If you're interested in curious cultural phenomena, you may have taken notice of the tiny Pacific nation of Niue—an idyllic Polynesian Eden, which is depopulating itself so dramatically that it will soon turn spontaneously into a wildlife refuge.

By population, the smallest country in the world is the Vatican. Niue—pronounced "new way"—is the smallest republic. According to its most recent entry in the CIA World Factbook, which was made in 2014, Niue's population is 1,190. It has an area of about 100 square miles, which makes it a little less than half the size of Guam; a little less than one-fourteenth the size of Long Island. Niue has a lower population density than Russia, and one 55th the population of Yankee stadium with a capacity crowd.

Despite being a beautiful, tropical paradise, Niue's population is dropping by about 3 percent a year. In 2000, its population was 1900; in 1990, 2,332; in 1980, 3,402, and in 1950, nearly 5,000. The reason for the plummet, as you can probably guess, is the absence of jobs. Niue is unfathomably remote; 1,700 miles northeast of New Zealand; 2,800 southwest of Hawaii, 3,600 miles east of Australia. Few people see a future on the Island. Niue is an independent Republic in free association with New Zealand, and as part of the deal, Niue's citizens are also offered New Zealand citizenship. New Zealand's annual gross domestic product is $186 billion. Niue's is a little less than $25 million; by far the lowest of any country in the world (though not unimpressive for a country with only 1000 people in it). Its three main industries are tourism, fishing and agriculture; subsistence farming is common. The government is in debt, and receives considerable sponsorship from New Zealand, which is also, at Niue's request, responsible for Niue's national defense. The upshot of all this is that New Zealand is slowing siphoning off Niue's remaining Niueans. Unless something changes, the remaining, aging Niueans will die-off or move. Inevitably, before long, Niue will be empty, and that will be that.

By area, the smallest country in the world, is the Vatican. Monaco is second. The third smallest country in the world is Liberland, which is 2.7 square miles on the Danube between Croatia and Serbia. Liberland's tiny patch of territory was, prior 2015, terra nullius—Croatia said it belonged to Serbia and Serbia said it belonged to Croatia. Noticing this, libertarian activist Vit Jedlička claimed it, and established the pure libertarian Free Republic of Liberland. However, It's a country recognized by no one. The legal situation is this: Serbia claims the Danube as its north-western border with Croatia. Croatia says some of the land on the Serbian side of the Danube belongs to it, and some of the land on the Croatian side belongs to Serbia. This left a microscopic parcel of land on Croatia's side claimed by neither of the two.

As regards Liberland's claim, Serbia says it doesn't care. Croatia, however, has blocked Liberlandians from entering the area, fearing that if the land isn't accorded to Serbia, it will weaken the Croatian claims to the disputed land on the Danube's other side. So for the moment, Liberland is a stateless state.

But I admire it. Most Americans will, once they've had a look at it. Liberland's constitution, written in English and available on its website, borrows liberally from ours—most importantly, in its Bill of Rights. The problem with most almost-free countries is a lack of protection against an overbearing government; too many republican governments have been formed under the assumption that so long as a government is of the people and by the people, it is free to do whatever it wants for, or to, the people. Liberland preempts this problem with strict and explicit limits on the powers of government, and the most iron-clad and extensively detailed Bill of Rights ever written. The Bill of Rights broken down into sections on freedom of speech and information, property rights, privacy rights, the rights of the accused, rights of "physical liberty," equality before the law (including freedom of religion), and "the right to self-defense and defense of one's rights and property," including against the government. The primacy of Liberland's Bill of Rights is enshrined in its Constitution's preamble (which, keep in mind, was written by people for whom English is a second language): "Being aware of a long and shameful list of governments' trespasses to the Rights of the sovereign Individuals, we hereby declare that the Public Administration governing the Free Republic of Liberland shall first and foremost respect the Bill of Rights and exercise only such functions as have been delegated to it under this Constitution. Therefore, we declare that whenever the Public Administration becomes an obstacle to, rather than a guarantor of, our Rights, it shall be our duty to alter or abolish such government, and to institute a new government for the restoration of the Rights which we consider inherent in all human beings."

If you have some time, read the whole Liberland constitution—it's inspiring, even though it lacks the poetry of the American constitution. Though I should point out, the first draft of Liberland's constitution, from 2015, began very poetically: "We, the Citizens of the Free Republic of Liberland, in order to establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and future generations, do ordain and establish the Constitution of the Free Republic of Liberland."

Liberland is the republic that would have been created by John Locke and Milton Friedman—and Thomas Jefferson, et al, if they had been free of the obligation to compromise. It lacks land, but it has citizens—or at least perspective citizens: according to the Guardian, in the week following its 2015 declaration of independence, Liberland received 200,000 applications for citizenship.

Niue, on the other hand, has land: 100 square miles, 40 times as much as Liberland has claimed in the Balkans. But of course it lacks people—nearly the entire population could fit on a single Jumbo Jet. Citizens of Niue who wish to stay need an infusion of people, enough to create an economy with jobs and prospects for their children. Ideally, they want an infusion of people who won't interfere with their life style. In other words, they need libertarians—and as it happens, libertarians needs them.

It takes 3 years of residence to become a citizen of Niue. If a few thousand Liberlandians were to move there, they would save the island and the nation, and the remainders of Niue culture (only about 650 Niuean citizens are ethnically Niuean; only about 500 of those speak the Niueain language). After a few years, the libertarians could vote to amend the Niue constitution and institute their policies of pure freedom, none of which would encroach in anyway on the surviving Niuean traditions. The Liberlandians would have land on which to enjoy their utopian ideals, and—via the accompanying guarantees of free trade, a free market and businesses free from government interference—the Niuean economy would likely see "Asian Tiger" type economic growth (being so far off the beaten path, though, this would primary start as tax-haven growth).

Most importantly, the world will have a chance to see the success of a country based on unadulterated liberty, and—as a bonus—come to understand that America's strength and prosperity are not accidental.