Most presidential homes have grand entrances, security, and maybe some pillars. They’re also usually located in the country the president leads. But when I arrive at the home of Daniel Jackson, president of the Free Republic of Verdis, it’s neither grand nor on the Serbian-Croatian border where his country is supposed to be. Instead, it’s on a small street behind a bingo hall in Dover, Kent.
Jackson, who is 20, was born in Australia to British parents and lived in Melbourne until he was 17. When he was just 14, he and a group of friends decided they “wanted to do something unique.” While most kids their age were scrolling through TikTok, Jackson and his friends—some from southeast Europe whom he met online, others from Waverley Christian College, the private school he attended in Melbourne—studied maps and found an unclaimed strip of forest outside the borders of Croatia and Serbia. They thought it would be fun to try and turn it into a country, so they named it Verdis. This “micronation”—a small, largely unrecognized country, unlike officially recognized microstates like Andorra and Monaco—is just 1.6 hectares larger than Vatican City and has never been inhabited. It hasn’t been part of any nation since the breakup of Yugoslavia. “Obviously, that was more than 30 years ago,” Jackson says. “So we believe we have a rightful claim under international law.”
There’s no single, universal way to claim sovereignty over a territory, but Jackson and his fellow Verdis supporters have formed a government, established laws, mapped the area, planted a flag (pale blue and white stripes, very similar to Argentina’s), and received 15,000 citizenship applications, approving 400 of them. Legal experts have told Jackson that “under international law, the oldest active claimant to the land is the rightful claimant,” he explains. “That’s us, because Croatia and Serbia have never claimed this land.”
Verdis exists because of a border dispute in the region. Serbia considers the center line of the Danube as its border—a view mostly accepted since the end of the Croatian War of Independence in 1995. But Croatia wants the border to be “cadastral,” based on old maps. This disagreement has left a few unclaimed pockets of land, including Verdis, which lies on the Croatian side of the Danube but outside Croatia’s self-defined border.
“It was a bit of an experiment—we wanted to do something unique,” Jackson says. “And I thought: let’s make it a reality.”
Jackson and his government have always had a “positive experience” in Serbia, but Croatian authorities have refused to recognize Verdis, likely seeing it as an unhelpful presence in the border dispute. In October 2023, when Jackson and a group of citizens tried to settle permanently in Verdis, Croatian police forcibly removed them. Jackson and his vice-president, Hector Bowles—who splits his time between Dover and Bulgaria and was introduced to Jackson by a mutual friend—were given lifetime bans from Croatia. This is a major setback, since it’s hard to reach Verdis without entering Croatia.
So now Jackson is, as he puts it, “in exile,” staying with a family friend in Dover and working from home as a freelance game developer for the online platform Roblox. Still, when I show up at his door, the 20-year-old is in full presidential mode, wearing a suit and tie with a small metal Verdis flag pinned to his lapel. A much larger fabric flag is stretched across a display stand in the corner of an otherwise very ordinary living room.
I can’t help but feel a little surprised that Jackson has gone to such effort to prepare for my visit—and even more so when he insists on checking the bathroom.The place was left in good condition before I could use it. It’s all very charming, but it feels more like a roleplay of meeting a politician.
Jackson admits that at first, he didn’t take Verdis too seriously. “It was a bit of an experiment,” he says, inspired by Liberland—a larger patch of unclaimed land 20km north of Verdis. That micronation is also unclaimed by Croatia and Serbia and was declared independent in 2015 by Czech right-wing politician Vít Jedlička, who intended it to be a tax haven.
“We liked the idea of Liberland, but we didn’t fully agree with its ideology,” Jackson says. So they decided to create their own version. The name Verdis was chosen for its similarity to the Latin word for green—viridis—and the initial concept was to focus on environmental issues. For several years, Verdis remained just an idea, until 2023, when interest began to grow. Jackson, then 18, made several trips to the territory with other supporters. “We brought in tree surgeons, did a lot of surveying work, and camped there for quite a while if you add up all the trips,” he says. “I thought: let’s make it a reality.”
While I can almost wrap my head around a wild teenage idea that got out of control, I struggle to understand why Jackson is still pouring so much into a project that’s a constant struggle. He spends hours learning Serbian and Croatian (Verdis’s other official languages, besides English), constantly raises awareness, and creates passports that can’t even be used for travel (though he says they work as ID in bars, which he’s used “many times”). Funding is another issue—though government positions are voluntary, Verdis covers ministers’ travel costs and website hosting (using a third party was deemed too risky). They raise money by selling merchandise, asking for donations, and offering citizenship through investment. This month, the country received over $37,000 in donations from cryptocurrency enthusiasts through an unaffiliated coin called $Verdis.
Clearly, some people understand Jackson’s motivation better than I do. Part of it might be my gender—just as it’s often the men on Grand Designs who are determined to build their dream home at any cost, it seems men are more inclined to start a new country: 70% of Verdis’s citizens and all seven government ministers are men. Jackson assures me this isn’t due to any “meninist” agenda, and he’d like to change it, but “it’s a lot harder to find women who are interested in getting involved.”
While waiting to turn his settlement plans into reality, Jackson has been promoting Verdis locally. He loves kebabs, and his loyalty has led the staff at Dover Kebab to post about Verdis on Instagram. Jackson moved to Dover after dropping out of school at 17. Australia’s “quite severe” COVID-19 lockdown “killed a lot of my motivation to keep attending school,” he says. He wanted a “fresh start” and had “always preferred being in the UK” over Australia, having visited often as a child to see family. He iniHe initially secured a job with the ferry company DFDS on the Dover to Dunkirk route. While freelance work suits him better these days—especially with his frequent trips to southeast Europe—he still loves the ferries and plans to treat himself to a short trip to Calais soon. He had a busy July, traveling to Serbia to raise awareness about Verdis and briefly visiting Verdis itself, where Croatian police once again forced him off the land.
Jackson claims he has been assured that, under international law, the territory rightfully belongs to him. However, he points out, “It’s hard for us to take legal action against Croatia when they won’t let us access their legal system.” He mentions a recent case where citizens of Liberland tried to sue a Croatian police officer for injuring one of them, but the judge dismissed the case because the incident didn’t occur on Croatian soil. Jackson believes any similar attempts by Verdisians would likely be rejected in the same way. To bring a case to the European Court of Human Rights, he explains, “we first have to exhaust all legal options in Croatia, which is very difficult for us.” Croatian authorities were contacted but did not comment on Jackson’s case.
Jackson’s main goal is to reestablish a settlement on the land. Doing so would unlock funding from an NGO (which he can’t name due to a nondisclosure agreement) and significantly improve Verdis’s chances of gaining official recognition as a state. But he says Croatia has “now installed cameras all along Verdis’s coastline, so if you linger in territorial waters for even 10 minutes, a Croatian police boat will quickly head your way.” Jackson and his associates must be cautious—after a 2023 deportation, some of Verdis’s boats went missing, and he suspects Croatian authorities took them.
Despite these challenges, Jackson remains remarkably hopeful. “Croatia still insists Verdis is not part of Croatia,” he says. “So we believe it’s a matter of when, not if, we return to the land.” He hopes that increased publicity or a change in Croatia’s government might lead to recognition of Verdis—and even future cooperation. “Even though we’re unhappy with Croatia’s actions, especially their violations of international law and their treatment of our citizens, we still want good relations with them in the future,” Jackson adds.
It’s unclear whether his persistent optimism stems from his youth or his personality, but Jackson is convinced he will one day live in Verdis and has many ideas for what the country could become. While the original environmental focus has taken a back seat (“We still want to be environmentally conscious… but as Verdis’s population grows, we’ll have to relocate a lot of wildlife”), he envisions it as a neutral state—a middle ground between other nations and a hub for NGOs. Humanitarian work is a priority for Verdis’s government; most cabinet members have aid experience. For example, Bowles founded the Dover-based charity DIY Ukraine in 2022 to deliver supplies to Ukrainians, and Verdis previously ran its own aid program through this charity.
Although Jackson says Verdis “would want to be part of the eurozone,” EU membership is not a goal: “I am very pro-EU, but the EU isn’t designed for small countries.”On the other hand, a Eurovision entry is very much on the table. “We would honestly love to,” Jackson says, noting that Verdis already has “quite a few connections with Eurovision contestants”—including Luke Black, Serbia’s 2023 representative, whom Jackson has met and describes as “quite a big supporter” of Verdis. When contacted by the Guardian, Black said he found Jackson’s vision for Verdis “interesting, especially given he’s in his early 20s and leading such an initiative.” Though he clarified he is “not affiliated with Verdis in any way,” the singer added, “I wish them well in their efforts.”
Surprisingly, despite all the time and energy Jackson has poured into creating Verdis and his hopes for its future, he plans to step down as president once the country becomes an established state. “I just want to be a normal citizen by then,” he says. His own political views are “centrist,” but he would accept the outcome of an election. “Even if I don’t agree with the next president’s views, that’s up to the people of Verdis to decide, and I would always respect that.”
He suspects some members of his cabinet might be interested in running for president, while others, like him, have already grown “exhausted” by the workload. “It would be nice to have a break,” he admits. “But we won’t give up.”
I can’t help but wonder again why he’s going through all this trouble when it’s such an uphill battle, and the reward—a small, currently uninhabitable piece of land—seems so modest. “You have to be nuts to start something like this, of course,” he concedes. “But the world is boring without trying something crazy.”
This article was amended on 19 August 2025. Croatia lies west of Verdis and Serbia to the east, not the other way around as previously stated in the map caption.
Frequently Asked Questions
Of course Here is a list of helpful and clear FAQs about the story of the boy who started his own country to compete in Eurovision
General Beginner Questions
Q What is this story about
A Its about a young boy who discovered a small unclaimed piece of land between Serbia and Croatia He declared it an independent nation called Liberland with the initial goal of entering the Eurovision Song Contest
Q What is Eurovision and why is it a big deal
A Eurovision is a massive international song competition held every year primarily between European countries Its famous for its catchy pop songs overthetop performances and passionate fanbase making it a huge cultural event
Q What is the name of this selfdeclared country
A Its called the Free Republic of Liberland
Q Who started Liberland
A It was founded by Vít Jedlika a Czech politician and activist in April 2015
Q Where exactly is Liberland located
A Its on a small patch of land on the western bank of the Danube River near the border between Serbia and Croatia Its existence is based on a border dispute between those two countries
Advanced Practical Questions
Q Is Liberland officially recognized as a country
A No No member of the United Nations including Serbia or Croatia officially recognizes Liberland as a sovereign state It is considered a micronation
Q What is a micronation
A A micronation is an entity that claims to be an independent nation but is not officially recognized by world governments or major international organizations
Q Did Liberland ever actually compete in Eurovision
A No To compete in Eurovision a country must be an active member of the European Broadcasting Union Since Liberland lacks international recognition it is not eligible to join the EBU or participate
Q What were the main goals behind creating Liberland besides Eurovision
A Its stated founding principles are to create a society with minimal government intervention low taxes and maximum personal and economic freedom
Q Can people visit or even become citizens of Liberland
A While over half a million people have applied for citizenship online physically accessing the territory is difficult Croatian police often block access and have
