Far from being a vestige of the colonial past or the post-war world, secessionist movements — fueled by ethnic identities, historical resentments, economic ambitions, or geopolitical manipulations — continue to open gaps on the world map, feeding armed conflicts, massive displacements, and a permanent questioning of established borders. From the Balkans to the Caucasus, from the African steppes to the South American Andes, these claims not only test the territorial integrity of states but also erode the fragile architecture of global security.
The phenomenon is not new, but its ability to mutate and adapt to the times makes it a top-order challenge for the 21st century. Contemporary history is marked by episodes in which national or ethnic minorities, real or instrumentalized, have served as a pretext or trigger for catastrophes on a planetary scale. After World War I, the Treaty of Versailles, with its desire to redraw Europe on supposedly national bases, left millions of ethnic Germans turned into minorities in the new states of Czechoslovakia and Poland. Those called “Sudeten” were the crack that Adolf Hitler expertly exploited through propaganda to justify first the annexation of the Sudetenland and, shortly thereafter, the invasion of Poland in 1939, thus unleashing World War II. Nazi expansionism demonstrated how a separatist claim, skillfully manipulated, could become the battering ram for a global conflagration.
Decades later, in the Balkans, the Albanian separatism in Kosovo once again starkly illustrated the dangers of these dynamics. The war of 1998-1999, which pitted Yugoslav forces against the Kosovo Liberation Army and culminated in NATO's air intervention, resulted in over 13,500 deaths, 1.4 million displaced Albanians, and later the exodus of 200,000 Serbs and other non-Albanian minorities. The Kumanovo Treaty ended hostilities but not tensions: Kosovo declared its independence in 2008, recognized only partially, and remains a focal point of legal and political controversy that highlights the limits of international consensus. Serbia, having become the European country with the highest number of refugees and displaced persons, still bears the scars of that conflict.
These are not isolated cases. In Africa, borders drawn by European colonial powers without any respect for ethnic or tribal realities sowed the ground for later tragedies. The Biafra war in Nigeria, from 1967 to 1970, was a paradigm example: the secession attempt of the southeastern region, rich in oil and predominantly inhabited by Igbos, led to a brutal civil war that resulted in at least one million deaths and two million displacements. The internationalization of the conflict, with mercenaries and foreign powers involved under the UN umbrella, foreshadowed a pattern that would repeat itself in other post-colonial scenarios. Today, in the Sahel, in Algeria's Kabylie, or in the Western Sahara conflict — where the Polisario Front has kept tens of thousands of Sahrawis in Tindouf camps since 1975, on Algerian territory — ethnic and tribal separatism continues to generate chronic instability, worsened by climate change, desertification, and interstate rivalries.
In Asia, the Kurdish question embodies more than any other the tragedy of a stateless people. More than forty million Kurds scattered across Turkey, Iraq, Iran, and Syria have turned Kurdistan into a permanent source of instability, with armed organizations oscillating between the fight for autonomy and open confrontation. Their situation, marked by state repression and systematic human rights violations, is replicated in other cases: the Uighurs of Xinjiang, eight million Muslims subjected by Beijing to extreme surveillance and “re-education” camps to eradicate what the Communist Party labels as “extremism”; the Tibetans, whose resistance — including public self-immolations between 2010 and 2012 — has been met with detentions and torture; or the eternal dispute over Taiwan, a prosperous and functional democracy that operates as a de facto state but remains excluded from universal recognition due to Chinese diplomatic pressure.
Latin America does not escape this dynamic, although its manifestations are less lethal in wartime terms. In Canada, Quebec independence has marked national politics for decades. In the United States, Puerto Rican nationalists staged a wave of attacks in the 1970s and 80s. In the Southern Cone, the Mapuche movement — which claims a “Wallmapu” that would stretch from the Limarí River in Chile to Argentine Patagonia — combines legitimate territorial demands with violent actions that have led to arson, sabotage, and confrontations with security forces. Organizations like the Arauco Malleco Coordinator or the Ancestral Mapuche Resistance (RAM), led in Argentina by figures like Facundo Jones Huala, have declared a “liberation war” against the “bourgeois state”, forestry companies, and churches, taking advantage of the porous Andean border to operate in both countries. In Bolivia, former president Evo Morales has encouraged projects like an “Aymara Republic” around Lake Titicaca, while in Santa Cruz de la Sierra, a contrary separatism persists, driven by elites of European descent resistant to the indigenous centralism of La Paz.
Separatism takes diverse forms, complicating its classification and, above all, its containment. It can be ethnic, as in the Kurdish or Igbo case; linguistic and cultural, as in Catalonia, Scotland, or the Basque Country, where predominantly peaceful movements have challenged the territorial integrity of established democratic states; religious, as among the Baluchis of “Jaish al-Adl”, whose recent prominence in missile and drone exchanges between Pakistan and Iran illustrates how armed minorities can internationalize regional tensions; or economic, when resource-rich regions — oil in Biafra, gas in Iraqi Kurdistan — seek to break ties with centers perceived as exploiters. Sometimes it appears merely as a demand for autonomy; at other times, as an explicit project for independence. What underlies all of them is a narrative of differentiated identity, often accompanied by perceptions — real or constructed — of discrimination and marginalization.
One of the most disturbing aspects of contemporary separatism is the proliferation of entities that function as de facto states but lack full international recognition. Somaliland, which has been operating since 1991 with a constitution, currency, its own government, and a higher level of stability than chaotic Somalia, remains an unrecognized state despite having held multi-party elections validated by international observers. Puntland, in the same Horn of Africa, shares that legal limbo. In the Caucasus, Abkhazia and South Ossetia, Transnistria in Moldova, Northern Cyprus, and the self-proclaimed republics of Donetsk and Lugansk comprise an archipelago of entities that operate with state structures but remain in diplomatic limbo. Taiwan, with its fully developed political and economic system and recognized only by a handful of countries — including Paraguay, Guatemala, Belize, Haiti, and several Pacific microstates — represents the most notable and geopolitically sensitive case of this ambiguity. Kosovo, partially recognized, closes this list of realities that challenge the Westphalian convention of sovereignty.
These “de facto states” raise fundamental questions about the international order: what really defines a state, the effective control of territory or recognition by the community? To what extent can the principle of self-determination of peoples, enshrined in the United Nations Charter, prevail over that of territorial integrity? The answer, in practice, depends more on political considerations and power correlations than on coherent legal principles, feeding accusations of double standards and weakening the credibility of the multilateral system.
Renowned experts have repeatedly warned about the risks of this uncontrolled fragmentation. American political scientist Robert Kaplan has pointed out that “state fragmentation is one of the main threats of the 21st century because it multiplies armed actors and complicates global governance.” In a similar vein, British historian Eric Hobsbawm warned that “nationalism, in its most extreme forms, tends to be exclusive and potentially violent, especially when combined with real or perceived historical grievances.” Canadian scholar Margaret MacMillan, for her part, emphasized that many of the current borders are the result of contingent political decisions, not natural realities: “The lines on the map may seem fixed, but in reality, they are profoundly unstable when they do not reflect shared identities.”
The problem is exacerbated when separatist movements receive — explicit or covert — backing from states that seek to weaken their rivals. Geopolitical instrumentation turns local conflicts into proxies for great powers, blurring the line between legitimate claim and power strategy. Additionally, the role of new technologies comes into play: social networks have amplified these movements' capacity to disseminate narratives, recruit supporters, and pressure governments and international institutions. What used to be confined to a regional sphere is internationalized within hours, generating constant pressure on bodies like the UN, the Human Rights Council, or the Decolonization Committee.
Separatists often appeal to the principle of self-determination arising from Woodrow Wilson's Fourteen Points and to the nationality principle of the 19th century, which contributed to the disintegration of empires but also sowed the seeds of future wars. In practice, many of these movements are led by political elites that self-proclaim as the only representatives of “their” people and do not hesitate to resort to violence against internal dissidents. They rarely survive without external financial and political support, whether from rival states, international NGOs, or forums like the Puebla Group or the Socialist International. Their representatives travel the world, establish contacts in universities and media, and use networks to construct an image of oppressed victims.
Ultimately, separatism reveals a central paradox of the contemporary world: while globalization integrates economies and societies, local and national identities continue to exert formidable mobilizing power. The aspiration to belong to a political community of one's own, with shared institutions and symbols, remains a driver of collective action. However, historical experience shows that the proliferation of fragmented states multiplies the risks of conflict, complicates the struggle against terrorism, pandemics, or climate change, and erodes the international community's ability to act in a coordinated manner.
The challenge, therefore, is not to eradicate separatism — an impossible and, in many cases, undesirable task when it responds to genuine injustices — but to manage it intelligently. Strengthening mechanisms for real autonomy, ensuring minority rights, promoting negotiated dialogues, and avoiding zero-sum logic seem to be the only ways to contain its most destructive effects. But history also teaches that there are no magic formulas or permanent solutions. In an interconnected yet increasingly fragmented world, stability will depend on the ability of states and multilateral institutions to channel these aspirations without, once again, turning them into a prelude to new conflicts. Separatism, in its multiple and mutating forms, will continue to be a constant on the global stage. The question is whether the international community will learn to coexist with it without allowing it to consume them.
Adalberto Agozino holds a Ph.D. in Political Science. He is a Professor at the National Gendarmerie University Institute and the National Defense Faculty of Argentina. Director of the Argentine Institute of Geostrategic Studies. Editor of Alternative Press Agency. Expert on Maghreb issues.
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