A floating haven for entrepreneurs without visas

Blueseed aims to overcome the US's strict immigration laws – by sea.

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When life gives you over-protectionist immigration regulations, make overprotectionistimmigrationregulationade. Yeah, that line doesn't really work.

Wired's Olivia Solon brough my attention to Blueseed. It's a project to station a ship 12 nautical miles off the coast of San Francisco, in international waters, so that potential tech entrepreneurs can start companies near Silicon Valley without the need for a US work visa – an incredibly tricky thing to get.

The start-up has just secured $300,000 of venture capital, writes Jason Dorrier of SingularityHub:

Now, to be fair, $300,000 in Silicon Valley is lemonade stand money. The initial venture round for Blueseed is $700,000—and that’s just for the preliminaries. Researching immigration and visa laws and choosing the best ship design, for example. To execute their plan in full, Blueseed is aiming to raise between $10 and $30 million.

At the very least, the initial investment proves that since its launch, Blueseed’s audacity has accumulated some powerful fans. And well it should. It’s a powerful idea. For those who missed the first round of hype—it’s worth revisiting. Blueseed’s mission is to tear down the archaic barriers keeping good ideas and funding apart.

The company's plan is a more realistic version of the libertarian dream of "seasteading" – starting a new micronation, free of laws or regulations, in international waters to prove that the libertarian life is possible.

Blueseed is not directly proposing such a libertarian idea — the ship will be more like a floating hotel/office than a nation — but in offering a way to make the most of easy access to the US without having to actually obey its regulations, it is striking at the heart of what many libertarians hope to achieve.

While there may be doubt about whether Blueseed can actually work — it's an audacious plan, which could fall prey to US immigration law, the US navy, or even pirates — there is little doubt that the fact that it is even being considered is a vindication of the arguments that US immigration policy is ridiculous.

People are considering building a ship, charging for accommodation, floating it in international waters and then offering ferries to the mainland all to provide some access to the support networks to entrepreneurs that Silicon Valley offers. If the US offered them visas, it would get all that hard work — and tax revenue too. If the west could just have a sane attitude to immigration, ideas like this wouldn't hold water.

Concept art of Blueseed. Photograph: Blueseed.co

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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The dog at the end of the lead may be small, but in fact what I’m walking is a hound of love

There is a new, hairy face in the Hovel.

There is a new, hairy face in the Hovel. I seem to have become a temporary co-owner of an enthusiastic Chorkie. A Chorkie, in case you’re not quite up to speed with your canine crossbreeds, is a mixture of a chihuahua and a Yorkshire Terrier, and while my friend K— busies herself elsewhere I am looking after this hound.

This falls squarely into the category of Things I Never Thought I’d Do. I’m a cat person, taking my cue from their idleness, cruelty and beauty. Dogs, with their loyalty, their enthusiasm and their barking, are all a little too much for me, even after the first drink of the day. But the dog is here, and I am in loco parentis, and it is up to me to make sure that she is looked after and entertained, and that there is no repetition of the unfortunate accident that occurred outside my housemate’s room, and which needed several tissues and a little poo baggie to make good.

As it is, the dog thinks I am the bee’s knees. To give you an idea of how beeskneesian it finds me, it is licking my feet as I write. “All right,” I feel like saying to her, “you don’t have to go that far.”

But it’s quite nice to be worshipped like this, I have decided. She has also fallen in love with the Hovel, and literally writhes with delight at the stinky cushions on the sofa. Named after Trude Fleischmann, the lesbian erotic photographer of the Twenties, Thirties and Forties, she has decided, with admirable open-mindedness, that I am the Leader of the Pack. When I take the lead, K— gets a little vexed.

“She’s walking on a loose lead, with you,” K— says. “She never does that when I’m walking her.” I don’t even know what that means, until I have a think and work it out.

“She’s also walking to heel with you,” K— adds, and once again I have to join a couple of mental dots before the mists part. It would appear that when it comes to dogs, I have a natural competence and authority, qualities I had never, not even in my most deranged flights of self-love, considered myself to possess in any measurable quantity at all.

And golly, does having a dog change the relationship the British urban flâneur has with the rest of society. The British, especially those living south of Watford, and above all those in London, do not recognise other people’s existence unless they want to buy something off them or stop them standing on the left of the sodding escalator, you idiot. This all changes when you have a dog with you. You are now fair game for any dog-fancier to come up to you and ask the most personal questions about the dog’s history and genealogy. They don’t even have to have a dog of their own; but if you do, you are obliged by law to stop and exchange dog facts.

My knowledge of dog facts is scant, extending not much further beyond them having a leg at each corner and chasing squirrels, so I leave the talking to K—, who, being a friendly sort who could probably talk dog all day long if pressed, is quite happy to do that. I look meanwhile in a kind of blank wonder at whichever brand of dog we’ve just encountered, and marvel not only at the incredible diversity of dog that abounds in the world, but at a realisation that had hitherto escaped me: almost half of London seems to have one.

And here’s the really interesting thing. When I have the leash, the city looks at me another way. And, specifically, the young women of the city. Having reached the age when one ceases to be visible to any member of the opposite sex under 30, I find, all of a sudden, that I exist again. Women of improbable beauty look at Trude, who looks far more Yorkie than chihuahua, apart from when she does that thing with the ears, and then look at me, and smile unguardedly and unironically, signalling to me that they have decided I am a Good Thing and would, were their schedules not preventing them, like to chat and get to know me and the dog a bit better.

I wonder at first if I am imagining this. I mention it to K—.

“Oh yes,” she says, “it’s a thing. My friend P-J regularly borrows her when he wants to get laid. He reckons he’s had about 12 shags thanks to her in the last six months. The problems only arise when they come back again and notice the dog isn’t there.”

I do the maths. Twelve in six months! That’s one a fortnight. An idea begins to form in my mind. I suppose you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to work out what it is. But no. I couldn’t. Could I?

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism