Defining what makes a country
In quite a state
How many countries in the world? The answer to that question is
surprisingly difficult
Apr 8th 2010 | From The
Economist
APPLY online for visa-free entry
to the United States and the Department for Homeland Sec urity
offers 251 choices for “country where you live”. The wide but rum
selection includes Bou vet Island, an uninhabitable icy knoll
belonging to Norway in the South Atlantic; South Yemen (which
stopped being a state in 1990); and the “Neutral Zone”—a
diamond-shaped bit of des ert between Saudi Arabia and Iraq
that vanished after the 1991 Gulf war.
That is the trouble with such lists. Places that are not real states
at all end up on them. And places that approximate a bit more
closely to countries (at least in their own eyes) may be absent.
America’s list, for example, excludes Abkhazia and South Ossetia,
self-proclaimed sta tes that broke away from Georgia with
Russian backing. Just three other countries—Nicara gua, Venezuela
and the islet of Nauru—recognise those breakaway statelets as
independent. Meanwhile nobody at all in the outside world seems
ready—yet—to give southern Sudan a label of its own, though that day
may not be far off.
Private-sector lists are just as odd as those compiled by
governments. Hotmail offers 242 “countries/territories” from which
you can register an e-mail account. Web-savvy penguins may be
pleased that Bouvet Island is on the list. But human beings in
Kosovo (recognised by 65 states) and Western Sahara (more than 80)
will search in vain for their homeland.
Any attempt to find a clear definition of a country soon runs into a
thicket of exceptions and anomalies. Diplomatic recognition is
clearly not much guide to real life. In the early years of the cold
war most countries recognised the Chinese regime in
Taiwan (“Free China”) while the
mainland communists (“Red China”) were isolated. Now the absurdity
is the other way round. The number of countries with formal
diplomatic ties to Taiwan has
shrivelled to just 23—mostly small, cash-strapped islands. Yet
Taiwan is not just a country, but a
rather important one. Under mainland-pleasing names such as “Chinese
Taipei” it is a member of the Asian Develop ment Bank and the
World Trade Organisation, and an observer at some OECD panels. It
has nearly 100 “trade offices” around the world.
If diplomatic recognition is not the main thing that marks out a
country, what does? Is it the ability to issue passports that are of
some use to the holder, or simply actual control of a str etch
of land? Again, the picture is cloudy. Legitimacy, physical control
and the capacity to iss ue documents that other people accept
don’t always coincide. For example, lots of countries that do not
recognise Kosovo accept travellers bearing its passports. For
decades, Lithuania’s exiled diplomats issued usable passports even
though their country was under Soviet rule. The Sovereign Military
Order of Malta, a do-gooding outfit with crusader roots, issues not
only passports but postage stamps (and has diplomatic relations with
over 100 countries). Its territory is just two nice buildings in
Rome. Vatican City, an enclave of just 44 hectares in the middle of
Italy’s capital, is only a little bigger—but it very much sees
itself as a sovereign state (see article). Yet the Vatican’s
diplomats serve the papacy—the Holy See—rather than the state where
it is based. And the See, not the statelet, is an observer at the
United Nations.
Not that presence or absence from the UN is much help to anyone
seeking clarity. Israel joined the world body in 1949, but 19 of its
192 members do not accept the Jewish state’s existence, and many
avoid uttering its name, preferring formulas like “Zionist entity”.
A third of UN memb ers do recognise Kosovo, but the UN itself
does not.
Living in limbo
In reality, UN membership is neither a necessary nor a sufficient
condition for functioning statehood. Being outside the UN means that
Kosovo is still waiting for its own internet domain name, phone
prefix and chance to play international football. But
Taiwan, recognised by even fewer
countries, manages to have all three.
The Turkish-backed administration in northern Cyprus proclaimed
independence in 1983 but it has been recognised only by Turkey and
remains in a state of partial economic isolation. Attempts have been
made to start direct air links with Britain, but in 2009 a court
ruled that this would contravene international law which gives the
island’s internationally recognised government (which controls the
Greek-speaking part of the island) sovereignty over its airsp
ace.
A German thinker, Max Weber, defined statehood as “the monopoly of
the legitimate use of violence”. That may be a practical approach
but it doesn’t end the confusion. Chaotic Somalia spectacularly
fails to meet this criterion, yet still counts as a sovereign state.
Yet its northern bit, Somaliland,
has met this standard with increasing
impressiveness since it declared
indepe ndence in 1991. It has a currency, car registrations
and even biometric passports. But only private firms such as DHL, a
courier company, link it to the outside world. International postal
service requires membership of the Universal Postal Union, which for
non-members of the UN need approval by at least two-thirds of that
body’s members. The African Union refuses to recognise
Somaliland’s independence because it
dislikes changing any African borders. Outsiders hold back until
African countries change their minds.
One reason for confusion is simple laziness. Deleting countries that
have disappeared or plac es that have always been uninhabited
should be easy (the Department of Homeland Security blames
out-of-date historical data for its list and says it will change it
soon). But sheer inertia, and a feeling among many sovereign states
that changes of boundary and status set a bad precedent, makes
changes less likely.
How far a populated patch of land qualifies as a country is
ultimately a subjective question for politicians; it will never be
settled by lawyers in a way that everybody accepts. And the fact
that there are degrees of recognition—ranging from full diplomatic
ties to virtually denying a state’s existence—gives governments a
calibrated set of tools which can be used to reward good behaviour
and penalise bad.
And whatever diplomatic theory says, life goes on.
Taiwan is celebrating a friendly
resolution from the European Parliament, and dishing out aid to
Haiti. Kosovo rents dialling codes from Monaco and Slovenia. A
football championship for teams from unrecognised countries is due
to start next month in Malta. And a delegation of senior politicians
from Somaliland had a friendly meeting
at the White House on April 3rd. Presumably they had squared things
with immigration control.
Source:The Economist
|