Somewhere between the date palm farms of California’s Coachella Valley and the Mexican border, there is a sunburnt stretch of desert where Crocs are constitutionally banned, reply-all emails are a punishable offense, and speeding is technically legal — but only if you’re racing home with tacos.
This is the Republic of Slowjamastan, the world’s newest micronation, and it began the way most great ideas do: with a global pandemic, too much time, and a real estate listing.
The $19,500 Country
Randy Williams has spent most of his professional life behind a microphone. As programme director for two San Diego radio stations and the host of Sunday Night Slow Jams — a slow jam radio show now syndicated to more than 250 stations — he is known to his listeners as “R Dub.” He is also, since 2021, the Sultan of a sovereign nation.
The origin story is straightforward. Williams had spent years methodically visiting every United Nations-recognized country in the world. By early 2020, he was down to one. Then the world locked down. Grounded and restless, he pivoted. “If I can’t visit another country,” he reasoned, “why not create one?”
He scoured a real estate site with a specific set of requirements: more than five acres, accessible by paved road, within driving distance of San Diego. A single listing appeared — 11 acres of undeveloped scrubland in the Coachella Valley desert, listed for $19,500. He bought it.
Building a Nation From Scratch
The early infrastructure was modest. Williams and his best friend Mark Corona drove a presidential-looking desk out to the property, unloaded it in the middle of the desert, and started putting up road signs on California State Route 78. Local authorities promptly cited the signs for sitting too close to the road. Williams moved them slightly and kept going.
What followed was a five-year escalation that now includes a border checkpoint, a national police force, a fire truck, a broken-down submarine named the SS Badassin (“designed to protect the land from any smuggling”), a national anthem sung to the tune of Elton John’s “Rocket Man,” and a minted currency. The land has been divided into states — among them Dublândia, Bucksylvania, and the Queendom of Hotdamnastan.
The Sultan’s look — pressed military uniform, dark sunglasses, ornate detailing — is, by his own admission, inspired by the theatrical style of Muammar Gaddafi. His accent in official contexts is what he calls a “GFA” — a general foreign accent — complete with rolled Rs and elongated vowels. A collection of actual dictatorship propaganda adorns the walls of his consulate, which is located in his office at the radio station.
25,000 Citizens, Zero Politics
Slowjamastan currently has 25,000 self-registered citizens from 120 countries — more than the recognized populations of Vatican City, Tuvalu, and Palau. Citizenship is free, acquired through an online form. For those seeking a more formal relationship with the dictatorship, paid titles are available: ambassadors pay $10–25 a month, and anyone can become a Member of Parliament for a modest fee. “Maybe you’re a guy in North Carolina and you want to make your LinkedIn a lot stronger,” Williams explained. “Boom — you’re a Member of Parliament.”
What unites citizens across 120 nations, the Sultan says, is less civic pride than the need for a break. Slowjamastan’s founding law bans discussion of real-world politics entirely — by constitutional decree. In a moment when Americans are losing friends and family over political disagreements and many are exploring foreign citizenship options, that particular policy may be its most popular feature. About 50% of current citizens are American.
“Slowjamastan is the escape from all of that,” Williams said. “Every moment you open Facebook, people are losing friends and family members over politics. It’s gotten so bad.”
The Larger World of Fake Countries
Slowjamastan is unusual but not unique. Hundreds of micronations exist worldwide — some planted in international waters, others in suburban backyards. In 2027, Slowjamastan will host MicroCon, a gathering of more than 43 self-proclaimed states, from the Bomber Republic to Dragon Isle. The event’s website describes it as “cosplay meets statecraft,” which is perhaps the most accurate summary of the entire enterprise.
Williams finally made it to Turkmenistan — his last remaining UN-recognized country — in May 2023, completing the quest that had originally sent him to that real estate listing. By then, Slowjamastan had long since stopped being a COVID substitute and become something else: a genuine community built around the specific pleasure of opting out of everything for a few minutes and pledging allegiance to a country where the national animal is a raccoon.
“Slowjamastan doesn’t belong to me,” he said, then corrected himself. “Well, I am a dictator. But it really belongs to everyone.”