tower with multi-colored flags called Tower of the Winds.

“You have to use your imagination,” Baugh said. “Where you would see a kayak, I see a ship in my Imperial Navy.”

At the end of my tour, Baugh stamped my passport, assuring me Molossia’s seal would in no way invalidate it, and presented me with a certificate accrediting me as a member of Molossia’s space program (I got to launch the stomp rocket).

Baugh stamps a passport as proof of a visit to Molossia.

While chatting, Baugh became more emphatic when he talked about how micronations get people involved in their own world.

“Go stick your T-shirt on a stick to make a flag and go to the park, the nearest wilderness area and say, ‘This is my country,’” Baugh said. “You don’t really need a lot of money, just imagination. It’s like playing in the backyard.”

Emily Katseanes is the Perspectives editor. She hasn’t declared her house an independent country, but she might make her desk one. Reach her at ekatseanes@nevadasagebrush.com.

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