Arctic Yearbook 2021 Heininen, L., H. Exner-Pirot, & J. Barnes (eds.). (2021). Arctic Yearbook 2021: Defining and Mapping the Arctic: Sovereignties, Policies and Perceptions. Akureyri, Iceland: Arctic Portal. Available from https://www.arcticyearbook.com ISSN 2298–2418 This is an open access volume distributed in accordance with the Creative Commons Attribution Non Commercial (CC BY NC-4.0) license, which permits others to distribute, remix, adapt, build upon this work non-commercially, and license their derivative works on different terms, provided the original work is properly cited and the use is non-commercial. Cover Image Credit Elena Ivanova Editor Lassi Heininen| lassi.heininen@ulapland.fi Managing Editor Heather Exner-Pirot | exnerpirot@gmail.com Assistant Editor Justin Barnes | justinbarnes@trentu.ca Editorial Board Chair Dr. Alexander Pelyasov (Russian Academy of Sciences; Director of the Center of Northern and Arctic Economics; Ministry of Economic Development & Trade, Russian Federation) Dr. Daria Burnasheva (Senior Lecture at Arctic State Institute of Culture and Arts, Sakha Republic) Dr. Miya Christensen (Professor at University of Stockholm, Sweden) Halldór Johannsson (Executive Director, Arctic Portal, Iceland) Dr. Kirsi Latola (Research Coordinator, UArctic Vice-President Networks, Finland) Dr. Ólafur Ragnar Grímsson (Former President of the Republic of Iceland, Chair of the Arctic Circle Assembly) James Ross, (Gwich’in leader, Northwest Territories, Canada) Dr. Lawson Brigham (Distinguished Professor of Geography & Arctic Policy, University of Alaska Fairbanks)
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About Arctic Yearbook The Arctic Yearbook is the outcome of the Northern Research Forum (NRF) and UArctic joint Thematic Network (TN) on Geopolitics and Security. The TN also organizes the annual Calotte Academy. The Arctic Yearbook seeks to be the preeminent repository of critical analysis on the Arctic region, with a mandate to inform observers about the state of Arctic politics, governance and security. It is an international and interdisciplinary peer-reviewed publication, published online at [https://arcticyearbook.com] to ensure wide distribution and accessibility to a variety of stakeholders and observers. Arctic Yearbook material is obtained through a combination of invited contributions and an open call for papers. For more information on contributing to the Arctic Yearbook, or participating in the TN on Geopolitics and Security, contact the Editor, Lassi Heininen.
Acknowledgments The Arctic Yearbook would like to acknowledge the Arctic Portal [https://arcticportal.org] for their generous technical and design support, especially Ævar Karl Karlsson; our colleagues who provided peer review for the scholarly articles in this volume; as well as the organizers of the Calotte Academy for hosting our launch.
Defining and Mapping the Arctic: Sovereignties, Policies and Perceptions
Arctic Yearbook 2021
Table of Contents Introduction – Defining & Mapping the Arctic: Sovereignties, Policies & Perceptions......................1 By Lassi Heininen, Heather Exner-Pirot & Justin Barnes
Section I: Arctic Security and Sovereignty The Arctic Ocean: Boundaries and disputes..............................................................................................5 By Andreas Østhagen & Clive H. Schofield
FONOP in vain: The legal logics of a US Navy FONOP in the Canadian or Russian Arctic............23 By Cornell Overfield
The Arctic, Russia and Coercion of Navigation......................................................................................41 By Viktoriya Nikitina
A decolonial approach to Arctic security and sovereignty......................................................................62 By Gabriella Gricius
Beyond the nation-state paradigm: Inuit self-determination and international law in the Northwest Passage..........................................................................................................................................................83 By Juliana Wilczynski
At the front lines of increased shipping and climate change: Inuit perspectives on Canadian Arctic sovereignty and security............................................................................................................................108 By Nicolien van Luijk, Jackie Dawson, Natalie A. Carter, Gloria Song, Colleen Parker, Kayla Grey & Jennifer Provencher
Section II: Geopolitics on the Map Measuring and mapping the Arctic: Cartography and the legacies of nineteenth-century Arctic science.........................................................................................................................................................126 By John Woitkowitz
The Faroese sub-state unit’s response to Arctic political development..............................................140 By Hallbera West
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Arctic interests and policy of Turkey: Dilemmas, approaches, and initiatives...................................158 By Onur Limon
Responsible international citizenship and China’s participation in Arctic regionalization..............173 By Liisa Kauppila & Sanna Kopra
The role of technology in China’s Arctic Engagement: A means as well as an end in itself.............................................................................................................................................................188 By Camilla T.N. Sørensen & Christopher Weidacher Hsiung
Section III: Mapping Russian Arctic Development Strategy, competition, and legitimization: Development of the Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation...................................................................................................................................................207 By Sergey Sukhankin, Troy Bouffard & P. Whitney Lackenbauer
The Development of Arctic offshore oil and gas resources in Russia: Energy policy updates and new activities by companies.....................................................................................................................234 By Luiza Brodt
How Russia’s new vision of territorial development in the Arctic can boost China-Russia economic collaboration..............................................................................................................................................249 By Gao Tianming & Vasilii Erokhin
Section IV: The Economics of Geography A geopolitical outlook on Arctification in Northern Europe: Insights from tourism, regional branding and higher education and research institutions.....................................................................279 By Dorothee Bohn & Alix Varnajot
A picture is worth [more than] a thousand words: Visualizing local and tourist perceptions of Greenland through social media photo mapping..................................................................................293 By Tracy Michaud, Colleen Metcalf & Matthew Bampton
Defining the limitations and opportunities in the consultation with the Sámi: The cases of the Arctic Railway and the Davvi Vindpark .................................................................................................315 By Inker-Anni Sara, Torkel Rasmussen & Roy Krøvel
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Building a high-performing collaborative innovation ecosystem in the Arctic.................................328 By Ekaterina Sofroneeva, Catharina von Koskull & Hannu Makkonen
Geopolitical and geoeconomic articulations of the Arctic: Towards multidimensional spatiality?.....................................................................................................................................................346 By Vesa Väätänen & Kaj Zimmerbauer
Scenarios for Sustainable Development in the Arctic until 2050........................................................362 By Alexandra Middleton, Anastasia Lazariva, Frode Nilssen, Alexey Kalinin & Anastasia Belostotskaya
Section V: Identity & Geography ‘Three hundred years hence’: Colonialism, Indigeneity, Modernism and Nationalism in the interpretive repertoires of the Greenland Hans Egede statue debate.................................................379 By Robert C. Thomsen
The continuing effects of colonisation in Avanersuaq.........................................................................399 By Martin Binachon
Sense of place through human-animal interactions in the Russian Arctic: Internalisation of the landscape by non-Indigenous migrants..................................................................................................418 By Nadia French
Perceptions of wildfire risk and responsibility in management: A comparative analysis of Fairbanks, Alaska and Los Angeles, California.........................................................................................................438 By Jacob Graham & Charlene Burns
Arcticness and the urbanism of the North.............................................................................................437 By Peter Hemmersam
Indigenizing education: Historical perspectives and present challenges in Sámi education..........452 By Pigga Keskitalo & Torjer Olsen
The power of maps in shaping visions about the Arctic.....................................................................479 By Helena Gonzales Lindberg
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Section VI: Art & Culture in Identity Introduction by Special Guest Editor Robert P. Wheelersburg..........................................................493 Mapping New Genre Arctic Art..............................................................................................................497 By Timo Jokela, Maria Huhmarniemi, Ruth Beer & Anna Soloviova
Through an Applied Visual Art Lens: Mapping the Arctic through art and design-based actions of place mapping and a multisensory approach..........................................................................................513 By Katri Sofia Konttinen
Making space for Indigenous Perspectives: Reflections on Cultural Sovereignty in the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia) ..........................................................................................................................................531 By Dzhuliiana Semenova
Izvatas cultural identification and self-determination: The study of the “Lud” tradition................548 By Karolina Sikora & Maria Fedina
Complex Yoiks – a time traveller: Aboriginal oral traditions among the Sámi in Sweden............563 By Krister Stoor
City as home: Sense of security and emotional places in the drawings of schoolchildren from the Nordic countries and Russia....................................................................................................................590 By Tatiana Zhigaltsova
Briefing Notes Finding Marguerite and Tookoolito: “Mapping Women of the Arctic”..........................................592 By Carol Devine, Tahnee Prior & Malgorzata (Gosia) Smieszek
Subsistence: A critical overview of the concept....................................................................................599 By Susanna Gartler
Swedish Sámi reindeer herders seek Indigenous rights........................................................................ 604 By Robert P. Wheelersburg
Arctic Indigenous peoples and the state: Toward a universal convergence of Arctic reconciliation..............................................................................................................................................610 By Barry Scott Zellen Defining and Mapping the Arctic: Sovereignties, Policies and Perceptions
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Plans, problems and perspectives for Greenland’s project independence........................................618 By Michael Paul
Gateway Maine: Following Old Arctic Routes to a Sustainable Future for the United States.........625 By Susana Hancock
Opening-up the Arctic through International Science: The Case of Svalbard, Norway..................632 By Mayline Strouk
Defining and Mapping the Arctic: Sovereignties, Policies and Perceptions
Introduction
Arctic Yearbook 2021
Defining and Mapping the Arctic: Sovereignties, Policies and Perceptions Lassi Heininen, Justin Barnes & Heather Exner-Pirot
The COVID-19 pandemic has forced us to consider globalization’s dark side by bringing up new premises of security related to environmental degradation, climate change and pandemics as nonmilitary threats that should be applied comprehensively. It also demonstrates the importance of scientific research and its applications, digitalization, distance learning and working, and open access material for knowledge-building, particularly when new and accurate information is created and distributed to advance better understandings of the global challenges and wicked problems we face. We could hardly consider a better platform for these issues in the Arctic context than the online and open access Arctic Yearbook for this kind of situation, when almost everything has been online, and while there is an excess of mis/disinformation being spread. The Arctic Yearbook is an international and peer-reviewed volume and an online publication that is open access, focusing on issues of local and regional governance and development, environmental politics, globalism, circumpolar relations, and Arctic geopolitics and security - all broadly defined. This is the 10th anniversary edition of the Yearbook.
Arctic Yearbook 2021 The theme of 2021, Defining and Mapping the Arctic: Sovereignties, Policies and Perceptions contains relevant topics that are much discussed, examined, reported and speculated in policy circles, academia, and the media. Perhaps because it is distant from major political, business and media centres, the Arctic seems especially prone to external interpretations of its essential character. How the Arctic is defined and perceived, or redefined, as well as how non-Arctic actors remap their geographical position and (re)identify their relationship with the Arctic region, as the 2020 IIASA analysis on Arctic policies reveals. Yet dominant narratives about the region are often based on superficial, ideological or arbitrary understandings. There is a need for better-informed discussions about the essential nature of the Arctic, and its people, its economy, its geography and its environment, as well as an examination of dominant perceptions. This 10th edition of the Arctic Yearbook has provided such a space for this endeavour. This volume contains 33 scholarly articles that explore, analyze, critique, and further discuss how the Lassi Heininen, Heather Exner-Pirot, & Justin Barnes are the editors of the Arctic Yearbook
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globalized Arctic is (re)defined and (re)mapped. The diverse collection of articles in this volume engage with a variety of unique but also overlapping topics that include 'traditional' Arctic security and sovereignty issues; geographical factors that are influencing regional geopolitics; Russian development interests and activities; economic considerations related to Arctic geography; and the diverse roles of identity, art, and culture in articulating alternative notions of sovereignty in the region. As is always the case with interdisciplinary work, it is difficult to narrowly categorize the articles in this volume. Although the volume has been divided into sections with dominant themes, readers will without a doubt identify the interrelated nature of the articles in this volume. In the “Arctic Security and Sovereignty” section, the authors explore current understandings of Arctic sovereignty, including what it means in practice, who exercises it and how, and whether traditional, state-centred conceptions of sovereignty can or should change. From how UNCLOS is being exercised to delineate boundaries among states, to how Indigenous and decolonial interpretations of sovereignty are highlighting challenges related to state-centric governance structures, the articles in this section highlight the tensions that exist within how traditional sovereignty is practiced in the Arctic along with how these state-centric practices have implications for Indigenous self-determination. The “Geopolitics on the Map” section explores the geographical, environmental and climatic, social, economic, political and geopolitical differences in the Arctic along political and physical lines, including to what extent there are common geographic realities that makes collaboration logical or beneficial. These considerations are examined from the perspectives of Arctic sub-state and non-Arctic state perspectives, including how the Faroe Islands, Turkey, and China view their involvement in the region in relation to their geographical and historical ties to the Arctic. “Mapping Russian Arctic Development” examines definitions and delineations of the Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation from domestic and international perspectives, including the nature of shipping passages, claims to the extended continental shelf, state borders, transportation routes and systems, and Russia's growing collaboration with China to meet shared economic goals. “The Economics of Geography” further explores the environmental and physical definitions of the Arctic in relation to economic realities and desires in the region. From tourism, fisheries, and higher education, to building a “high performing IT innovation ecosystem” in the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia - Far East Russia), these articles explore the changing realities of doing business in the Arctic as well as the growing involvement of Indigenous perspectives in the Arctic economy. “Identity & Geography” highlights the ways in which these two factors influence how “place” is articulated in various contexts across the Arctic. Authors in this section discuss ways in which colonialism, nationalism, Indigeneity, urbanization, and education have shaped perceptions of the Arctic, and importantly, experiences within the Arctic. As these authors note in different ways, how the Arctic is perceived, experienced, and discussed has implications for how emerging and historical issues in the Arctic are addressed, as well as what kind of expectations and goals exist for policy action. “Art & Culture in Identity” articulate emerging perspectives regarding local, traditional and Indigenous sovereignty that explore self-determination and self-government, the implications of post-colonial interpretations of Indigeneity, and how education, music, poetry, and art are Heininen, Barnes, & Exner-Pirot
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solidifying notions of “cultural sovereignty.” Another finding of the 2020 IIASA analysis is that Arctic Indigenous peoples lean on international agreements concerning their Indigenous rights, such as UNDRIP, and are actively connecting those rights to manage their own territories and waters, as well as how to use and develop their resources. This interpretation of sovereignty differs from that of states. Authors in this volume discuss these interpretations of Indigenous sovereignty in the context of international law, but also how the sovereignty of states cannot necessarily account for the multiple identities, affiliations, and cultural connections across borders and within domestic governance structures. Instead, articles in this section demonstrate how cultural traditions and practices are promoting forms of Indigenous sovereignty that can operate independently both within and across state structures. Special guest editor Robert Wheelersburg provides a focused introduction for this section, highlighting the tensions which exist in historical and modern misrepresentations of Indigenous peoples in the Arctic, noting the importance of understanding the diversity which exists across the entire Circumpolar Arctic.
The Arctic Yearbook over 10 years The Arctic Yearbook has consistently provided high quality, peer-reviewed articles from diverse researchers of Arctic social sciences and the humanities. Plenty of our readers - early-career scientists, senior researchers, students, policy-makers - appreciate the rich variety of themes of the Yearbook, and its style, nature, fast double-blind peer-review process, as well as visibility on social media. Here, the Arctic Yearbook has the capacity, expertise and structure of network, as well as the immaterial capital - i.e. a digital online library of rich collection of almost 230 scholarly articles and more than 130 briefing notes and commentaries across ten volumes (since 2012) that have had a diversity of relevant themes (from human capital and innovations to governance, geopolitics and climate change) – with open access. This makes the Yearbook a leading international Arctic peerreviewed journal in a few fields, such as IR, Arctic shipping, state policies, and the Arctic Council. Due to its openness, these articles share Arctic social science research far beyond the halls of academia, receiving tens of thousands of reads. An active social media presence - more than 4000 followers - has allowed the Yearbook to further disseminate Arctic research to new audiences. The Yearbook’s application is built on several strengths as prerequisites for success – a kind of philosophy based on expertise, networking based on individuals, willingness and capabilities, and encouragement. Published by UArctic TN on Geopolitics and Security, it has run on volunteer efforts since its initiation, and is thankful to Arctic Portal’s invaluable role in hosting the website. All this has allowed the Yearbook to remain independent, quick and flexible, and focused on publishing new research findings rather than being occupied with seeking funding. All in all, as an international, interdisciplinary, peer-reviewed online journal with open access, the Arctic Yearbook provides accessible and reliable information in a sea of pay-walled articles and internet myths. It’s an asset at the local – global interface for the current state of the world that deserves to be used by Arctic – academic and expert - communities, as well as by a global audience. From the pan-Arctic perspective, as this most recent edition of the Arctic Yearbook demonstrates, there is a need for better informed and holistic discussions about the essential nature of the Arctic - its people, its societies, its economy, its geography, its environment - as well as what perceptions, and by whom, are there. These considerations can have impacts within the globalized Arctic, but also worldwide implications. The 10th edition of the Arctic Yearbook has aimed to provide such a space. Introduction
Section I: Arctic Security and Sovereignty
The Arctic Ocean: Boundaries and Disputes Andreas Østhagen & Clive H. Schofield
The Arctic region is sometimes described as an area of geopolitical competition and boundary disputes. However, in terms of maritime claims, such portrayals are misleading. Our examination of maritime boundaries in the Arctic, maritime claims and extended continental shelf submissions in the central Arctic Ocean, shows that the Arctic is a space where states have settled disputes before real conflict could emerge. In that sense the Arctic is arguably an ocean apart and the case of the Arctic can be of broader relevance regarding maritime disputes in other regional contexts.
Introduction1 “Unresolved maritime boundaries can be among the most difficult disputes for states to resolve” (Lavrov & Støre, 2010). This remark came in 2010 as the Norwegian and Russian foreign ministers had successfully resolved a maritime boundary dispute in the Arctic that had been a thorn in the side since the 1970s. The benefits of agreeing on and delimiting maritime boundaries clarifying the limits of jurisdiction and sovereign rights of all states might seem to outweigh the costs of concessions made through negotiations. Still, however, almost 40 percent of all maritime boundaries remain unsettled and frequently disputed, across all continents (Østhagen, 2021: 1). In this paper we examine how the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (LOSC) has set the parameters for the maritime claims and boundary agreements in the Arctic (United Nations, 1982) [hereinafter, LOSC or the Convention]. In turn, we examine each of the maritime claims in the Arctic, and the factors that have enabled agreement on these (when that is the case). Our work leans on a legal analysis and an evaluation of political factors, building on the range of scholarly work that has emerged over the last decade examining the various legal aspects of maritime boundary claims in the north.2 We add to this literature by comparing and contrasting different practices and outcomes, while also adding a ‘global’ outlook to the Arctic’s recent developments. Locating the Arctic in the international legal context (the law of the sea in particular), we find that the maritime claims of the Arctic coastal states are predominantly in keeping with international legal norms, and that these states have made substantial progress in resolving overlapping maritime Andreas Østhagen is a Senior Fellow at the Fridtjof Nansen Institute, Norway (ao@fni.no); High North Center for Business and Governance, Norway; Wilson Center, USA; and Clive H. Schofield is Head of Research at the World Maritime University, Sweden; Australian National Centre for Ocean Resources & Security, Australia.
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claims through maritime boundary agreements between themselves. Greater uncertainty exists concerning ‘outer’ or ‘extended’ continental shelf rights seawards of 200 nautical miles (M) from baselines along the coast. Nonetheless, despite broad areas of overlapping assertions to continental shelf rights in the central Arctic Ocean, the region has been characterized by substantial scientific and legal cooperation – not conflict.
The Law of the Sea and the Arctic Ocean The 1982 United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (LOSC) provides the generally accepted legal framework governing maritime jurisdictional claims and the delimitation of maritime boundaries between national maritime zones (United Nations, 1982). The LOSC has gained widespread international recognition: at the time of writing, 167 states (plus the European Union) had become parties to it (United Nations, 2021). A key achievement of the LOSC was agreement on the spatial limits to national claims to maritime jurisdiction, predominantly defined as extending to a set distance from baselines along the coast. Thus, the territorial sea, contiguous zone and exclusive economic zone (EEZ) are not to exceed 12, 24 and 200 M respectively from baselines along the coast (LOSC Articles 3 and 4, 33 and 57). The delineation of the outer limits of each of these zones of maritime jurisdiction requires an understanding of the location of baselines along the coast (see Figure 1). Defining the outer limits of the continental shelf is more complex, involving a range of geophysical criteria as well as distance measurements, as explored below in relation to the central Arctic Ocean. Of the five Arctic Ocean coastal states – Canada, Denmark, Norway, Russia and USA – four are parties to the LOSC. Although not a party to the LOSC, the USA generally regards the core principles of UNCLOS as being reflective of customary international law and thus binding on all states.4 Figure 1: Schematic of maritime jurisdiction claims of a coastal State measured seawards from baselines along the coast.5
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Arctic Maritime Boundary Agreements All the Arctic coastal states have advanced broad maritime claims, in keeping with both international law and their own national interests (R. R. Churchill, 2001). These maritime claims include 12 M-broad territorial seas (except in respect of Greenland, where a 3 M territorial sea is claimed). Canada, Norway, Russia and the USA also claim contiguous zone rights out to 24 M, although Norway’s claim here does not apply to Jan Mayen Island or Svalbard. Additionally, all the Arctic coastal states claim EEZs out to 200 M (see Figure 2), although Norway has only claimed a Fisheries Protection Zone around Svalbard. Figure 2: Arctic Maritime Claims and Boundaries.
Source: Prepared for the authors by I Made Andi Arsana
Focusing on the Arctic Ocean-area specifically, there are five bilateral maritime boundary situations on the Arctic Ocean: Russia–USA, USA–Canada, Canada–Denmark (Greenland), Denmark (Greenland)–Norway (Svalbard), and Norway–Russia (see Figure 1).6 Considerable progress has been achieved in the resolution of overlapping maritime claims between adjacent Arctic States, at least within 200 M of the coast. We commence by looking at each agreement chronologically. In 1973, Canada and Denmark, on behalf of Greenland, agreed on an almost 1,500 M long continental shelf boundary (Canada– Denmark, 1973). The boundary stretches from near the intersection of their 200 M limit at the mouth of the Davis Strait, to the Lincoln Sea by way of Baffin Bay, Nares Strait and Robeson
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Channel (Alexander, 1993: 371–72). The agreement is innovative in two ways. First, the boundary includes a short gap in the Nares Strait within which the disputed Hans Island lies. Measuring just over 1km2, this islet is the sole disputed land territory in the Arctic region. Entirely ignoring this disputed feature was a creative way to circumvent this sovereignty dispute (see Figure 3). Moreover, while the boundary is based on equidistance between opposite shores, at the time of its negotiation there was uncertainty over the location of certain basepoints in the high Arctic, so the treaty made provision for later adjustment of the line, in light of new surveys, on the basis of the same principles (Canada–Denmark, 1973: para. 4). Accordingly, a slight adjustment to the boundary line was made in 2004 (Canada–Denmark, 2004). Figure 3: Maritime Delimitation between Canada and the Kingdom of Denmark (Greenland).
Source: Prepared for the authors by I Made Andi Arsana
A further long maritime boundary was delimited between the USA and the then-USSR in 1990 (United States–Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, 1990; Verville, 1993). This agreement stretches Østhagen & Schofield
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through the Bering Strait between Alaska and Russia, and extends into the Arctic Ocean to the north and the Bering Sea to the south. The agreement is based on the line defining the western limit of the area covered by the 1867 Convention whereby the USA purchased Alaska from the Russian Empire (Russia–United States, 1867). The boundary line relevant to the Arctic Ocean is a straight line heading due north from a specified point in the Bering Straits ‘as far as permitted under international law’ and thus to their 200 M limits and potentially further seaward in the central Arctic Ocean depending on the delineation of outer continental shelf limits beyond their EEZ limits. The agreement provides for four ‘Special Areas’, one of which is located in the Arctic Ocean (the other three being in the Bering Sea) and comprises an area on the US side of the boundary line which lies within 200 M of the baselines of the USSR but beyond 200 M from the baselines of the USA (United States–Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, 1990: para. 3 (1)). These special areas ensured that all maritime spaces within 200 M of either or both of their coasts are delimited between these two states. Although this boundary treaty is not in force (Russia has not formally ratified it), both sides have respected its terms, consistent with an exchange of notes between them (see Figure 4) (Verville, 1993: 454; Smith, 1994; Schofield, 2015). Figure 4: Maritime Delimitation between the USA and USSR/Russian Federation.
Source: Prepared for the authors by I Made Andi Arsana
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Further progress was made in maritime delimitation in the Arctic Ocean, when in February 2006 Denmark and Norway reached agreement on an approximately 430 M-long equidistance-based continental shelf and fisheries zone boundary between the coasts of Greenland and Svalbard (Denmark–Norway, 2006; Oude Elferink, 2007). In concluding that treaty, Denmark implicitly recognised that Svalbard generates both fishing and continental shelf rights. For Norway, this was an important consideration, as it underpins the Norwegian view that Svalbard can generate offshore zones and thus its relevance for maritime boundary delimitation in the Arctic (see Figure 1). This point is at times disputed by other states on the wording of the Svalbard Treaty.6 Then the perhaps most significant recent progress in resolving Arctic Ocean maritime disputes involves Norway and Russia and the 2010-maritime boundary agreement. First, in 2007, the two countries reached an agreement essentially replacing the 1957 Varangerfjord treaty, extending the delimitation line to 39.41 M (Russia–Norway, 2007). However, further north, in the Barents Sea and Arctic Ocean, overlapping claims to continental shelf and encompassing an area of approximately 175,000 km2 persisted from the 1970s (Moe, Fjærtoft, & Øverland, 2011). At the core of the dispute was Norway’s preference for a median line solution and Russia’s preference for a sector line. Access to fisheries resources, especially commercially valuable cod and haddock stocks supported by the highly productive and diverse ecosystem of the Barents Sea, also caused friction, although ultimately this led to cooperative management measures being adopted before the boundary agreement (R. Churchill & Ulfstein, 1992; Stabrun, 2009; Hønneland, 2012). The breakthrough on the remaining boundary issues came in 2010, when the two countries committed to an all-purpose boundary to be drawn “on the basis of international law in order to achieve an equitable solution”, recognizing “relevant factors ... including the effect of major disparities in respective coastal lengths” while dividing “the overall disputed area in two parts of approximately the same size” (Norwegian Government, 2010). The four-decade-long dispute was resolved through a landmark agreement whereby the disputed area, within and beyond 200 M limits, was delimited for continental shelf and EEZ rights between the two states (Norway–Russian Federation, 2010), as well as the Fisheries Protection Zone around Svalbard. The agreement contains provisions aimed at continued cooperation over fisheries (Henriksen & Ulfstein, 2011: 1); there are also provisions on co-management of any hydrocarbons that straddle the boundary (Byers, 2013: 43–44; Fjærtoft et al., 2018). An innovative feature of the agreement is that, analogous to the Special Areas defined between the USA and USSR, an area of EEZ located on the Russian side of the boundary line is actually beyond 200 M from Russian baselines but is within 200 M of the Norwegian coast (Norway–Russian Federation, 2010: para. 3). This arrangement enabled the two states to divide the entirety of the EEZ area within 200 M of their coasts, albeit not necessarily within 200 M of the baselines of the state on whose side of the line a particular area of EEZ is located (see Figure 5).
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Figure 5: Maritime Delimitation between Norway and the Russian Federation.
Source: Prepared for the authors by I Made Andi Arsana
Finally, in 2012, Canada and Denmark (Greenland) announced an agreement in principle on a maritime boundary out to 200 M in the Lincoln Sea (Canadian Department of Foreign Affairs, 2012): equidistance would be applied, with further technical adjustments to be made to the 1973 Agreement (see Figure 1).
Arctic Disputes and Overlaps The main dispute remaining in regards to Arctic maritime zones concerns delineation in the Beaufort Sea between Canada and the USA. The dispute centres on the wording of a treaty The Arctic Ocean: Boundaries and Disputes
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concluded between Russia and Great Britain in 1825 (the USA assumed Russia’s Treaty rights when it purchased Alaska in 1867; Canada acquired Britain’s rights in 1880). This treaty set the eastern border of Alaska at the “meridian line of the 141st degree, in its prolongation as far as the frozen ocean” (Great Britain-Russia, 1825: para. 3). Canada asserts that this treaty provision established both the land border and the maritime boundary, and that both must follow a straight northern line. In contrast, the USA holds that the delimitation applies only to land and therefore does not extend beyond the terminus of the land boundary on the coast. For delimitation in the Beaufort Sea, the USA considers an equidistance line to be the legally and geographically appropriate solution (see Figure 6) (US Department of State, 1995). Figure 6: Overlapping Maritime Claims in the Beaufort Sea.
Source: Prepared for the authors by I Made Andi Arsana
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Canada and the USA sought to resolve the Beaufort Sea dispute in the late 1970s, but without success. Collaborative mapping beyond 200 M with a Canadian and a US icebreaker (2008–2011) arguably opened the way to resolution of this, by showing that the continental shelf in the Beaufort Sea might stretch 350 M or more offshore (Baker & Byers, 2012; Byers & Østhagen, 2017). The extended continental shelf adds a twist to the Beaufort Sea boundary dispute as seawards of 200 M, an equidistance line is diverted to the northwest because of the influence of Canadian Arctic islands (Baker & Byers, 2012). In spatial terms, therefore, both Canada and the USA would benefit from adopting the other’s position (see Figure 6). In March 2010, the Canadian government signalled its desire to “work with other northern countries to settle boundary disagreements” (Government of Canada, 2010). Discussions were, however, suspended in 2011, after the two countries decided they would need more scientific information on the existence and location of hydrocarbon reserves before negotiating a boundary. The other dispute that remains concerning maritime zones is between Canada and Denmark in the Lincoln Sea. In 2004, the scope of the dispute was reduced when Denmark modified its straight baselines, replacing the 40.9 M baseline east of Beaumont Island with a series of shorter baselines, including one connecting Beaumont Island to John Murray Island, the next island in the chain (Kingdom of Denmark, 2004). These Danish changes reduced the size of the northernmost disputed area almost to the point of eliminating it, and likely contributed to the announcement made by the Canadian and Danish foreign ministers in 2012 that negotiators “have reached a tentative agreement on where to establish the maritime boundary in the Lincoln Sea” (Canadian Department of Foreign Affairs, 2012; Mackrael, 2012). The only issue left for negotiation was a joint management regime for any straddling hydrocarbon deposits. This point could not be dealt with solely by the Danish and Canadian negotiators, because, although Denmark retains control over Greenland’s foreign policy, the Greenland government has since 2008 exercised control over natural resources, including on the continental shelf (Erdal, 2013). In 2018, Denmark and Canada established a ‘Joint Task Force on Boundary Issues’ in order to settle the outstanding issues regarding this maritime,7 which has yet to lead to a final agreement as per October 2021. Outer continental shelf areas and the Central Arctic Ocean
On 2 August 2007, a Russian expedition used a submersible to drop a rustproof titanium casket containing a Russian flag on the Arctic seabed at around 4,200 m depth beneath the North Pole (BBC News, 2007). This action generated considerable media coverage, much of which was decidedly alarmist in nature. This tone extended to the diplomatic arena when the Canadian Foreign Minister, Peter MacKay, appeared to dismiss the flag-dropping incident as a stunt, stating “This isn’t the 15th century. You can’t go around the world and just plant flags and say ‘We’re claiming this territory’” (Parfitt, 2007). In response, the Russian Foreign Minister, Sergei Lavrov, observed that “no one is throwing flags around”; analogies were drawn between Russia’s action and Hillary and Tenzing planting the Union Jack on the summit of Everest in 1953 (Parfitt, 2007). Indeed, Lavrov was at pains to emphasize that Russia was not acting unilaterally: its actions were “in strict compliance with international law” (Novosti, 2007). Concerning continental shelf areas seawards of 200 M, LOSC Article 76 lays down complex criteria whereby the outer limits of the continental shelf may be determined with assistance from a
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scientific and technical body established through the Convention – the Commission on the Limits of the Continental Shelf (CLCS). This complexity arises because continental shelf entitlements seawards of 200 M limits are delineated not solely by reference to a distance formula. These areas of continental shelf seawards of 200 M limits are often referred to as ‘outer’ or ‘extended’ continental shelf, although legally there is only one continental shelf. Two maximum constraint or cut-off lines are then applied: a limit of 100 M from the 2500-metre depth isobath or depth contour, or 350 M from the coastal state’s baselines (Article 76(5)). It has been suggested that delineating the outer limits of the continental shelf seawards of 200 M limits is challenging because of numerous ‘complexities and ambiguities’ associated with Article 76 (Macnab, 2004b; 2004a; Cook & Carleton, 2000), as well as issues concerning the way in which the Commission works (McDorman, 2002). Preparing a submission for the CLCS requires a coastal state to gather information related to the morphology of its continental margin and its geological characteristics as well as bathymetric information relating to water depth, and also to determine distance measurements, for example, the location of 200 M and 350 M limit lines. Although this is necessarily an expensive and time-consuming task, this process does have the significant virtue of providing for a definable outer limit to the continental shelf – which McDorman has termed “the real achievement” of Article 76 of LOSC (McDorman, 2002: 307). All the Arctic coastal states have been active in gathering the data required to formulate submissions. Some – like the USA and Canada – have cooperated amongst themselves, for example, in order to facilitate joint surveys. All the Arctic littoral states except the USA (as a nonLOSC party) have made submissions to the CLCS. It appears from these submissions that, should the Commission be in agreement, the vast majority of the seabed of the Arctic Ocean will form part of the outer or extended continental shelf of the coastal states. The major uncertainty here relates to the CLCS’s view of how the major Arctic Ocean ridge systems are to be treated. These include the Lomonosov and Gakkel Ridges, where the submissions of Canada, Denmark (Greenland) and Russia overlap; and the Alpha Rise, where the submissions of Canada, Russia and the USA intersect (see Figures 1 and 7). Here it is important to note that the provisions of Article 76 of the LOSC are without prejudice to delimitation of continental shelf boundaries (LOSC, Article 76(10)). If a submission involves an area of continental shelf subject to overlapping claims and a protest arises, the Commission lacks the mandate to consider the submission unless all the states concerned agree that the CLCS can proceed.8 Ultimately, therefore, these overlapping assertions of continental shelf rights will need to be resolved by the submitting states themselves through diplomacy and negotiations. Indeed, the three Arctic littoral states most likely to have to enter bilateral or trilateral negotiations over delimitation of their extended continental shelves – Canada, Denmark (Greenland) and Russia – have all declared their intention to work within the framework of LOSC and international diplomacy (Byers, 2017; Østhagen, 2018; Bykova, 2019). A significant caveat here is that it is as yet less than clear whether maritime delimitation for outer continental shelf areas will follow the same approach as that for delimitation within 200 M limits. An assessment of existing practice concerning delimitation of the outer continental shelf suggests that the vast majority of agreements either only marginally stray beyond 200 M limits or continue the methodology applied within 200 M of the coast and indicate a line continuing seawards of EEZ limits (Schofield & Leonardo, 2020: 181). This suggests that there may be only a “a limited role” for geophysical factors in delimitation of Østhagen & Schofield
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outer continental shelf areas (Van Pay, 2012: 56), but the practice thus far is limited and there are exceptions to the rule.9 Figure 7: Arctic Ocean 200 M Limits and Undersea Features.
Source: Prepared for the authors by I Made Andi Arsana
The Arctic Ocean Experience We have outlined how the Arctic littoral states, in their efforts to delineate the outer limits of their maritime zones and delimit maritime boundaries where such claims overlap with those of neighbouring states, have largely abided by the international legal regime for the oceans (LOSC). The counterpoint to this general compliance with the international law of the sea provisions is the practice of the Arctic States concerning some of the baselines from which maritime claims are predominantly measured. That said, excessive straight baselines claims are by no means confined to the Arctic Ocean (Lathrop, Roach, & Rothwell, 2019: 126–53). Fundamentally, affirming LOSC and agreeing on maritime boundaries in the Arctic region have not only been steps taken in order to provide frameworks for ocean-based resource development: they have involved efforts to ensure the primacy of the Arctic states as other actors are increasingly engaged in regional affairs ranging from science to fisheries. Further, they have shown considerable innovation in their ocean boundary-making practice – as illustrated by the provisions in Canada and Denmark’s treatment of Hans Island as well as provisions allowing for the boundary line to change in response to more accurate surveys of
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formerly ice-covered coastlines. Similarly, innovation is evident in the USA–USSR/Russia and Norway–Russia’s boundary arrangements concerning the creation of Special Areas. Such creative practice may well be necessary in the future, especially in the context of a changing climate and coastline. This necessarily has implications for Arctic baselines, maritime zones and undelimited maritime boundaries. That said, efforts and experiences across the Arctic region are not uniform. In other words, the different boundary agreements and processes leading to those agreements across the Arctic do not seem to reflect any ‘special Arctic circumstances’ or one distinct approach to these issues. Rather, the resolution of each maritime delimitation dispute depends on a unique suite of inter-related issues specific to each distinct case.10 However, in a broad sense, it can be observed that the heightened attention given to the Arctic by the littoral states at the start of the new millennium appear to have prompted renewed efforts in settling the boundaries still in dispute at that time. Between 2006 and 2012, four agreements or tentative agreements were signed, while Canada and the USA embarked on an attempt to solve their maritime boundary delimitation issues in the Beaufort Sea even if a resolution remains out of sight for the present (Byers & Østhagen, 2017). What seems clear from these Arctic cases is how the entitlements that LOSC has delivered to the littoral states has prompted cooperation, ranging from managing shared fish stocks (relevant across all cases examined here) to joint development projects regarding petroleum resources. While the 2010 maritime boundary treaty between Norway and the Russian Federation appears to have taken four decades to realise, it was arguably built on longstanding and substantive maritime cooperation. This is especially true with respect to fisheries in that part of the Barents Sea subject to competing maritime claims and, crucially, this fisheries-related cooperation continues to the present day. Similarly, despite concerns being raised over access to and control over the central Arctic Ocean, this area has featured a series of submissions to the relevant scientific and technical body established under the LOSC, the CLCS, as well as cooperative management of pressing issues through regional ‘soft law’ instruments, especially under the auspices of the Arctic Council. The Arctic ‘experience’ in practice not only counters the reoccurring alarmist claims of territorial grabs, but it also showcases how the international legal framework that allows for maritime jurisdictional expansion underpins a situation devoid of outright conflict over who owns what, and where. What makes the Arctic Ocean exceptional with respect to maritime boundaries is that so many are settled, in contrast to the general trend across the world (e.g., Østhagen 2021). Moreover, relevant fisheries agreements and, perhaps more importantly, hydrocarbon resource-sharing arrangements have lowered the domestic costs for the Arctic states in regards to settling with neighbours. Increased use of oceans as a resource base, for everything from seabed minerals to fisheries, has further heightened the importance of maritime space for states. However, as seen with the Arctic region, settling disputes before they escalate into outright conflict and/or stalemates can remove some of the impetus for friction. That is a lesson relevant not only to the Arctic, but to maritime regions across the globe.
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Notes 1. This article builds on the chapter by the authors from 2020: “A Divided Arctic: Maritime Boundary Agreements and Disputes in the Arctic Ocean.” in Handbook on Geopolitics and Security in the Arctic, edited by Joachim Weber. This is, however, an updated and adapted version. For an extended version of this article, see also Andreas Østhagen & Clive H. Schofield (2021) “An ocean apart? Maritime boundary agreements and disputes in the Arctic Ocean”, The Polar Journal, DOI: 10.1080/2154896X.2021.1978234. 2. Amongst others (D. R. Rothwell 2012; Hoel 2009; D. Rothwell 1996; Byers 2013; Henriksen and Ulfstein 2011; Jensen 2016; Byers and Østhagen 2017; Schofield and Sas 2015; Townsend-Gault 2007; Fabri et al. 2021) 3. From time to time the issue of ratification is brought forward by US administrations from both parties, but the issue gets stranded in Congress (Roach and Smith, n.d., 10). 4. Source: (International Hydrographic Organization (IHO) 2014) Material from IHO-IAG publication C-51, A Manual on Technical Aspects of the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea – 1982 (TALOS), Edition 5.0.0 dated June 2014 is reproduced with the permission of Professor Clive Schofield and Dr I Made Andi Arsana, authors of the animated graphics, and the Secretariat of the International Hydrographic Organization (IHO) and the Executive Council of the International Association of Geodesy (IAG) (Permission N° 8/2020 ) acting for the International Hydrographic Organization (IHO) and the International Association of Geodesy (IAG), which do not accept responsibility for the correctness of the material as reproduced: in case of doubt, the IHO-IAG’s authentic text shall prevail. The incorporation of material sourced from IHO-IAG shall not be construed as constituting an endorsement by IHO or IAG of this product. 5. We have opted not to include the near-Arctic maritime boundary agreements between Iceland and Norway (Jan Mayen), and Iceland and Denmark (Faroe Islands), as these are just on the border of the Arctic Circle and do not extend into the Arctic Ocean proper. 6. (Svalbard Treaty 1920). For more on this dispute, see for example (Østhagen, Jørgensen, and Moe 2020; Tiller and Nyman 2015). 7. According to the Canadian government, ‘[t]he task force will explore options and provide recommendations on how to resolve outstanding boundary issues between the two nations. This includes the sovereignty of Hans Island, the maritime boundary line in Lincoln Sea and the Labrador Sea continental shelf overlap beyond 200 nautical miles.’ (Global Affairs Canada 2018). 8. Rules of Procedure of the Commission on the Limits of the Continental Shelf, CLCS/40/Rev.1, 17 April 2008, Annex I, Article 5(a). 9. For example, geophysical factors were influential in respect of parts of the boundary seawards of 200 M limits agreed between Australia and New Zealand in 2004 (Schofield and Leonardo 2020, 175). 10. For a similar conclusion albeit with a country-specific focus, see (Byers and Østhagen 2017).
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References Alexander, Lewis M. 1993. “Canada–Denmark (Greenland).” In International Maritime Boundaries Vol. 1-2, edited by Jonathan I. Charney and Lewis M. Alexander, 371–78. Dordrecht: Martinus Nijhoff. Baker, James S., and Michael Byers. 2012. “Crossed Lines: The Curious Case of the Beaufort Sea Maritime Boundary Dispute.” Ocean Development & International Law 43 (March 2010): 70– 95. BBC News. 2007. “Russia Plants Flag under N Pole.” World, August 2, 2007. http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/6927395.stm. Byers, Michael. 2013. International Law and the Arctic. New York: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2017. “Crises and International Cooperation: An Arctic Case Study.” International Relations 31 (4): 375–402. Byers, Michael, and Andreas Østhagen. 2017. “Why Does Canada Have So Many Unresolved Maritime Boundary Disputes?” Canadian Yearbook of International Law 54 (October): 1–62. Bykova, Alina. 2019. “Canada Makes Substantial Step in Arctic Territory Delimitation, Submits Claim Which Includes North Pole.” High North News, May 27, 2019. Canada–Denmark. 1973. Agreement Relating to the Delimitation of the Continental Shelf between Greenland and Canada (with Annexes). Signed at Ottawa on 17 December 1973. https://treaties.un.org/doc/Publication/UNTS/Volume 950/volume-950-I-13550English.pdf. ———. 2004. “Exchange of Notes Constituting an Agreement to Amend the 1973 Canada– Denmark Continental Shelf Agreement.” 5 and 20 April, 2004. Canadian Department of Foreign Affairs. 2012. “Canada and Kingdom of Denmark Reach Tentative Agreement on Lincoln Sea Boundary.” http://news.gc.ca/web/articleen.do?nid=709479. Churchill, Robin R. 2001. “Claims to Maritime Zones in the Arctic - Law of the Sea Normality or Polar Peculiarity?” In The Law of the Sea and Polar Maritime Delimitation and Jurisdiction, 105– 24. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff. Churchill, Robin, and Geir Ulfstein. 1992. Marine Management in Disputed Areas: The Case of the Barents Sea. London: Routledge. Cook, P. J., and C. M. Carleton, eds. 2000. Continental Shelf Limits: The Scientific and Legal Interface. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Denmark–Norway. 2006. Agreement between the Government of the Kingdom of Norway on the One Hand, and the Government of the Kingdom of Denmark Together with the Home Rule Government of Greenland on the Other Hand, Concerning the Delimitation of the Continental Shelf and the Fis. Erdal, Linnea. 2013. “Independence on the Horizon A Study of the Interplay Between Sovereignty and Natural Resources in Greenland.” Lysaker, Norway. https://www.fni.no/publications/independence-on-the-horizon-a-study-of-the-interplaybetween-sovereignty-and-natural-resources-in-greenland-article866-290.html. Østhagen & Schofield
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Fabri, Helene Ruiz, Erik Franckx, Marco Benatar, and Tamar Meshel, eds. 2021. A Bridge over Troubled Waters: Dispute Resolution in the Law of International Watercourses and the Law of the Sea. Leiden: Brill Nijhoff. Fjærtoft, Daniel, Moe Arild, Natalia Smirnova, and Alexey Cherepovitsyn. 2018. “Unitization of Petroleum Fields in the Barents Sea: Towards a Common Understanding?” Arctic Review on Law and Politics 9: 72–96. https://doi.org/10.23865/arctic.v9.1083. Global Affairs Canada. 2018. “Canada and the Kingdom of Denmark (with Greenland) Announce the Establishment of a Joint Task Force on Boundary Issues.” Government of Canada. 2018. Government of Canada. 2010. “Speech from the Throne,” March 3, 2010. http://www.speech.gc.ca/eng/media.asp?id=1388. Great Britain-Russia. 1825. “Great Britain-Russia: Limits of Their Respective Possessions on the North-West Coast of America and the Navigation of the Pacific Ocean.” 75 CTS 95: 16 February 1825. Henriksen, Tore, and Geir Ulfstein. 2011. “Maritime Delimitation in the Arctic: The Barents Sea Treaty.” Ocean Development & International Law 42 (1–2): 1–21. Hoel, Alf Håkon. 2009. “Do We Need a New Legal Regime for the Arctic Ocean?” The International Journal of Marine and Coastal Law 24 (2): 443–56. Hønneland, Geir. 2012. Making Fishery Agreements Work: Post-Agreement Bargaining in the Barents Sea. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar. International Hydrographic Organization (IHO). 2014. “A Manual on Technical Aspects of the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea - 1982 (TALOS).” Special Publication No.51, 5th edition. Jensen, Øystein. 2016. “The International Code for Ships Operating in Polar Waters: Finalization, Adoption and Law of the Sea Implications.” Arctic Review on Law and Politics 7 (1): 60–82. https://doi.org/10.17585/arctic.v7.236. Kingdom of Denmark. 2004. “Royal Decree on Amendment of Royal Decree on Delimitation of the Territorial Waters of Greenland, 15 October 2004.” http://www.un.org/Depts/los/doalos_publications/LOSBulletins/bulletinpdf/bulletin5 6e.pdf. Lathrop, Coalter G., J. Ashley Roach, and Donald R. Rothwell, eds. 2019. Baselines under the International Law of the Sea: Reports of the International Law Association Committee on Baselines under the International Law of the Sea. Leiden: Brill Nijhoff. Lavrov, Sergei, and Jonas Gahr Støre. 2010. “Canada, Take Note: Here’s How to Resolve Maritime Disputes.” The Globe and Mail, September 21, 2010. http://www.theglobeandmail.com/opinion/canada-take-note-heres-how-to-resolvemaritime-disputes/article4326372/. Mackrael, Kim. 2012. “Canada, Denmark Closer to Settling Border Dispute.” Globe and Mail, November 29, 2012.
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Macnab, Ron. 2004a. “The Case for Transparency in the Delimitation of the Outer Continental Shelf in Accordance with LOSC Article 76.” Ocean Development & International Law 35: 1– 17. ———. 2004b. “The Outer Limit of the Continental Shelf in the Arctic Ocean.” In Legal and Scientific Aspects of Continental Shelf Limits, edited by M. H. Nordquist, J. N. Moore, and T. H. Heidar. Leiden: Martinus Nijhoff Publishers. McDorman, Ted L. 2002. “The Role of the Commision on the Limits of Continental Shelf: A Technical Body in a Political World.” International Journal of Marine and Coastal Law 17: 301. Moe, Arild, Daniel Fjærtoft, and Indra Øverland. 2011. “Space and Timing: Why Was the Barents Sea Delimitation Dispute Resolved in 2010?” Polar Geography 34 (3): 145–62. Norway–Russian Federation. 2010. “Treaty between Norway and the Russian Federation Concerning Maritime Delimitation and Cooperation in the Barents Sea and Arctic Ocean, 15 September 2010.” Norwegian Government. 2010. “Joint Statement on Maritime Delimitation and Cooperation in the Barents Sea and the Arctic Ocean.” Press Release, 2010. Novosti, RIA. 2007. “Russia Guided By International Law In Its Polar Shelf Probe.” RIA Novosti, August 3, 2007. Østhagen, Andreas. 2018. “Geopolitics and Security in the Arctic.” In Routledge Handbook of the Polar Regions, edited by Mark Nuttall, Torben R. Christensen, and Martin Siegert, 348–56. Abingdon, UK: Routledge. ———. 2021. “Troubled Seas? The Changing Politics of Maritime Boundary Disputes.” Ocean & Coastal Management 205 (May 2021): 105535. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ocecoaman.2021.105535. Østhagen, Andreas, Anne-Kristin Jørgensen, and Arild Moe. 2020. “Рыбоохранная Зона Шпицбергена: Как Россия и Норвегия Разрешают Арктические Разногласия ('The Svalbard Fisheries Protection Zone: How Russia and Norway Manage an Arctic Dispute’).” Арктика и Север (Arctic and North) 40: 183–205. http://www.arcticandnorth.ru/article_index_years.php?ELEMENT_ID=348131. Oude Elferink, Alex G. 2007. “Maritime Delimitation between Denmark/Greenland and Norway.” Ocean Development & International Law 38 (4): 375–80. Parfitt, Tom. 2007. “Russia Plants Flag on North Pole Seabed.” The Guardian, August 2, 2007. Pay, Brian J. Van. 2012. “Disputed Areas Beyond 200 Nautical Miles: How Many and Will Geophysical Characteristics Matter in Their Resolution?” In Maritime Border Diplomacy, edited by Myron H. Nordquist and John Norton Moore. Leiden/Boston: Martinus Nijhoff Publishers. Roach, J. Ashley, and Robert W. Smith. n.d. Excessive Maritime Claims. 3rd ed. Leiden/Boston: Martinus Nijhoff Publishers. Rothwell, Donald. 1996. The Polar Regions and the Development of International Law. Cambridge Studies in International and Comparative Law CN - KZ4110.P65 R68 1996. Østhagen & Schofield
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Rothwell, Donald R. 2012. “International Straits and Trans-Arctic Navigation.” Ocean Development and International Law 43 (3): 267–82. Russia–Norway. 2007. “Agreement between the Russian Federation and the Kingdom of Norway on the Maritime Delimitation in the Varangerfjord Area (2007).” UN Law of the Sea Bulletin 42, 2007. Russia–United States. 1867. “Convention Ceding Alaska between Russia and the United States, 30 March 1867.” Article I, reprinted in C. Parry, ed. Consolidated Treaty Series, Vol. 134 (pp. 331–335). Schofield, Clive H. 2015. “Dividing and Managing Increasingly International Waters: Delimiting the Bering Sea, Strait and Beyond.” In Science, Technology and New Challenges to Ocean Law, edited by James Kraska and H. Scheiberg, 313–344. Leiden/Boston: Martinus Nijhoff Publishers. Schofield, Clive H., and Bernard Leonardo. 2020. “Disputes Concerning the Delimitation of the Continental Shelf Beyond 200 M.” In New Knowledge and Changing Circumstances in the Law of the Sea, edited by Tomas Heidar, 157–82. Leiden/Boston: Brill. Schofield, Clive H., and Blanche Sas. 2015. “Uncovered and Unstable Coasts: Climate Change and Territorial Sea Baselines in the Arctic.” In The Arctic Ocean: Essays in Honour of Donat Pharand, edited by Suzanne Lalonde and Ted L. McDorman, 291–334. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff Publishers. Smith, Robert W. 1994. “United States–Russia Maritime Boundary.” In World Boundaries, Vol.5, edited by Gerald H. Blake, 91–99. London: Routledge. Stabrun, Kristoffer. 2009. “The Grey Zone Agreement of 1978: Fishery Concerns, Security Challenges and Territorial Interests.” FNI Report 13: 1–43. Svalbard Treaty. 1920. “Treaty between Norway, The United States of America, Denmark, France, Italy, Japan, the Netherlands, Great Britain and Ireland and the British Overseas Dominions and Sweden Concerning Spitsbergen Signed in Paris 9th February 1920.” Longyearbyen: The Governor of Svalbard. http://www.sysselmannen.no/Documents/Sysselmannen_dok/English/Legacy/The_Sv albard_Treaty_9ssFy.pdf. Tiller, Rachel, and Elizabeth Nyman. 2015. “Having the Cake and Eating It Too: To Manage or Own the Svalbard Fisheries Protection Zone.” Marine Policy 60: 141–48. Townsend-Gault, Ian. 2007. “Not a Carve-up: Canada, Sovereignty and the Arctic Ocean.” International Zeitschrift 1 (3). United Nations. 1982. “United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (LOSC).” 1833 U.N.T.S. 397 (in Force 16 November 1994), Publication No. E97.V10. Montego Bay. ———. 2021. “Status: United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea.” Treaty Collection. New York. 2021. https://treaties.un.org/pages/ViewDetailsIII.aspx?src=TREATY&mtdsg_no=XXI6&chapter=21&Temp=mtdsg3&clang=_en. United States–Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. 1990. “Agreement between the United States The Arctic Ocean: Boundaries and Disputes
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of America and The Union of the Soviet Socialist Republics on the Maritime Boundary.” 1 June 1990, provisionally in force 15 June 1990. US Department of State. 1995. Public Notice 2237: Exclusive Economic Zone and Maritime Boundaries. Verville, Elizabeth G. 1993. “United States–Soviet Union.” In International Maritime Boundaries, Vol. 1, edited by Jonathan I. Charney and Lewis M. Alexander, 447–460. Dordrecht: Martinus Nijhoff Publishers.
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FONOP in Vain: The Legal Logics of a U.S. Navy FONOP in the Canadian or Russian Arctic Cornell Overfield
This article examines the legal utility of a U.S. Freedom of Navigation Operation in the Arctic against Russian and Canadian maritime claims. It reiterates that a FONOP can only be conducted against coastal state claims that affect warships or foreign government vessels. It concludes that Russia’s Northern Sea Route is not a viable FONOP target, and United States action would be limited to where Russia claims internal waters in its Arctic straits. Canada offers a better target, as its internal-waters claim entirely covers useful navigation routes in the Northwest Passage and some of its environmental regulations in its EEZ may apply to foreign government vessels.1
Introduction The Arctic’s growing maritime significance may lead the United States to consider conducting a Freedom of Navigation operation (FONOP) in the Arctic straits. In 2018, then-Secretary of the Navy Richard V. Spencer called for FONOPs in the Arctic (Schreiber, 2019). In 2021, as the Trump administration ended, then-Secretary of the Navy Kenneth Braithwaite likewise pushed for FONOPs in the Arctic against Russian claims, both in the Barents Sea near the Kola Peninsula and, eventually, along the Russian Arctic straits (McCleary, 2021). Despite these developments, FONOPs would be ineffective challenges against Russian claims and of partial use against Canadian claims. This is because U.S. FONOPs are conducted by government vessels, which are exempt from many navigation restrictions in the Arctic. First, this article discusses the U.S. government’s Freedom of Navigation program’s legal effects. It then explores what current Canadian and Russian claims and laws mean for commercial and government vessels navigating in Arctic passages. The article concludes by scrutinizing these restrictions to determine the viable legal targets for a U.S. Arctic FONOP.
Cornell G. Overfield is an Associate Research Analyst at CNA, a nonprofit research and analysis organization located in Arlington, VA. Views expressed in this article are his alone and do not represent those of his employer.
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Freedom of Navigation operations To defend its interpretation of the law of the sea, the United States has coupled diplomatic protest with operational assertions of rights constrained by coastal states since the 1970s. The Freedom of Navigation (FON) program combines diplomatic and military actions to “preserve and enhance navigational freedoms” necessary for U.S. maritime mobility, as well as to reinforce recognition of the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea’s (UNCLOS) navigational components (Roach & Smith, 1994: 3–4). In conjunction with diplomatic protest and consultations, the United States conducts Freedom of Navigation operations (FONOPs)—operational assertions of various maritime rights in defiance of coastal state claims deemed excessive by the United States, whether made by allied, neutral, or adversary states (U.S. Department of Defense Freedom of Navigation (FON) Program, 2016). Although some legal scholars have questioned the practice, FONOPs have legal utility. Some scholars assert that diplomatic protest is sufficient, and operational assertions are legally unnecessary, diplomatically unhelpful, and potentially even an unlawful abuse of rights (Aceves, 1995). In their definitive statement, however, Roach and Smith argue that the FON program simply hedges effectively against the possibility that U.S. protests on paper might be invalidated by sustained U.S. behavior on the seas. They note, “These assertions of rights and freedoms tangibly exhibit U.S. determination not to acquiesce in excessive claims to maritime jurisdiction by other states” (Roach & Smith, 1994: 6). Dale Stephens has offered a similar argument for the utility of such operations (Stephens, 2012). The U.S. cannot target every excessive claim impinging on navigational rights through the Freedom of Navigation program’s operational dimension. In a strictly legal sense, the logic of a FONOP is that a vessel is doing something that the coastal state prohibits that vessel from doing, but that the flag state believes is within the rights of the vessel. A vessel’s actions can only protest a restriction that applies to it. For example, government-owned and -operated vessels, including warships, enjoy immunity from environmental regulations under Article 236 UNCLOS (McDorman, 2015). They thus cannot be used to protest excessive environmental regulations on behalf of all vessels—at most they can protest that environmental rules are applied to sovereign immune vessels. The Department of Defense (DoD)’s annual reports summarizing the claims operationally protested in each fiscal year demonstrate that the program targets restrictions that apply to U.S. naval vessels.2 Figure 1 illustrates the count of claim types targeted in the U.S. FONOP program from 1991 to 2020. 34 percent of targeted claims were restrictions on innocent passage and 27 percent involved excessive internal water claims. Next came FONOPs against restrictions on military activities in the Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ) (12.1 percent), security zone claims (9.8 percent), and excessive territorial sea claims (9.3 percent).3 Restrictions on aircraft and transit passage made up between 7 percent and 6 percent of targeted claims, respectively. The “Other” category (4 percent) mostly involves archipelagic baselines and sea lanes. There was one repeated example of FONOPs targeting a coastal state’s requirement that vessels obtain permission before entering the EEZ—the Maldives. However, the Maldives’ claim is a universal requirement, that “No foreign vessel shall enter the EEZ of Maldives except with prior authorization…” (Maritime Zones of Maldives Act No. 6/96, 1996, sec. 14).
The Legal Logics of a U.S. Navy FONOP in the Canadian or Russian Arctic
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Figure 1. Graphic by author. Data compiled with help from Marian Overfield. This historical record of U.S. FONOP targets confirms that the U.S. program of operational assertions targets restrictions that apply to warships, whether specifically or as part of a larger class (all government vessels or all foreign vessels). Thus, the U.S. Navy’s legal experts appear aware that government vessels may only challenge restrictions that apply to government vessels, while restrictions on commercial vessels alone cannot be targeted in the FONOP program.
Law of the Sea and the Arctic In general, UNCLOS divides the sea into zones with distinct rules for navigational rights and restrictions. Rights grow and restrictions diminish as one gets farther from shore. In internal waters, the coastal state generally has absolute control over entry and navigation; in territorial seas, foreign vessels enjoy innocent passage rights.4 On the high seas, navigational rights are unconstrained. In between, rights are based on the high seas regime, but with some constraints for commercial vessels. In addition to these zone-based rulesets, two special regimes may also have bearing on foreign vessel rights in the Arctic: straits used for international navigation and ice-covered areas. First, UNCLOS recognizes straits “used for international navigation,” in which all vessels enjoy the right of transit passage. These straits have both geographical and functional criteria. Geographically, the strait must connect two areas of EEZs or high seas through a channel of territorial seas or internal waters. Functionally, these straits must be “used for international navigation,” although scholars debate whether this requires merely possible use or past use, and, if the latter, the threshold. If the waters are considered a strait, the zone remains unchanged – only foreign vessel rights are altered. Vessels enjoy the slightly more expansive rights of transit passage, which permit operation in normal mode (i.e., submarines may remain submerged), while coastal states face more constrained rights, since transit passage may not be suspended (UNCLOS, 1982, Art. 39 and 44). Second, Article 234, UNCLOS’ “ice-covered areas” provision, clearly has bearing in the Arctic. Under Article 234, the coastal state may introduce and enforce more stringent environmental rules applied to their internal waters, territorial sea, and EEZ “where particularly severe climactic conditions and the presence of ice covering such areas for most of the year create obstructions or exceptional hazards to navigation, and pollution of the marine environment could cause major
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harm to or irreversible disturbance of the ecological balance” (Solski, 2021; UNCLOS, 1982, Art. 234). These rules “shall have due regard to navigation” and may not discriminate among countries. Furthermore, these regulations do not extend sovereignty to the EEZ and do not affect the high seas. Article 234-based provisions cannot apply to sovereign immune vessels. Article 236 clearly stipulates that “The provisions of this convention regarding the protection and preservation of the marine environment do not apply to any warship, naval auxiliary, other vessels or aircraft owned or operated by a State and used, for the time being, only on government non-commercial service”(UNCLOS, 1982, Art. 236). Not only is Article 234 situated in Part XII, “Protection and Preservation of the Marine Environment,” but the text of Article 234 reiterates that the purpose of any regulations adopted under the article is “the prevention, reduction, and control of marine pollution from vessels.” Furthermore, Article 236 reflects the customary international law of sovereign immunity, such as the principle par in parem non habet imperium (Proelss et al., 2017: 1591– 1595).
Current Canadian claims
Figure 2: Canadian restrictions on navigation Canada’s claim to control navigation in the Northwest Passage rests on two bases: (1) an internal water claim and (2) two Article 234-based regulations: the Arctic Waters Pollution Prevention Act
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and the Northern Canada Vessel Traffic Services Zone Regulations. Canada’s internal waters claim is the greatest impediment to navigational rights, as it implies total control over all vessels. Canada’s internal waters claim Canada’s internal water claim entails a major restriction on navigational rights of all foreign vessels. As illustrated in Figure 2, this claim encompasses the entire Arctic Archipelago. To avoid Canada’s claimed internal waters entirely, a vessel would need to route between Ellesmere Island and Greenland and then remain north of Canada’s islands on a southwest bearing toward the Beaufort Sea. Current conditions make this a perilous route, even in an age of thinning and melting sea ice. Canadian officials first began publicly describing the Northwest Passage as Canadian internal waters in 1973 (Lajeunesse, 2016: 180). In 1985, responding to media furor over the USCGC Polar Sea’s transit of the Northwest Passage, Canada drew straight baselines around its Arctic islands, but formally characterized this as merely delimiting its historic title. Introducing the straight baselines, the Order in Council prefaced the action by noting that “Canada has long maintained and exercised sovereignty over the waters of the Canadian Arctic” (Territorial Sea Geographical Coordinates (Area 7) Order, 1985). Joe Clark, Canada’s Secretary of State for External Affairs, described the order as defining “the outer limit of Canada’s historic internal waters” (Lajeunesse, 2016: 263; Lalonde, 2018). Per Ottawa, the 1985 straight baselines mark the limits of Canada’s purported historic title to internal waters (Lajeunesse, 2016: 263–265). Canada’s claim to internal waters by historic title has been criticized, including by a leading Canadian scholar (Kraska, 2015; Pharand, 1987). Canada’s claim certainly struggles to meet the three criteria for historic title (International Law Commission, 1962, para. 80). First, the U.S. clearly operated in the waters of the Northwest Passage from the 1940s to the 1980s from the position that each Canadian island had its own 3 or 12 nautical mile (n.m.) territorial sea, with pockets of high seas throughout the Northwest Passage beyond Canada’s territorial sea (Lajeunesse, 2016: 92– 95). Second, Canada only first made a public internal water claim in the 1970s, and through the mid-1970s continued to articulate positions contradictory to an internal water claim, including its 12 n.m. territorial sea claim of 1970 (Pharand, 2007: 10). This late notice, combined with a lack of evidence that any British or Canadian explorer staked claim to waters around Canada’s archipelagos, significantly undermines a credible historic title claim, which must be consistent and long-standing (Pharand, 2007). Currently, Professor Lalonde offers the best, if untested, defense of Canada’s official historic title position as justified exclusively by Inuit title transferred to Canada, particularly in the 1993 Nunavut Land Claims Agreement (The Nunavut Agreement, 1993, 2.7.1 and 15.1.1; Lalonde, 2020: 120– 121). Inuit title, by this theory, is a result of their longstanding use of ice-covered waters, which was then transferred to Canada at some point no later than 1993. Still, to prevail, this novel argument would need to overcome longstanding Western state practice that sea ice is not susceptible to occupation and sovereignty claims (Joyner, 2001: 30). Even if Lalonde’s last defense failed, absent a court case (and Canada has a reservation against compulsory jurisdiction on matters of historic waters), Ottawa would surely continue to consider the Northwest Passage internal waters based on historic title. The implications for commercial and government traffic must be assessed on this assumption. Since historic title leaves no loopholes, Canada would claim total control over foreign traffic. Ottawa would expect all vessels, whether
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government or commercial, to request and receive Canadian authorization to enter their waters and comply with any Canadian requirements. The U.S. has protested this Canadian claim, creating fertile grounds for a FONOP. Through the 1970s, the U.S. maintained that high seas existed among the islands of Canada’s Arctic Archipelago wherever waters were more than 3 n.m. from the nearest land. After Canada extended its territorial sea in 1970, and began elaborating its internal waters claim from 1973, the U.S. shifted its language as well. In a 1985 note, the U.S. announced that it “does not share” Canada’s view that the Northwest Passage was internal waters (Cumulative Digest, 1981-88, 1993: 2047). More concretely, a 2010 U.S. protest held “the Northwest Passage constitutes a strait used for international navigation” (Wilcox, 2011: 517). This latter claim would confer transit passage rights to foreign vessels. This U.S. note, however, was silent on the underlying nature of the Northwest Passage’s waters. Canada’s Article 234-based restrictions Canada has also enacted a separate suite of functional controls on navigation rooted in Article 234 that restrict commercial navigational freedoms, as well as some forms of government vessels. The Arctic Waters Pollution Prevention Act (AWPPA) is an Article 234-based control that could theoretically extend to government vessels, but in practice does not. Today, it covers all of Canada’s Arctic waters, including EEZ, territorial sea, and internal waters. The AWPPA permits the establishment of Shipping Safety Control Zones, from which the minister may prohibit certain types of vessels based, inter alia, on the vessel’s hull construction, manning, or cargoes. The AWPPA permits regulations that prohibit the operation of certain types of vessels within Shipping Safety Control Zones and notes that the Governor in Council “may exempt from the application of any regulations…any ship or class of ship that is owned or operated by a sovereign power, other than Canada…” (AWPPA, 1985, sec. 12). This would appear to apply to any class-based prohibitions to foreign government vessels by default, requiring a regulation to specifically exempt such vessels. In fact, the most important regulation restricting navigation under the AWPPA explicitly exempts government vessels. The Arctic Shipping Safety and Pollution Prevention Regulations (ASSPPR) governs when vessels of different ice classes may navigate in the various safety zones. However, the regulation includes a non-application clause for “government vessels and vessels owned or operated by a foreign state” (ASSPPR, 2017, sec. 3). Thus, its restrictions on navigation in Arctic waters apply solely to civilian traffic. The Arctic Waters Pollution Prevention Regulations (AWPPR) includes no such clause, but simply covers waste dumping and required liability coverage, rather than navigation itself (AWPPR, 1978). The AWPPA and its attendant regulations apply almost exclusively to commercial vessels. The AWPPA does by default apply regulations prohibiting vessels of certain construction or manning characteristics from navigating in Canada’s EEZ, territorial sea, and internal waters. However, the regulation implementing this provision includes an explicit exception for all government-owned or -operated vessels. No such exemption exists in regulations against pollution in Arctic safety zones. Since 2010, the Northern Canada Vessel Traffic Services Zone Regulations (NORDREG), another Article 234-based regulation, has required mandatory reporting of certain vessels’ locations at various prescribed situations and times to Canadian authorities whenever a vessel is in Canada’s EEZ (Kraska, 2015: 232; NORDREG, 2010). This effectively requires foreign vessels subject to
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the regulation to request and receive Canadian authorization before entering Canada’s Arctic EEZ. Vessels that must comply with NORDREG are: (1) those with gross tonnage of over 300 tons, (2) vessels towing or pushing another vessel where the combined tonnage is over 500 tons, and (3) vessels carrying or towing pollutants or dangerous goods (NORDREG, 2010, Art. 3). As a regulation implemented under the Canada Shipping Act of 2001, that Act informs which vessels Canada claims must comply with NORDREG. Paragraph 7(1) of the 2001 Shipping Act provides that the Act’s provisions generally do “not apply in respect of a vessel, facility, or aircraft that belongs to…a foreign military force or in respect of any other vessel, facility, or aircraft that is under the command, control or direction of the Canadian forces” (Canada Shipping Act, 2001). While vessels under the command or control of Canadian forces are exempt, the same exemption is not explicitly extended to vessels in temporary service of foreign militaries. Likewise, the exemption speaks only of “foreign militaries,” implying that vessels operated by a government but not a military service are also subject to regulations established under the 2001 Act. In sum, NORDREG applies primarily to commercial vessels, but may also apply to non-military sovereign immune vessels that should be entitled to exemption under Article 236. Vessels subject to the act must file a sailing plan before entering Canada’s EEZ in the Arctic and obtain clearance from Canadian authorities, as well as provide daily reports on their position. Several states have protested the mandatory NORDREG system with arguments that it unlawfully constrains navigation for both government vessels and all vessels. The U.S. objected to the regulations in 2010, while acknowledging the need for action to protect the Arctic. First, the U.S. called the prior permission requirement “a sweeping infringement of freedom of navigation…and the right of innocent passage” that violates Article 234’s proviso that any such regulations must have “due regard” for navigation. (Wilcox, 2011: 516) Furthermore, the U.S. objects to the apparent application of NORDREG to both vessels in temporary foreign military service and in non-military government service as a contravention of Article 236 (Wilcox, 2011: 516–517). The U.S. was joined by Singapore, Germany, and other entities in voicing these protests at the International Maritime Organization (IMO), although that body ultimately remained split on whether to act (Kraska, 2015: 245–246). We can now assess the impact of the most important Canadian laws and regulations governing navigation on foreign commercial and government traffic in the Arctic. The following analysis is summarized in Table 1. Article 234-based regulations provide modest navigational restrictions, primarily on commercial navigation. Canada’s internal waters claim is the greatest impediment to all forms of navigation. Because Canada claims internal waters by historic title, its position recognizes no right of innocent or transit passage within Canada’s Arctic straight baselines. Both commercial and government traffic must then, according to Ottawa, request and obtain Canadian permission to enter and navigate through these claimed internal waters.
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TABLE 1. Canadian Maritime Claims in the Arctic and U.S. Position Canadian Arctic internal waters
Canadian Arctic internal waters, territorial sea, and exclusive economic zone
Northern Canada Vessel baselines Arctic Waters Pollution Traffic Services Zone Prevention Act Regulations
Canadian Claim
Straight (1985)
Basis
Historical Title
UNCLOS Article 234
UNCLOS Article 234
Effect on Vessels Commercial Vessels
Prior permission Prohibition on pollution, Prior permission required required potential restriction of for some vessels navigation
Warships
Prior permission None required
None
Other Government Prior permission Prohibition on pollution Prior permission required Vessels required for some vessels U.S. Claim Navigational Claim Basis
Transit rights
passage All sovereign immune vessels exempt Prior permission requirement violation of Art. 234 “due regard” Strait used for international navigation
Current Russian claims The Northeast Passage (NEP) runs along Eurasia’s northern coast, connecting the Barents Sea with the Bering Strait. The adjacent coast is mostly Russian, except a small section north of Norway. The Russian components of the NEP vary in ice coverage. The Barents Sea has historically been fairly ice-free, while the Kara, Dmitry Laptev, and East Siberian Seas have all had thicker coverage. Ice melt and thinning in these three seas has been more pronounced than that in the Northwest Passage. Russia’s Northern Sea Route (NSR), discussed below, is a sub-area of the NEP, and its restrictions apply only to part of the NEP. Like Canada and the NWP, Russia’s claims to control navigation in the NEP are based on both internal water claims and Article 234-based regulations. In contrast to Canada, Russia’s Article 234based restrictions are the major impediment to navigation, but Russia currently applies them only to non-government vessels.
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Figure 3: Russian maritime claims in the Arctic Russia’s internal water claims Russia has claimed internal waters based on straight baselines along parts of the NEP, but its claims are less extensive than Canada’s. Unlike Canada, Russia’s coastline is not dominated by the islands necessary to justify straight baselines. In 1985, the Soviet Union enclosed Novaya Zemlya, Severnaya Zemlya, and the New Siberian Islands, and thus the Kara Gate, Dmitri Laptev, Vilkitskii, and Sannikov straits, with straight baselines. Other indentations in the coast were also enclosed (Decree 4450, 1985). Soviet and Russian practice has not made entirely clear whether these are historic or non-historic title claims, although most are inclined to interpret the claim as one to historic title. Before 1985, Russia made some claims to historic title in the Dmitry Laptev and Sannikov Straits, which the United States protested (Cumulative Digest, 1981-88, 1993: 1818–1819). The 1985 declaration drawing straight baselines noted that other waters, particularly the White Sea, were historic internal waters, but made no such claim to the various Arctic straits (Decree 4450, 1985). The influential Russian legal scholar A.V. Vylegzhanin argues that these waters are historic based on Russian and Soviet actions dating from the 17th century (Vylegzhanin et al., 2020). Per Vylegzhanin’s account, the 1985 straight baselines merely delineated Russia’s historic waters, much like the Canadian argument that their 1985 straight baselines did the same. His is a popular argument with other Russian authors (Morgunov et al., 2021; Todorov, 2017).
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Russia’s current law makes no distinction between internal waters by historic title and internal waters by straight baseline, and thus expects all foreign navigation in these waters to occur with Russian consent. The 1998 Act on Internal Waters, Territorial Sea, and Contiguous Zone, which also governs innocent passage, recognizes foreign vessels’ (both commercial and government) right to innocent passage only in the territorial sea (О Внутрених Морских Водах..., 1998, sec. 12.1). Thus, Russian law includes no explicit right to innocent passage even in internal waters where the right might exist subject to Article 8(2) of UNCLOS. Russia’s internal waters claims are a moderate impediment to navigational rights of all vessels. Although Russia is not clear whether its internal waters claim is based on historic title or mere straight baselines, Russian law does not admit the possibility of innocent passage in any internal waters. Thus, Russia appears not to recognize any right to innocent passage in the Kara Gate, Vilkitskii, Dmitry Laptev, or Sannikov Straits. It likewise rejects any transit passage right there, arguing they do not meet the use criteria of a strait used for international navigation. Recognizing neither innocent nor transit passage in its internal waters, Russia implicitly requires all vessels, both commercial and government, to request and obtain Russian permission before entering the Russian Arctic straits. Russia’s Article 234-based claims Russia, like Canada, also claims control over navigation within certain parts of its Arctic internal waters, territorial sea, and EEZ with regulations rooted in Article 234 UNCLOS. Russian law defines the Northern Sea Route (NSR) as a special area, subject to certain rules “with the goal of ensuring the security of navigation, as well as the prevention, reduction and prevention of pollution to the marine environment from ships…” (McDorman, 2020; L. Zou, 2019; Кодекс Торгового Мореплавания Российской Федерации, 1999, sec. 5.1.2) This, independent of the older Russian and Soviet claim that the NSR is a national transportation route, is a clear invocation of Article 234 of UNCLOS. The NSR’s area encompasses Russia’s “internal sea waters, territorial sea, contiguous zone, and exclusive economic zone,” bounded in the east by the 1990 U.S.-Soviet maritime boundary, and in the west by a meridian running north from Novaya Zemlya (Закон о Северном Морском Пути, 2012; Кодекс Торгового Мореплавания Российской Федерации, 1999, sec. 5.1.1). The current Russian definition of the NSR area addresses two American concerns about navigational rights. First, the United States and some scholars worried that a previous definition might entail a Russian claim to regulate navigation on the high seas adjacent to the NSR (Brubaker, 1999). That language is no longer present in the current law. Second, Russia’s current definition of the NSR is clearly incompatible with the occasional American scholarly claims that Russia has made “an implicit ‘historic waters’ claim to all the waters” of the NSR (Bouffard, 2021: 2; Fahey, 2018: 172). The Russian legislation covers a clearly identified EEZ that stretches from Russia’s coast or well-defined straight baselines, and an EEZ cannot be internal waters. Furthermore, if Russia did consider the entire NSR area internal waters, it would have every incentive to enclose this area with straight baselines and stake a territorial sea and EEZ claim to what is currently high seas and contested outer continental shelf. As we shall see, NSR regulations are also not functionally equivalent to an internal-waters claim. The NSR regulations apply to non-government traffic. The principal controls are found in the Maritime Shipping Act. Based on that Act, commercial shipping vessels seeking to enter the NSR The Legal Logics of a U.S. Navy FONOP in the Canadian or Russian Arctic
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area must apply in advance for permission to navigate within the NSR area. Furthermore, such vessels must utilize and pay for Russian icebreaking services and carry adequate insurance (Todorov, 2021: 4, 8; Кодекс Торгового Мореплавания Российской Федерации, 1999, sec. 5.1). Article 14 of the 1998 Act on Internal Waters, Territorial Sea, and Contiguous Zone describes the Northern Sea Route, and lays out similar requirements for foreign pleasure and tourist craft in the NSR area (О Внутрених Морских Водах..., 1998). This de facto requires foreign commercial and pleasure vessels to request permission to enter some parts of the Russian EEZ. The NSR regime currently has no effect on warships. The Maritime Shipping Act makes no claim to affect foreign sovereign immune vessels. First, the Act generally governs merchant shipping, encompassing carriage of goods and passengers, icebreaking, marine scientific research, and other economic activities (Кодекс Торгового Мореплавания Российской Федерации, 1999, sec. 2). Second, the Act’s section on the NSR area’s icebreaker rules extends those requirements only to “warships, military auxiliary vessels, and other government vessels belonging to the Russian Federation…” (Emphasis added. Кодекс Торгового Мореплавания Российской Федерации, 1999, sec. 5.1.5) The Act does not contain an explicit exemption for sovereign immune vessels, but the icebreaker provision reinforces the presumption that all sovereign immune vessels are by default exempt from the Act given Section 2’s interpretative guidance. Otherwise, it would be unnecessary to explicitly extend the icebreaker requirements to Russian government vessels. The logical consequence of this provision and the Act’s general focus are that foreign government vessels are exempt from all provisions under this law, unless otherwise explicitly stipulated. Recent developments have not changed the NSR’s non-application to government ships. In 2018, the French Navy’s BSAH Rhône sailed along the Northeast Passage from the Barents Sea to the Bering Strait. In response, Russian officials announced their intention to introduce new regulations that would require foreign sovereign immune vessels to comply with NSR rules (Todorov, 2019). This would be a concerning development that flies in the face of international law. But, despite assertions by both scholars and media that these rules are in force, they remain mere proposals (Bouffard, 2021; Buchanan & Strating, 2020; Conley & Melino, 2020: 11; Schreiber, 2019). In 2019, a draft bill was introduced to amend the decree No. 1102 of 1999, “On the Rules for the Navigation and Stay of Foreign Warships and Other Government Vessels.” The draft amendment would require foreign sovereign immune vessels to employ icebreakers in the NSR area, as well as oblige sovereign immune vessels to request and obtain prior permission from the NSR Administration to enter the NSR area (Solski, 2019). However, the draft legislation remains, as of November 2021, in consultation and does not appear in consolidated versions of decree No. 1102 of 1999. (Нормативные Правовые Акты, 2019; Decree No. 1102 of 2 Oct. 1999, 1999) The necessity of the rule change, evidenced by both Russian officials’ comments and the draft legislation, however, further underscores that current rules do not apply to foreign sovereign immune vessels, including warships. In a 2015 diplomatic protest, the United States reiterated its view that the NSR is “inconsistent with important law of the sea principles related to navigational rights and freedoms” and laid out several critiques. First, the U.S. note held that straits used for international navigation exist along the NSR and that this is incompatible with Russia’s internal water claims (“2015 Digest of US Practice,” 2016: 526). This position would imply a non-suspendable transit passage right for all foreign vessels in any straits considered international straits, although the U.S. note does not specify
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those straits.6 Second, the U.S. noted that requiring prior permission to enter the EEZ was incompatible with Article 234’s “due regard for navigation” clause. This objection implicitly takes the position that commercial vessels navigating in the NSR need not obtain prior notification from Russian authorities. Third, the U.S. noted that the law was ambiguous on whether the NSR rules applied to warships and requested confirmation that this was not the case. Although Russian law still lacks an explicit exception, it appears that foreign sovereign immune vessels are exempt from the prior notification and mandatory icebreaker requirements (2015 Digest of US Practice, 2016: 526–527). Having laid out Russian legislation, we can summarize the effect of Russian claims on navigation along the Northeast Passage. The following analysis is summarized in Table 2. Where Russia claims internal waters in the Russian Arctic straits, Moscow’s position requires all foreign vessels, both government and commercial, to request and obtain permission to enter and navigate. In contrast, Northern Sea Route rules apply exclusively to commercial vessels. Commercial vessels must request and obtain permission from the NSR Administration before entering the NSR area. Overwhelming evidence indicates that, as of November 2021, the NSR’s various restrictions and requirements do not apply to foreign government vessels, including warships. TABLE 2. Russian Maritime Claims in the Arctic and U.S. Position Russian Arctic internal waters
Russian Arctic internal waters, territorial sea, and exclusive economic zone within Northern Sea Route
Russian Claim
Straight Baselines (1985)
Northern Sea Route legislation
Basis
Internal waters
UNCLOS Article 234
Effect on Vessels Commercial Vessels Prior permission required
Prior permission required
Warships
Prior permission required
None
Other Government Prior permission required Vessels
None
U.S. Claim Navigational Claim
Transit passage rights
All sovereign immune vessels exempt
Basis
Strait used for international Prior permission requirement violation of navigation Art. 234 “due regard”
Freedom of Navigation targets in the Arctic The Freedom of Navigation program’s reliance on U.S. government vessels imposes constraints on FONOP targets. To be a valid legal target of a FONOP, a coastal state’s maritime law must (a) be excessive to the United States’ understanding of international maritime law, and (b) apply to foreign government vessels. Based on these criteria, Canadian internal water and NORDREG claims are susceptible to a FONOP, although a FONOP against the latter would likely have no implications for commercial traffic. In contrast, only Russia’s internal water position is a valid target for a U.S. FONOP. NSR regulations do not currently apply to U.S. Navy or other sovereign immune vessels.
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FONOP targets in the Canadian Arctic Canada’s internal waters claim is the most viable and substantial FONOP target. Canada’s historic internal waters claim permits both commercial and government traffic by foreign vessels only with Canadian permission. Because these restrictions apply to the government vessels, they are susceptible to challenge by government vessels. To exercise the United States’ claimed transit right in the NWP in a FONOP, the U.S. Navy would have to pass through Canada’s claimed internal waters to and from Canada’s EEZ. The United States, however, may not be able to use Coast Guard icebreakers in light of the 1988 U.S.-Canada agreement. To reinforce that this action is an assertion of transit, rather than innocent, passage rights, the vessel would ideally behave in ways permitted under the former rather than the latter. This might be best achieved with a U.S. Navy submarine, since the normal mode provision of transit passage would permit it to navigate submerged, while an exercise of innocent passage would require it to navigate at the surface throughout the NWP. Several Canadian scholars have argued that clandestine submarine navigation cannot affect Canada’s claim (Lajeunesse, 2016: 238–241; Lalonde & Lasserre, 2013; Pharand, 2007). The United States could circumvent this hurdle by simply announcing publicly the activity before and after the transit, thereby making it notorious. More challenging could be any U.S.-Canada agreement on the approval process for submarine navigation in the Northwest Passage, to which Canadian officials have alluded in the past (Byers, 2015: 168–169; Lajeunesse, 2016: 295). NORDREG is a narrower FONOP target. The mandatory reporting requirements exempt vessels owned by foreign militaries but appear to apply to other government-owned or -operated vessels that meet the weight or pollutant criteria. Such vessels should, by the U.S. interpretation of Article 236 of UNCLOS, be exempt from all environmental regulations. This includes NORDREG, which is based on Article 234 of UNCLOS. Thus, to challenge this specific gap in Canadian law, the United States could use a government-owned or -leased vessel for some non-commercial purpose that would require passing through the NORDREG area. While doing so, the vessel would not obtain prior clearance from Canadian authorities and fail to comply with mandatory reporting requirements. This would assert government-owned vessels’ exemption from NORDREG, but such a FONOP would have to emphasize “due regard” to have even a tenuous effect in defense of commercial navigational freedoms. The AWPPA theoretically opens Canadian claims to a FONOP, but in practice, the AWWPA’s implementing regulations do not offer an appealing target. Only the provisions on waste dumping fail to exempt government-owned vessels. To operationally demonstrate the illegality of this measure, a non-warship U.S. government vessel would have to willfully pollute the Canadian Arctic. Not only would this undercut the U.S. government’s commitment to marine stewardship, but it would also surely poison U.S.-Canada relations. FONOP targets in the Russian Arctic Russia’s Arctic claims meet the necessary conditions for FONOPs in a more limited fashion. Only Russia’s internal water claim is a viable target for the U.S. Freedom of Navigation program. The U.S. Navy and Coast Guard can sail in the Northern Sea Route area, but it would not be a FONOP. Russia’s internal water claim is not explicitly based on historic title across all the major Arctic straits. Nevertheless, Russian law does not recognize a right to innocent passage in areas enclosed by
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straight baselines but previously territorial or high seas. Since this deprives all vessels, including government ones, of possible innocent passage or transit passage rights, it can be challenged by a U.S. government vessel. The official U.S. claim is that the Russian Arctic straits are straits used for international navigation where transit passage applies. To operationally assert the United States’ claimed right to transit passage, the U.S. Navy would have to pass through Russia’s internal waters to and from the Russian EEZ. As in the Canadian case, the challenge would be in distinguishing this action from innocent passage. Again, a notorious transit by a submerged submarine might offer the best avenue, but it would be operationally challenging. The NSR, as currently codified, offers no opening for a U.S. FONOP. The measures apply only to commercial vessels—foreign sovereign immune vessels are exempt from the NSR provisions codified in various Russian laws and decrees. Overwhelming evidence indicates that warships, military auxiliaries, and other government vessels in non-commercial service are not subject to NSR regulations. Russian officials, judging by their statements and legislative proposals, share this position. The only conceivable approach would be for a U.S. government-owned vessel to engage in commercial activity, pass through the NSR area, and defy the regulations. Such defiance could include refusing to obtain prior notice, not engaging Russian icebreakers, or not carrying insurance.
Conclusion Based on the analysis here, the U.S. Navy will find precious little in the Arctic to target in a FONOP. Because Russia’s Northern Sea Route regime applies to commercial vessels, a U.S. FONOP by a government ship against the NSR regime would have no legal effect. The U.S. Navy or Coast Guard could sail there—but it would not be a FONOP. The United States could target only Russia’s internal waters policy in the Russian Arctic straits, although this would secure rights for both government and commercial traffic. If the United States or Asian states, for that matter, are concerned about Russian restrictions on commercial navigation, they would need to rely purely on diplomatic protests, or conceive of new ways to protest with commercial, rather than government, vessels. Since Canada’s Arctic maritime claims impose significant constraints on both government and commercial vessels, any U.S. Arctic FONOP would be of greatest utility against Canada. Canada’s internal water claim is expansive, and the United States’ counter-position affords significant rights to both government and commercial users. Canadian restrictions covering the EEZ, however, only partially apply to government vessels, and only government vessels would benefit from the FONOP. A Canadian FONOP would have significant diplomatic costs. Such an action would rip open the dispute that Ottawa and Washington have successfully managed since 1988. Finally, journalists and legal scholars need to press policymakers and analysts calling for an Arctic FONOP to explicitly identify what precisely such an action would target. FONOPs are a common policy prescription, but they can happen only where the operation resists an actual legal claim applying to a warship. In the Arctic, this drives the United States toward a FONOP against Canada and offers little purchase against Russian claims.
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Notes 1. The author would like to thank Devon Colmer, Samuel Byers, Andrei Todorov, and the two anonymous reviewers for their comments and suggestions. A further thanks to Devon Colmer for his table-making expertise. 2. These reports note which claims were protested multiple times in a single fiscal year, but do not provide specific counts of how many times certain claims were challenged. Thus, DoD statistics somewhat underplay how common challenges are to internal water claims, and restrictions on innocent passage and military activities are in the DoD FONOP repertoire. Still, these data corroborate the point that the FONOP program targets excessive claims that affect naval vessels. 3. Before 2005, most of these claims were claims to territorial seas wider than 12 nautical miles. Since 2005, these claims revolve more around territorial sea claims from features not entitled to such. 4. Innocent passage rights permit free and expeditious movement by vessels through any state’s territorial sea, provided the vessel refrains from certain behaviors. The coastal state may temporarily suspend innocent passage for security reasons. 5. It is not clear why the United States views international strait and internal water status as mutually exclusive in light of Article 35(a) of UNCLOS. Furthermore, the right to transit passage may not apply to some of the Russian Arctic straits due to the exception in Article 38 (1) UNCLOS for straits between an island and the mainland where a navigationally equivalent route exists seaward of the island.
References Aceves, W. J. (1995). The Freedom of Navigation Program: A Study of the Relationship between Law and Politics. Hastings International and Comparative Law Review, 19(2), 259–326. AN AGREEMENT BETWEEN: The Inuit of the Nunavut Settlement Area as represented by the Tungavik Federation of Nunavut AND: Her Majesty The Queen in Right of Canada, (1993). https://nlca.tunngavik.com/ Arctic Shipping Safety and Pollution Prevention Regulations, SOR/2017-286 (2017). https://laws-lois.justice.gc.ca/eng/regulations/SOR-2017-286/FullText.html Arctic Waters Pollution Prevention Act, R.S.C., 1985, c. A-12 (1985). https://lawslois.justice.gc.ca/eng/acts/A-12/page-2.html#h-5791 Arctic Waters Pollution Prevention Regulations, C.R.C., c. 354 (1978). https://lawslois.justice.gc.ca/eng/regulations/C.R.C.,_c._354/FullText.html Bouffard, T. J. (2021). A Developing Maritime Operational Environment: Forward Presence and Freedom of Navigation in the Arctic (p. 22). North American and Arctic Defense and Security Network. Brubaker, R. D. (1999). The Legal Status of the Russian Baselines in the Arctic. Ocean Development & International Law, 30(3), 191–233. https://doi.org/10.1080/009083299276168
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Buchanan, E., & Strating, B. (2020, November 5). Why the Arctic is Not the ‘Next’ South China Sea. War on the Rocks. http://warontherocks.com/2020/11/why-the-arctic-is-not-the-nextsouth-china-sea/ Byers, M. (2015). International law and the responsibility to protect. In C. Chinkin & F. Baetens (Eds.), Sovereignty, Statehood and State Responsibility (pp. 23–50). Cambridge University Press. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107360075.006 Canada Shipping Act, 2001, S.C. 2001, c. 26 (2001). Chapter 12: Territorial Regimes and Related Issues. (2016). In Digest of United States Practice in International Law, 2015. https://2009-2017.state.gov/s/l/2015/index.htm Conley, H., & Melino, M. (2020). America’s Arctic Moment: Great Power Competition in the Arctic to 2050. Center for Strategic & International Studies. Cumulative digest of United States Practice in International Law, 1981-1988 (Vol. 2). (1993). Office of the Legal Adviser, Dept. of State. Fahey, S. (2018). Access Control: Freedom of the Seas in the Arctic and the Russian Northern Sea Route Regime. Harvard National Security Journal, 9, 154–200. International Law Commission. (1962). Juridical régime of historic waters, including historic bays. In International Law Commission, Yearbook of the International Law Commission 1962, Vol. II (pp. 1–26). UN. https://doi.org/10.18356/2d2e2f23-en Joyner, C. (2001). The Status of Ice in International Law. In A. G. O. Elferink & D. R. Rothwell (Eds.), The Law of the Sea and Polar Maritime Delimitation and Jurisdiction (pp. 23–48). Martinus Nijhoff Publishers. Kraska, J. (2015). The Northern Canada Vessel Traffic Services Zone Regulations (Nordreg) and the Law of the Sea. The International Journal of Marine and Coastal Law, 30(2), 225–254. https://doi.org/10.1163/15718085-12341349 Lajeunesse, A. (2016). Lock, Stock, and Icebergs: A History of Canada’s Arctic Maritime Sovereignty. UBC Press. Lalonde, S. (2018). The Debate Over the Legal Status of the Northwest Passage. Standing Committee on Foreign Affairs and International Development of the House of Commons. https://sencanada.ca/content/sen/committee/421/ARCT/Briefs Lalonde, S. (2020). The Northwest Passage. In Canada and the Maritime Arctic: Boundaries, Shelves, and Waters (pp. 107–162). North American and Arctic Defense and Security Network. Lalonde, S., & Lasserre, F. (2013). The Position of the United States on the Northwest Passage: Is the Fear of Creating a Precedent Warranted? Ocean Development & International Law, 44(1), 28–72. https://doi.org/10.1080/00908320.2012.726832 Maritime Zones of Maldives Act No. 6/96, (1996). McCleary, P. (2021, January 5). Navy Secretary: US Plans Patrols Near Russian Arctic Bases. Breaking Defense. https://breakingdefense.com/2021/01/navy-secretary-us-patrols-nearrussian-arctic-bases/ McDorman, T. (2015). Sovereign Immune Vessels: Immunities, Responsibilities and Exceptions. In H. Ringbom (Ed.), Jurisdiction over ships: Post-UNCLOS developments in the law of the sea (pp. 82–104). Brill | Nijhoff. McDorman, T. (2020). Old Issues and New Developments Respecting International Navigational Rights and Obligations in Arctic Waters. In K. Zou (Ed.), The Belt and Road Initiative and the Law of the Sea (pp. 41–55). Brill | Nijhoff. The Legal Logics of a U.S. Navy FONOP in the Canadian or Russian Arctic
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Morgunov, B., Zhuravleva, I., & Melnikov, B. (2021). The Prospects of Evolution of the Baseline Systems in the Arctic. Water, 13(8), 1082. https://doi.org/10.3390/w13081082 Northern Canada Vessel Traffic Services Zone Regulations, Pub. L. No. P.C. 2010-732 2010-0610 (2010). https://laws-lois.justice.gc.ca/eng/regulations/SOR-2010-127/FullText.html Pharand, D. (1987). Canada’s Sovereignty over the Newly Enclosed Arctic Waters. Canadian Yearbook of International Law/Annuaire Canadien de Droit International, 25, 325–344. Pharand, D. (2007). The Arctic Waters and the Northwest Passage: A Final Revisit. Ocean Development & International Law, 38(1–2), 3–69. https://doi.org/10.1080/00908320601071314 Proelss, A., Maggio, A. R., Blitza, E., & Daum, O. (Eds.). (2017). United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea: A commentary. C.H. Beck ; Hart ; Nomos. Roach, J. A., & Smith, R. W. (1994). Maintaining Freedom of the Seas. International Law Studies, 66, 3–9. Schreiber, M. (2019, July 24). How geopolitics complicate the U.S. Navy’s plans for major Arctic operations. ArcticToday. https://www.arctictoday.com/how-geopolitics-make-u-s-navy-plans-formajor-arctic-operations-so-complicated/ Solski, J. J. (2019, May 31). Navigational rights of warships through the Northern Sea Route (NSR) – all bark and no bite? The NCLOS Blog. https://site.uit.no/nclos/2019/05/31/navigational-rights-of-warships-through-thenorthern-sea-route-nsr-all-bark-and-no-bite/ Solski, J. J. (2021). The Genesis of Article 234 of the UNCLOS. Ocean Development & International Law, 52(1), 1–19. https://doi.org/10.1080/00908320.2020.1835026 Stephens, D. (2012). The Legal Efficacy of Freedom of Navigation Assertions. International Law Studies, 80, 235–256. Territorial Sea Geographical Coordinates (Area 7) Order, P.C. 1985-2739 (1985). https://lawslois.justice.gc.ca/eng/regulations/SOR-85-872/page-1.html Todorov, A. (2017). The Russia-USA legal dispute over the straits of the Northern Sea Route and similar case of the Northwest Passage. Arctic and North, 29, 74–89. https://doi.org/10.17238/issn2221-2698.2017.29.74 Todorov, A. (2019, March 18). Where does the Northern Sea Route Lead To? Russian International Affairs Council. https://russiancouncil.ru/en/analytics-and-comments/analytics/wheredoes-the-northern-sea-route-lead-to/ Todorov, A. (2021). Russia’s implementation of the Polar Code on the Northern Sea Route. The Polar Journal, 1–13. https://doi.org/10.1080/2154896X.2021.1911044 UN Convention on the Law of the Sea, (1982). U.S. Department of Defense Freedom of Navigation (FON) Program. (2016). https://policy.defense.gov/Portals/11/DoD%20FON%20Program%20Summary%2016 .pdf?ver=2017-03-03-141350-380 Decree 4450, on Straight Baselines, (1985). https://www.un.org/Depts/los/LEGISLATIONANDTREATIES/PDFFILES/RUS_1 985_Declaration.pdf Vylegzhanin, A., Nazarov, V. P., & Bunik. (2020). Северный морской путь: К решению полтико-правовых проблем. Наука и Общество, 90(12), 1105–1118.
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Wilcox, E. (Ed.). (2011). Digest of United States practice in international law: 2010 (Vol. 2010). Oxford Univ. Press [u.a.]. Zou, L. (2019). Russia’s legislative development pertaining to the Northern Sea Route and its interactions with Sino-Russian Arctic cooperation. In A. Shibata, L. Zou, N. Sellheim, & M. Scopelliti (Eds.), Emerging Legal Orders in the Arctic: The Role of Non-Arctic Actors (pp. 188–204). Routledge. Закон о Северном морском пути, Pub. L. No. Russian Federal Law No. 132 (2012). http://www.nsra.ru/ru/ofitsialnaya_informatsiya/zakon_o_smp.html Кодекс торгового мореплавания российской федерации, N. 81-FZ (1999). Нормативные правовые акты. (2019). https://regulation.gov.ru/projects#npa=89000 О внутрених морских водах, территориальном море, и прилежащей зоне Российской Федерации, (1998). О правилах плавания и пребывания иностранных военных кораблей и других государственных судов, эксплуатируемых в некоммерческих целях, в территориальном море, во внутренних морских водах, на военно—Морских базах, в пунктах базирования военных кораблей и морских портах российской федерации, (1999).
The Legal Logics of a U.S. Navy FONOP in the Canadian or Russian Arctic
The Arctic, Russia and Coercion of Navigation
Viktoriya Nikitina
This paper considers the geographical changes enabled by sea ice melting in the Arctic Ocean, which provide higher accessibility to energy resources and shipping routes, and seeks to understand how Russia benefits from the uncertainties in the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS) and in the International Code for Ships Operating in Polar Waters (Polar Code) as a coercion mechanism to limit freedom of navigation in the Northern Sea Route (NSR). The Arctic is a region of strategic and geopolitical importance for Russia, therefore all the possibilities enabled by climate change should be enjoyed. However, with increased accessibility to the Arctic Ocean, Russia seeks to control navigation in the NSR and ensure the protection of its national interest, through coercion of navigation. This paper discusses the uncertainties that enable Russia to consider the UNCLOS as a coercion mechanism, namely the ambiguity of Article 234, the uncertainty of international straits criteria, and the limitations in the Polar Code. It argues that the uncertainties and different interpretations in the law of the sea can influence the Russian legislation over the NSR by limiting freedom of navigation and implementing prejudicial measures toward foreign-flagged vessels. Nonetheless, through the Russian naval power, the Border Guard Service (BGS) and the Northern Fleet of the Russian Federation (Northern Fleet), and its effect of dissuasion based on sea control and sea denial activities, the Ministry of Transport of the Russian Federation (Ministry of Transport) can effectively ensure compliance with the Russian legal regime in the NSR and avoid infringements to the law.
Introduction Sea ice melt marked a renewed geopolitical and strategic importance of the Arctic Region in the 21st Century. Although global warming brings environmental challenges and security threats, it also brings opportunities for resource exploitation and the gradual opening of shipping routes: the Northwest Passage (NWP) and the NSR. The Arctic states seek to enjoy the consequences of global warming as much as possible. The U.S. Geological Survey (USGS) estimates that approximately 84% of total Arctic gas and oil are in the Arctic continental shelf (Bird et al., 2008:4) as Figures 1 and 2 show. Thus, with less sea ice it becomes possible to exploit these resources. ___________________________________________________________________________ Viktoriya Nikitina is a Master’s Student in Strategy at the Institute of Social and Political Sciences, University of Lisbon.
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Figure 1. Undiscovered gas
Source: Bird et al., 2008:3.
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Figure 2. Undiscovered oil
Source: Bird et al., 2008:4.
The Arctic Ocean’s littoral states (Arctic Five) are seeking to extend their continental shelves to enjoy potential energy resource exploitation through submissions at the Commission on the Limits of the Continental Shelf (CLCS) (Koivurova, 2011), with the exception of the USA which has not ratified the UNCLOS. There are different views on this topic, and for instance, Balão considers that “The accessibility of previously frozen lands is triggering disputes over their sovereignty” (2012: 182, our translation) with overlapping submissions and boundary tensions (Figure 3), and Koivurova thinks that “The current consensus … is that orderly, peaceful development will continue with respect to the continental shelf and the coastal states drawing the outer limits of their continental shelves” (2011: 221). Figure 3. Arctic Ocean continental shelf claims
Source: The Arctic Institute, 2017.
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Russia’s interests in the NSR can be viewed from strategic and geopolitical perspectives. The Arctic was seen as a barrier region, inaccessible through marine transportation with great natural defense capabilities (Mackinder, 1919: 54). Nonetheless, in the 21st Century, the Arctic Ocean is opening to transportation, practically year-round in some parts (Balão, 2016: 133). Indeed, the interest in commercial shipping through the NSR is increasing, which will, according to Bai, “…result in the proliferation of shipping activity in the region” (2015: 698). In light of increased navigation in the NSR, Russia seeks to ensure marine and safety of navigation (Todorov, 2017: 69). From a geopolitical point of view, climate change enables more accessibility and, consequently, it is important to ensure coastal and water sovereignty. The “Rules of Navigation in the Water Area of the NSR” (henceforth Rules) is a Russian document that answers the question of by whom and how the NSR is managed. According to the Rules, to navigate in the NSR, a vessel, whether foreign or Russian, must submit an application form (Russian Government, 2020, Art.9) to be approved or refused by the Rosatom’s Marine Operation Headquarters (henceforth Headquarters) (Rosatom, 2020, Art.1). Much of the Russian legislation is based on Article 234 of the UNCLOS, which gives extended powers to states to engage in further activities to protect the frozen waters: Coastal States have the right to adopt and enforce non-discriminatory laws and regulations for the prevention, reduction and control of marine pollution from vessels in ice-covered areas within the limits of the exclusive economic zone, where particularly severe climatic conditions and the presence of ice covering such areas for most of the year create obstructions or exceptional hazards to navigation, and pollution of the marine environment could cause major harm to or irreversible disturbance of the ecological balance. Such laws and regulations shall have due regard to navigation and the protection and preservation of the marine environment based on the best available scientific evidence (UN, 1982, Art.234, emphasis added).1 For some academics, such as Lamson, Article 234 is viewed as an ambiguous clause (Lamson, 1987: 4). Regardless, this clause exists and may be used by states to protect the most vulnerable waters, such as in the Arctic Ocean. I argue that the uncertainty level of the UNCLOS and the Polar Code is benefiting Russia by allowing it to consider them as a coercion mechanism to be used by the Ministry of Transport to limit freedom of navigation in the NSR, bearing in mind the Russian naval power. A coercion mechanism, from the concept of Strategy from Ribeiro (Ribeiro, 2010), means that the uncertainties in the UNCLOS and in the Polar Code function as a mechanism that triggers coercion, in this case, coercion of navigation. Indeed, the most important means in Strategy are those that enable the coercion mechanism, since Strategy is about “…edifying, disposing, and employing means of coercion in a given space and time, to materialize goals fixed by politics, overcoming problems and exploring possibilities in a disagreement environment” (Ribeiro, 2010: 22, our translation). We emphasize the concept of Strategy because, in light of climate change, it is important for Russia to create and follow a strategy that defends its goals and interests when there are overlapping interests such as the extensions of continental shelves, or even different interpretations and Nikitina
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opinions on the legal status of the NSR. To pursue a strategy, Russia needs to know what means of coercion are available and how to use them. Thus, it is important to discuss the limitations of navigation, in the scope of a higher goal which is the maintenance of sovereignty. Freedom of navigation is one of the most important principles of UNCLOS. UNCLOS contains different maritime domains that apply different navigational and overflight rights such as innocent passage through territorial seas, transit passage through international straits, archipelagic sea lanes passage through archipelagic waters, and freedom of navigation through the Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ) (UN, 1982). For the purposes of this paper, we will be referring to freedom of navigation whenever we are addressing freedom in a general way.
Russian priorities in the Northern Sea Route The NSR is a route located along the Northeast Passage that practically connects the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean. Russia defines the NSR as a: water area adjoining the northern coast of the Russian Federation, including internal sea waters, territorial sea, contiguous zone and exclusive economic zone of the Russian Federation, and is limited in the East by the line delimitating the sea areas with the United States of America and by the parallel of the Dezhnev Cape in the Bering Strait; in the West, by the meridian of the Cape Zhelanie to the Novaya Zemlya archipelago, by the east coastal line of the Novaya Zemlya archipelago and the western limits of the Matochkin Shar, Kara Gates, Yugorski Shar Straits (Duma, 2012, Art.5.1, No 1). An international voyage through the NSR can be reduced by up to 40% when compared to the Suez Canal (Figure 4) (Todorov, 2017: 62). For instance, an international transit through the NSR between the ports of Hamburg (Germany) and Shanghai (China) will save a week of voyage, be risk-free from piracy, and save more than half a million dollars in fuel (Gavrilov, 2015: 256). Figure 4. The NSR and the Suez Canal
Source: Yep, 2013: n/p.
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Global warming has increased the strategic importance of the Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation (henceforth AZRF) as the recent official Russian documents show: (i) “Foundations of the Russian Federation’s State Policy in the Arctic for the Period to 2035” (Putin, 2020a) (henceforth Arctic Policy); and (ii) “Strategy of Development of the Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation and the Provision of National Security for the Period to 2035” (Putin, 2020b) (henceforth Arctic Strategy). These documents describe Russian interests in defense, mineral resources, and maritime transportation, as well as environmental, social, and sustainable development issues (Putin, 2020a). The main interests identified in the Arctic Policy for the AZRF are to ensure sovereignty and territorial integrity of Russia; preserve the Arctic as a territory of peace and cooperation; ensure the well-being of people and the Indigenous peoples living in the Arctic; develop the Arctic as a strategic resource base and accelerate its contribution for economic growth; develop the NSR as a globally competitive market of transportation; and environmental protection of the Arctic (Putin, 2020a, Art.5). The Arctic Policy has also identified threats to national security, and contrary to what we may think, they are not related to external threats. Most threats come from the internal dimension, such as population decline; insufficient level of social, transportation, information, and infrastructural development; lack of geological surveys; failure to meet deadlines concerning the construction of icebreakers and Search and Rescue (SAR) equipment, and other monitoring systems in the AZRF (Putin, 2020a, Art.7). The threats to national security that Russia has identified were to be expected as external threats from NATO, especially after the annexation of Crimea in 2014, however, they were simply categorized as challenges to overcome (Buchanan, 2020: paragraph 30). These are the lack of international legal demarcation of marine spaces in the Arctic, here referring to territorial disputes; mistrust in the Russian actions and decisions in the Arctic; Arctic militarization and potential increase of conflict in the region; prevention of Russia from carrying out economic or other activities; and attempt of countries to revise the international treaties that regulate the Arctic, consequently, to establish new ones without considering current regional treaties (Putin, 2020a, Art.8). Many of these domestic challenges came from the annexation of Crimea in 2014 and the Eastern Ukrainian civil war. Due to these events, Russia is now seen by the West as “untrustworthy and domineering in its foreign policy” (Heininen, 2019: 215) and an assertive power willing to “use military-coercive instruments to protect its national interests, including those in the Arctic” (Sergunin & Konyshev, 2018: 143). The Russian plan for the NSR is simple: marine safety, environmental protection, infrastructure development, and economic growth. As Putin has stated, one of the goals for the NSR is to “boost the traffic and bring it up to 80 million tons by 2025 on the Northern Sea Route” (Putin, 2019: paragraph 9), and up to 130 million tons by 2035 as the Arctic Strategy expects (Putin, 2020b). In fact, the cargo volume has been slowly increasing since 2013 and it has reached up to 32 million tons in 2020 as Figure 5 shows.
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Figure 5. Cargo volume between 2013 and 2020 35 31.53
32
2019
2020
Cargo Volume (million tons)
30 25 20.18
20 15 10.535 10 5
7.479 3.93
3.982
2013
2014
5.392
0 2015
2016
2017
2018
Source: Created by author. Data from: https://arctic-lio.com/main-results-of-nsr-navigation-2019/ and Staalesen, 2020.
However, Russia is aware that to compete at a global level, it must develop efficient monitoring systems and SAR equipment to ensure not only the safety of navigation but also environmental protection because the Arctic climate is extremely harsh and unpredictable. The Arctic Strategy forecasts the development of seaports; more tag boats and rescue vessels, and icebreakers; the creation and development of a satellite constellation in highly elliptical orbits based on domestic equipment, providing satellite communications for users in the NSR and territories north of 70 degrees north latitude; and the development of a unified system to prevent accidents, such as oil spills (Putin, 2020b, Art.13 and 15). In fact, Russia is interested in cooperating in the scope of potential emergencies as Foreign Affairs Minister Lavrov has stated: Given the rapid development of maritime activities and navigation, including cruise ship tourism in the Arctic, it is important to continue strengthening our capability for rapid response to possible emergencies. We favour expanding coast guard cooperation within the Arctic Forum framework (Lavrov, 2019: paragraph 10). Russia believes that providing all the conditions to navigate safely in the NSR will be extremely beneficial to the economic growth, as navigation itself is associated with transport fees, whether from the icebreaker’s assistance or shuttle transportation (Sevastyanov & Kravchuk, 2020).
Northern Sea Route legal status and Russian legislation The US, along with Singapore (Hartmann, 2018: 291), is the main country that contests the Russian legal status of the NSR and Russia’s sovereignty over it. The US does not agree with the Russian baseline drawing as they claim the baselines were drawn to enclose straits considered international
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in internal waters (Brubaker, 2001: 265) (Figure 6). Consequently, “The United States…contests Russia’s claim to internal waters status of the Vil’kitskii, Shokal’skii, Dmitrii Laptev, and Sannikov Straits and the drawing of straight baselines around associated island groups” (Scott & Vanderzwaag, 2015: 734) and, therefore, they should be subject to a transit passage navigational regime. Figure 6. Russian Arctic baseline
Source: Todorov, 2017: 70.
Transit passage only applies to straits “used for international navigation between one part of the high seas or an exclusive economic zone and another part of the high seas or an exclusive economic zone” (UN, 1982, Art.37) and it means “the exercise in accordance with this Part of the freedom of navigation and overflight solely for the purpose of continuous and expeditious transit of the strait between one part of the high seas or an exclusive economic zone and another part of the high seas or an exclusive economic zone” (UN, 1982, Art.38, No 2). According to US claims, Russia has no right to impose limitations on freedom of navigation by requesting a permit to navigate in the NSR (Todorov, 2017: 64). Additionally, the US claims that the Russian straits should be considered as international straits since there is a potential for future international shipping, while Russia considers that they cannot be international because what counts is the functional/current use perspective (Gudev, 2018: paragraph 30). It is clear that behind these claims lies the American interest in “deterrence and surveillance measures” (Brubaker & Østreng, 1999: 323-324). Furthermore, Russia is engaging in prejudicial measures that do not allow the maritime transportation of oil, natural gas, gas condensate, and coal extracted in the AZRF by foreignflagged vessels, prioritizing ships carrying Russian flags and built in Russia (Duma, 2017, Art.4), although the UNCLOS explicitly mentions that “The coastal State shall not… discriminate in form or in fact against the ships of any State or against ships carrying cargoes to, from or on behalf of any State” (UN, 1982, Art.24, No 1b).
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Russia considers the NSR as a “historically established national transport communication” route (Duma, 2012, Art.14, our translation), and navigation in its water area is “carried out with the generally recognized principles and norms in international law, international treaties and other legal acts” (Duma, 2012, Art.14, our translation). The historic waters have the same legal navigational regime as internal waters (Fahey, 2018: 171) which means that, according to the Russian perspective, the NSR shouldn’t be subject to any navigational or overflight rights as internal waters are “all the waters that fall landward of the baseline, such as lakes, rivers, and tidewaters. States have the same sovereign jurisdiction over internal waters as they do over other territory” (Burgess et al., 2017: 12). At the same time, Gudev argues that, due to harsh and unpredictable weather conditions, it is not possible to navigate through the NSR without entering in the internal waters (2020: 132). Consequently, it is not possible to divide the NSR into different legal navigational regimes as it is crucial to ensure the integrity of the route (Gavrilov, 2020: 4). In practice, this means that only one legal navigational regime applies to the NSR. As we have mentioned, the current Russian legislation that applies to the entrance of the NSR, the Rules, defines that to navigate in the water area of the NSR, foreign or Russian flagged vessel must submit an application where it identifies all the characteristics of the ship annexing different certificates (Russian Government, 2020, Art.4 and 5). Then, this certificate shall be approved or refused by the Headquarters.
UNCLOS and the Polar Code as a coercion mechanism Due to its complexity and heterogeneity, UNCLOS can easily be misunderstood. The uncertainties, limitations, and confusing terminologies can lead to different interpretations and even cause legal tensions between states (Nadarajah, 2020). In fact, in law there is a great difference between theory and practice, what it should be and what it is, and this cleavage starts to widen even more “when it involves interests that, one way or another, translate into power and the ability to exercise it” (Balão, 2012: 184, author’s translation). Therefore, in cases of high uncertainty and flexibility, law “can be used to serve various constituencies and interests” (Koivurova, 2011: 222). There are two main uncertainties in UNCLOS that raise doubts and can be used as a mechanism to limit freedom of navigation. These are Article 234 and the uncertainty over international straits. Bartenstein has identified two major uncertainties in Article 234. The meaning of the word “where” is ambiguous since it can be viewed from a territorial approach or even temporal one (Bartenstein, 2011: 28). Also, it is not clear to which maritime domain it applies or at which time (Bartenstein, 2011: 28). In relation to this, Dremliuga notes that Article 234 must be interpreted as an ordinary meaning and not a literal one (2017: 130). While a literal meaning implies that Article 234 is limited to sea ice-covered areas, the ordinary meaning “of ‘ice-covered area’ held during the UNCLOS negotiations, and for a long period afterward, was that it is synonymous with the Arctic Ocean area” (Dremliuga, 2017: 130). Furthermore, the phrase “most of the year” is not totally clear, whether it applies all year or just ice time periods (Bartenstein, 2011: 31). Another case of uncertainty is the international straits criteria. Although the International Court of Justice has defined the criteria for international straits in the Corfu Chanel Case2, the discussion about potential use versus functional/current use remains. There has not been a defined and specific number of passages for considering a strait as one used for international navigation, “it is The Arctic, Russia and Coercion of Navigation
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unclear what level of international navigation is required for a strait to be appropriately classified as an international strait” (Rothwell, 2012: 270). However, the Harvard Law Review argued that Article 37 of the UNCLOS should be subject to the potential use test considering its ordinary meaning, its context in the UNCLOS, the goals and the purpose of the UNCLOS itself, and the Vienna Convention dispositions (Harvard Law Review, 2020). Indeed, “[t]here is hardly better evidence for the potential of something to occur than the fact that it is currently occurring” (Harvard Law Review, 2020: 2599). Regardless, according to the criteria defined in the Corfu Chanel Case, Russia does not meet the criteria of a functional approach to international navigation since it remains a route for national shipping (Gunnarsson, 2021: 3) rather than international shipping. Thus, even if the international straits are not recognized as internal waters, the argument of potential use cannot be applied to the NSR since it is mostly a national route for now (Gavrilov, 2015: 260). The Polar Code also has limitations that reinforce the use of Article 234 of the UNCLOS. In fact, Russia considers that the Polar Code is insufficient in providing safety of navigation and marine environment protection as it only applies to ships under the International Convention for the Safety of Life at Sea (SOLAS), the International Convention for the Prevention of Pollution from Ships (MARPOL), and the International Convention on Standards of Training, Certification and Watchkeeping for Seafarers (STCW) (IMO, 2014). This way, the Polar Code only applies to “ships engaged on international voyages” (IMO, 1974, Regulation 1a), that is, ships navigating “from a country…to a port outside such country, or conversely” (IMO, 1974, Regulation 2d). In this context, Article 234 remains important as it provides extra measures for the Russian action. The fact that the Polar Code does not cover all the vessels navigating through the NSR, the Rules apply to all vessels and contain all requirements that ships must present to obtain a navigation permit (Todorov, 2021: 7). Russian legislation presents some limitations to freedom of navigation in the NSR. They claim that it is necessary to oversee navigation in the NSR to ensure safety of navigation and environmental protection, by triggering Article 234. Indeed, the increased traffic in the NSR will inevitably increase the risks of threats to the Arctic’s ecosystem. For instance, an accident with an oil tanker hitting an iceberg or other ice formation at sea could be catastrophic as it would endanger not only the environment but also the coastal population since the fishery is an important income and the main diet of those populations (Dremliuga, 2017: 133). Therefore, safety of navigation and environmental protection, as well as other soft security issues such as illegal migration, smuggling, and poaching, seem to be genuine reasons for limiting freedom of navigation, especially where SAR capabilities are still being developed (Fahey, 2018: 174). Regardless of these reasons, Fahey considers that the reasons “must be balanced against the threat of ‘creeping jurisdiction’, attempts by coastal States to extend their sovereignty and jurisdictional reach over the maritime domain in a manner inconsistent with the law of the sea, unlawfully impeding freedom of the seas” (2018: 159). Although Russia aims to ensure safety of navigation and environmental protection through control of navigation in the NSR, “Russian practice does not always seem to support this goal” (Hartmann, 2018: 286). What is really happening in the NSR is that no state, even the US, has exercised freedom of navigation activities, as the US does in the South China Sea with Freedom of Navigation Operations (FONOP) (Casarini, 2016: 2). Some academics believe that this failure to ensure freedom of navigation could lead to a tacit acceptance of the NSR’s legal regime and Russian Nikitina
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control over it, which “may impact the formation of customary international law” (Fahey, 2018: 197). We must not forget that Russia is not the only country that triggers Article 234 to ensure safety of navigation and environmental protection by asking for a permit to navigate in the NSR (Hartmann, 2018: 283-284). Canada acts similarly in the NWP. Canadians claim that they have sovereign rights in the NWP while the US considers this route must be subject to transit passage, just like the NSR (Todorov, 2017: 73). Also, under the Northern Canada Vessel Traffic Services Zone Regulations (NORDREG), every nongovernmental vessel is subject to a notification and authorization system (Hartmann, 2018: 284). The uncertainties that we have discussed above are indeed being used to establish a legal regime based on Article 234 that is causing limitations on freedom of navigation and prejudicial measures. These uncertainties and different interpretations occur when a legal issue is not properly regulated “either because the content of the law is incomplete because it does not cover certain areas of a particular matter, or because the same law, covering those areas, is not sufficiently detailed…” (North Central Administrative Court, 2019: 27, our translation), thus, they can be bypassed to serve someone’s interests. The goal here is not to stress who is right and who is wrong but to show that the UNCLOS has uncertainties that can lead to different interpretations. In this way, Article 234 provides some basis to the ones that legislate in its name. According to Russia, the Polar Code is not sufficient to protect the marine environment, so, Article 234 can give extended powers to regulate ice-covered seas. Thus, “…to control the navigation and provide vessels with hydrographical, icebreaking and other support, the coastal state should obtain all necessary information about the passing vessel” (Todorov, 2017: 69). To sum up this section, Russia is benefiting from the uncertainties found in the UNCLOS and the limitations of the Polar Code to coerce navigation in the NSR by limiting freedom of navigation, considering that the act of coercion is the main mechanism of influence in International Relations through which “states and institutions influence the behavior of other states by escalating the benefits of conformity or the costs of nonconformity through material rewards and punishments” (Goodman & Jinks, 2004: 633).
Sea denial and sea control in the Northern Sea Route There are two major perspectives to Arctic issues when analyzing its military reality: the competitive approach and the cooperative approach.3 Authors like Balão believe that the increased accessibility to shipping routes and energy resources of the Arctic could potentially lead to sovereignty disputes and, consequently, to an escalation of an arms race and even confrontation (Balão, 2016). Other authors such as Exner-Pirot & Murray or Heininen, believe that the Arctic is a region of great geopolitical stability, where regional order has been intentionally negotiated by the Arctic states (littoral and non-littoral) seeking to improve cooperative relations (Exner-Pirot & Murray, 2017). Furthermore, they believe that the potential for a conflict in the Arctic is unlikely due to its history and geography: “the relative sparsity of the Arctic population, and the late settlement by ethnic Europeans, means that there isn’t a recent history of territorial loss and boundary change across the region” (Exner-Pirot & Murray, 2017: 58). However, they do note that “…great powers such as the United States and Russia, will attempt to maximize their strategic and economic advantages
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when the opportunity presents itself, but will not make decisions that significantly increase the risk of conflict unless their survival is threatened” (Exner-Pirot & Murray, 2017: 53-54). Heininen states that “[c]urrent Arctic geopolitics is often misunderstood, particularly by the media and policymakers…” (2019: 219). In fact, several factors contribute to this stability, which is the existence of common interests like the decreasing of military tensions, environmental cooperation, sustainable economic development, and international scientific research cooperation (Heininen, 2019). Contrary to this view of the Arctic’s ‘exceptionalism’, Huebert believes that the Arctic is becoming more alike with other regions, and therefore, “more common means of cooperation and competition” (Huebert, 2017: 5). Nevertheless, he mentions that the Arctic cannot simply be labeled as a region of cooperation or conflict because “…states are not preparing to go to war over resources, either real or potential, in the Arctic. However, they are also not prepared to declare the region a zone of peace nor to reduce or eliminate their military capabilities as they did in the 1990’s” (Huebert, 2013: 201). One thing is sure, the Arctic is not going through an arms race like the one portrayed by social media. For now, “what we are seeing is a limited modernization and expansion of military installations and forces in the Arctic” (Hilde, 2013: 145). The Russian defense policy is balanced by the International Relations schools of neorealism and neoliberalism (Sergunin & Godzimirski, 2020). Russian neorealists look at the Arctic concerns from a security perspective and express great worries over Russian sovereignty and territorial integrity and, at the same time, they view International Law as an “instrument for resisting foreign encroachments on Russia’s sovereign rights and maintaining control over its Arctic spaces/resources/transport/communications” (Sergunin & Godzimirski, 2020: 28). In contrast, Russian neoliberals argue that the Arctic has lost its military importance after the end of the Cold War and look at this region from a common mankind heritage perspective that should be preserved and developed within a cooperative framework (Sergunin & Godzimirski, 2020). It is true that the Arctic lost its military importance regarding concerns about a potential confrontation between the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) countries and the Soviet Union. However, climate change not only brings opportunities but also new challenges and threats to every country’s national security. The hard security dimension is still important for the Arctic military balance. Indeed, the Russian agenda is concerned with “responding NATO countries’ increased military preparations and activities as well as ascertaining Russia’s national sovereignty over its Arctic sector” (Sergunin & Konyshev, 2018: 32). But there are also soft security issues that neoliberalism is concerned about. Marine pollution by greywater and ballast water discharges, potential oil spills, poaching, illegal fishing and overfishing, illegal migration, smuggling, as well as “violation of the Polar Code requirements and potential attacks on critical industrial objects (oil and gas rigs, pipelines, cables, floating nuclear plants, etc.)” (Sergunin & Gjørv, 2020: 268) are many of the soft security threats in the Arctic (Sergunin & Godzimirski, 2020: 35). Now, the military is not exclusively engaged with hard security issues, but soft security issues as well. The Russian Armed Forces are now performing “SAR operations, monitoring air and maritime spaces, providing navigation safety, mitigating natural and man-made catastrophes (such as responses to oil spills) …” (Sergunin & Konyshev, 2019: 186). The protection of the AZRF’s coastline and waters, and Russia’s economic interests, is mainly done by the Northern Fleet and the Border Guard Service (BGS) and the Coast Guard (Sergunin & Nikitina
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Konyshev, 2017: 173). Although the Northern Fleet does not operate directly in the NSR, it is important because one of the entries to the NSR is through the Barents Sea, which is where the Northern Fleet Joint Strategic Command is located (Figure 7, in orange). The strategic importance of this region is determined by the fact that it is home to strategic submarines and Ballistic Nuclear-Powered Submarines (SSBNs), (Baev, 2018: 410); it is of great utility in “in denying American sea power free access through North Atlantic…” (Gray, 1977: 42); and it is an important part of the Bastion Concept (Boulègue, 2019: 7). Therefore, this strategic zone is extremely important for projection of the Russian naval power and the demonstration of sovereign rights in the AZRF (Sergunin & Godzimirski, 2020: 33). Figure 7. Military districts of the Russian Federation
Source: https://structure.mil.ru/structure/okruga/north/news.htm. Edited by author.
Naval power can be defined as a country’s capacity in surface, subsurface, and air naval units, which aims to defend a country’s maritime interests (Carvalho, 1982: 126) whether they are “the navies, coast guards, the marine or civil” (Till, 2009: 21). In fact, the main mission of naval power is naval presence, and the greater it is, the greater the power of dissuasion (Carvalho, 1982: 127). Dissuasion can be defined as an “effort…to convince a country or a coalition to refrain from courses of action that would menace… [a country’s] interests and goals” (Kugler, 2002: 1). Occasionally, dissuasion is confused with deterrence, however, as dissuasion “arises in a different, less confrontational place” than deterrence (Kugler, 2002: 1). Deterrence is “the logic of direct military coercion applied against a hostile, well-armed enemy” in a context of a war horizon (Kugler, 2002: 1). Russia is seeking to increase its naval power through the modernization of conventional forces (surface and conventional submarines), as well as strategic nuclear forces of the Northern Fleet (SSBNs) (Sergunin & Konyshev, 2017: 2017). The strategic forces “remain not only a key element of the Russian military strategy, but also as a symbol and guarantee of Russia’s great power status” (Sergunin & Konyshev, 2018: 144). However, the Russian military agenda is viewed from a pejorative perspective that the militarization concept emphasizes. It is relevant to say that pure militarization occurs from the moment a country decides to develop its military units, whether “physical military equipment or events, such as new military bases or training exercises” (Choi, 2020: 2). Needless to say, all Arctic littoral states value their sovereignty and national interests and, consequently, have their own military agendas to protect them (Konyshev & Sergunin, 2019). The Arctic, Russia and Coercion of Navigation
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The Bastion Concept, a soviet strategy, is still important for Russia’s national security as it seeks to ensure the protection of the Kola Peninsula and access of Northern Fleet’s SSBNs into the Atlantic Ocean, and further through sea control and sea denial activities (Boulègue, 2019: 7) (Figure 8). Figure 8. Bastion concept and the Greenland – Iceland – United Kingdom (GIUK) gap
Source: Nilsen, 2019: n/p and Mikkola, 2019: n/p. Edited by author.
Indeed, sea control and sea denial activities are very important for demonstrating a nation’s naval power. However, for this to be perceived, a nation’s naval power should be visible to others, otherwise, it loses its mission: …in order to function, naval power must be perceived. Invisible warships whose existence is kept in secret do not encourage friends, deter enemies, or stimulate neutrals…These imaginary warships may be perfect weapons of war, but their political utility is zero (Luttwak, 1973: 38). Sea control aims at “acquiring and securing the privilege to utilize the maritime space in the period of time as expected” (Chang, 2018: paragraph 3) and, usually, it is obtained by naval presence. Once obtained, a country can start to develop actions without foreign intervention to project its naval power and imply that it could “pose a threat of, and carry out, amphibious assault on the enemy shore” (Vego, 2008: 15). The goal of sea control activities is “not to use the sea oneself, but to prevent the enemy from doing so” (Till, 2009: 153). Therefore, sea control should be focused on shipping routes and communication lines as underwater cables since the sea is mainly used for these purposes (Chang, 2018: paragraph 10). In contrast, sea denial activities can be an alternative to sea control with the goal to exclude or “prevent an enemy from using the sea to do them harm” (Till, 2009: 154) or they can be a complement to sea control (Till, 2009: 154). Therefore, through sea control and sea denial activities, Russia can be present at sea and project “power to command or influence events ashore” (Till, 2009: 155). As Till says, “Sea control is therefore the fundamental capability of the navy…Sea control is absolutely necessary, the thing Nikitina
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without which all other naval missions, and most national missions, precariously risk catastrophic failures” (Till, 2009: 155). Indeed, “The real reward for having command, or control, of the sea is the capacity to use it for your strategic purposes and to deny its use to any adversary” (Till, 2009: 184). And, in sum, according to Till, there are two types of strategic uses: “the capacity to project military power ashore and to use the sea as a means of transportation” (2009: 184). Evidently, the Russian naval power is not only about the Northern Fleet. As Till said, seapower can be composed by navies, coast guards, or even civil authorities (2009: 21). The BGS contributes to Russian naval power as an important government agency for Arctic shipping because it is “responsible for border controls, economic security and prevention of various illegal activities in the Russian EEZ” (Sergunin & Gjørv, 2020: 263). Due to the high role of the BGS in protecting internal and external threats in the NSR, one of Russia’s top priorities is to strengthen the BGS with “plans to build 20 border guard stations along the Arctic Ocean’s coastline” (Konyshev & Sergunin, 2019: 185). Both the Northern Fleet and the BGS can create a general disposition to inaction (Sala, 2015: 522) which will necessarily reduce the intention of others to violate Russian law. That is, the higher level of naval power, the higher power of dissuasion. Sea control and sea denial activities are very important for any Navy because due to them, a country gains the capability to influence others.
Conclusion As we know, Russian control and the legal status of the NSR has been criticized, especially, by the US who claims that some parts should not be regulated by Russian law. The interest in understanding the balance between freedom of navigation and what is disposed in the UNCLOS and the Polar Code has led to the conclusion that the uncertainties of the UNCLOS and the limitations of the Polar Code are benefiting the Russian legislation in the NSR, and that naval power goes hand in hand with these uncertainties. However, one thing must be mentioned here: the Rules are also mandatory for Russian-flagged vessels, and not exclusively for foreign-flagged vessels. That is, with the argument to ensure environmental protection and safety of navigation it is necessary to control the traffic in the NSR, including both foreign and Russian vessels. Thus, as data shows, not only foreign-flagged vessels receive refusals but Russian-flagged do as well (Table 1). Table 1. Total vessel refusals
Year
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020 TOTAL
Foreign vessels refusals
18
16
6
2
2
5
1
4
54
National vessels refusals
65
14
9
1
0
11
1
15
116
Total Vessels Refusals
83
30
15
3
2
16
2
19
170
Source: Data retrieved from http://www.nsra.ru/en/rassmotrenie_zayavleniy/otkazu.html.
Between 2013 and 2020, out of a total of 170 refusals, only 54 were from foreign-flagged vessels. Most refusals are based on lack of documentation or wrong application form filling. The only case The Arctic, Russia and Coercion of Navigation
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of violation of the Russian rules was made by the Dutch-flagged vessel “Arctic Sunrise” belonging to Greenpeace, which entered the waters of the NSR without a navigation permit after its 3rd refusal in 2013 (Northern Sea Route Administration, 2013). The truth is that Russia cannot completely control the NSR. The goal of boosting navigation and promoting a globally competitive route would be choked by an excessive legal regime. Regardless, the uncertainties of the UNCLOS and the limitations of the Polar Code benefit the protection of the Russian interests in the NSR by shaping its own legislation: The Russian policy-makers and specialists in international law pay a great attention to the use of law to protect Russia’s national interests in the Arctic and shape a legal order in the region to the benefit of Moscow that is interested to promote usage of the NSR for international shipping, but within its own jurisdiction (Sevastyanov & Kravchuk, 2020: 231). The fact is that freedom of navigation in the NSR is being restricted by default from the moment that the Ministry of Transport asks for a form to navigate in the NSR and for refusal or approval by the Headquarters. As Fahey mentions “If foreign-flagged vessels must request express permission from the NSRA [Northern Sea Route Administration] to even enter the water area of the Northern Sea Route as the default, then that requirement of the NSRA Navigation Rules appears to resemble a de facto prohibition against navigation…” (2018: 181). From a geopolitical point of view, in light of the increased accessibility to the Russian Arctic coast, Russia seeks to maintain sovereign rights, however, at the same time, Russia wants to boost Arctic shipping in a sustainable environment where it needs to verify if vessels are complying with the Rules to protect the fragile Arctic environment and safety of navigation. Although UNCLOS presents uncertainties and different interpretations, it is an extremely important binding instrument that “cement[s] the relationship of states” (Nadarajah, 2020: 1). Without it, it “could have led to a pastiche of national rules and regulations that would foster ineffective management of resources, undermine maritime safety, and open the way for disputes and conflict over boundaries and access to seas and waterways” (Antrim, 2016: 44-45). When we state that the uncertainties in the UNCLOS and the limitations in the Polar Code enable the coercion mechanism, we are not addressing material rewards or punishments. The coercion mechanism must be triggered by something, which in this case are the military modernization programs and, consequently, Russian naval power. The Russian military modernization programs seek to increase its naval power, whether we are talking about the navies or the coast guard. Constructing and modernizing naval assets enable greater presence at sea, acquired by sea control and sea denial activities, which in turn, increases the power of dissuasion. Dissuasion is extremely important since it has the power to influence others. Therefore, Russian military modernization programs go hand in hand with Russian legislation. In other words, the materialization of the UNCLOS and the Polar Code as a coercion mechanism depends strongly on the power of dissuasion, which discreetly can convince others to refrain from violating activities in the NSR.
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Acknowledgments The author acknowledges the support provided by Professor Sandra Balão with helpful resources and orientation. This article is a result of a Master’s dissertation in Strategy at the University of Lisbon, which is being developed under the orientation of Professor Sandra Balão.
Notes 1. “Where” and “most of the year” outlined by us. 2. See page 28 in the International Court of Justice. (1949). The Corfu Chanel Case (Merits). Retrieved from: https://www.icj-cij.org/public/files/case-related/1/001-19490409-JUD01-00-EN.pdf. 3. Competitive approach and cooperative approach suggested by us.
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https://treaties.un.org/doc/Publication/UNTS/Volume%201184/volume-1184-I18961-English.pdf. Accessed on May 25, 2021. Koivurova, T. (2011). The Actions of the Arctic States Respecting the Continental Shelf: A Reflective Essay. Ocean Development & International Law, 42 (3), 211-226. Konyshev, V & Sergunin, A. (2019). The Changing Role of Military Power in the Arctic [E-book], in Finger, M. & Heininen, L., The Global Arctic Handbook. Springer International Publishing, Switzerland. Kugler, R. (2002). Dissuasion as a Strategic Concept. Institute for National Strategic Studies, No 196, 1-8. Lamson, C. (1987). Arctic shipping, marine safety and environmental protection. Marine Policy, 11 (1), 3-15. Lavrov, S. (2019). Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov’s remarks at the 11th Arctic Council Ministerial Meeting, Rovaniemi, May 7, 2019. Retrieved from: https://www.mid.ru/en/press_service/minister_speeches//asset_publisher/7OvQR5KJWVmR/content/id/3637699. Accessed on April 8, 2021. Luttwak, E. (1973). The Political Application of Naval Force. Naval War College Review, 26 (5), Article 6, 38-40. Mackinder, H. (1919). Democratic Ideals and Reality: A Study in the Politics of Reconstruction by the Right Honourable Sir Halford J. Mackinder. National Defense University Press Publications (1996), USA. Mikkola, H. (2019, April 11). The Geostrategic Arctic: Hard security in the High North. Briefing Paper, No 259. Ulkopoliittinen Instituutii. Retrieved from: https://www.fiia.fi/sv/publikation/the-geostrategic-arctic?read. Accessed on June 2, 2021. Nadarajah, H. (2020). Fewer Treaties, More Soft Law: What Does it Mean for the Arctic and Climate Change?. Arctic Yearbook 2020, 1-14. Nilsen, T. (2019, April 11). Russia claims to have demonstrated complex exercise outsider Norway. The Barents Observer. Retrieved from: https://thebarentsobserver.com/en/security/2019/04/russia-demonstrated-complexbastion-defense-exercise-outside-norway. Accessed on April 10, 2021. North Central Administrative Court. (2019). Acórdão de 1 de fevereiro de 2019, 00662/18.2BEBRG. Frederico Macedo Branco, Relator. Retrieved from: http://www.dgsi.pt/jtcn.nsf/89d1c0288c2dd49c802575c8003279c7/18d94539c41e63b18 02583fd002c11ea?OpenDocument. Accessed on April 29, 2021. Northern Sea Route Administration. (2013). Notification No 77 on Refusal of Issuing Permit of Navigation in the water area of the NSR. Retrieved from: http://www.nsra.ru/files/zayavka/20130920143952ref%20A%20S.pdf. Accessed on May 26, 2021. Putin, V. (2020b, October 26). Decree of the Russian Federation President, No 645 on “Strategy of Development of the Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation and the Provision of Nikitina
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National Security for the Period to 2035”. Moscow, Russian Federation. Retrieved from: http://publication.pravo.gov.ru/Document/View/0001202010260033?index=2&rangeSi ze=1. Accessed on May 17, 2021. Putin, V. (2020a, March 5). Decree of the Russian Federation President, No 164 on “Foundations of the Russian Federation’s State Policy in the Arctic for the Period to 2035”. Moscow, Russian Federation. Retrieved from: https://www.gov.spb.ru/gov/otrasl/arkt/documents/. Accessed on September 24, 2020. Putin, V. (2019, April 9). Plenary session of the International Arctic Forum. Retrieved from: http://en.kremlin.ru/events/president/news/60250. Accessed on April 8, 2021. Ribeiro, A. (2010). Teoria Geral da Estratégia – O essencial ao processo estratégico [General Strategy Theory - Essential to the strategic process]. Almedina Editions. Rosatom. (2020, October 28). State Corporation Rosatom Order, No 1/11-NPA, on Determination of the federal state unitary enterprise, in respect of which the State Atomic Energy Corporation Rosatom exercises on behalf of the Russian Federation the powers of the owner of the property, authorized to agree on permits for navigation of ships in the water area of the Northern Sea Route, and the creation of a headquarters for marine operations. Moscow, Russian Federation. Retrieved from: https://docs.cntd.ru/document/566483719?section=text. Accessed on May 19, 2021. Rothwell, D. (2012). International Straits and Trans-Arctic Navigation. Ocean Development & International Law, 43 (3), 267-282. Russian Government. (2020, September 18). Resolution of the Government of the Russia Federation, No 1498 on “Rules of Navigation in the Water Area of the Northern Sea Route”. Moscow, Russian Federation. Retrieved from: https://docs.cntd.ru/document/565820314?marker=64U0IK. Accessed on May 19, 2021. Sala, A. (2015). Exploring Dissuasion as a (Geo)Political Instrument in Irregular Migration Control at the Southern Spanish Maritime Border. Geopolitics, 20 (3), 513-534. Scott, K. & Vanderzwaag, D. (2015). Polar Oceans and Law of the Sea, in Rothwell, D.; Elfernik, A.; Scott, K. & Stephens, T., The Oxford Handbook of the Law of the Sea. Oxford University Press. Sergunin, A. & Gjørv, G. (2020). The Politics of Russian Arctic Shipping: evolving security and geopolitical factors. The Polar Journal, 10 (2), 251-272. Sergunin, A. & Godzimirski, J. (2020). Russian Expert and Official Geopolitical Narratives on the Arctic: Decoding Topical and Paradigmatic DNA. Arctic Review on Law and Politics, 11, 2246. Sergunin, A. & Konyshev, V. (2019). Forging Russia’s Arctic strategy: actors and decision-making. The Polar Journal, 9 (1), 75-93. Sergunin, A. & Konyshev, V. (2018). Russia’s Arctic Strategy: Hard or Soft Power? [E-book]. Verlag Stuttgart, Germany. Sergunin, A. & Konyshev, V. (2017). Russian military strategies in the Arctic: change or continuity?. European Security, 26 (2), 171-189. The Arctic, Russia and Coercion of Navigation
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Sevastyanov, S. & Kravchuk, A. (2020). Russia’s policy to develop trans-arctic shipping along the Northern Sea Route. The Polar Journal, 10 (2), 228-250. Staalesen, A. (2020, December 22). Shipping on Northern Sea Route breaks record. The Barents Observer. Retrieved from: https://thebarentsobserver.com/en/arctic/2020/12/shippingnorthern-sea-route-breaks-record. Accessed on January 14, 2021. The Arctic Institute. (2017). Continental Shelf Claims in the Arctic. (Poster Format). The Arctic Institute. Retrieved from: https://www.thearcticinstitute.org/wpcontent/uploads/2017/06/TAI-Infographic-ContinentalShelfClaims.pdf?x62767. Accessed on May 14, 2021. Till, G. (2009). Seapower. A Guide for the Twenty-First Century [E-book]. 2nd Edition. Routledge. Todorov, A. (2021). Russia’s implementation of the Polar Code on the Northern Sea Route. The Polar Journal, 1-13. Todorov, A. (2017). The Russian-USA legal dispute over the straits of the Northern Sea Route and similar case of the Northwest Passage. Arctic and North, 29, 62-75. United Nations. (1982). United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea. New York, USA. Retrieved from: https://www.un.org/depts/los/convention_agreements/texts/unclos/unclos_e.pdf. Accessed on May 24, 2021. Vego, M. (2008). On Naval Power. Joint Forces Quarterly, 50, 8-17. Yep, E. (2013, August 21). Energy Companies Try Arctic Shipping Shortcut Between Europe and Asia. The Wall Street Journal. Retrieved from: https://www.wsj.com/articles/SB10001424127887324619504579026031203525734. Accessed on May 13, 2021.
Nikitina
A Decolonial Approach to Arctic Security and Sovereignty Gabriella Gricius
Traditional geopolitical theories characterize the Arctic as a zone of potential conflict with the overarching narrative that it is the site of the new Cold War and great power competition between Russia, the United States and China over resources. However, this dominant approach often ignores the extent to which colonial legacies and neocolonial ideas play an instrumental role in influencing these security narratives. There is a need for a more nuanced understanding of Arctic security, particularly as it has to do with how different Arctic states express their sovereignty in practice. A decolonial approach to studying security in the Arctic can better reveal how expressions of sovereignty represent much of the same social and political hierarchies that existed during the colonial era. In this research, I aim to unpack the security narratives and actions of three Arctic states, Canada, the United States, and Russia, by documenting instances of coloniality of knowledge in text as well as neocolonial actions that each state has taken. With this deconstruction of Arctic narratives, I propose a different perception of sovereignty in the Arctic as being heavily influenced by neocolonial narratives in practice and argue that traditional state-centered conceptions of sovereignty should change to acknowledge 1) the shifting geography of the Arctic, 2) the history and role of Indigenous people who live there and 3) adopt an approach that considers shared sovereignty as a more realistic Arctic version of sovereignty.
Introduction Arctic security is described through several different lenses. While some scholars focus on the importance of oil and gas reserves, others highlight the relevance of interstate conflict between larger powers such as China, the US, and Russia (Sliwa & Aliyev, 2020, Zandee et al., 2020). However, what most security lenses and approaches miss is the importance of colonial legacies and neocolonial ideas. Without an understanding of how these narratives and legacies influence security narratives, Arctic security almost appears ahistorical and ignores how colonialism continues to influence state behavior. A decolonial approach to Arctic security takes up that challenge, unpacking how the social and political hierarchies from the colonial era continue to be reproduced in the current geo-political environment of today. Instead of overt expressions of force, however, states today use expressions of sovereignty to show their influence and power over regions such as the Arctic by naturalizing hierarchies of knowledge production and geopolitics that continually place the West in control of the narrative.
Gabriella Gricius is a doctoral candidate at Colorado State University.
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In this research, I aim to unpack the security narratives and actions of the United States, Canada, and Russia by documenting instances of coloniality of knowledge in text as well as in neocolonial actions. With this deconstruction of Arctic narratives, I propose that sovereignty in the Arctic as being heavily influenced by neocolonial narratives in practice and argue that traditional statecentered conceptions of sovereignty should change to acknowledge: 1) the shifting geography of the Arctic, 2) the history and role of Indigenous people who live there, and 3) adopt an approach that considers shared sovereignty as more equitable and historically grounded Arctic version of sovereignty.
Literature review Sovereignty Traditional geopolitical theories frame the Arctic as a zone of potential conflict with the narrative that it is the site of the new Cold War and competition between Russia, the United States, and China. However, this traditional strand of thought ignores the extent to which colonial legacies and neocolonial ideas play a role in influencing these security narratives. There is a need for a more nuanced understanding of Arctic security, particularly as it has to do with how different Arctic states express their sovereignty in practice. Postcolonial and decolonial approaches to studying security in the Arctic reveals how traditional security narratives have naturalized neocolonial ideas of the civilizing mission, extraction, and ecological imperialism. Furthermore, this approach can better reveal how expressions of sovereignty reproduce social and political hierarches that existed during the colonial era. Although sovereignty is a base term in international relations, it remains a contested term. For some scholars, the concept is constantly evolving (MacFarlane & Sabanadze, 2013; Glanville, 2013). Others argue that sovereignty represents a hierarchy in international relations that implicitly places the West as the epistemic authority with state development (White, 2019). However, a general understanding of sovereignty is understood as having three elements, and many International Relations (IR) scholars suggest that there is no alternative to these principles. Krasner argues that states have 1) international legal sovereignty, 2) Westphalian/Vattelian sovereignty, and 3) domestic sovereignty. International legal sovereignty refers to a state having recognition including the right to enter treaties and have membership in international organizations, while Westphalian/Vattelian sovereignty concerns the norm of non-intervention. Domestic sovereignty is when states can control activities within their territory (Krasner, 2016). Departing from these conventional notions of sovereignty, Krasner argues, only comes from failed states, states with areas of limited statehood, and members of the EU (Krasner, 2016). More simply put, sovereignty is having the authority over a territory and the population living there internally and externally that other states will not interfere (MacFarlane & Sabanadze, 2013). Sovereignty in the Arctic For some scholars, there is already a contestation of sovereignty in the Arctic due to the region’s indeterminate geographic characteristics and the real question of distance from non-Arctic capitals to the Arctic itself, making expressing authority over the region complex (Gerhardt et al., 2010). Others argue that climate change, globalization, and a greater acknowledgement of Indigenous rights also challenge traditional ideas of sovereignty because these transnational problems go beyond the scope that sovereignty offers (Lackenbauer & Greaves, 2016).
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Although, as stated above, while there are many ways of explaining sovereignty, only a few are relevant to the study of the Arctic. For example, while ancient conceptions of sovereignty were proven through invasion and power over a land, achieving that in the Arctic where geography and climate make such actions difficult makes achieving traditional sovereignty similarly difficult (Grant, 2011). To handle these problems today, Arctic states have engaged in international agreements to claim sovereignty such as the Ilulissat Declaration where Arctic states used UNCLOS to justify sovereignty over natural resources from the shore to a distance of at least 200 nautical miles. Traditional realist scholars look at Arctic sovereignty as intrinsically connected to security. For example, protecting sovereignty in the Arctic for some scholars is the ability to control what happens and respond to threats in the Arctic region (Huebert, 2009). Understanding sovereignty in the Arctic, particularly from a Canadian view, however, also is complicated by international maritime challenges such as the American-Canadian dispute over the Beaufort Sea and Canada’s dispute over the Northwest Passage. Broadly, sovereignty and security are also threatened by climate change, resource development, and geopolitical transformation (Huebert, 2009). These factors paired with quickening changes resulting from globalization mean that sovereignty is contested and under threat. In contrast, other scholars suggest that sovereignty in the Arctic is not in serious jeopardy. These scholars instead argue that quiet diplomacy, historic security, and diplomatic practices mean that we should rely on stability to ride out geopolitical and climatic changes in the High North (Griffiths, Huebert & Lackenbauer, 2013). Thus, sovereignty will not ultimately be contested. Instead, it will reckon with a greater demand for resources that will reinforce security and engagement. This importantly means that securitization of the region would be detrimental to the current stability – and instead that scholars and policymakers ought to focus on common interests and double down on multilateral and bilateral mechanisms. Indigenous Sovereignty International Law such as the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous People gives rights to Indigenous people to have rights to the lands, territories, and resources that they have traditionally used, owned, or acquired. While this Declaration is not binding on states, the rights contained with it have been upheld by customary law and specifically within Canada, there is constitutional protection in section 35 of the Constitution Act of 1982 as well as a Supreme Court case in 1982 that confirmed the rights of Aboriginal People to hold title to their territories (Campbell, 2015). For some Inuit in Canada, sovereignty does not necessarily mean the same thing as it is interpreted by Western legal accounts. For example, giving land via a land claim agreement does not mean giving up all rights to that title. Instead, it means agreement to share that land in a sustainable manner (Campbell, 2015). This brings up an important distinction to be made between Westphalian sovereignty and Indigenous conceptions of sovereignty. From an Indigenous perspective of sovereignty, many of the assumptions of Westphalian and Western sovereignty act as a Eurocentric and dispossessive tool that has been used to colonize and subjugate Indigenous People (Kincaid, 2016). Indigenous sovereignty, in contrast, takes a broader and more relational understanding of social and cultural factors (Bauder & Mueller, 2021). Perhaps the most important aspect of Indigenous sovereignty is the right to self-determination, that is the right to freely pursue economic, social, and cultural development and the right to choose a political Gricius
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status. In other words, sovereignty here is not a source of legal and political authority, but rather a social and cultural way of understanding community. One example of this is that often for Indigenous peoples, sovereignty is linked to an ability to continue to carry out their lives – such as the ability to gather and hunt food (Fakhri, 2018) or the right to engage in good faith (Nicol, 2017). Some scholars such as Vine Deloria Jr. (1996: 111) frame Indigenous sovereignty as “a nation of distinct people, separate from others… so long as the cultural identity of Indians remains intact.” Other scholars argue that Indigenous sovereignty should be removed from Western ideas of power and law and instead be conceived of in terms of ontological belonging (Morteon-Robinson, 2015). Scholars of Indigenous sovereignty also propose that sovereignty does not focus on a state actor, but rather takes a relational lens to look at the relationships and interdependencies in deciding how to make decisions, “the right to be heard and included in deliberations” (Nicol, 2017: 811). Further, an Indigenous sovereignty perspective focuses not on legal power over land, but the responsibility that comes with living on land (Hiller & Carlson, 2018). This notion of caring for land is in complete contrast to a Western perspective of sovereignty that sees land as an exploitable resource. Further in contrast to the universal way that the West defines sovereignty, Indigenous sovereignty is also understood to be contextualized. In other words, how sovereignty is understood changes per community and per individual (Thorner et al., 2018; Mitchell, 2020). Even with all varying definitions of Indigenous sovereignty, there is debate from Indigenous activists and scholars about whether the term should even be used. By using the term ‘sovereignty,’ some scholars argue, it inherently roots ideas of power and the superiority of the Westphalian state (Bauder & Mueller, 2021; Turner, 2001; Alfred, 1999). Further, it perpetuates a myth of equality between sovereign entities when relations are clearly not equal. While conceptions of Indigenous sovereignty may be distinct from western Westphalian ones, that is not to say that they do not participate in international organizations that frame sovereignty in Eurocentric terms and use the terminology in their own documents such as, most importantly, A Circumpolar Inuit Declaration on Sovereignty in the Arctic. This addresses many of the aspects noted above, such as the importance of self-determination. The declaration begins by declaring key aspects of Inuit sovereignty such as the Inuit being Indigenous citizens of Arctic states but also the Arctic writ large. The declaration also acknowledges the changing nature of sovereignty in the Arctic, and points to the importance of recognition and respect for the right to self-determination, the right to develop creative and innovative jurisdictional arrangements, and the lack of inclusion for Inuit in Arctic sovereignty discussions such as the 2008 Ilulissat Declaration. Looking forward, the declaration also sees the importance of the rule of law, the Inuit as active partners in the future, the need for relationships, and the right for healthy communities in the Arctic. Thus, when thinking about alternative notions of sovereignty that may operate better in the Arctic, it is important to consider the social and cultural aspects of Indigenous sovereignty that recognize and focus on interdependent relationships between actors and the land and highlight the contextual nature of sovereignty.
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Decolonial theory Using a decolonial lens, sovereignty creates a normative hierarchy in international relations, which some scholars characterize as placing the ‘Orient’ as the ‘other’ in opposition to the inherently sovereign and rational West (White, 2019). One example of this is the doctrine of the Responsibility to Protect, which assumes that Western states are the only and highest authority of human rights due to their own narrative of naming the West as civilized in opposition to a savage non-West. Another example is the imposition of liberal democratic ideals through international organizations and institutions. There is an important distinction to be made here before addressing decolonial theory: the similarities and differences between decolonial and postcolonial theory. Postcolonial scholars share many of the same critiques of the current world order, including the elevation of Eurocentric forms of knowledge, developmentalism, and the subordination of the periphery (Grosfoguel, 2011: 17). The capitalist system, they argue, is a cultural system – choosing to focus on agency rather than the overall structure (Morozov & Pavlova 2016; Bhambra, 2014). Decolonial scholars, while agreeing in many of the critiques of the world order, focus more on structural factors to account for the complexities of how different hierarchies have emerged, continued, and play a significant role in the processes of the modern world (Tucker, 2018). A decolonial approach to IR begins with the acknowledgement that “entrenched and deeply rooted social and political hierarchies based on exclusionary practices shape both geopolitics and the production of knowledge” (Adamson, 2020: 131). These hierarchies often are invisible but play an important role in creating barriers for the legitimacy of knowledge of the colonized and continually perpetuate the same colonizer-driven narratives again and again (Murray, 2019; Mignolo & Walsh 2018; Mignolo, 2011; Grosfoguel, 2011; Blaney & Tickner, 2017). While these hierarchies may not be consciously organized, they exist as “a body of interrelating elements and processes that all marginalize non-Western knowledge” (Foneseca & Jerrems, 2012). This body of elements is what decolonial theory seeks to explain. How are hierarchies reenacted in modern times? How are power relations continued that subjugate the colonized and elevate the colonizers? How is coloniality reproduced? Coloniality at its core relies on power over invisible and disparate social structures, which always relegates knowledge of colonized cultures (Tucker, 2018; Capan, 2017). Thus, for example, a decolonial lens can help answer the question of why some voices and issues are legitimized in security studies and some are not. One key example of this is how, in many cases, the agency of Cuba is written out of narratives surrounding the Cuban Missile Crisis. In doing so, many scholars have reproduced the Eurocentric idea that only great powers have agency (Barkawi & Laffey, 2006; Sabaratnam 2011). Scholars take this decolonial approach to examine instances of these hierarchical systems and understand how neocolonial ideas play a significant role in how states approach the Arctic. Many of these neocolonial ideas include versions of the civilizing mission in the form of platforms to modernize Indigenous ways of life and measuring their capacity based on solely Western ideas of modernity and progress (Tuhiwai Smith, 2012). These narratives also often include extraction, such as the growing interest in gas and oil exploration in the Arctic and ecological imperialism. Extraction, in a decolonial lens, furthers colonial actions that are inherent in capitalism, leading into ecological imperialism, which turns people and land into resources to be exploited (Newell, 2020). Importantly, how states express sovereignty in the Arctic is a key part of their neocolonialist
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actions, as it often comes directly into contact with the everyday lives of Indigenous communities in both how they speak about land and people but also how they express their sovereignty over land and people through actions. These narratives originate from the singular aim of colonialism, and thus neocolonialism, as they occupy and turn people and nature into resources for the accumulation of capital (Khoo, 2020). By unpacking these narratives, a decolonial approach to security in the Arctic could reconstitute sovereignty and better explain security in terms that make more sense in exploring the security threats in the Arctic today. For example, decolonial theory addresses a broad, comprehensive, or human security approach because it points out how non-Western knowledge is always marginalized rather than remaining with a traditional state-centered concept of security. Taking this broader approach to security, a decolonial lens can unpack how neocolonial actions by states in the Arctic contribute to insecurity of the individual. Furthermore, in many of the security problems that the Arctic faces now, such as climate change and food, water, and environmental security, Western ways of understanding these problems have proven thus far insufficient for solving collective actions problems. Decolonial theory puts a lens on that problem and defines alternative ways of seeing security and addressing issues like climate change by elevating knowledge from previously colonized/currently neo-colonized cultures. Thus, using this decolonial lens challenges scholars to consider factors that would otherwise not be considered in the realm of security studies.
Methodology My main research question for this research is: how can a decolonial lens better unpack how Arctic security narratives reproduce social and political hierarchies through expressions of sovereignty? In this paper, I will use a mix of process tracing and discourse analysis to explore three cases of the United States, Canada, and Russia’s security actions in the Arctic. I have time bound my case studies from 2014 to 2021 due to the change in Arctic relationships in the wake of Russia’s annexation of Crimea. In these case studies, I will begin by addressing how states have expressed sovereignty, and then document instances of coloniality in text by examining important security policy documents produced by these three governments from 2014 to 2021. I have gone through all official foreign and security policy documents that focused on the Arctic in all cases from 2014 to 2021. For this article, I have examined a selection of those documents and linked them with selected events and actions to make my argument. I will also use process tracing to look at related security neocolonial actions from 2014 to 2021. After establishing the case study both through discourse analysis as well as process tracing, I will propose a different construction of Arctic sovereignty that departs from a traditional definition of sovereignty. This alternative suggests that a new reading of sovereignty in the Arctic should weaken the norm of international legal sovereignty and domestic sovereignty. I aim to do this by claiming that this new sovereignty should acknowledge the shifting geography of the Arctic, weaken the norm of international legal sovereignty and domestic sovereignty to give more agency to the Indigenous people who live there, and adopt an approach that considers shared sovereignty as a more equitable and historically grounded version of Arctic sovereignty.
The United States Since 2014, the United States’ actions and policies in the Arctic have reflected various expressions of sovereignty. Most call for advancing American security interests in some way to facilitate
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commerce, deepen international cooperation, and strengthen environmental stewardship. In documents from 2013-2015, sovereignty was mainly expressed by the United States with a focus on promoting the Western multilateral order through assuring peace, security, and cooperation. This matches with American interests in the Arctic being primarily driven by commercial and security needs, thus more internally focused domestic sovereignty. From 2016-2021, the focus of sovereignty changed to one characterized by reactiveness and defense. This arose in response to the resurgence of great power competition. Here, expressions of sovereignty began to take on a more Westphalian flavor to respond to perceived Russian and Chinese incursions on the Western multilateral order. These expressions in many cases serve to reproduce social and political hierarchies that exclude the colonized and do not appropriately address the security issues at hand. Notably, the United States’ chairmanship of the Arctic Council illustrated the nature of leaving out Indigenous voices. This was a multilateral success for Arctic states, but the lack of inclusion of Indigenous people, whose knowledge of maritime travel and non-impact shipping corridors would have been useful, again serves to illustrate the continued power dynamics at play that privilege Western ideas of states, security, and sovereignty. As great power competition rhetoric began to heat up in the Arctic, the United States continued to move its focus more towards state-vs-state competition, ignoring the larger transnational threats emerging from the environment, further using ideas of sovereignty to focus solely on states rather than individuals. In 2014, the main policy in place was the 2013 National Strategy for the Arctic Region. While this policy does mention the needs of Indigenous communities, the focus is primarily on stewardship. In short, many issues that are non-state based are mentioned such as climate change, food security and environmental security. However, the response to these threats is described as one in which the US’ role should be as a steward. Stewardship is connected to the Western values of exploitation of natural resources and development within the Arctic. This is reflected in the 2014 Implementation Plan for National Strategy in the Arctic and the 2015 Year in Review: Progress Report on Implementation of National Strategy. Beyond the role of a steward, both policies address the establishment of ports in the Arctic, partnering with academia and industry, and conservationists. Although the role of Indigenous people and traditional ecological knowledge (TEK) are mentioned as potential partners to consult, they are described as having a consultant role rather than a co-management role. American policy in both cases reiterates the role of domestic sovereignty – illustrating how the state controls territory and people rather than giving them an equal voice in the process. During this time frame, there were no direct security policy documents concerning the Arctic, but rather security ideas were integrated within the broader strategies noted above. Because of this, the outright question of security is subsumed within the themes of climate change and does not focus on state-based issues. Perhaps the most recent significant period of US active engagement with the Arctic was from 2015 to 2017 when it hosted the chairmanship of the Arctic Council. At first glance, the US chairmanship appeared to move towards a more inclusive perspective with its theme of ‘One Arctic: Shared Opportunities, Challenges, and Responsibilities’, but neocolonial narratives continued to play a role. The United States’ three lines of focus within the Arctic Council were 1) strengthening international cooperation, 2) steering the Arctic in the right direction, and 3) promoting security interests by safeguarding peace and considering science and traditional knowledge (Hossain & Barala, 2017). The mention of traditional knowledge is notable. Nonetheless, a decolonial lens Gricius
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immediately brings attention to the idea of ‘right direction.’ Who decides what is the right direction? Who is involved in that decision? Given that the US interest in the Arctic was and is driven by both security and commercial needs, it suggests that many of the people living in the Arctic, such as Indigenous peoples, do not actually play a significant role in these decisions. Here, we can see domestic sovereignty at play with the United States exerting its control over territory and people by promoting infrastructure and resources development. By excluding the involvement of Indigenous peoples in the development of this Arctic security policy, social and political hierarchies place only Western states at the forefront of decision-making. One of the other hallmarks of the US chairmanship of the Arctic Council was its drive to improve economic and living conditions of Arctic residents by creating a Water Resources Vulnerability Index. While this does aim to help individuals living in the Arctic, it also creates an explicit numeric scale that places those without a Western perceived need in an ‘othering’ position. All of this is not to say that the United States did not have many notable successes in the Arctic Council. The United States worked on and concluded many legally binding agreements on Arctic maritime cooperation, improved cooperation, responded to black carbon pollution, and addressed marine diversity (Hossain & Barala, 2017). Nonetheless, much of its success relied on reproducing hierarchies that consistently marginalized the voices of Indigenous peoples and served only to place Western states’ needs and wants on top. Policy documents that date after or during 2016 paint a much different picture of Arctic security from a domestic lens. The Department of Defense’s 2016 Arctic Strategy only references Indigenous people three times throughout the entire document. It instead focuses on state threats, particularly from Russia, and the continued policy of the US to preserve the freedom of the seas. In this policy, the US is clearly expressing Westphalian sovereignty through non-interference in the sea. This mode of expressing sovereignty reinforces political hierarchies that the US has created as the hegemon to propagate Western values and ideology. In 2018, more attention began to be paid to the Arctic as Russian militarization and Chinese interest began to worry American policymakers. That year, the US Navy announced that it would reestablish the 2nd fleet, citing Russia as the primary concern for the new force (Larter, 2019). The 2nd fleet, according to the Navy, would respond to high-end naval warfare in the Atlantic. The choice to reestablish the 2nd fleet is a particularly interesting one using a decolonial lens, because it refocuses attention towards how the United States felt that they needed to arrange for a fleet to essentially monitor the Arctic against unwelcome advances that threatened a Western-centric order. The United States does not have traditional sovereignty over most of the Arctic Ocean but felt it had the right to protect the freedom of the seas under the auspices of that order. This aggression from the United States stems from both Westphalian and domestic sovereignty. Interestingly, the United States extended its version of Westphalian sovereignty as a way of claiming that no nonWestern state should interfere in the Arctic in ways that Western practices that enforce a multilateral legal order deem problematic. Later that year, the United States also aggressively pushed for Denmark to fund the construction of airports in Greenland instead of China to counter perceived Chinese influence (Daly & Matzen, 2018; Humpert, 2020). These two issues centered around growing concern in the United States about Chinese and Russian influence growing in the Arctic, while simultaneously, impacts from climate change were beginning to have worrying knock-on effects on the environment and thus livelihoods of those living in the Arctic. By doing this, as well as pushing for Denmark to stave off A Decolonial Approach to Arctic Security and Sovereignty
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Chinese influence, the United States reproduced a social and political hierarchy in which Western ways of life are preferable and therefore more valued than other states, particularly that of China and Russia – both of which are not fully considered Western. The concern for the United States was Chinese infrastructure in Greenland, a key strategic location, which the United States saw as a strategic vulnerability. This type of behavior is reminiscent of an imperial approach, where the United States extended a Western perception of sovereignty to its allies within the Western multilateral order, attempting to thwart what it saw as unwelcome non-Western influence and interference. In doing so, the United States reinforced a hierarchy in which it places Western perceptions of social and political order over others. The security policies that came out of the Trump Administration from 2019 to 2021 frame security in a similar way (i.e., 2019 United States Coast Guard Arctic Strategic Outlook, 2019 Report to Congress Department of Defense Arctic Strategy, 2020 The Department of the Air Force Arctic Strategy, 2021 A Blue Arctic, and 2021 Strategic Approach for Arctic Homeland Security). In short, they focus on the perceived aggressive actions of China and Russia in the Arctic with a focus on expressing and defending American sovereignty in the Arctic. This type of sovereignty mentioned in the policies is mainly domestic sovereignty – control over land and people. When Indigenous or colonized people are mentioned, they are described as resources to be used. For example, the 2019 United States Coast Guard Arctic Strategic Outlook calls Alaska Natives a “critical layer of security in the Arctic” (United States Coast Guard Arctic Strategic Outlook: 34). In short, Alaska Natives are seen as carriers of information that can assist security strategy by building resilience in local communities. This pattern of making Alaska Natives into resources also occurs in the 2021 Strategic Approach for Homeland Security, where Alaska Natives are called first responders – again being transformed into resources for the American security apparatus. The clearest sign yet that the United States was pivoting towards the Arctic in a manner that cemented a focus on Western security concerns (i.e., traditional state-centered security threats) was then-Secretary of State Mike Pompeo’s speech to the Arctic Council in 2019 (Sengupta, 2019). Rather than address the growing concerns about climate change and the Paris Accords, Pompeo warned the Arctic Council about Russian and Chinese aggressive action in the Arctic, calling the region a zone of global power competition. This continued focus on China and Russia as the main threats to the Arctic and a continued traditional state-centered security lens happens at the expense of other security issues that threaten the individual security of those living in the Arctic. Societal security issues and after-effects originating from climate change, for example, can slip by the wayside with the focus on state-centered threats. Taking a decolonial approach here highlights the neocolonial narratives that are obscured in general discussion about security in the Arctic and brings the focus back to individual insecurities and transnational issues that otherwise are not prioritized. Within American policy documents, this trend is further exacerbated. Turning back to the research question, Arctic security narratives in the United States reproduce Western social and political hierarchies through expressions of sovereignty. As mentioned above, policy exists to justify and support actions – so it is no surprise that many of the types of sovereignty and security in action are reflected in policy. Thus, in many cases but particularly in policy, domestic sovereignty is the primary mode of sovereignty through which a hierarchical structure is produced in which the government places state-based needs over the needs of people. As with actions, policies from the United States focus overtly on state-based security threats such as Russia and China rather than transnational security threats or individual threats such as those originating from Gricius
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climate change, food security and environmental security. In short, one of the hierarchies is in which security discourses are legitimized (i.e., state-based threats) versus which are not (i.e., transnational) alongside the question of government needs such as oil and gas extraction versus the needs of individuals and communities living in the Arctic. Although there is not a neat Indigenous/non-Indigenous dichotomy particularly on oil and gas extraction, this hierarchy is best understood through a decolonial frame because this frame brings attention to the entrenched hierarchies that underpin how from a state perspective, questions of threats to state sovereign security are institutionally legitimized. The way in which the United States expresses sovereignty is a way to reify existing hierarchies, suggesting that the way that sovereignty is conceptualized currently in the Arctic is insufficient to fully account for the reality on the ground.
Canada Canadian expressions of sovereignty in the Arctic have generally reflected a focus on domestic sovereignty over the Canadian Arctic from 2014-2021. Under the Conservative Government until 2015, Canada took a more aggressive stance in the Arctic, implying it would engage in decisive actions to protect its sovereignty. This militaristic approach was paired with promoting tenets of the Western multilateral and neoliberal order such as economic development, environmental heritage, and increased governance. With the arrival of the Liberal Government in 2015, Canada’s rhetoric shifted to focus more on consultation and co-development with Indigenous peoples in the Canadian Arctic. Its expressions of sovereignty here turned inward to give more attention to northern governance, modernization, and economic development. Thus, while Canada’s approach to Arctic sovereignty has oscillated in terms of rhetoric, ultimately its underlying tenets for how to approach Arctic security have remained the same. Although Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and the Liberal Party have been in power since 2015, former Prime Minister Stephen Harper and the Conservative Party formed the 2010 Canadian Arctic Strategy that was in place at the beginning of 2014. This policy explicitly mentioned that the exercise of Canadian sovereignty over the Far North was the goal of Canadian Arctic foreign policy alongside promoting economic and social development, protecting environmental heritage, and improving Northern governance. This former strategy is important in a few respects, the first being that it clearly established sovereignty over the Canadian Arctic as a goal, and heavily implied it would engage in military actions to protect that sovereignty. This military protection and a more aggressively enforced version of sovereignty gave more agency and power to the Canadian government at the expense of, rather than opening the door to, co-development and cooperation with local and regional governing structures in the Canadian Arctic (Gronning, 2016). Certainly, other co-development and cooperation activities were occurring – there is no binary per se that sovereignty assertions preclude other forms of governance– but political attention was more focused on questions of hard security. Thus, funding and the benefits that come from being politically valued were relatively lacking as compared to questions of security. Canada also held the chairmanship of the Arctic Council during the leadership of Prime Minister Harper and the Conservative Government. However, many scholars and policymakers found Canadian leadership lacking (Exner-Pirot, 2016). Much of the term of Canada’s chairing of the Arctic Council focused on economic development, such as founding the Arctic Economic Council despite concerns about lobbying and the environmental costs of increased resource extraction. By focusing on economic development through increased extraction activities, the Canadian government expressed domestic
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sovereignty in order to give preference to the needs of extractive industries. The Canadian government favored those extractive needs coming from the Canadian South over the needs and wants of Indigenous peoples living in the Canadian North. With the accession of the Liberal Party to power with Prime Minister Justin Trudeau in 2015, there was a huge rhetorical shift in how Canada talked about the Arctic. The Canadian government discussed Arctic cooperation with Indigenous Peoples and engaged in more consultation and codevelopment at the outset. They also announced that the next Canadian Arctic Policy would be developed in tandem with people from the High North. Despite this change in rhetoric, however, much of the neocolonial narratives still exist beneath the surface, such as a focus on increased extraction. Trudeau’s Liberal government worked on the development of the 2019 Arctic and Northern Policy Framework from 2015 to 2019. They created the Inuit-Crown Partnership Committee, a permanent organization with a mandate to advance the interests shared between the Canadian state and the Inuit and focused on the co-development ‘with’ Northerners rather than ‘for’ them. This committee was quickly followed by Canada’s Arctic Foreign Policy Framework Discussion Guide. While this policy seemed to give voices to those throughout the North by holding in-person consultation sessions, individuals and groups could only participate by invitation. Furthermore, the constant consultation process was in many cases exhausting for Indigenous communities, particularly when the results of those consultations were not helpful (Everett, 2018). While the word sovereignty was not used in the document, connotations throughout the policy refer to it, thus giving more agency to the Inuit as shared owners of the Canadian territory, but still using them to make sovereignty claims about the region – as they have since the 1980s when Canada formally recognized how Inuit sovereignty underpins Canada’s Arctic sovereignty – by the Canadian state. (Everett, 2018). This policy framework discussion guide was followed by the 2017 Shared Leadership Model, the 2017 Pan Territorial Vision for Sustainable Development, and the 2017-2018 Towards a New Arctic Policy Framework documents, all of which mostly echoed the 2017 Discussion Guide. In short, they used the right rhetoric to support policies of shared development and consultation, but in many cases, Indigenous issues and needs were sidelined in favor of government needs and wants. The publication of the Arctic and Northern Policy Framework (2019) was a widely anticipated policy, given that it had taken four years of development. However, it was almost immediately met with criticism for being light on details and binding commitments (Chater, 2019). Others claimed that, looking at the Harper and Trudeau policies, not much had changed (Brockman, 2019). Perhaps the most damning critique is that the timing of the publication’s release immediately before the 2019 federal election in Canada left many experts to analyze the document as part of an election platform for the Liberal Party, rather than a serious Arctic Policy (Tommerbakke, 2019). From a decolonial lens, the Arctic and Northern Policy Framework (2019) immediately raised concerns. The first issue is the lack of consensus. In the policy, many of the stakeholders from the North such as those from Nunangat, Nunatsiavut, Nunavut, and the Pan-Territorial Governments (governments from Yukon, Northwest Territories and Nunavut) had their contributions placed in appendices rather than within the fully developed policy. This illustrates that there was no compromise or agreement on serious issues of concern such as modernization and extraction – showing that the federal government had trouble finding consensus (Tommerbakke, 2019). Here, there is a clear sidelining of Indigenous needs and wants, one that is reflected through an expression of domestic
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sovereignty, where wishes of the federal government were placed above those of the local and regional governing bodies. The second concern came from the lack of details on how the policy framework was developed. Given that this policy took more than four years to develop, many experts find it reasonable to expect more details (Chater, 2019). This lack of detail illustrates the propensity of states to create policies that have the potential to be imperial and nontransparent in nature. The third and final concern was an issue that was previously noted – the question of participation. While the federal government did host in-person consultation sessions throughout the North, they were invitationonly and thus restricted who could contribute and whose voices mattered. This is not to say the policy was entirely problematic. One of the most notable aspects of the policy was the recognition of the impacts of colonialism in the North, particularly referring to the consequences of disease, cultural assimilation, and coerced relocation. However, by focusing more directly on questions of how and focusing on expressions of sovereignty and power, the federal government continues to sideline Indigenous viewpoints even when the policy claims to represent a co-developed process. In short, it represents the relative insecurity of those living in the Canadian Arctic in terms of representation and participation. Arctic security narratives in Canada are clearly reproducing social and political hierarchies through expressions of sovereignty. Most of Canada’s expressions of sovereignty come from a domestic sovereignty standpoint by focusing on exerting control and influence over territory and policy. This differs from the American case which has both domestic and Westphalian sovereignty, for one reason: Canada controls much more Arctic territory than the United States. Thus, their expressions of sovereignty that exclude or weaken the role of formerly colonized people tend to give more attention to what is happening within its own borders, rather than outside of them. In both policies and actions, Canada often performs the discourse but doesn’t follow through with substantial policy. It nominally recognizes the needs and interests of Indigenous People, but the Canadian government continues to prioritize its own needs and agenda. Thus, much of the actual policy continues to produce political hierarchies that puts the needs of the federal government over the actual needs and voices of those in the Canadian Arctic through expressions of domestic sovereignty.
Russia From 2014-2021, Russian expressions of sovereignty in the Arctic were geared primarily towards other countries rather than inward, thus using a conception of Westphalian sovereignty to express non-interference. With isolation from an economic and political font in the wake of the Crimean annexation, Russia began to focus on the Arctic as an economic opportunity. While there is no expectation of hot conflict, Russian military and economic interest in the Arctic has grown from 2014-2021 in terms of military exercise amount, oil and gas investment, and the investment placed in the Northern Sea Route. In engaging in the Arctic, Russia has expressed Westphalian sovereignty to keep out Western influence while also prioritizing economic interests over the individual security needs of its Indigenous Peoples, thus also expressing domestic sovereignty. Given Russia’s long coastline and history with the Arctic, it is no surprise how important the region is to the Russian government. Particularly in the wake of the annexation of Crimea in 2014 and the subsequent sanctions, Russian economic interests have turned towards the Arctic as a future opportunity. Russia’s 2014 Military Doctrine began this trend, particularly as a notably recent Russian A Decolonial Approach to Arctic Security and Sovereignty
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military doctrine that explicitly mentions where Russia must protect its national interests in the Arctic. This trend continued with Russia’s 2014 Maritime Doctrine, which focused on the Atlantic and Arctic and named looming threats specifically in the Arctic as cause for strengthening Russia’s Northern Fleet. Russia’s 2015 National Security Strategy focused on the growing importance of developing Arctic natural resources. It also implied a background of global competition and focused on the expansion of NATO’s influence as a threat to Russian sovereignty. However, even with the focus on security, the strategy acknowledged that there was no expectation or conflict or race for resources. Later that year, the Comprehensive Project for Development of the Northern Sea Route was published, explicitly introducing measures to improve navigation-hydro-graphic and hydrometeorological support for navigation. Here, a decolonial lens raises an immediate red flag regarding neocolonial areas of extraction and economic development (Devaytkin, 2018). While the strategy describes the prioritization of Arctic resources, it immediately also raises the question of who is getting those resources, and how the Russian state will handle Indigenous communities who potentially may live in proximity to those areas. The 2015 strategy also highlighted the expansion of NATO’s influence as the largest threat to Russia (Klimenko, 2019). Thus, Westphalian sovereignty was also expressed through focusing on a lack of interference from other states. The Russian state also engaged in many military exercises to express this sovereignty, including Vostok in 2014 and 2015, Tsentr in 2019, and Grom in 2019 (Melino & Conley, 2020). A decolonial lens looks at this issue slightly differently than a traditional security lens by refocusing on how an increase in military activity to express Westphalian sovereignty produces social and political hierarchies. Doing so focuses Russia’s energy in the Arctic on military and economic matters, ignoring and sidelining individual insecurity issues that may arise from food, environmental, or societal issues. Thus, in expressing its Westphalian sovereignty, Russia places a priority on military and extractive concerns rather than long-lasting security concerns of Russia’s Indigenous People. As the Arctic became a more contested region, Russia created the State Arctic Commission in 2015 to coordinate federal executive authorities, state authorities, and other parts of its government to address the development of the Arctic region and to ensure national security. While this organization may at first seem to address the gaps regarding individual insecurities, it appears to have instead refocused power to Moscow. Leaders in the Russian Arctic now prioritize creating stronger ties to the federal government and Moscow, creating policy that pleases federal authorities rather than focusing on the needs and wants of Indigenous and other marginalized communities in the Russian Arctic (Blakkisrud, 2019). Taking a decolonial lens, in the creation of the Commission, the Russian government was seeking to express its domestic sovereignty over the Russian Arctic. However, in doing so, it created an explicitly top-down structure that continually puts the wishes of Russian political leaders in Moscow above the needs and wants of individuals living in the Russian Arctic. With the recent publication of Basic Principles 2035 in 2020, Russia has continued earlier outlines of Russian Arctic policies with one significant change. The new policy introduced the concept of ‘ensuring sovereignty and territorial integrity’ as the top national interest in the Arctic. Past versions of Russian sovereignty expressions in the Arctic have focused on either domestic sovereignty (to illustrate domestic control of territory and population) or Westphalian sovereignty, and it is likely that the document refers to a combination of the two. As with prior Russian Arctic documents, there is also lip service paid to the socioeconomic development of both the Arctic territory as well as the Indigenous Peoples living there (Klimenko, 2020). However, there is little that suggests that Gricius
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this will result in any real policy changes. Most parts of the Russian Arctic are suffering from population decreases and individual insecurities such as healthcare and housing. This lack of attention to individual insecurities suggests that there are other priorities such as military and economic concerns that trump – in Russia’s view – the needs of their Indigenous population. In short, Arctic security narratives in Russia reproduce social and political hierarchies that favor the needs of the Russian federal government without giving a real voice to minority interests such as those originating from Indigenous Peoples – particularly regarding economic and military concerns. In contrast to Canada, it appears that Russia expresses sovereignty both in a domestic and Westphalian sense. The United States expresses Westphalian sovereignty to keep Russian influence out, while Russia expresses Westphalian sovereignty against as what it sees as undue NATO influence. In its policies and actions, Russia seems to focus heavily on colonial ideas of extraction and economic development to reproduce social and political hierarchies that continually exclude the individual needs of people living in the Arctic.
Discussion and conclusion Considering how the United States, Canada, and Russia express sovereignty, rather than protecting states from outside threats, each states’ versions of expressing security and sovereignty are merely serving to reinforce hierarchies. Thus, rather than thinking of sovereignty purely as a neutral tool in which Western states express their power over non-Western entities, I argue that sovereignty in the Arctic is heavily influenced by neocolonial narratives and thus the traditional state-centered conception of sovereignty should therefore change to acknowledge three things. First, the shifting geography of the Arctic which makes establishing sovereignty difficult if not impossible (domestic sovereignty). Second, the history and role of Indigenous Peoples who live there (both in enhancing the international legal sovereignty of Indigenous people and giving them more power). Finally, shared sovereignty as a better fit as it will make a more equitable and historically grounded Arctic version of sovereignty. Adopting a decolonial lens allows scholars to see that sovereignty in general creates a normative hierarchy that places the non-West as ‘othered’ in opposition to the inherently sovereign West (White, 2019). This hierarchy that Western states use suggests that neocolonial narratives continue to influence the way they view security and sovereignty in the Arctic. Non-Western perspectives on conservation, for example, are consulted but not placed on the same valuation as perspectives of Western science, academia, and industry. State-centered threats from China and Russia are given more weight than real individual insecurities arising from food, water, and environmental insecurity. States contribute to individual insecurities by doing so. Thus, non-West perspectives are devalued in reference not only to conservation, but also other questions related to climate change. Traditional security lenses neither acknowledge this neocolonial power structuring nor fully reflect the contestation of sovereignty. Some scholars have already argued that sovereignty is contested in the Arctic due to the region’s constantly changing geography as well as the distance between nonArctic capitals and the Arctic (Gerhardt et al., 2010). First, the adverse effects of climate change continue to change Arctic geography as well as geopolitical realities. An updated understanding of Arctic sovereignty should acknowledge that enacting domestic sovereignty may not be fully possible. By trying to maintain the same understanding of land and territory as before that use colonial understandings of ecological imperialism when relating to land, one cannot really approach and think about climate change in a
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productive manner. Thus, the same kind of expressions of domestic sovereignty, then, should also be reduced in order to think more critically about climate adaptation and mitigation strategies. Second, the history and role of Indigenous peoples should also be more broadly acknowledged in this updated version of Arctic sovereignty. Doing so gives them more legal power and sovereignty over decisions that impact their livelihood. While Inuit sovereignty is key to Canada’s broader Arctic claims, it is by no means the norm across Arctic states. Further, acknowledgement is only one part of the equation. With more scholarly attention being paid towards the importance of TEK and other contributions from Indigenous people, so too should sovereignty in the Arctic reflect that role. Going beyond acknowledgement here would serve to give Indigenous peoples more legal sovereignty to take part in decision-making about the Arctic, something that is sorely lacking now. Bringing in those voices may seem like a small step, but it would empower Indigenous Peoples, acknowledging that they too are important players in the Arctic. Acknowledging this new kind of sovereignty is in line with what Indigenous leaders are already saying, particularly in reference to the publication of ‘A Circumpolar Inuit Declaration on Sovereignty in the Arctic’ by the Inuit Circumpolar Council in April 2009. Among other claims, the declaration argues that issues of sovereignty must be assessed in the Inuit’s context of a long history of exercising self-determination and that the Inuit have been ignored in Arctic sovereignty discussions. When thinking about the role of Indigenous people in Arctic sovereignty, thus, it goes beyond any one state’s claim to sovereignty in the Arctic on a territorial level. Scholarly, policy, and activist attention ought to be paid to bringing attention and acknowledgement to the way Indigenous People use sovereignty. Third, Arctic policymakers and scholars should consider that shared sovereignty may be a more equitable and historically grounded version of Arctic sovereignty. From an Indigenous perspective, sovereignty has a different meaning and can be helpful here when imagining how a shared sovereignty can work in the real world. First, Indigenous conceptions of sovereignty are social and cultural ways of understanding community – and thus sovereignty is often linked to an ability to carry out normal life activities. Therefore, shared sovereignty in the Arctic can reflect that, acknowledging that geopolitical competition and increased oil and gas extraction are threats to that sovereignty. Second, Indigenous approaches to sovereignty also take a relational approach, thinking about how land and people interrelate and the importance of being heard in deliberations between people. In action, this could mean focusing more on the Arctic institutions that exist and giving more power to Indigenous People in those institutions to be heard and speak rather than giving power to states alone. In a future Arctic that will be inevitably changed by the advent of climate change, people and collectives will have to work together to solve these larger collective-action problems. This feeds into a third way that Indigenous sovereignty can inform shared sovereignty. While Westphalian sovereignty treats land as an exploitable resource, Indigenous sovereignty sees land as something to be cared for, the other part of a reciprocal relationship between people and land. What use is having sovereignty over a place if it is not cared for or is not productive? Shared sovereignty in action here would be a reframing of the Arctic as a place for cooperative action to care for the land as the primary objective of sovereignty. Fourth, sovereignty is contextual. In the Arctic, this implies that any notion of shared sovereignty specifically in the Arctic must include Indigenous people, their traditional and ecological knowledge, and the co-managing of Arctic issues.
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Scholars acknowledge that sovereignty is constantly evolving and thus we should not use outdated terminology to describe a region when it is no longer useful (MacFarlane & Sabanadze, 2013; Glanville, 2013). It is not as though sovereignty has not already adapted and been changed with other alterations. The European Union, for example, does not fit within the traditional bounds of sovereignty. It operates as somewhat of a hybrid that follows some older rules but also adapts to the type of sovereignty that the European Union represents. The Arctic similarly should be an opportunity for sovereignty to evolve and address both the changing role of geography and Indigenous peoples alongside a new conception of shared sovereignty as well as deal with the very real threat of climate change. In this research, I have used a decolonial lens to illustrate how the United States, Canada, and Russia reproduce social and political hierarchies through expressions of sovereignty. I have further demonstrated how traditional security lenses are insufficient to address the current security issues of today and thus, why a new version of sovereignty in the Arctic is necessary to reflect the changing reality on the ground. It is through the deconstruction of neocolonial narratives and ideas that new ways of thinking about sovereignty and security can be revealed and hopefully better fit the current needs and security concerns of people in the Arctic.
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Kincaid, Patrick. (2016). Review of Indigenous Sovereignty in the 21st Century: Knowledge for the Indigenous Spring, by Michael Lerma. Wicazo Sa Review, 31 (2): 96–103. Klimenko, E. (2019). The Geopolitics of a Changing Arctic [SIPRI Background Paper]. Stockholm International Peace Research Institute. Klimenko, E. (2020, April 6). Russia’s New Arctic Policy document signals continuity rather than change. Stockholm International Peace Research Institute. https://www.sipri.org/commentary/essay/2020/russias-new-arctic-policy-documentsignals-continuity-rather-change Klimenko, E., Nilsson, A., & Christensen, M. (2019). Narratives in the Russian Media of Conflict and Cooperation in the Arctic (SIPRI Insights on Peace and Security No. 2019/5; `). Stockholm International Peace Research Institute. Klimenko, Ekaterina. (2016). Russia’s Arctic Security Policy: Still Quiet in the High North? (SIPRI Policy Paper 45). Stockholm International Peace Research Institute. Krasner, S. (2016). The Persistence of State Sovereignty. In The Oxford Handbook of Historical Institutionalism. Oxford University Press. Lackenbauer, W., & Greaves, W. (2016). Re-thinking sovereignty and security in the Arctic. Open Canada. https://opencanada.org/re-thinking-sovereignty-and-securityarctic/#:~:text=Historically%2C Larter, D. (2019). US Navy declares new fleet created to confront Russia fully operational. Defense News. https://www.defensenews.com/naval/2019/12/31/us-navy-declaresnew-fleet-stood-up-to-confront-russia-fully-operational/ LeVine, M. (2020). Colonialism in the Region: Foundations, Legacies, and Continuities. In A. Salvatore, S. Hanafi, & K. Obuse (Eds.), The Oxford Handbook of the Sociology of the Middle East. Oxford University Press. https://doi.org/10.1093/oxfordhb/9780190087470.013.5 MacFarlane, N., & Sabanadze, N. (2013). Sovereignty and self-determination: Where are we? International Journal, 68(4), 609–627. Matzen, E., & Daly, T. (2018). Greenland’s courting of China for airport projects worries Denmark. Reuters. https://www.reuters.com/article/us-china-arcticgreenland/greenlands-courting-of-china-for-airport-projects-worries-denmarkidUSKBN1GY25Y Melino, M., & Conley, H. (2020). The Ice Curtain: Russia’s Arctic Military Presence. Center for Strategic and International Studies. https://www.csis.org/features/ice-curtain-russiasarctic-militarypresence#:~:text=In%202017%2C%20Russia%20updated%20its,its%20sea%2Dbased% 20nuclear%20forces. Mitchell, Audra. (2020). Revitalizing Laws, (Re)-Making Treaties, Dismantling Violence: Indigenous Resurgence against ‘the Sixth Mass Extinction.’ Social & Cultural Geography, 21 (7): 909–24. https://doi.org/10.1080/14649365.2018.1528628. Moreton-Robinson, A. 2015. The White Possessive; Property, Power, and Indigenous Sovereignty. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. National Security Strategy of the United States of America. (2017). The White House. https://trumpwhitehouse.archives.gov/wp-content/uploads/2017/12/NSS-Final-12-182017-0905.pdf
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National Strategy for the Arctic Region. (2013). The White House. https://obamawhitehouse.archives.gov/sites/default/files/docs/nat_arctic_strategy.pdf Nicol, Heather N. 2017. From Territory to Rights: New Foundations for Conceptualising Indigenous Sovereignty. Geopolitics, 22 (4): 794–814. https://doi.org/10.1080/14650045.2016.1264055. Obama, B. (2015). Executive Order—Enhancing Coordination of National Efforts in the Arctic. The White House. https://obamawhitehouse.archives.gov/the-pressoffice/2015/01/21/executive-order-enhancing-coordination-national-efforts-arctic Pan Territorial Vision for Sustainable Development. (2017). Premiers of the Yukon, Northwest Territories, and Nunavut. https://www.gov.nt.ca/sites/flagship/files/documents/panterritorial_vision_for_sustainable_development_en.pdf Prime Minister of Canada and President of Inuit Tapiriit Kanatami announce the Inuit-Crown Partnership Committee. (2017). PMO. https://pm.gc.ca/en/news/newsreleases/2017/02/09/prime-minister-canada-and-president-inuit-tapiriit-kanatamiannounce Report to Congress Department of Defense Arctic Strategy. (2019). US Department of Defense. https://media.defense.gov/2019/Jun/06/2002141657/-1/-1/1/2019-DOD-ARCTICSTRATEGY.PDF Report to Congress on Strategy to Protect United States National Security Interests in the Arctic Region. (2016). US Department of Defense. https://dod.defense.gov/Portals/1/Documents/pubs/2016-Arctic-Strategy-UNCLAScleared-for-release.pdf Sengupta, S. (2019). United States Rattles Arctic Talks with a sharp warning to China and Russia. The New York Times. https://www.nytimes.com/2019/05/06/climate/pompeo-arcticchina-russia.html Shrinkhal, Rashwet. (2021). Indigenous Sovereignty’ and Right to Self-Determination in International Law: A Critical Appraisal. AlterNative: An International Journal of Indigenous Peoples, 17 (1): 71–82. https://doi.org/10.1177/1177180121994681. Simon, M. (2017). A new Shared Arctic Leadership Model. Government of Canada. https://www.rcaanc-cirnac.gc.ca/eng/1492708558500/1537886544718 Sliwa, Z., & Aliyev, N. (2020). Strategic Competition or Possibilities for Cooperation between the United States and Russia in the Arctic. The Journal of Slavic Military Studies, 33(2), 214– 236. Strategic Approach for Arctic Homeland Security. (2021). US Department of Homeland Security. https://www.dhs.gov/sites/default/files/publications/21_0217_plcy_dhs-arcticstrategy.pdf The Department of the Air Force Arctic Strategy. (2020). Department of the Air Force. https://www.af.mil/Portals/1/documents/2020SAF/July/ArcticStrategy.pdf Thorner, Sabra, Fran Edmonds, Maree Clarke, and Paola Balla. 2018. Maree’s Backyard: Intercultural Collaborations for Indigenous Sovereignty in Melbourne. Oceania, 88 (3): 269–91. https://doi.org/10.1002/ocea.5206. Tommerbakke, S. G. (2019). Why the Canadians are Provoked by the New and Ambitious Arctic Policy Document. High North News. https://www.highnorthnews.com/en/whycanadians-are-provoked-new-and-ambitious-arctic-policy-document
A Decolonial Approach to Arctic Security and Sovereignty
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Toward a new Arctic Policy Framework. (2017). Indigenous and Northern Affairs Canada. https://www.rcaanc-cirnac.gc.ca/eng/1499951681722/1537884604444 Turner, D. 2001. “Vision: Towards an Understanding of Aboriginal Sovereignty.” Canadian Political Philosophy: Contemporary Reflections, edited by Ronald Beiner and W. J. Norman, 318-331. Oxford University Press. United States – Canada Joint Arctic Leaders’ Statement. (2016). PMO. https://pm.gc.ca/en/news/statements/2016/12/20/united-states-canada-joint-arcticleaders-statement “United States Coast Guard Arctic Strategic Outlook.” 2019. Washington DC: The United States Coast Guard. https://www.uscg.mil/Portals/0/Images/arctic/Arctic_Strategy_Book_APR_2019.pdf. White, J. I. (2019). A Critical Reflection on Sovereignty in International Relations Today. EInternational Relations. Zandee, D., Kruijver, K., & Stoetman, A. (2020). The future of Arctic security: The geopolitical pressure cooker and the consequences for the Netherlands. Clingendael. Военная доктрина Российской Федерации. (2014). Президент Российской Федерации. Морская доктрина Поссиицкои Федерации. (2014). Президент Российской Федерации. О стратегии национальнои безонасности Россиискои Федарации. (2015). Президент Российской Федерации. Об Основах государственнои Поссиискои Федарации в Арктике на период до 2035 года. (2020). Президент Российской Федерации. Об основах государственной политики Российской Федерации в Арктике на период до 2035 года. (2020). Кремль. http://static.kremlin.ru/media/events/files/ru/f8ZpjhpAaQ0WB1zjywN04OgKiI1mAv aM.pdf Утверждён план развития инфраструктуры Северного морского пути до 2035 года. (2015). Арктическая деятельность.
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Beyond the Nation-State Paradigm: Inuit SelfDetermination and International Law in the Northwest Passage Juliana Iluminata Wilczynski
This article examines how the nation-State paradigm of international relations and international law in the Arctic conflicts with Inuit self-determination in the Northwest Passage. This evaluation is made through the lens of four Indigenous rights which are relevant to the Northwest Passage: the right to self-determination, the right to traditional territories and resources, the right to culture, and rights to consultation and free, prior, and informed consent. This article makes three submissions, namely: (1) doctrinal reduction of sovereignty to the nation-state paradigm in international law functions to exclude Indigenous peoples from participation in international law and decision-making; (2) Inuit participation in the international politics of the Northwest Passage is a vehicle for the expression of their right to self-determination as enshrined in the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples; (3) the inclusion of the Inuit as international legal actors as demonstrated by their historical transnational advocacy will be a necessary step for the international community to take in order to uphold the Inuit’s right to self-determination, especially in relation to the future of the Northwest Passage if the transit passage regime is deemed to apply in the future. Ultimately, this article adopts a pluralist and decolonial perspective to critically challenge the traditional notion of sovereignty as understood from a Westphalian perspective, and advocates for the imperative recognition of Indigenous peoples and inclusion of them as transnational legal actors.
Introduction Adopting a pluralist (Davies, 2010: 805) and decolonial (Mignolo, 2017) perspective, this article evaluates how the nation-state paradigm of Arctic international relations interacts and conflicts with Inuit self-determination in the Northwest Passage (NWP). These tensions are examined through the lens of four Indigenous rights applicable to the NWP: the rights to self-determination, culture, traditional territories and resources, consultation and free, prior, informed consent (FPIC). These rights of Indigenous peoples (IPs), laid down in the United Nations Declaration on Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP), overlap in scope with nation-state centered legal regimes applicable to the NWP, like the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS). Juliana Iluminata Wilczynski is a 2021 graduate of the European Law School L.L.B. at the Faculty of Law, Maastricht University, and a member of the Arctic Youth Network.
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The Inuit Canadian domestic context remains the focus of this article, while the greater Inuit polity1 is referenced to in relation to Inuit transnationalism. Utilizing the doctrinal method, deductive analysis is developed on the basis of existing decolonial, political, and legal scholarship, referencing legal texts, and Inuit representative statements. The author clarifies her positionality as nonIndigenous, and she does not claim to define the Inuit experience nor to be an expert in Indigeneity. This article proceeds by placing the development of international law in its historical context to demonstrate the disconnect between international law and Indigenous dispossession. This historical context circumscribes Indigenous advocacy in the twenty-first century, and illuminates the limitations imposed by nation-state sovereignty doctrine on Indigenous recognition. This article sets out the domestic legal context in Canada applicable to the NWP, exploring the comprehensive Land Claims Agreements (LCAs) negotiated by Inuit, and legal pluralism, demonstrating overlapping sovereignties in the NWP. Next, this article lays out the applicability of human and Indigenous rights to the NWP. These rights are then elaborated in the context of their overlap with State-centered legal regimes in the NWP, and the NWP dispute. The nexus of these conflicting notions of sovereignty lies in the overlap in territorial scope between LCAs, UNDRIP, and UNCLOS.
Indigenous dispossession IPs were first conceptualised as non-sovereigns in Franciscus de Vitoria’s sixteenth century lectures concerning the colonial encounter in the West Indies, (Anghie, 2005)2 through which sovereignty doctrine emerged, where ‘Indians’ were deemed non-sovereign because their ‘cultural practices’ conflicted with natural law.3 Following the transition from divine to natural law, the Peace of Westphalia in 1648 reconfigured political structures (Lesaffer, 2004) giving rise to a nation-State framework of international relations, whereby positivism replaced natural law (Shaw, 2003). As Empires expanded through colonization, the law of nations “…became less universalist in conception and more...a reflection of European values” (Shaw, 2003: 27). Positivism became the framework which reconstructed “the entire system of international law based on the...new version of sovereignty doctrine” (Anghie, 2005: 41) through a ‘racialised scientific lexicon’4 excluding non-Europeans, and non-Christians, from international law, as, “it would be impossible for a nomadic tribe...to come under” the provisions of international law (Lawrence, 1895: 136). Recognition doctrine, purporting that States entered the community of nations upon recognition by other sovereigns, allowed property rights to be “derived from natives...even before European sovereignty has existed over the spot” (Anghie, 2005: 80),5 preventing IPs from deriving sovereign rights (Anghie, 2005). Sovereignty over Indigenous territories was established by application of doctrines, including the discovery doctrine which characterised Indigenous territories as legally unoccupied, or terra nullius, and, “represented the legal conclusion that Indigenous peoples possessed no international legal existence” (Macklem, 2008: 184). Sovereignty doctrine dispossessed IPs because legal personality was only bestowed to enable transfer of title to colonial powers (Anghie, 2005). The application of this framework led to acquisition of sovereignty over adjacent traditional marine spaces of IPs (Hamilton, 2019). In the twentieth century, international institutions materialised in parallel to the decolonisation process (Anghie, 2005). The emergence of the right to self-determination was perceived as a Beyond the Nation-State Paradigm
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violation of the obligation to maintain ‘territorial integrity’, (UNGA Res. 15/14 XV, 1960), prompting a 1970 United Nations General Assembly (UNGA) Declaration, from which the ‘blue water doctrine’ limited pursuit of sovereign independence to colonized populations “separated by water from their parent colonial State” (UNGA Res. 26/25 XXV, 1970: 9). This doctrine has arguably had the greatest impact on the right to self-determination, as it limited legal capacity by the geographic location of IPs’ traditional territories (Macklem, 2008). Thus, international law became the tool by which IPs were dispossessed from their traditional territories and excluded from participation in international relations. Within this historical context, IPs are excluded from legal frameworks qualified on Statehood which are applicable to their traditional territories and through which they must advocate for their rights. Crown sovereignty and Inuit Nunangat Inuit have lived along the NWP long before the imposition of Crown sovereignty (ICC, CIDSA, 2009, para. 1.2). European nations claimed sovereignty over North America by application of the terra nullius doctrine (Macklem, 2001).6 No single event marks establishment of Crown sovereignty over Inuit Nunangat (Morrison, 2021),7 but ‘exploration’ of the NWP facilitated acceptance of de facto and de jure Crown sovereignty over the Canadian Arctic. In 1670, the Hudson’s Bay Company Charter granted the company legal title to about half of present-day Canadian territory, (Hudson’s Bay Company Charter, 1670) initiating Crown acquisition of sovereignty over the Canadian Arctic (Morrison, 2021). Remaining present-day Northwest Territories, and Southern Nunavut were annexed into the Charter in 1821, and in 1870, Hudson’s Bay Company transferred title of its lands to Canada, which included all but the Arctic archipelago (Morrison, 2021). Crown sovereignty over the remaining archipelago was strengthened during the cartographic process of the Arctic (Morrison, 2021). Canada advanced sovereignty claims most successfully through military occupation of Inuit territory. State police organs were established in new Arctic outposts, coinciding with Inuit relocations to Grise Fiord and Resolute Bay in the 1950s (Morrison, 2021; Kunuk 2008). Since then, the motive behind these relocations have been thoroughly debated in the literature, in official reports, and at different government fora.8 Although a narrative has emerged claiming that Inuit were used as ‘human flagpoles’ to further Canadian sovereignty, archival records, and Inuit oral histories suggest that the relocations were not primarily motivated by sovereignty claims (Lackenbauer, 2020: xv). As Lackenbauer points out, the crux of the matter is that the relocations inflicted trauma on relocated Inuit communities. Crucially, Inuit’s longstanding use and occupancy of the Arctic is the basis for Canada’s Arctic sovereignty, as laid out in the LCAs, regardless of whether they were used as ‘human flagpoles’ or not (Lackenbauer, 2020: xv). In 1985, Secretary of State for External Affairs Joe Clark stated in the House of Commons that, “From time immemorial Canada’s Inuit people have used and occupied the ice as they have used and occupied the land” (Joe Clark, 1985). Ultimately, the accumulation of events in which Canada asserted sovereignty supplemented by historic Inuit occupancy eventually contributed to the crystallisation of Canadian sovereignty over the Arctic. Nevertheless, the NWP is not universally recognised as Canadian territorial waters, as the US contends that the NWP is an international strait (NSPD-66/HSPD-25, 2009; National Strategy for the Arctic Region, 2013).
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Legal pluralism The existence of legal pluralism in Canada was confirmed in the Haida Nation (Haida Nation v. British Columbia, 2004) and Taku River Tlingit First Nation (Taku River Tlingit First Nation v. British Columbia, 2004) cases in which the Canadian Supreme Court acknowledged ‘pre-existing Aboriginal sovereignty’. The Court characterised Crown sovereignty in the present as de facto, (Haida Nation v British Columbia, 2004: para. 32) asserting that overlapping Indigenous and Crown sovereignty claims must be reconciled through treaties (Haida Nation v British Columbia, 2004, para. 17). Canada has appropriated pre-existing Aboriginal sovereignty to advance Arctic sovereignty claims (Nicol, 2017) through unrequited agreements with Inuit, as it is argued that Canada maintains Inuit in a situation of disenfranchisement and State dependency (NTI, 2006). Land Claims Agreements Inuit have negotiated five ‘comprehensive land claims agreements’ with Canada (Policy Options, 2007). While all five treaties9 have scope in the NWP, two are explored here: the 1984 Inuvialuit Final Agreement (IFA) (IFA, 2005) and the 1993 Nunavut Land Claims Agreement (NLCA) (NLCA, 1993). In 1973, the Canadian Supreme Court held that IPs hold aboriginal title to historically occupied territories (Calder v British Columbia, 1973: 394). Following Calder, the government announced a policy to negotiate land claims with IPs who could prove aboriginal title on the basis of historic occupation (Crowe, 2019). In 1982, the Canadian Constitution was amended to recognise rights of IPs (Constitution Act, 1982: § 35 (2)), including treaty rights (Constitution Act, 1982: § 35 (1) jo. 35 (3)). Inuit negotiated their 1984 IFA on the basis of the 1977 Inuit Land Use and Occupancy Project report demonstrating historic use and occupancy of land, water, and sea ice. (IFA, 2005; Milton Freeman Research Limited, 1976). This report, commissioned by the Department of Indian and Northern Affairs, demonstrated Inuit use and occupancy of land ice including in the NWP (Milton Freeman Research Limited, 1976; Lajeunesse, 2016: 265) Inuvialuit Inuit ceded aboriginal title and rights to Canada (IFA, 2005: para. para. 3.(4) jo. para. 3. (5)) in exchange for rights and privileges (IFA, 2005: para. 3.(4) jo. para. 3. (11)) including rights of consultation, title to approximately 95,000 km2 in traditional lands, (IFA, 2005: para. 7.(a)-(b) jo. 7.(2) jo. 7.(3)) limited autonomy, and oil royalties (IFA, 2005: para. 7.52 jo. 7.53 jo. 7.54). The 1993 NLCA required cession of aboriginal title in exchange for title to approximately 350,000 km2 in traditional lands, (NLCA, 1993: para. 19.1.119.5.1), the right to establish a semi-autonomous Territorial Government, (NLCA, 1993: para. 2.10.4) and marine management rights (NLCA, 1993: para. 15). Notwithstanding, “all Aboriginal peoples with modern treaties report that the Government of Canada fails to carry out various treaty obligations” (Policy Options, 2007). Through the LCAs, Canada’s NWP sovereignty was strengthened on the basis of Inuit occupancy yet corresponding rights laid down in the NLCA have failed to be implemented by Canada (Fenge & Quassa, 2009; Nunavut Settlement Agreement, 2015). This failure of implementation is well documented in reports documenting its implementation status (Nunavut Implementation Panel, 2000; 2004; 2008; 2011). Nunavut Tunngavik Incorporated (NTI), tasked to implement the NLCA, sought litigation in 2006 to enforce the NLCA (NTI, 2006). This culminated in a 2015 out-of-court settlement agreement. (Nunavut Settlement Agreement, 2015). Canada opposed the adoption of UNDRIP in 2007, citing Section 35 of the Constitution Act of 1982 as evidence that it protected the IP rights
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(Campbell, 2015). Ironically, this was only a year after NTI initiated proceedings against Canada for failing to implement the NLCA. In 2016, Canada signaled its intention to adopt and implement UNDRIP (Government of Canada, 2021). In June 2021, Bill C-15 codifying UNDRIP received royal assent and entered into force (Bill C-15, 2020-2021; UNDRIP Act, 2021). Canada’s distorted perception of Indigenous rights has served the interests of advancing Canadian Arctic sovereignty. Unlike UNDRIP, the NLCA constructs a unique relationship between State sovereignty and Indigenous self-determination, limits the exercise of self-determination by allowing “continuous assertion of sovereignty by the State government over lands and waters within Canada’s Arctic” (Nicol, 2017: 804). The LCA process may reflect a state strategy to dispossess IPs of traditional territories (Samson, 2016). The LCA process extinguished aboriginal title rights and concluded assertion of State sovereignty over Inuit Nunangat. Nicol argues that UNDRIP conflicts with the IFA and NLCA, as UNDRIP self-determination standards do not support negotiation of rights in exchange for cession of aboriginal title (Nicol, 2017), as aboriginal title recognition is necessary to the realization of selfdetermination. Inuit contend that LCAs reflect an understanding of shared jurisdiction of traditional territories (ICC, 2019). Now that UNDRIP has been codified into Canadian law, a new framework must emerge to understand how UNDRIP standards will interact with LCAs, Inuit sovereignty, UNCLOS, and Canada’s Arctic sovereignty. Arctic Waters Pollution Prevention Act (AWPPA) In 1969, the SS Manhattan, an American oil-tanker became the largest commercial vessel to sail the NWP (Policy Options, 2007). In response, Canada adopted the AWPPA, citing ‘Canada’s responsibility’ to Inuit welfare as reason to enact environmental protection in the ‘internal waters of Canada.’ (AWPPA, 1985: Art. 2(2)). Even though the AWPPA had an environmental rationale for its adoption, coinciding with the growing environmentalist movement of the 1970s, and a rationale to protect Inuit, it also reaffirmed Canadian territorial sovereignty in the Arctic by establishing a jurisdiction to enforce anti-pollution laws in its territorial waters (Government of Canada, 2017). In 2009, Canada adjusted the application of this act from 100 to 200 nautical miles (An Act to amend the Arctic Waters Pollution Prevention Act, 2009; Art. 234 UNCLOS).
Arctic narratives While Inuit lead Arctic narratives in the Canadian context, global Arctic narratives still center around the eight Arctic States and their interests, economic and political. These narratives overlook the sempiternal existence of IPs, “communities...whose lives, cultures, histories, and societies predate the imposition of the nation-State on them, people who have lived on the northern cap of the globe for thousands of years” (Christie, 2011: 329) These narratives reinforce State-centered conceptions of Arctic sovereignty, and inform legal culture and policy. Ultimately, these narratives limit the legal imagination of a sovereignty practice not circumscribed by the nation-State paradigm, which the author describes as State-centered international relations.10 Hence, two points must be made; the first being that Inuit have conceptualised an expression of sovereignty and selfdetermination outside of secession (CIDSA, 2009: para. 1.6). Secondly, most Inuit proudly acknowledge their multifaceted identities as both Inuit and Canadians, and support Canadian sovereignty in the NWP (ICC, 2019). However, this does not excuse Canada from implementing LCAs, or from fulfilling UNDRIP’s standards.
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Inuit continue to demand treatment by Canada in compliance with LCAs and human rights, primarily through calls for inclusion in NWP decision-making, especially as it involves international actors in traditional territories. Accordingly, exercise of Inuit self-determination means inclusion in decision-making processes that impact their traditional territories, and resources at national and international level (Christie, 2011: 343). Inuit seek greater participation in decision-making at international level on environmental regulations, shipping regulations, and advocate for recognition of Indigenous human rights at international level (CIDSA, 2009: para. 3.4-3.5) At national level, Inuit seek adequate implementation of LCAs, implementation of UNDRIP, consultation on issues of Arctic tourism, and equitable access to water and healthcare infrastructure (ITK, 2021).
International human rights and Indigenous rights Indigenous rights have been contentious since their emergence in international law. Whether Indigenous rights exist within the general human rights framework, or whether they occupy a separate legal sphere, and whom this framework applies to remains debated (Chen, 2014). This section outlines Indigenous rights in international law, and evaluates the status of four rights applicable to the NWP. Legal protection is qualified upon fulfillment of criteria identifying the right-holder and thereafter attaching protection. Scholars have attempted to define ‘Indigenous peoples’ to develop the Indigenous rights regime. However, “historically speaking, indigenous peoples have suffered from definitions imposed by others” (Daes, 1995: para. 6). This sentiment is echoed by Indigenous representatives (Simpson, 1997). The author acknowledges historical oppression faced by IPs by way of imposition of legal definitions. Accordingly, this article adopts Anaya’s (1996) definition of IPs as, “living descendants of pre-invasion inhabitants of lands now dominated by others” (3). Within the general human rights framework, Indigenous peoples are protected by the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), the International Covenant on Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights (ICESCR), and the International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination (CERD), all enjoying near universal ratification. UN human rights committees have evolved to interpret their conventions11 in light of the rights of IPs (ILA, 2010). UNDRIP was adopted by the UNGA in 2007, with four votes against it from States containing significant IP populations, including Canada. All four States now endorse UNDRIP (Chircop et al., 2019). UNDRIP is the most articulate international human rights framework pertaining to IPs. UNDRIP weaves individual human rights (UNDRIP, 2007: Art. 1) along with rights carved out by the Indigenous rights regime. As a UNGA resolution, UNDRIP is not strictly binding under international law. Nevertheless, many contend12 that some provisions of UNDRIP codify customary international law (CIL), regionally or internationally, or reflect general principles of international law (Barnabas, 2017). An ILA report asserted that human rights committees now demonstrate reliance on UNDRIP in interpreting widely-ratified human rights conventions (ILA, 2010), and that although UNDRIP as a whole does not yet reflect CIL, specific provisions do (ILA, 2012). At its minimum, UNDRIP illuminates available protections within the international human rights framework (Barnabas, 2007: 244), and must be interpreted through this framework (UNDRIP, 2007: Preamble). It must also be interpreted in recognition of collective rights, as IPs maintain that
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a unique framework of Indigenous rights separate from the general human rights regime (Wiessner, 1999) is necessary “to secure their cultural survival” (Chen, 2014) amidst systemic oppression faced by virtue of their Indigeneity. This mutually symbiotic relationship of individual and collective protection on the basis of human and Indigenous rights is reflected in UNDRIP, as “UNDRIP recognises and affirms...IPs as a collective or as individuals” (UNDRIP, 2007: Art. 2). Additionally, Inuit affirm their unique status as IPs in the Arctic (CIDSA, 2009: para. 1.8).
Applicability of human rights to the Northwest Passage The principle that human rights are applicable within a State’s territory (VCLT, 1980: Art. 29) or in a space subject to State jurisdiction, is reflected in human rights conventions (ICCPR, 1966: Art. 2(1); ECHR, 1953: Art. 1; ACHR, 1969: Art. 1(1)). As State territory includes not only internal waters, but also territorial sea and archipelagic waters, (UNCLOS, 1982: Art. 2(1) jo. Art. 49) human rights law is applicable therein (Enyew, 2019). Similarly, as States maintain jurisdiction through effective control (UNHRC, General Comment 31, 2004: para. 3; Case Concerning Armed Activities on the Territory of the Congo, 2005: para. 216; Legal Consequences of the Construction of a Wall in the Occupied Palestinian Territory, 2004: para. 107-113) over their exclusive economic zone (EEZ), human rights law is also applicable there (Enyew, 2019). Thus, Indigenous and human rights overlap in geographic scope with UNCLOS. Right to self-determination The right to self-determination is regarded as the cornerstone of the Indigenous rights regime, but remains heavily debated. Indigenous peoples maintain that the collective right to self-determination and its recognition is “essential for their survival and development” (Eide, 1982: para. 70). The right is grounded in the UN Charter (UN Charter 1945: Art. 1(2)) and Common Art. 1 ICCPR and ICESCR, defining the right to self-determination as the right to “...freely determine their political status and freely pursue their economic, social, and cultural development.” Art. 3 UNDRIP articulates the right to self-determination, mirroring Common Art. 1 ICCPR and ICESCR. The International Court of Justice (ICJ) has established the right of nomadic peoples to selfdetermination (Western Sahara, 1975: para. 70, 80), and characterised the right as erga omnes (Case concerning East Timor, 1995: para. 29; Legal Consequences of the Construction of a Wall in the Occupied Palestinian Territory, 2004: para. 88). The right to self-determination has an internal and external dimension. The external dimension is characterised by freedom of a group to independently choose its ‘international status’ without interference, while the internal dimension entails rights to autonomously design a government within the territorial boundaries of a nation-State (Wiessner, 1999). Exercise of external selfdetermination is limited by Art. 46 (1) UNDRIP, prohibiting “any action which would dismember or impair, totally or in part, the territorial integrity or political unity of sovereign and independent States.” States associate the right to self-determination with secessionist movements and perceive it as a threat to territorial integrity and State sovereignty (Urrutia, 1996). This is further impacted by the uti possidetis juris principle, which aims “to achieve the stability of territorial boundaries by preserving the former administrative or colonial boundaries of a State.” (Zyberi, 2009: 449; Case concerning the Frontier Dispute, 1986: para. 26). Conversely, scholars question “whether the right to self-determination can be really exercised if it can only be implemented following borders...settled by colonizing states” (Chen, 2014: 6).
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Chen (2014) describes the right to self-determination in UNDRIP envisioning “full participation of Indigenous peoples in decisions concerning them...or having some form of territorial autonomy” (6). Accordingly, the author suggests that Inuit are already exercising external selfdetermination, through their transnational advocacy for inclusion in State-centered regimes applicable to the NWP. Accordingly, without full Inuit inclusion in commercial, political, and legal processes of the NWP their right to self-determination as IPs is hindered. Right to traditional territories and resources The right to traditional territories and resources entails, “the right to maintain and strengthen their distinctive spiritual relationship with their traditionally owned or otherwise occupied and used lands, territories, waters, and coastal seas and other resources…” (UNDRIP, 2007: Art. 25). Art. 26 UNDRIP asserts this relationship as a property right, and IPs are entitled to “own, use, develop, and control” these spaces, by which States must recognise their “customs, traditions, and land tenure systems.” This right has also been applied by regional human rights bodies13 and arguably represents at least regional customary international law (ILA, 2010; Anaya & Williams, 2001; Wiessner, 1999). Although Art. 25 and 26 UNDRIP specify traditional ‘waters and coastal seas’, human rights bodies have not adequately applied this norm to marine spaces (Enyew, 2019). Nevertheless, the definition for traditional lands in ILO Convention no. 16914 has been extended to include marine spaces traditionally occupied and used by Indigenous peoples. (ILO 169, 1991: Art. 13 (2)). Similarly, a UN study on Indigenous peoples found rights to traditional territories applicable to oceans and seabeds (Toki, 2016: 3). Indigenous peoples maintain that these rights are applicable to marine spaces including sea-ice (ILO, 1989: 4). Inuit have used and occupied NWP sea-ice and waters for ‘time immemorial’ (ICC, 2009: para. 1.2), as evidenced in the Inuit Land Use and Occupancy Project report commissioned by the Canadian Government (Milton Freeman Research Limited, 1976) and in the Sea Ice is Our Highway report demonstrating traditional occupancy of sea-ice (ICC, 2008: ii). Importantly, the latter report elaborates that, “Inuit do not distinguish between the ground upon which our communities are built and the sea ice upon which we travel, hunt, and build igloos...Land is anywhere our feet, dog teams, or snowmobiles can take us” (ICC, 2008: para. 1.2.2). As NWP sea-ice and its resources are the traditional territory and resources of Inuit, Inuit are entitled to all rights arising therefrom. Right to culture The right of IPs to their culture is enumerated in several human rights frameworks, including Art. 27 ICCPR, Art. 15 (1) ICESCR, and in Art. 11-13, 15 and 34 UNDRIP. Importantly, the scope of the right to culture in relation to IPs has been clarified by the UN Human Rights Committee (UNHRC): “[C]ulture manifests itself in many forms, including a particular way of life associated with the use of land resources, especially in the case of Indigenous peoples. That right may include such traditional activities as fishing or hunting…” (UNHRC, General Comment 23, 1994: para. 7). The UNHRC has applied this notion in Art. 27 cases.15 The Committee on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (UNCESCR) asserts that, “the strong communal dimension of Indigenous peoples” cultural life...includes the right to the lands, territories and resources which they have traditionally owned, occupied or otherwise used or acquired” (UNCESCR, General Comment 21,
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2009: para. 36). Thus, the right to traditional territories, and resources is inextricably linked to the right to culture. The right to culture has been interpreted in the context of marine spaces, and as Enyew (2019) argues, this right is “equally applicable to marine spaces and resources” (53). In the Apirana Mahuika case concerning Maori fishing rights, UNHRC found that, “economic activities may come within the ambit of article 27 [ICCPR], if they are an essential element of the culture of a community.” (Apirana Mahuika et al v New Zealand, 2000: para. 9.3). As Inuit in the NWP practice their culture by means of hunting, fishing, and associated activities (ITK, 2018), their cultural practice is dependent on their distinct spiritual and economic relationship with the NWP. Rights to consultation, and FPIC Although the right to consultation in decision-making is a tenet of the right to self-determination, consultation and FPIC are also recognised in UNDRIP as procedural rights giving effect to selfdetermination (UNDRIP, 2007: Art. 3, 19, 29(2), 32(2)). Art. 19 UNDRIP affirms that “States shall consult and cooperate in good faith” with IPs to obtain “free, prior, and informed consent before adopting and implementing legislative or administrative measures that may affect them.” Furthermore, FPIC of IPs must be acquired if projects impact traditional marine spaces (UNDRIP, 2007: Art. 32 (2)), and projects involving “storage or disposal of hazardous materials” in traditional territories (UNDRIP, 2007: Art. 29(2)). The Expert Mechanism on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, asserts that FPIC must be acquired in “matters of fundamental importance for their rights, survival, dignity and well-being” (UNHRC, UN Doc A/HRC/18/42, 2011: para. 22). The UNHRC and Inter-American Court of Human Rights have applied a standard of ‘major impact’ and ‘substantial interference’ to situations in which FPIC of IPs must be acquired (UNHRC, Ángela Poma Poma v Peru, 2006: para. 7.6; IACtHR, Saramaka People v Suriname, 2007: para. 134, 137; Enyew, 2019). An issue therefore arises as to how Inuit agency can be advanced if commercial or legal processes, occur on the broader international scale, where Inuit lack standing. Furthermore, State-centered regimes like UNCLOS have high normative value in international law. As the Indigenous rights regime is still developing higher normative status, legal regimes which qualify participation on Statehood have the potential to supersede Indigenous rights in marine spaces with overlapping scope.
Inuit transnationalism In 2008, Denmark, Canada, the US, Russia and Norway issued the Ilulissat Declaration, deeming UNCLOS as the principal legal framework applicable to the Arctic Ocean (Ilulissat Declaration, 2008). Khan (2019) argues that the declaration “brought to the forefront the exclusion of Arctic Indigenous peoples in intergovernmental deliberations over Arctic resources and sovereignty disputes” (682). In response, Inuit Circumpolar Council (ICC), a transnational organization representing Inuit across the US, Canada, Russia, and Greenland issued the Circumpolar Inuit Declaration on Sovereignty in the Arctic (CIDSA) asserting that the Ilulissat Declaration “neglected to include Inuit in Arctic sovereignty discussions in a manner comparable to Arctic Council deliberations” (CIDSA, 2009: para. 2.6).
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CIDSA states, “the inextricable linkages between issues of sovereignty and sovereign rights in the Arctic and Inuit self-determination...require states to accept the presence and role of the Inuit as partners in the conduct of international relations” (ICC, CIDSA, 2009: para.3.3). Inuit envision exercise of self-determination as participation and recognition beyond the limitations of the nationstate paradigm of international relations (ICC, CIDSA, 2009: para. 1.4, 3.3). As UNCLOS is a statecentered conception of maritime sovereignty, Inuit can only subvert this paradigm through exercise of self-determination via recognition “as a legitimate actor in global politics” (Shadian, 2010: 493). Through CIDSA, Inuit have challenged the Westphalian construction of sovereignty in the Ilulissat Declaration. Inuit transnationalism coincides with the changing dynamic of international law. As Shadian (2014) explains, “instead of [international law] being created and controlled by states…[it] now includes a wide range of new stakeholders, who are creating, interpreting, and enforcing new informal rules and normative behaviours” (129). Since 1977, the Inuit Circumpolar Council has contributed to the evolution of international law, relating to human rights, sustainable development and have advocated for recognition ‘as subjects of international law’ (Shadian, 2014: 124). At the ICC’s founding, ICC President Hopson explained that “We must elevate our [Inupiat] Arctic claims to the status of an international effort to secure equal justice all across the North American Arctic” (Hopson, 1977). Furthermore, the ICC has elaborated that, “In order to achieve greater recognition and protection of Inuit rights by states, it is beneficial to also seek endorsement and support for Inuit rights at international level.” (ICC, 1992 (as cited in) Shadian, 2014: 124). Recognition as international legal subjects would directly benefit Inuit, as it would incorporate sharing of traditional knowledge in the development of international policy and law which directly impacts their traditional territories. This would represent a practice of self-determination not only at regional level, but at international level. In the present, Inuit continue their transnational advocacy and denounce their exclusion from international relations, as evidenced by CIDSA (ICC, 2009), their participation in the Arctic Council, and their advocacy at the International Maritime Organization (IMO). The ICC has specifically denounced their exclusion from the drafting of shipping regulations at the IMO which apply to the NWP, and called for inclusion of traditional knowledge in maritime policy-making (ICC, 2018). Inuit participation in the Arctic Council provides an important example of what an Indigenous inclusive intergovernmental Arctic governance framework can look like, as it involves the eight Arctic States and six permanent participants representing Arctic IPs. Although all Permanent Participants have “full consultation rights in all aspects of the Council’s work,” (Khan, 2019: 681) they lack formal voting rights. Nevertheless, Permanent Participants provide “extraordinary influence over all issues for consideration due to the consensus decision making approach of the Arctic Council” (Dorough, 2017: 82). The Arctic Council has produced three binding agreements bringing together States and IPs ‘sitting at the same table’ (Khan, 2019: 690). Through their transnational advocacy, Inuit exercise external self-determination, as Inuit continue to seek greater inclusion in international relations and policy-making which impacts their traditional territories. Similarly, Indigenous rights to FPIC, consultation, and self-determination established by the Indigenous rights regime are disregarded through legal frameworks which are qualified on Statehood, reinforcing colonial power matrices. Accordingly, inclusion and recognition of Inuit
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and other IPs as international legal actors, specifically as it relates to the application of UNCLOS in the NWP will be a necessary step for the international community to take to uphold Indigenous rights, because state-centered regimes like UNCLOS do not account for IP rights or historic use and occupation of maritime territories like the NWP. While Inuit have negotiated extensive local governance powers through their LCAs, they still lack recognition as international legal subjects. As Khan notes, “despite many overlapping dimension of state and indigenous sovereignty” over natural resources, the “consistent refusal to recognize Indigenous peoples as ‘sovereign legal actors’ has been one of the primordial and enduring injustices of international law, since the time of early colonial encounters and treaty-making between Indigenous peoples and Europeans” (Khan, 2019: 676-677). Although the NWP is subject to an extensive framework of Canadian anti-pollution shipping regulations (Art. 234 UNCLOS; Pharand, 2007: 41) Inuit seek consultative status at the IMO, to promote international action on the regulation of Heavy Fuel Oil (HFOs), black carbon, greenhouse gas emissions, noise and air pollution, issues which already impact Indigenous rights in the NWP and which are not yet adequately addressed by national and international environmental regulations (ICC, 2021). Additionally, international advocacy is vital to ensure protection against the unique human rights impacts that IPs face in the wake of climate change are addressed at international level.16 As Khan points out, “In the case of the Arctic, Indigenous transnational activism introduces an Indigenous sovereignty in international relations that is different from, and cannot be subsumed under, state sovereignty or state-determined conceptions of self-determination” (Khan, 2019: 677). These overlapping sovereignties point to a need for Canada to include Inuit in decision-making involving international actors concerning the NWP, to meet UNDRIP’s and its own constitutional standards.
Northwest Passage dispute UNCLOS holds high normative status in international law, representing “a monumental achievement of the international community, second only to the charter of the United Nations.” (Koh, 1982). Yet UNCLOS, UNDRIP, and the human rights regime overlap in scope (Chircop et al., 2019). Under UNCLOS, “navigation rights are arguably the international community rights that have received the strongest possible level of protection in all ocean spaces” (Chircop et al., 2019: 103-104). While UNCLOS accounts for interaction with ‘generally accepted international rules and standards’, (UNCLOS, 1982: Art. 21(1)) it does not acknowledge Inuit customary laws of ocean stewardship. UNCLOS’s fundamental mandate is to protect nation-State sovereignty over maritime spaces (UNCLOS, 1982). The status of the NWP has been disputed for over seven decades. The primary actors involved in this dispute are Canada, and the US. Both positions of the dispute have been hashed out in the literature,17 and whether it is or isn’t an international strait falls outside of the scope of this article. Nevertheless, it must be noted that if the NWP is not already an international strait, it may potentially be deemed to fall under the transit passage regime in the future due to climate change. Warming temperatures melt sea-ice, making it possible for more international ships to sail the NWP.
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To be considered an international strait, a waterway must fulfill a geographic and a functional criterion. The geographic criterion entails a strait connecting “one part of the high seas or an exclusive economic zone and another part of the high seas or an exclusive economic zone” (UNCLOS, 1982: Art. 37; The Corfu Channel Case, 1949: 28). The ICJ has also emphasized the decisive criterion as being the geographic one (Corfu Channel Case, 1949: 28). The functional criterion requires the strait to be a useful route in the sense that it should be in use as a waterway for international navigation, and mere possibility of navigation does not satisfy the functional criterion if not accompanied by historic and present use (Pharand, 2007: 35). Additionally, Pharand has stressed that the functional criteria will not apply if the ‘strait’ was considered to be internal waters prior to the ratification of UNCLOS, as Canada only ratified UNCLOS in 2003, after their declaration of straight baselines around the Arctic archipelago in 1985 (Joe Clark, 1985; Pharand, 2007: 59). Part III UNCLOS dictates international straits falling under the transit passage regime (UNCLOS, 1982: Art. 37), and those under the innocent passage regime (UNCLOS, 1982: Art. 38 (1) jo. Art. 45 (1) (a); and Art. 45 (1) (b)). The US has asserted that the NWP is an international strait falling under the transit passage regime. An international strait falling under the transit regime connects one part of the high seas or EEZ to another part of the high seas or EEZ through the territorial sea (UNCLOS, 1982: Art. 37). If the NWP were deemed an international strait, the transit passage regime may apply because geographically, the NWP can be characterised as several waterways connecting the Atlantic Ocean or Canadian EEZ to the Pacific Ocean or Canadian EEZ through Canadian territorial seas. As the geographic criterion is already fulfilled, and as the dispute centers around the functional criterion, the improved navigability from sea-ice melt could potentially lead to increased shipping in the NWP which may eventually be permitted through a transit passage regime. It is also difficult to foreshadow which dispute settlement procedure would apply, and whether it would involve Inuit, and thus, the discussion is limited to the consequences of the NWP being deemed a strait falling under transit passage. Although transit passage navigation is subject to stringent international regulations concerning maritime safety (UNCLOS, 1982: Art. 39 (2) (a); SOLAS, 1980), and pollution (UNCLOS, 1982: Art. 234) it is still understood as a more liberal regime than innocent passage. Strait States must not suspend transit passage, unless the ship acts contrary to Part [III] UNCLOS (Rothwell, 2018). Although the NWP is subject to robust marine pollution regulations domestically, and internationally, Inuit have only been involved in the drafting of binding Arctic Council-negotiated agreements. Inuit contend that these regulations are not sufficient to protect the NWP (ICC, 2018). Arctic marine ecosystems are fragile (UNGA Res. 68/70, 2014), as climate change enhances seaice melt. Increase in sea-ice melt, specifically in the NWP, may contribute to a potential ruling of the NWP falling under a regime of transit passage, but results would be uncertain if sent to an international tribunal. In this scenario, climate change and subsequent imposition of a transit passage regime will facilitate an increase in shipping activity in the Northwest Passage. Increased shipping activity is already intensifying incidental waste and noise pollution in the NWP, which is of great concern to the Inuit (ITK, 2018).
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Inuit self-determination Recalling that the right to self-determination in UNDRIP envisions “full participation of indigenous peoples in decisions concerning them,” (Chen, 2014: 6) this conflicts with Inuit exclusion from UNCLOS and IMO regulatory processes. As Nicol (2017) explains, “based upon Westphalian understanding of State sovereignty, UNCLOS remains the framework for State claims to maritime spaces. It allows that States, and only States, have the right to claim maritime territory.” (806). Accordingly, lacking statehood, Inuit have no standing before international tribunals, leaving Inuit interests systematically unaccounted for. Inuit have thus advocated for inclusion in UNCLOS (Nunatsiaq News, 2013) and IMO processes, and for incorporation of traditional knowledge into regulatory processes (ICC, 2018). Sonic pollution from shipping impacts marine life in the NWP (Hauser et al., 2018). Ice-breaking activity affects the exercise of the right to culture, as Inuit have been known ‘to get stuck’ while out hunting on sea-ice (Carter et al., 2018). Because Inuit are excluded from the UNCLOS regime and IMO regulatory processes, their right to self-determination is hindered, as those regimes are applicable in the NWP. While Inuit have extensive local governance powers, as negotiated through the LCAs, and political representation in Canada, their recognition as international legal subjects is imperative for the fulfillment of UNDRIP rights, including the right to self-determination.
Conclusion This article has illuminated how the nation-state paradigm of international relations potentially hinders the exercise of Inuit self-determination, as it relates to the NWP. This analysis began by illuminating the disconnect between international law, and dispossession of IPs. Canada recognises aboriginal title of IPs by virtue of historical occupancy and use of traditional territories, but Canada has required cession of aboriginal title through LCAs in exchange for rights and privileges that Inuit are entitled to under UNDRIP. LCAs thus conflict with UNDRIP, and both are still not fully implemented in Canada. Transnational Indigenous advocacy has advanced the Indigenous rights regime, and UNDRIP continues to gain greater normative status. Indigenous rights are recognised on a collective and individual level, through a mutually symbiotic relationship with the general international human rights law framework. Because the Indigenous rights regime recognises the right to and of management of traditional marine spaces, and because human rights law is applicable to marine spaces, both regimes are applicable to the NWP. Furthermore, if the NWP is deemed to be a strait subject to transit passage, increased shipping will impact the exercise of rights laid down in UNDRIP, which has now been transposed into Canadian law and received royal assent. Inuit view self-determination as inclusion in NWP decision-making at both domestic and international level. Most importantly, Inuit seek recognition as international legal subjects in order to meaningfully practice their right to self-determination. Through for example, the Arctic Council, Arctic decision-making processes are moving beyond the nation-State paradigm, and thus, international law must evolve to recognise and include Inuit as subjects of international law to secure their rights to self-determination, to manage their traditional territories and resources, to practice their culture, and to ensure that FPIC is provided.
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Acknowledgements The author expresses her appreciation and gratitude to the Editor and anonymous reviewers for their comments. She also wishes to thank Dr. Miriam Cullen, Dr. Liesbeth Lijnzaad, and Gaia Hasse for their invaluable insight during the research and writing process. The author also acknowledges that this article builds upon an earlier version of research presented in her unpublished L.L.B. thesis.
Notes 1. The greater Inuit polity encompasses Inuit living across Canada, the United States, the Russian Federation, and Greenland. See also Shadian J., (2014). The Politics of Arctic Sovereignty: Oil, Ice and Inuit Governance. Routledge, Ch. 1. 2. In this context, Anghie broadly defines sovereignty doctrine as ‘the complex of rules deciding what entities are sovereign’, in Anghie A., (2005). Imperialism, Sovereignty, and the Making of International Law. Cambridge University Press, 16; See also Vitoria F., (1917/1532). De Indis et de Ivre Belli Relectiones. (Nys E. (ed.), Bate J. P. (trans.)), Carnegie Institution of Washington. 3. Natural law was referred to as jus gentium by Vitoria, in F Vitoria, De Indis et de Ivre Belli Relectiones (Ernest Nys ed., John Pawley Bate trans., Carnegie Institution of Washington 1917), 127 (as cited in) Anghie A., (2005). Imperialism, Sovereignty, and the Making of International Law. Cambridge University Press, 20. 4. See also Lorimer J., (1883). The Institutes of the Law of Nations: A Treatise of the Jural Relations of Separate Political Communities (first published 1883, 2005 ed.). The Lawbook Exchange, Ltd, 156; Lawrence T.J., (1895). The Principles of International Law. D. C. Heath & Co., Publishers, 136; Wheaton H., (1866). Elements of International Law (8th edn.). Sampson Low, Son and Company, 17. 5. Westlake references Johnson v. McIntosh 121 U.S. (8 Wheat.) 543 (1823), in which the Supreme Court of the United States held that in line with the discovery doctrine, right of occupancy of Indigenous peoples is ‘extinguished’ upon ‘discovery’ and that subsequently no title is held by Indigenous occupants; Westlake J., (1904). International Law Part I – Peace (1st edn.). Cambridge: At the University Press, as cited in Anghie A., (2005). Imperialism, Sovereignty, and the Making of International Law. Cambridge University Press, 80. 6. See also Hall W.E., (1924). A Treatise on International Law, (8th edn). Oxford University Press, 47; Oppenheim L., (1905). International Law: A Treatise. Longmans, Green and Company, 126. 7. Inuit Nunangat refers to the traditional Inuit territories, lands, and waters of the North American Arctic. (see ITK, or CIDSA)‘Inuit Nunangat is the Inuit homeland in Canada, encompassing the land claims regions of Nunavut, Nunavik in Northern Quebec, Nunatsiavut in Northern Labrador and the Inuvialuit Settlement Region of the Northwest Beyond the Nation-State Paradigm
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Territories. It is inclusive of land, water and ice, and describes an area encompassing 35 percent of Canada’s landmass and 50 percent of its coastline’, in Inuit Tapiriit Kanatami, (2019). Inuit Nunangat Map. https://www.itk.ca/inuit-nunangat-map/. 8. For an extensive overview of this issue in the literature, official reports, and government communications, see Lackenbauer P., (2020). Human Flagpoles or Humanitarian Action? Discerning Government Motives behind the Inuit Relocations to the High Arctic, 19531960. Documents on Canadian Arctic Sovereignty and Security (DCASS) 16. 9. James Bay and Northern Quebec Native Claims Settlement Act, S.C.,1976-77, c 32, (Can.); Labrador Inuit Land Claims Agreement Act, S.C. 2005, c 27, (Can.); Nunavut Land Claims Agreement Act, S.C. 1993, c 29 (Can.); Nunavik Inuit Land Claims Agreement Act, S.C. 2008, c 2 (Can.); Western Arctic (Inuvialuit) Claims Settlement Act, S.C. 1984, c 24 (Can.). 10. See also Christie G., (2011). Indigeneity and Sovereignty in Canada’s Far North: The Arctic and Inuit Sovereignty. The South Atlantic Quarterly 110(2), 329-346, 329, 333, 339, 342, 344. 11. See for example, General Comment No. 36 on Art. 6: the Right to Life, U.N.H.R.C., on Its 124th Session, U.N. Doc. CCPR/C/GC/36 (Sep. 3, 2019), 5 para. 23, 6 para. 26, and 13 para. 61; General Comment no. 21 on the Right of everyone to take part in cultural life, (Art. 15, para. 1 (a), of the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights), U.N.C.E.S.C.R., on Its Forty-Third Session, U.N. Doc. E/C.12/GC/21, (Dec. 21, 2009), 2 para.3, para. 7, 5 para. 16(e), 7 para. 27, 9-10 para. 36-37, 12 para. 49(d), 13 para 50c, 14 para. 53, 18 para. 73; General Recommendation XXIII on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, U.N.C.E.R.D., on Its Fifty-First Session, U.N. Doc. A/52/18, (Dec. 26, 1997), Annex V, para. 1; Convention on the Rights of the Child, Nov. 20, 1989, 1577 U.N.T.S. 3, (1989), Art. 30; Convention for the Protection and Promotion of the Diversity of Cultural Expressions, (Oct. 20, 2005) 2440 U.N.T.S. 311 (2005), Art. 7 (1) (a). 12. See also International Law Association, (2010). Report of the Hague Conference (The Hague). https://www.ila-hq.org/index.php/committees, 43-44; Wiessner S., (1999). Rights and Status of Indigenous Peoples: A Global Comparative and International Legal Analysis. Harvard Human Rights Journal 12, 57-128, 109; Anaya S.J., (2005). Divergent Discourses in International Law, Indigenous Peoples, and Rights over Lands and Natural Resources: Toward a Realist Trend. Colorado Journal of International Environmental Law & Policy 16(2), 237-258. 13. See for example Mayagna (Sumo) Awas Tingni Community v Nicaragua, Merits, Reparations, Costs, Judgment,Inter-Am. Ct. H.R. (ser. C) No. 79 (Aug. 31, 2001), para. 148; Yakye Axa Indigenous Community v. Paraguay, Merits, Reparations, Costs, Judgment, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R. (ser. C) No. 125 (June 17, 2005), para. 137 and 143; Saramaka People v Suriname, Preliminary Objections, Merits, Reparations, and Costs, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R. (ser. C) No. 172 (Nov. 28, 2007), para. 95; African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights v. Republic of Kenya, Judgment, App. No. 006/2012, African Court on Human and Peoples’ Rights [Afr. Ct. H. P. R.], (May 26, 2021), https://www.escrnet.org/sites/default/files/caselaw/ogiek_case_full_judgment.pdf, para. 128; Endorois Welfare Council v Kenya, Comm. 276/03, African Commission on
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Human and Peoples’ Rights [Afr. Comm’n H.P.R.], (Nov. 25, 2009), https://www.achpr.org/sessions/descions?id=193, para. 196; Maya Indigenous Communities of the Toledo District v. Belize, Case 12.053, Inter-Am. Comm’n H.R., Report No. 40/2004, OEA/Ser.L/V/II.122 Doc. 5 rev. 1 (2004). 14. International Labour Organization, Convention on Indigenous and Tribal Peoples in Independent Countries, 27 June 1989, C169 1650 UNTS 383, (entered into force 5 September 1991). Although this convention is one of the only binding treaties concerning Indigenous rights, it is not yet widely ratified, and is not ratified by Canada. 15. See Ivan Kitok v Sweden, U.N.H.R.C. Comm. No. 197/1985, July 27, 1998, U.N. Doc.CCPR/C/33/D/197/1985, para. 9.2; Ominayak v Canada, U.N.H.R.C. Comm. No. 167/1984, Mar. 26, 1990, U.N. Doc. CCPR/C/38/D/167/1984, para. 32.2 and 33; Ilmari Länsman et al v. Finland, U.N.H.R.C. Comm. No. 511/1992, Oct. 26, 1994, U.N. Doc. CCPR/C/52/D/511/1992 (1994), para. 9.2; Jouni E Länsman et al v. Finland, U.N.H.R.C. Comm. No. 671/1995, Oct. 30 1996, U.N. Doc. CCPR/C/58/D/671/1995, para. 10.2; Apirana Mahuika et al v New Zealand, U.N.H.R.C. Comm. No. 547/1933, Oct. 27, 2000, U.N. Doc. CCPR/C/70/D/547/1993 (2000), para. 9.3; Ángela Poma Poma v. Peru, U.N.H.R.C. Comm. no. 1457/2006, Mar. 27, 2009, U.N. Doc CCPR/C/95/D/1457/2006 (2009), para. 7.2, 7.3. 16. On the unique human rights impacts of climate change on Indigenous peoples, see International Council on Human Rights Policy, (2008). Climate Change and Human Rights: A Rough Guide [Report]. < https://www.ohchr.org/Documents/Issues/ClimateChange/Submissions/136_report.p df>; Paris Agreement to the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change, Dec. 12, 2015, T.I.A.S. No. 16-1104, Preamble. 17. See also Pharand D., (1988). Legal Status of the Northwest Passage. In Pharand D., Canada’s Arctic Waters in International Law. Cambridge University Press; Rothwell D., (1993). The Canadian-U.S. Northwest Passage Dispute: A Reassessment. Cornell International Law Journal 26 (2), 331-370; Lalonde S., & Byers M., (2006). Who Controls the Northwest Passage? Vanderbilt Journal of Transnational Law 42, 1133-1210; Kraska J., (2007). The Law of the Sea Convention and the Northwest Passage. (2007) The International Journal of Marine and Coastal Law, 22 (2), 257-281; Byers M., (2013). International Law and the Arctic. Cambridge University Press.
References African (Banjul) Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights, June 27, 1981, 1520 U.N.T.S. 217 (1981). African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights v. Republic of Kenya, Judgment, App. No. 006/2012, African Court on Human and Peoples’ Rights [Afr. Ct. H. P. R.], (May 26, 2021), https://www.escr-net.org/sites/default/files/caselaw/ogiek_case_full_judgment.pdf.
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At the Front Lines of Increased Shipping and Climate Change: Inuit Perspectives on Canadian Arctic Sovereignty and Security Nicolien van Luijk, Jackie Dawson, Natalie A. Carter, Gloria Song, Colleen Parker, Kayla Grey & Jennifer Provencher
Discussions of Arctic sovereignty and security have traditionally centered on the interests of the state and how it impacts the nation. More recently, scholars have noted the importance of addressing the interests of other actors, in particular, Indigenous peoples. Indigenous peoples in the Arctic have long advocated for conceptualizing Arctic sovereignty as Indigenous sovereignty. While development in Arctic Canada has been relatively limited compared to southern Canada due to infrastructure, climate, and logistical challenges, this is all set to shift dramatically, with Inuit communities in the Canadian Arctic arguably weathering the brunt of climate change risks and experiencing everything else that comes with it. An Indigenous-centered conception of Arctic sovereignty and security requires an understanding of how Inuit communities are experiencing the front lines of these changes. Thus, this paper offers a valuable contribution to Arctic sovereignty and security discourse by presenting the concerns expressed directly by members of 14 communities located in three regions of Inuit Nunangat (Inuit homeland). Our findings show that Inuit communities have concerns about many unknowns associated with the changing climate and increased shipping, including implications of increased international interest in the Canadian Arctic, which could pose threats to the ability of Inuit to protect their sovereignty and the environment they live in. Given the potential for change in the Arctic climate to make Arctic shipping a more attractive and realistic option in the future, we argue that these concerns should be considered integral to climate change discussions and decisions in the Canadian Arctic, as well as in general discussions of Arctic sovereignty and security.
Introduction The Arctic is bearing the brunt of global climate change impacts and risks, with the change in temperatures increasing at three times the rate of the global average, resulting in the melting of glaciers and sea ice and having the potential to dramatically change the landscape (Arctic Monitoring and Assessment Program, 2021; Bush & Flato, 2019; Hassol, 2004; Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, 2019). Melting sea ice could open up previously frozen over passages thereby increasing the potential for marine traffic, which has to date been seasonally limited. This has encouraged talks of the potential for a northern trade route through the Northwest Passage and has also increased global interest in potential for resource extraction in areas of the Arctic that have historically been difficult to access. While the Government of Canada, and Inuit (through Dr. Nicolien van Luijk, University of Ottawa (corresponding author: nicolien.vanluijk@uottawa.ca); Dr. Jackie Dawson, University of Ottawa; Dr. Natalie A. Carter, University of Ottawa; Ms. Gloria Song, University of Ottawa; Ms. Colleen Parker, Nunavut Marine Council; Ms. Kayla Grey, University of Ottawa; Dr. Jennifer Provencher, Acadia University.
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Land Claims Agreements) hold sovereignty over the land mass surrounding the Northwest Passage, there is international disagreement about whether the waters and ice in the Northwest Passage fall under Canadian jurisdiction or are international waters. Despite Canada’s claim of sovereignty over these regions, these civil international disputes, alongside other potential unknowns as a result of climate change and increased marine traffic in the Canadian Arctic, highlight the vulnerabilities of Inuit communities and risks to security and Inuit sovereignty. In this study, we present security and sovereignty concerns expressed by knowledge holders in 14 communities in three regions of Inuit Nunangat (Inuit homeland in Canada) (Fig. 1) who participated in the Arctic Corridors and Northern Voices research project (Dawson et al., 2020a; see www.arcticcorridors.ca). Three key points are discussed from the findings relating to the security and sovereignty concerns shared by knowledge holders about shipping traffic in Inuit Nunangat: 1) ‘Unknowns’ about shipping traffic; 2) Lack of Inuit agency over shipping traffic and marine areas; and 3) Concerns in the context of Inuit agency and sovereignty. Concerns raised by community members are integral to climate change discussions and decisions in the Canadian Arctic, as well as general discussions of Arctic sovereignty and security.
Literature review In classic security paradigms, state sovereignty is often considered to be inextricably connected to Arctic security (Sharp, 2011; Huebert, 2011a; Huebert, 2011b). Security analyses within this paradigm, often inspired by the realist school of thought in the field of international relations (Rothschild, 1995), tend to be concerned with the nation state as its main unit of reference: threats to the state, actions of states, impacts on the state (Åtland, 2014; Huebert, 2011a; Huebert, 2011b; Johnston, 2012; Lackenbauer, 2011; Lackenbauer & Huebert, 2014; Scopelliti & Pérez, 2016; Sharp, 2011). For example, Huebert argues that the Canadian sovereign control of the Arctic allows for the protection of Canadian interests that benefit the Canadian population (2011a). A prominent focus for classic security studies is military build-up in the Arctic as a means of asserting state sovereignty (Huebert, 2011a; Huebert, 2011b). Over time, Arctic scholars have recognized the limitations of a state sovereignty-centered classic approach to security, pointing out that focusing narrowly on the state as represented by its political elite does not account for the needs of its people, including Inuit and other Arctic Indigenous peoples in the region, thus reproducing structural colonial power relations (Broadhead, 2010; Greaves, 2011; Heininen, 2013; Heininen & Exner-Pirot, 2020). In addition, scholars have emphasized how classic security analyses’ preoccupation with interstate conflict often implicitly rely on a violence-based conception of security, ignoring other sources of insecurity that people face – in other words, freedom from fear, rather than freedom from want (Broadhead, 2010; Greeves, 2011). Security should include more than the protection of Canada’s territory, but also the protection of the security of the Indigenous peoples who reside there (Slowey, 2014). It follows then that a narrow state-centered security focus on sovereignty may not only be irrelevant to Arctic Indigenous peoples, including Inuit, but could at times be contrary to their needs, particularly where the regional needs of the people there may be significantly different from those in non-Arctic regions (Broadhead, 2010; Greaves, 2016a; Kukkanen & Sweet, 2020). The edited volume Nilliajut: Inuit Perspectives of Security, Patriotism and Sovereignty released in 2013, and its 2018 follow up report Nilliajut 2: Inuit Perspectives on the Northwest Passage, Shipping, and Marine Issues, alongside other texts written by Inuit (Simon, 2011), provide insight into the nuanced
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positions Inuit have about the concepts of Arctic sovereignty and security and what those mean to them and their communities. Inuit leaders such as Mary Simon and Aaju Peter have expressed pride in their Canadian identity and a willingness to support Canada’s assertions of sovereignty in the Arctic (Simon, 2011). However, Inuit have also argued that Canada must accept Inuit use and occupation of the lands and waters in Inuit Nunangat when making such assertions of Arctic sovereignty (Simon, 2011; Peter, 2013). Peter (2013: 46) explains: “The Inuit who have occupied the Arctic for thousands of years are the only ones who can best define what “use and occupation” of Inuit Nunaat [Inuit homeland] is.” After all, Inuit communities have recognized that they will be most impacted by any issues that may arise with respect to Arctic sovereignty, control, and access (Kelley, 2013). As such, it is argued that Inuit must be actively involved in discussions on their use and occupation in the Arctic during sovereignty discussions (Greaves & Lackenbauer, 2021; Peter, 2013), a topic on which community members do not feel adequately consulted (Kelley, 2013). There have been increasing calls from Inuit and others to recognize Arctic security within the framework of Indigenous sovereignty, rather than state sovereignty (Slowey, 2014; Greaves, 2016a; Greaves & Lackenbauer, 2021). This approach accounts not only for what state governments perceive as security concerns in the Arctic, but what those residing in the Arctic identify and experience as security threats (Broadhead, 2010; Kuokkanen & Sweet, 2020; Nicol & Heininen, 2014). Terry Audla, president of Inuit Tapiriit Kanatami (at the time he wrote this piece) suggested that the relevant question should be: “What dangers do Inuit face in Inuit Nunangat (our traditional Arctic homeland in Canada)?” (Audla, 2013: 7). Similarly, Inuk leader Rosemarie Kuptana advocates for understanding security as being more than military actions, but ensuring a reasonable lifestyle for Inuit (Kuptana, 2013). Simon also notes that although Inuit desire a peaceful Arctic, security must be understood as a broader concept: Just as health is more than the absence of disease, so, too, security is more than the absence of military conflict. With that view, Inuit will continue to advance what we believe are constructive and reasonable ideas for Arctic policymaking and decisionmaking – decision-making that respects and provides sustainable benefits to the Inuit majority of Inuit Nunangat, as well as to humanity as a whole (Simon, 2011: 891). Inuit have also identified the limited implementation of Inuit self-government and other policies by Canada as negatively infringing on their security (Greaves, 2016a; Greaves, 2016b). For example, Zebedee Nungak highlights colonization as being one of the most significant security threats to Inuit, arguing that “the British legal system, as used by its Monarch and colonial/post-colonial governments, is the single most lethal weapon used to eradicate Inuit sovereignty over Arctic homelands in Canada” (Nungak, 2013: 13). More recently, Indigenous researcher and policy advisor, Bridget Laroque explained that “policies developed without the knowledge and wisdom of Indigenous expertise, which we bring as life-long Northerners, is nothing more than the continuation of the colonial methodology that perpetuates antagonism” (Dorough, Laroque, Kaluraq & Taukie, 2021: 19). Whitney Lackenbauer’s (Kikkert & Lackenbauer, 2020; Lackenbauer and Kikkert, 2020) research examining the role of the Canadian Rangers in the Arctic shows how the involvement of Inuit and other northerners in security and sovereignty activities can help to empower Inuit to “protect their lands and their rights in the spirit of self-determination” (Lackenbauer & Kikkert, 2020: 16). Hoogensen explains that “a critical human security perspective van Luijk, Dawson, Carter, Song, Parker, Grey, & Provencher
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in the Arctic demands that a security analysis include bottom-up, lived experiences of insecurity that have been missed or ignored by state-centered perspectives” (Hoogensen, 2021: 209). In the context of Indigenous sovereignty, this would mean examining the experiences of insecurity of Indigenous peoples living in the Arctic, with consideration of Indigenous rights and selfdetermination. Discussions of sovereignty and security in the Arctic have therefore evolved over the past few decades from a focus on state sovereignty as a means to Arctic security, to the de-coupling of sovereignty and security. This enables the integration of other dimensions to security such as human, environmental, and economic security concerns, to the re-introduction of the connection between Arctic security and sovereignty, but with a focus on Indigenous sovereignty, rather than that of the state. This shift is also reflected in Government of Canada policy approaches to Arctic security and Inuit sovereignty. The focus of the 2019 Arctic and Northern Policy Framework (ANPF) is to create “a shared vision of the future where northern and Arctic people are thriving, strong, and safe.” (Government of Canada, 2019a: para. 4). The framework was co-developed amongst federal, territorial, and provincial governments, northerners, and Indigenous governments and organizations (Kikkert & Lackenbauer, 2019). Government and Indigenous leaders worked together through the Inuit-Crown Partnership Committee for the development of an Inuit Nunangat chapter to guide how the framework would be implemented in Inuit Nunangat in a manner that ensures that the framework “respects Inuit rights and that an Inuit Nunangat approach is utilized in the development and implementation of federal policies and programs that are intended to benefit Inuit, creating efficiencies that in turn benefit all Canadians” (Government of Canada, 2019a: para. 9). Similarly, the 2016 Ocean Protection Plan outlines the creation of policies that support the Canadian Arctic marine environment and the communities who live there (Transport Canada, n.d.). This provides some optimism that Inuit will continue to become more involved in policy decision making regarding security and sovereignty around shipping in the Canadian Arctic. However, while the ‘Safety, Security, and Defence’ chapter of the ANPF does include mentions of increasing “…participation of Northern and Indigenous communities in the maritime management regime” (Government of Canada, 2019b: para. 44), and it also addresses the possible impacts of shipping to northern and Arctic communities, it does not make explicit reference to Inuit conceptions of security, Inuit sovereignty, or Inuit Land Claims Agreements (Government of Canada, 2019b). In order to move forward in discussions about Arctic security and sovereignty, specifically in relation to increased shipping in the Canadian Arctic, Inuit perspectives such as those shared in this paper need to be at the forefront. In this paper, we describe perspectives of knowledge holders from 14 communities throughout Inuit Nunangat regarding how Inuit security and sovereignty are impacted by Arctic shipping and may continue to be, into the future.
Methods Study area Members of 14 communities in three settled land claim regions in the Canadian Arctic participated in the Arctic Corridors and Northern Voices (ACNV) project including six from the Inuvialuit Settlement Region (ISR); Aklavik, Inuvik, Paulatuk, Sachs Harbour, Tuktoyaktuk, and Ulukhaktok; seven from Nunavut: Arviat, Cambridge Bay, Coral Harbour, Gjoa Haven, Iqaluit, Pond Inlet, and Resolute; and one from Nunavik (Northern Quebec): Salluit (See Figure 1). Communities involved
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in this study were purposely selected based on known concerns about marine vessel traffic impacts on community livelihoods (see Stewart et al. 2015; Dawson et al. 2017; 2018), and in consideration of existing research networks and collaborative relationships. Climate change has meant that the number of kilometers travelled by ships in their areas have increased in all but one of these communities since 1990 (Dawson et al., 2018) and that future growth is expected (Bennett et al. 2020; Mudryk et al., 2021). These include container ships, tankers, general cargo, bulk carriers, government icebreakers, tug and barge, fishing vessels, oil and gas exploration vessels, pleasure craft and cruise ships (Dawson et al., 2018; Pizzolato et al., 2014). Figure 1. Settled Land Claim regions and Arctic Corridors and Northern Voices research project participating communities
Source: Dawson et al., 2020b
Study approach and methodology This study was part of the broader Arctic Corridors and Northern Voices project which combined community-based research techniques with participatory mapping approaches to develop the methodology for the project. This involved conducting community workshops and individual interviews in each of the 14 participant communities. See Carter et al. (2019) and Dawson et al. (2020b) for additional details on the methodological approach. The community workshops and interviews were audio recorded and transcribed. These transcriptions were then analyzed using an inductive-deductive coding approach (Patton, 2002). The focus of the conversations was about knowledge holder perspectives of the Government of Canada established Low Impact Shipping Corridors (LISC), where they shared their experiences with shipping traffic, the current and potential impacts of shipping traffic, and recommendations to minimize the impacts of shipping traffic into the future. During these conversations there was opportunity for unprompted discussions to develop and many of the findings presented in this paper came from these discussions. These discussions did not focus on the concepts of security or sovereignty, rather knowledge holders were encouraged to share their perspectives on impacts of shipping traffic more broadly. As the researchers, we have grouped these discussions under themes related to issues of security and sovereignty. While the selection of coastal communities and shipping-based questions
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meant that knowledge holders would likely frame their concerns around shipping impacts, here we analyzed their responses to determine not just what communities were concerned about, but why (the reasons for the concerns), and who (who would be impacted by these concerns). In this way, the responses from knowledge holders were linked back to broader discourse about Arctic sovereignty and security. It is important to note here that knowledge holders also reflected on the opportunities and benefits related to shipping for their communities, in particular their reliance upon annual resupply ships, but here we focus on the concerns raised in regards to this topic. The methodology used for a particular analysis influences how security concerns are identified. Greaves (2016b: 464) points out that the academic tendency to privilege settler perspectives – in particular, the state’s – over sub-altern actors such as Indigenous peoples can contribute to “the (re)production of Indigenous non-dominance [and] the erasure and denial of Indigenous histories, epistemologies, and interests”. Nicol and Heininen (2014: 84) similarly suggest: One of the greatest unacknowledged threats to the Arctic region, besides the race for natural resources as a result of climate change, may be the continuing way in which competitive southern geopolitical and geo-economic discourses concerning northern development serve to effectively ‘re-colonise’ the north and remarginalise its peoples. These discourses dig the hole deeper by ignoring their voice, their interests, and their expertise in shaping their own future; instead promoting a competitive paradigm cultivated by media and domestic political agenda. The goal of this study has been to build on previous work that has utilized methodologies that provide empirical data collected directly from Inuit community members residing in the Arctic (Kikkert & Lackenbauer, 2020; Lackenbauer & Kikkert, 2020; Slowey, 2014).
Positionality statement All authors are settler, southern-based scientists or staff at non-governmental organizations (at the time the research was conducted). We strived to maintain knowledge holder voices, and example quotes from knowledge holders are provided as context throughout.
Results and discussion Knowledge holders are concerned about increased shipping traffic because of the impact it is having, and could continue to have, on their livelihoods and communities. A knowledge holder from Sachs Harbour explained: I’m just scared as hell about the traffic that’s going to go through there. I don’t know how it’s going to happen but I know it’s going to change our lives for sure. Change our lives big time. Knowledge holders shared concerns about not knowing how they would continue to be able to engage in important activities integral to their livelihoods with all the risks that shipping poses to the Canadian Arctic, revealing that their concerns were rooted in security threats to their livelihood and way of life. For example, knowledge holders expressed concerns that ship traffic and pollution or shipping-related accidents could negatively affect wildlife, and hunting and harvesting activities. These concerns about security were also intimately linked to a sense of Inuit sovereignty, as knowledge holders identified as concerns a lack of knowledge and/or a lack of control over what
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they were observing and experiencing in their own homeland as part of climate change and increased vessel traffic, specifically increased international vessel traffic. Knowledge holders were very aware and concerned about the international disagreements regarding the status of the Northwest Passage as Canada’s internal waters. However, their concerns were rooted in how such disagreement would impact their way of life – their Inuit sovereignty – rather than state-focused security concerns such as how it would affect the Canadian government’s sovereignty. Knowledge holders also expressed concerns about their lack of agency over these potential unknowns: perceptions were shared that if something were to happen in terms of shipping in the Arctic – for example, a shipping-related accident or even an increase in ship traffic – Inuit could not do anything to stop it from happening. As such, while some discussions such as the one described above did overlap with concerns of state (Government of Canada) sovereignty, such discussions focused more on how such concerns would impact Inuit in their homelands, rather than Canada as a state. The findings of this paper reiterate the ways in which Inuit sovereignty differs from state sovereignty, even in circumstances when the goals align. Our findings have revealed three overarching themes relating to lack of shared information about shipping traffic: 1) “’Unknowns’ of shipping traffic; a related lack of agency over the shipping traffic and marine areas”; 2) “Lack of Inuit agency over shipping traffic and marine areas in their region” and the resulting impacts on Indigenous sovereignty in the Arctic; and 3) “Concerns in the context of Inuit agency and sovereignty”.
‘Unknowns’ of shipping traffic There was broad consensus that residents of participant communities did not feel that they had enough knowledge or available information about who is travelling through the Canadian Arctic and why. A knowledge holder from Gjoa Haven explained: Some of them [sail boats], we’re afraid of them because we don’t know where they are coming from. We don’t have any notification about these little sail boats or what not. And most of our Elders always wonder where they came from and what are they doing here? A knowledge holder from Salluit expressed her feelings about ‘unknown’ ships: We had no idea that they [ships] were there. Or what they [the ships] were doing there but they were parked right inside Deception Bay. And there’s no way for us to police it. Are they pirates of the sea? Are they just passing through and getting a safe shelter out of the wind? We have no idea. The increase in traffic is something to be concerned with and because we don’t know where they are coming from or going to. It seems that all we can do is watch to be quite honest. These findings reflect comments made by Inuk leader Nancy Karetak-Lindell (2018) in Inuit Tapiriit Kanatami’s report Nilliajut 2: Inuit perspectives on the Northwest Passage, Shipping, and Marine Issues. Karetak-Lindell (2018: 30) expressed that: A sense of security is strong when we [Inuit and Northerners] know who is coming, from where, and their purpose. But our sense of security and control is eroding because not only are we facing increased Canadian [marine] traffic, but also foreign [marine] traffic coming through. We no longer have confidence that we know who is travelling through our waters and lands or why. van Luijk, Dawson, Carter, Song, Parker, Grey, & Provencher
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This is a perspective that continues to be expressed in the responses of the knowledge holders who participated in this project. However, it is important to explore why this lack of shared information about shipping traffic was a concern for knowledge holders. Knowledge holders expressed that their worries about these unknown ships traveling through Inuit Nunangat were often related to their lack of agency over the activities of vessel traffic in their regions.
Lack of Inuit agency over shipping traffic and marine areas in their region In these remote communities, some knowledge holders experience these unknown ‘visitors’ as an intrusion and describe feeling a ‘lack of control’ over whether and how these activities occur. One knowledge holder in Gjoa Haven explained: They [people in unknown marine vessels] just come as they please and go wherever they please. And the certain areas where they go, you kind of wish they wouldn’t go there; I wish they would ask first. Then they just go there and to always have something like that go around that area, like a ship, if a ship comes around there it’s kind of like, I don’t know how to say it… it’s so… you get so offended even though maybe they don’t mean to. But it’s very hurtful. This statement suggests that knowledge holders are not simply concerned about knowing who are on board marine vessels and what they are doing, but are also concerned that marine vessels are travelling through Inuit Nunangat without first asking for permission. In other words, Inuit have expressed not only a lack of shared information about shipping traffic in their region, but a lack of agency over the shipping activities that happen near their communities or harvesting areas that have direct impacts on their way of life. Knowledge holders indicated security concerns about international presence in the Canadian Arctic. A knowledge holder in Paulatuk recalled the transit of the SS Manhattan, a US oil tanker that became the first commercial ship to cross the Northwest Passage in 1969. This voyage generated many conversations about the sovereignty of the Northwest Passage as the Canadian Government had not been asked permission prior to the transit (Byers & Lalonde, 2009). You remember the SS Manhattan that came through the Northwest Passage, 3540 years ago at least. Think about how big the SS Manhattan was, unregulated, unmitigated and it was a tanker…I guess their way around it was that it was international waters. Like I mentioned before, the Canadians have different views from what the Americans think about international waters. Other knowledge holders also confirmed concerns about the pressures of increasing interests for foreign shipping traffic to travel through Inuit homeland, either as a trading shortcut or specifically to extract resources from the Arctic environment through fishing, mining, or oil extraction. A knowledge holder in Gjoa Haven explained: Remember I had mentioned that China is building a giant icebreaker ship. I mean that could come into play in the near future too. Because right now aren’t they fighting over the Arctic, where everyone’s allowed to fish and this and that? And then the U.S. declaring the Northwest Passage as international waters. So, security is a big issue, I guess. Future security.
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Although these issues of increasing foreign interests in the Canadian Arctic can be seen as being aligned with state interests and state sovereignty, it is important to note that knowledge holders in these communities focused on how such international interests were impacting and could impact Inuit communities. Such issues were at times discussed with an implication that Inuit did not have the power to adequately respond to such foreign interests. For example, a knowledge holder from Gjoa Haven shared their perspective about the international interest in resource extraction in the Canadian Arctic: That’s another field all in itself - oil exploration. That’s something that we’re not going to be able to stop too. Mining. Oil exploration. That’s exactly why the United States is saying this is international water[s]. That’s what they want, right? - the oil. [emphasis added.] Another knowledge holder in Gjoa Haven recalled an experience where a yacht travelling from Norway arrived at their community unannounced, with concerns about its impact on the community: You have to be careful. Some of these guys [passengers of unknown marine vessels] can take away your kids. We’ve had these Berserkers…Norwegian Hells Angel type sailors came through Gjoa Haven and they were looking for alcohol, drugs… they asked young women to come on the boat with them. This incident was detailed in a newspaper article with respect to a group that called themselves the ‘Norwegian Vikings’ and were subsequently ordered to be deported by the Canada Border Services Agency after they arrived in Cambridge Bay in 2007 (Curry, 2007). One of the sailors argued in a deportation hearing that they did not feel the need to let Canadian officials know about their plans to travel through the Northwest Passage as they believed those were international waters (Curry, 2007). This incident further exemplifies concerns that knowledge holders shared, not only relating to a lack of information about who is traveling through Canadian Arctic waters and the intentions of these unknown vessels, but also how international border disputes affect Inuit directly. For other knowledge holders, these pressures also included international military actions in the Canadian Arctic. Knowledge holders from four participating communities shared accounts about seeing submarines travelling throughout Inuit Nunangat 30 to 40 years ago. This reflects a widely held belief that Russian and American submarines may have travelled through the Canadian Arctic during the Cold War era (Byers, 2010). See Huebert (2011) for more details about the actions of foreign submarines in the Canadian Arctic. While these instances are shrouded with such secrecy that these accounts have never been confirmed by state governments, what is clear is that Inuit experiences during the Cold War era continue to be reflected in the concerns some of the knowledge holders shared about the Canadian Arctic today, specifically in relation to questioning the intentions and activities of unknown foreign ships. Knowledge holders in Ulukhaktok described an incident where a yacht from Hong Kong docked in their bay – where community members have their fishing nets – without prior permission from the community. One knowledge holder explained: You’re not going to see any of us boating in Hong Kong and going into their bay and then come back. Just stuff like that, they said it probably wouldn’t really affect
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the fish or the seals or whatever but it’s like, what are they disposing of that we don’t know? They could drop old dead batteries [in the water] for all we know. Knowledge holders were likely talking about a sailor from Hong Kong who had travelled the Northwest Passage via sailboat in 2016. A newspaper article states that this sailor did inform Canadian authorities of his intentions to travel in this area, however, it is unclear whether he contacted communities prior to arrival (Brend, 2016). This is an important distinction to make, as per knowledge holder responses, communities often lack information about the intentions of ‘visitors’ particularly those who travel in smaller passenger vessels or pleasure craft, even if the activities of these visitors can have significant impacts on these communities, such as hunting and harvesting. Most recently, Inuit marine monitors of Cambridge Bay observed a yacht captained by a New Zealander travelling through the Canadian Arctic in August 2020. This occurred during the Covid-19 pandemic when the Government of Canada had banned all cruise ships and most pleasure craft1 from Canadian Arctic waters in a bid to “reduce the risk of COVID-19 transmission in remote and vulnerable Arctic communities” (George, 2020: para 5). Inuit marine monitors notified Transport Canada of this vessel and Transport Canada had directed the vessel “to depart Canadian waters and not make landfall.” Despite these requests, the sailor continued to travel through the Northwest passage and responded that: “Canada has no legal right to apply Canadian law to a foreigner in [an] international waterway” (George, 2020). These findings reflect the perspectives of community members in Kinngait as shared in the work by Karen Kelley (2013) in the first Nilliajut volume. These community members felt it was unclear who was responsible for regulating shipping in Arctic waters and therefore expressed concerns about the Arctic as an international waterway used by ships for whatever purpose they please, and potentially resulting in foreign operators developing a sense of ownership over that water (Kelley, 2013). The perspectives shared by Inuit community members of Kinngait and by knowledge holders in this project suggest a disconnect between state level decision-making and what is experienced by and communicated to Canadian Arctic coastal communities who would be affected by such issues, indicating a lack of Inuit involvement.
Concerns in the context of Inuit agency and sovereignty Knowledge holders in our project also raised concerns about the lack of agency over regulations, and lack of enforcement over the regulations that do exist. They explained that while some regulations exist, no adequate monitoring (nor enforcement) system exists that ensures vessels abide by regulations. One knowledge holder in Sachs Harbour explained: “We have to develop our own standards, I think. But again, who’s going to enforce it? Where are the resources? Where are those [resources] going to come from? Where’s our infrastructure to get to the ships?” Concerns about a lack of enforcement over activities within Canada’s jurisdiction in Arctic waters aligns with state sovereignty concerns with respect to Arctic security. However, it is important to note the distinction that knowledge holders were less overtly concerned with state sovereignty interests (such as the rule of law and respecting state jurisdictions), and were more concerned about how this lack of enforcement could impact their communities and their way of life. This focus in turn can be seen as impacting Inuit goals of sovereignty. For example, one knowledge holder in Cambridge Bay expressed: I think we have to look at future considerations that are in talks right now. Let’s
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say the Bathurst Inlet port and also the Grays Bay, so these will be under construction very soon but we need to look at the effects that these will be [having] because supply ships and oil, gas, ships will be coming through…I’ve been [in] these hearings many times and there are a lot of questions that they need to answer to the Inuit of Bay Chimo, Bathurst [Inlet] and also Cambridge Bay so we have to look at the proposed projects for the future because they will be carrying oil and gas, supply ships, you know…We need to start looking at these ports so that we have something in place for our people in the future (emphasis added). For this knowledge holder, the potential increase in shipping traffic in the Canadian Arctic is important to consider, not because of the implications to the Canadian state, but because of the impacts on the communities in the region. Although Inuit have made clear their aspirations for self-determination and sovereignty through various venues such as Land Claims Agreements (e.g. Nunavut Agreement, Inuvialuit Final Agreement; Nunavik Inuit Land Claims Agreement), these security concerns about marine shipping traffic could have a direct impact on their ability to achieve their goals of selfdetermination and sovereignty, particularly if they do not feel that they have adequate information about or control over such activities happening in their area. Knowledge holders expressed concern that Inuit currently had little power over what happens in marine areas. An Inuvik knowledge holder shared: “On land we’ve got lots of power but on water we’re fighting against any obstacle that comes our way. We need to get that legislation there...I mean it is our land [in reference to marine areas]” (emphasis added). Some knowledge holders noted that their Land Claims Agreement does not ensure their rights over the marine environment; only over land. A knowledge holder from Tuktoyaktuk expressed: I think we have through the ISR [Inuvialuit Settlement Region] no more rights. Every creek, if it’s a navigable waterway, you [marine vessels and their occupants] automatically get 100 foot from the waterway on the shore that you [Inuit] can’t do anything anyway even if it’s under the ISR. Even on our private lands the waterway is just for everyone. It’s for the whole world. This comment suggests discomfort from some knowledge holders about this arrangement set out in the Inuvialuit Final Agreement, which they perceived as leaving them with inadequate control over activities happening in their area. The Inuvialuit Final Agreement provides Inuit with a right of access on Inuvialuit lands “to the extent of 100 feet of land from the edge of the water of the sea coast and navigable rivers and navigable lakes that can be entered from such rivers” (Inuvialuit Final Agreement, 2005, Article 7(14)). The public may access unoccupied Inuvialuit land without prior notice for a number of reasons, including for recreational use that is casual and individual in nature, so long as there is no “significant” damage or mischief committed on the lands, or “significant” interference with Inuvialuit use of the lands (Inuvialuit Final Agreement, 2005, Article 7(14) and (15)). When discussing the activities of marine research vessels, one knowledge holder from Sachs Harbour described that Inuit were perceived as ‘second-class citizens’: [Research vessels] always say they’re going to stay away from local hunters but they don’t care, because their scientific [research] trumps our natural way of
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living…Because you know to them, we’re second-class citizens. I mean their research is more important than our livelihood and our well-being which shouldn’t be the case. This sense of lack of power and a perceived lack of recognition of Inuit sovereignty was shared by a knowledge holder from Salluit, their response to the question about what areas they would like ships to avoid: Like I say, there is not much we can do. Our voices are too small. It’s not like we can get the media up here with cameras and everything you know. They [ship operators] will say it’s too expensive…native people are treated differently, very much... I got nothing against whites or any color but when it comes to this, it’s like Inuit, Indians we’re put under [down]…we see that, we’re not stupid. A knowledge holder from Gjoa Haven shared their experiences of not being listened to when recommending where marine vessels should or should not travel: Even when we raised the concern of don’t go that way [through Peel Sound], the government does not listen to us, that’s one of our most important areas between Resolute and Gjoa Haven for the whales and bears and…We have raised this issue in the past but it has fallen on deaf ears. But at the same time, we do not want them to increase their shipping route for the cost issue and that [cost of community resupply that arrives on sealift vessels]. That’s why we’ve never…we just want to put it on record that it’s a fact that we want heard but probably nothing will happen, but we just want to make them aware of this issue where Peel Sound normally should be out of bounds so to speak. But it’s a cost issue that’s why I guess you would say we tolerate it where actually we don’t have a choice about where the ships go. We say they can’t go by there, but they won’t listen. They’re going to go by there anyways. It’s a short cut! Inuk leader Rosemarie Kuptana derides the lack of effective and meaningful participation of Inuit in the framing of Arctic territorial disputes involving Canada, particularly with respect to the Northwest Passage, arguing that “The current discussion of arctic sovereignty and security lies in the realm of mythology and the exclusion of Inuit with regard to the Inuit Sea [e.g. Northwest Passage] discussions, both by Canada and players from abroad, is not only an immoral and shameful exercise of out-dated and discredited colonialism but also illegal in light of the contemporary developments in law” (Kuptana, 2013: 10). She notes how the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS) ignores the way Inuit have occupied and used the sea as water and ice as part of their way of life. She also argues that the position articulated by the United States and European countries of the Northwest Passage as constituting international waters ignores Inuit rights to the Inuit sea, and reflect “earlier and discredited European colonial practices” (Kuptana, 2013: 11). Other scholars have also called for recognizing Arctic security within the framework of Indigenous sovereignty (Slowey, 2014; Greaves, 2016a), by examining what Indigenous peoples residing in the Arctic perceive as security threats (Audla, 2013; Broadhead, 2010; Kuokkanen & Sweet, 2020; Nicol & Heininen, 2014). Through this study, Inuit frustrations with the lack of information about the
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local marine vessel activities, and a lack of control and agency over these activities have emerged as security concerns that threaten Inuit sovereignty.
Conclusion Knowledge holders in the Canadian Arctic articulated security concerns, which included lack of information about marine shipping traffic in their areas, and lack of agency over these marine shipping activities. Some of these security concerns, such as increasing international interests in the Canadian Arctic and the disputed status of the Northwest Passage, have also been shared by security scholars who write about the way in which Arctic security is intertwined with state sovereignty (Huebert, 2011b; Sharp, 2011; Johnston 2012). The findings from this study builds on previous work and statements made by Inuit (Audla, 2013; Dorough et al, 2021; Karetak-Lindell, 2018; Kuptana, 2013) which shows that the knowledge holders in this study framed their security concerns in the context of Inuit sovereignty: how such security issues impact the well-being of Inuit communities, rather than simply the interests of the state. Knowledge holders in these communities were concerned about not knowing which marine vessels were entering their territory because of how such actions could impact their communities’ way of life, and to highlight how they did not have adequate agency over such activities, creating barriers to Inuit aspirations for self-determination and sovereignty. Inuit sovereignty is intertwined with feelings of security. These findings reinforce the need to continue to support Inuit sovereignty over marine areas. In the first Nillajuit volume Kuptana (2013: 12) argued: “The rest of the world, if it has the courage to look beyond its colonial mentality, must know and recognize that jurisdiction over the Inuit Sea continues to lie with the Inuit who have been the stewards of the Arctic for a very long time”. While there may appear to be surface-level commonalities between what a state-centered analysis and an Indigenous-centered analysis may consider to be a security concern, the question of why a particular issue constitutes a security concern will vary, depending on the focus and the methodology of the analysis. Disagreements over the status of the Northwest Passage and increasing international interests in Arctic shipping are popular topics because of how they may threaten the Canadian state’s sovereignty over its jurisdiction. Inuit share this concern because of how the domestic/international waters debate impacts their communities, their way of living, and their own sovereignty. These concerns come from a variety of directions: commercial, military, exploration, and colonization, and have come about as a result of Inuit experiencing a lack of knowledge and control over what is happening in the marine areas in Inuit Nunangat. Lackenbauer and Kikkert (2020) have shown that while the Department of National Defence (DND) continues to stress that Canada does not “face any imminent conventional military threats to its Arctic” (Lackenbauer & Kikkert, 2020: 17), they have started to acknowledge that “new risks and threats may emerge” as a result of climate change and growing interest in the Canadian Arctic. The responses in this study reveals that the fear and lack of trust among knowledge holders continues as a result of both previous encounters and these new risks and threats. Thus, while a couple of tourist ships travelling through the Northwest Passage may not be viewed as a security issue from a state security perspective, it is perceived differently by those living in the region and experiencing it directly. The development of recent government policies such as the Oceans Protection Plan and the Arctic and Northern Policy Framework provide a hope that many of the concerns shared in this study van Luijk, Dawson, Carter, Song, Parker, Grey, & Provencher
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can be addressed. For example, the Oceans Protection Plan acknowledges that “Indigenous and coastal communities expect that more local data on marine traffic (who is doing what and where) will be shared in a user-friendly way that meets their needs” (Transport Canada, n.d.: 1). There is also a recognition of needing to engage with Indigenous and coastal communities in order to develop marine shipping policies in those areas. While there is a growing number of marine policies and programs that include Inuit in decision-making, that acknowledge Inuit rights through Land Claim Agreements, and that work to support Inuit livelihoods, additional research is needed to consider how these policies work on the ground and to consider what gaps remain. This study contributes to the growing body of knowledge that positions Inuit perspectives at the forefront of security discussions in the Arctic (Greaves, 2016a, 2016b; Slowey, 2014). It also highlights the importance of prioritizing Inuit perspectives when discussing Arctic security and sovereignty with a recognition that state sovereignty is not the same as Inuit sovereignty. As change in the Arctic climate (and other drivers such as technology, economics, and political will) continues to increase international interest in Arctic shipping, these perspectives should be integral in such discussions. As Audla (2013) expressed: “We have lived with insecurity in the past. We are living with new forms of insecurity now. We will no doubt face other forms of insecurity in the future…With that awareness, Inuit are committed to making Inuit Nunangat, all of Canada, and our world, a more secure place for all of us” (Audla, 2013: 9).
Notes 1.
“These restrictions do not apply to pleasure craft used by local communities, or used for purposes such as essential transportation or subsistence fishing, harvesting and hunting.” (Transport Canada, 2020, https://www.canada.ca/en/transport-canada/news/2020/05/thegovernment-of-canada-announces-new-measures-for-pleasure-craft-in-northerncommunities.html)
References Åtland, K. (2014). Interstate Relations in the Arctic: An Emerging Security Dilemma? Comparative Strategy, 33(2), 145-166. Arctic Monitoring and Assessment Program (2021). Arctic Climate Change Update 2021: Key Trends and Impacts. Arctic Monitoring and Assessment Program. Retrieved: https://www.amap.no/documents/download/6730/inline Audla, T. (2013). Inuit and Arctic Security. In S. Nickels (Ed.), Nilliajut: Inuit Perspectives on Security Patriotism and Sovereignty (pp.7-9). Inuit Tapiriit Kanatami. Bennett, M. M. et al. (2020). The opening of the Transpolar Sea Route: Logistical, geopolitical, environmental, and socioeconomic impacts. Marine Policy, 104178, doi:10.1016/j.marpol.2020.104178.
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Broadhead, L. (2010). Canadian sovereignty versus northern security: the case for updating our mental map of the Arctic. International Journal, Autumn. 913-930. Bush, E. and Flato, G. (2019): About this report. Chapter 1 in Canada’s Changing Climate Report, (ed.) E. Bush and D.S. Lemmen; Government of Canada, Ottawa, Ontario, p. 723. Retrieved: https://changingclimate.ca/CCCR2019/ Brend, Y. (September 25, 2016). Diary of a serial adventurer: Eagle Quest II's inspired Arctic voyage. CBC News. Retrieved: https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/britishcolumbia/arctic-expedition-eagle-s-quest-ii-hong-kong-to-spain-1.3774268 Byers, M. (2010). Who Owns the Arctic? Understanding Sovereignty Disputes in the North. United States: Douglas and McIntyre Limited. Byers, M., & Lalonde, S. (2009). Who controls the Northwest passage? Vand. J. Transnat'l L., 42, 1133. Carter, N.A., Dawson, J., Simonee, N., Tagalik, S., Ljubicic, G., (2019). Lessons Learned Through Research Partnership and Capacity Enhancement in Inuit Nunangat (the Inuit Homeland in Arctic Canada). Arctic. Curry, B. (September 1, 2007). Viking invaders turned back from our shores. The Globe and Mail. Retrieved: https://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/national/viking-invaders-turnedback-from-our-shores/article693000/ Dawson, J., Carter, N., Van Luijk, N., Parker, C., Weber, M., Cook, A., ... & Provencher, J. (2020a). Infusing Inuit and local knowledge into the low impact shipping corridors: An adaptation to increased shipping activity and climate change in Arctic Canada. Environmental Science & Policy, 105, 19-36. Dawson, J., Carter, N. A., van Luijk, N., Weber, M., & Cook, A. (2020b). Arctic corridors and northern voices project: Methods for community-based participatory mapping for low impact shipping corridors in Arctic Canada. MethodsX, 7, 101064. Dorough, D. S., Larocque, B., Kaluraq, K., Taukie, D. (2021). Voices from the Arctic: Diverse Views on Canadian Arctic Security, https://www.naadsn.ca/wp-content/uploads/2021/01/20nov-ArcticVoicesProceedings-upload.pdf George, J. (May 19 2020). Canada moves to bar most pleasure craft from Arctic waters. Nunatsiaq News. Retrieved https://nunatsiaq.com/stories/article/canada-moves-to-barpleasure-craft-from-arctic-waters/ Greaves, W. (2011). For whom, from what? Canada’s Arctic policy and the narrowing of human security. International Journal, Winter. 219-240. Greaves, W. (2016a). Environment, Identity, Autonomy, Inuit Perspectives on Arctic Security. In K. Hossain & A. Petrétei (Eds.), Understanding the Many Faces of Human Security: Perspectives of Northern Indigenous Peoples (pp.35-55) Koninklijke Brill. Greaves, W. (2016b). Arctic (in)security and Indigenous peoples: Comparing Inuit in Canada and Sámi in Norway. Security Dialogue 47(6), 461-480.
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Greaves, W., & Lackenbauer, P. W. (Eds.). (2021). Breaking Through: Understanding Sovereignty and Security in the Circumpolar Arctic. University of Toronto Press. Government of Canada (2019a) Canada’s Arctic and Northern Policy Framework. https://www.rcaanc-cirnac.gc.ca/eng/1562782976772/1562783551358 Government of Canada. (2019b). Canada’s Arctic and Northern Policy Framework: Safety, Security, and Defence chapter. https://www.rcaanccirnac.gc.ca/eng/1562939617400/1562939658000 Hassol, S. J. (2004). Impacts of a warming Arctic. Cambridge University Press: UK. Heininen, L. (2013). Arctic Security Global Dimensions and Challenges, and National Policy Responses. Yearbook of Polar Law (Brill), 5, 93-118. Hoogensen Gjørv, G. (2021). Human Insecurities of Marginalized Peoples in the Arctic: The Cost of Arctic and Nordic Exceptionalism. In W. Greaves & Lackenbauer, P. W. Breaking Through: Understanding Sovereignty and Security in the Circumpolar Arctic. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2021, pp. 199-216. Huebert, R. (2011a). Submarines, oil tankers, and icebreakers: trying to understand Canadian Arctic sovereignty and security. International Journal (Autumn), 809-824. Huebert, R. (2011b). Canada and the Newly Emerging International Arctic Security Regime. In J. Kraska (Ed.), Arctic Security in an Age of Climate Change (pp. 193-217). Cambridge University Press. doi:10.1017/CBO9780511994784.013 Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. (2019). H.-O. Pörtner, D. C. Roberts, V. MassonDelmotte, P. Zhai, M. Tignor, E. Poloczanska, K. Mintenbeck, A. Alegría, M. Nicolai, A. Okem, J. Petzold, B. Rama, & N. M. Weyer (Eds.), IPCC Special Report on the Ocean and Cryosphere in a Changing Climate. https://www.ipcc.ch/srocc/ Inuvialuit Final Agreement (as amended). (2005). https://irc.inuvialuit.com/sites/default/files/Inuvialuit%20Final%20Agreement%20200 5.pdf Johnston, P. (2012). Arctic Energy Resources: Security and Environmental Implications. Journal of Strategic Security 5(3), 13-32. Karetak-Lindell, N. (2018). Sovereignty – When did this become our cause? In S. Nickels (Ed.), Nilliajut 2: Inuit Perspectives on the Northwest Passage, Shipping, and Marine Issues. (pp.19-22). Inuit Tapiriit Kanatami. Kelley, K. (2013). Inuit Involvement in the Canadian Arctic Sovereignty Debate: Perspectives from Cape Dorset, Nunvaut. In S. Nickels (Ed.), Nilliajut: Inuit Perspectives on Security Patriotism and Sovereignty (pp.58-63). Inuit Tapiriit Kanatami. Kikkert, P., & Lackenbauer, P. W. (2019). Canada’s Arctic and Northern Policy Framework: A Roadmap for the Future?. Arctic Yearbook 2019, 332-39. Kikkert, P., Lackenbauer, P.W., & Pedersen, A. (2020). Kitikmeot Roundtable on SAR: General report and Findings. Report from a workshop hosted at the Canadian High Arctic Research Station (CHARS) in Cambridge Bay, Nunavut, 31 January & 1 February 2020.
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https://kitikmeotca.files.wordpress.com/2020/04/kitikmeot-roundtable-on-search-andrescue-general-report-and-findings-1.pdf Kuokkanen, R., & Sweet, V. (2020). Indigenous Security Theory: Intersectional analysis from the bottom up. In G.H. Gjørv, M. Lanteigne, H. Sam-Aggrey (Eds.), Routledge Handbook of Arctic Security (pp. 80-90). Routledge. Kuptana, R. (2013). The Inuit Sea. In S. Nickels (Ed.), Nilliajut: Inuit Perspectives on Security Patriotism and Sovereignty (pp.10-12). Inuit Tapiriit Kanatami. Lackenbauer, P. W. (2011). Polar Race or Polar Saga? Canada and the Circumpolar World. In J. Kraska (Ed.), Arctic Security in an Age of Climate Change (pp. 193-217). Cambridge University Press. doi:10.1017/CBO9780511994784.013 Lackenbauer, P. W. & Huebert, R. (2014). Premier partners: Canada, the United States and Arctic security. Canadian Foreign Policy Journal, 20(3), 320-33. Lackenbauer, P. W., & Kikkert, P. (2020). Measuring the success of the Canadian Rangers. North American and Arctic Defence and Security Network, Peterborough. https://www.naadsn.ca/wp-content/uploads/2020/10/Rangers-Success-MetricsLackenbauer-Kikkert-upload.pdf Mudryk, L. et al., 2021. Impact of 1, 2, and 4°C of global warming on ship navigation in the Canadian Arctic. Nature Climate Change, doi:10.1038/s41558-021-01087-6. Nicol, H. N. & Heininen, L. (2014). Human security, the Arctic Council and climate change: competition or co-existence? Polar Record, 50(252), 80-85. Nungak, Z. (2013). The Decimation of Inuit Security. In S. Nickels (Ed.), Nilliajut: Inuit Perspectives on Security Patriotism and Sovereignty (pp.14-15). Inuit Tapiriit Kanatami. Patton, M. Q. (2002). Qualitative research and evaluative methods. Thousand Oaks,California: Sage Publications Peter, A. (2013). Inuit Use and Occupation. In S. Nickels (Ed.), Nilliajut: Inuit Perspectives on Security Patriotism and Sovereignty (pp.43-47). Inuit Tapiriit Kanatami. Rothschild, E. (1995). What is security? Daedalus 124(3), 53-98. Scopelliti, M. & Pérez, E.C. (2016). Defining security in a changing Arctic: helping to prevent an Arctic security dilemma. Polar Record 52(267), 672-679. Sharp, T. D. (2011). The Implications of Ice Melt on Arctic Security. Defence Studies, 11(2), 297322. Simon, M. (2011) Canadian Inuit: Where we have been and where we are going. International Journal, Autumn, 879-891. Slowey, G. (2014). Aboriginal Self-Determination and Resource Development Activity: Improving Human Security in the Canadian Arctic. In G.H. Gjørv, D. Bazely, M. Goloviznina, & A. Tanentzap, (Eds.) Environmental and Human Security in the Arctic (pp.187202). Routledge. Transport Canada. (n.d.). Oceans Protection Plan. https://tc.canada.ca/en/initiatives/oceansprotection-plan van Luijk, Dawson, Carter, Song, Parker, Grey, & Provencher
Section II: Geopolitics on the Map
Measuring and Mapping the Arctic: Cartography and the Legacies of Nineteenth-Century Arctic Science John Woitkowitz
Cartographies of the Arctic are powerful instruments to support legal, political, commercial, and scientific claims and interests in the region. Polar projections on sea ice extension, the distribution of natural resources or the state of ocean currents in the Arctic, for example, are critical indicators for the future of the region. At the same time, natural scientific categories to describe the Arctic are products of historical processes in the production of geographical knowledge; they are not eternal givens. As disciplines such as oceanography, meteorology or hydrology emerged as fields of professional study during the nineteenth century, new theoretical and visual vocabularies equipped explorers and cartographers with the language of natural science to relate the regions and their representation in maps to the geopolitical, commercial, and scientific interests of nineteenth-century European and North American states. Grounded in historical data and archival research, this article discusses how such cartographies re-defined the Arctic region, how they generated a surge in Arctic expeditions, and how they continue to inform modern understandings of the region, one predominantly perceived as a region of nature. Specifically, this article discusses the theory of an Open Polar Sea—a body of navigable, ice-free water in the central Arctic Ocean—as a consequential re-envisioning of the central Arctic and a generator of scientific agendas of Arctic exploration across Europe and North America that, in turn, informed contemporary field science such as the recent MOSAiC expedition.
Introduction When the research icebreaker Polarstern departed Bremerhaven in Germany in September 2019 to embark on a yearlong drift across the Arctic Ocean from the Laptev Sea to the East Greenlandic Sea, tons of scientific equipment and the first of three cohorts of researchers were not the only cargo the expedition transported to the Arctic. The urgency of understanding the multilayered processes of a changing climate in the central Arctic region that was at the heart of the MOSAiC expedition’s scientific program may have had a distinct twenty-first century quality. Yet for all the urgency of the present moment, the expedition was inextricably embedded in the long history of European and American scientific activities throughout the circumpolar North. “The light of knowledge grows dim in the central Arctic during the winter months to this day,” expedition leader Markus Rex wrote in his travel narrative, noting that the Arctic remains among the last corners of the planet yet to be unveiled by the instruments of modern science (Rex, 2020: 9). The ‘disenchantment of the world’, as Max Weber noted (Weber, 1919), a central project of European Woitkowitz
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and American nineteenth-century exploration and science, retains a powerful grasp on the wider imagination of science in remote regions today. Its enduring salience, however, calls attention to a larger reality of science in the Arctic: scientific practices and theoretical categories are themselves informed by centuries of European and American expeditionary science in the Arctic. The history of science in the circumpolar world remains acutely present and continues to exert a firm grasp on the mental maps that shape the ways we make sense of the regions and its peoples today. European and American efforts to measure and map the Arctic regions have importantly shaped the visual, rhetorical, and intellectual ways the circumpolar world has come to be understood and envisioned. As instruments of governance and scientific investigation, maps have a long history of acting as powerful instruments to support legal, political, commercial, and scientific claims and interests in the region. Long before the onset of a ‘scientific’ cartography in the early decades of the nineteenth century, astronomers and natural philosophers popularized polar projection maps, relating celestial movements to terrestrial events in the form of globes and portable instruments (Cosgrove, 2001; Bravo, 2019a). The emergence of the modern natural scientific canon in the formation of scientific disciplines as part of the modern research university during the nineteenth century importantly transformed the way knowledge of the circumpolar world was generated, validated, and distributed (Habermas & Przyrembel, 2013; Powell, 2015). As empires and states such as Czarist Russia, Austria-Hungary, Prussia, France, Great Britain, Norway, Sweden, and the United States increasingly directed their attention to the Arctic regions, they measured and mapped those lands and seas that were unknown to them. Travelers and organizers of Arctic science communicated their findings and future opportunities at scientific societies, museum exhibitions, and as part of a fast-expanding publishing landscape through the language of nineteenth-century meteorology, hydrology or oceanography. In these communications, innovations in the form of visualizing scientific data in the spatial plane of maps created powerful new ‘habits of seeing’ and understanding the Arctic regions (Kaalund & Woitkowitz, 2021). A seeming certainty vested in a positivist faith in the veracity of empirical data and measurement produced new categories and visual vocabularies to make claims in the description of the Arctic—including the promise of open shipping routes, unknown maritime and territorial formations, commercial opportunity, and national prestige. European and American cartographies of the Arctic were not the first attempts to make sense of these regions. Practices of wayfinding and mapmaking have been integral aspects of Inuit culture for millennia. Migration and peopling of vast territorial and maritime expanses across the North American Arctic required reliable forms of orientation and navigation to ensure the safety and wellbeing of travellers, hunters, and communities. Movement and travel between distant communities, moreover, was a central aspect of Inuit life, linking different communities across geographical regions from Alaska to Greenland. For this, celestial constellations, land formations, and oral traditions inscribed the regions with markers and narratives and enabled travellers to move with and through the Arctic (MacDonald, 1998; Aporta, 2009; Bravo 2019a). Eighteenth and nineteenth-century encounters among Inuit and Western travellers, moreover, resulted in cartographies that drew on Indigenous knowledge and information (Gapp, 2021). As co-travellers of expeditions and co-producers of geographical knowledge, Inuit were consequential actors in the making of European and American cartographies of the Arctic regions. This article provides a historical perspective on European and American nineteenth-century Arctic science and cartography. By way of a series of examples of scientific expeditions to the North Inuit perspectives on Canadian Arctic sovereignty and security
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American Arctic and the making of maps, it traces some of the theoretical and cartographical practices that helped establish specific ‘habits of seeing’ the Arctic. It illustrates how cartographies began to include scientific models of physical geography to make statements about the natural environment of the central Arctic Ocean, and how these re-cast the region as a space of opportunity. Specifically, this article examines the popular theory of an Open Polar Sea—a body of navigable, ice-free water purportedly endowed with riches of natural resources—as a cartographical re-envisioning of the Arctic. It shows how maps, in particular, acted as powerful instruments to advance the Open Polar Sea theory, and how they propelled scientific agendas of Arctic exploration across nineteenth-century networks in Europe and North America. Moreover, this article highlights the global connections of Arctic cartography and how historical actors moved across national boundaries to pursue commercial, political, and scientific agendas in the Arctic regions. Finally, this article draws attention to the enduring legacies of historical theories and their presentation in maps and how they continue to inform understandings and perceptions of the regions with important consequences for the Arctic and its inhabitants today.
Mapping the Open Polar Sea Efforts to expand the geographical knowledge of the Arctic regions have been conducted by numerous actors, institutions, and states throughout the circumpolar north for centuries. Long before the term ‘scientist’ became attached to voyagers traveling to the polar regions to measure and to observe during the early nineteenth century, different groups of European and American travellers collected data and objects throughout the Arctic. Commercial actors such as whalers frequently sailed to fishing grounds in high latitudes across the European and North American Arctic. On their journeys, they gathered data on the extent and the state of sea ice, for example, which, in turn, provided data and lend credence to polar exploration agendas. Likewise, missionaries of the Moravian Church acted as lay scientists as part of their activities at mission stations throughout Alaska, Labrador, and Greenland. Beyond evangelization and social uplift, these missionaries received specific instructions since the eighteenth century to conduct observations about the natural environment, climate, and flora and to collect natural specimen and ethnographic objects (Lüdecke, 2005; Wilhjelm, 2013; Nippa, 2003; Woitkowitz, 2019). Such field data, however, not only came to populate travel accounts, reports, and the storage facilities of early forms of natural history museums across Europe and North America. They also formed the evidentiary basis for the development of theoretical frameworks for the description of the physical geography of the Arctic regions during the nineteenth century. One such theory hypothesized the existence of an Open Polar Sea, a maritime body free of ice, readily navigable, and rich in Arctic fauna in the central Arctic Ocean. Debates over the existence of open water can be traced back to Greek philosophies, natural histories, and travel narratives on the polar regions, for example, by sixteenth-century Dutch explorer Willem Barents or nineteenth-century English whaler William Scoresby (Tammiksaar, Sukhova & Stone, 1999; Robinson, 2007; Craciun, 2010). During the nineteenth century, however, the theory took on a new sense of urgency as the Arctic regions moved increasingly into the focus of colonial and imperial ambition (David, 2000; Driver, 2001). Great power competition and expansionism made the search for passageways from the Atlantic to the Pacific world not only an objective of significant geopolitical concern. Travel and science in the Arctic, moreover, were curated as indicators of technological progress and of a purported nation’s quality of character (Berger, 1966; Grace, 2002; Robinson, 2006; Hill, 2008;
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Hulan, 2002). Nineteenth-century Arctic exploration acted as a badge of membership in the club of great powers. In this context, the promise of an Open Polar Sea appealed to commercial, naval, and political constituencies alike. Imperial fantasies of an Arctic Eldorado, however, were not limited to the centres of colonial powers in London, Washington, Paris or Copenhagen. Science in the Arctic and the nineteenthcentury economy of Arctic cartography was a fundamentally global and transnational phenomenon. If states such as the United States and Great Britain provided significant resources in the way of scientific infrastructure and naval capacity, travellers and scientists from various backgrounds participated in and initiated Arctic expeditions. As centres for imperial science, cities such as London presented geographers and mapmakers with what historians have come to describe as an ‘empire of opportunity’ (von Brescius, 2019; Kirchberger, 2014), that is the infrastructure and logistical capacities to apply their natural scientific expertise to the non-European world. Along with the regions of the global south, the circumpolar north was of interest to scientific actors across imperial boundaries. Distributional cartography and Petermann’s Open Polar Sea The German cartographer August Petermann was one such trans-imperial actor. Educated in the emerging scientific landscape of the 1830s in Berlin and Potsdam in Germany under Heinrich Berghaus and Alexander von Humboldt, Petermann became a leading mapmaker and a relentless advocate of the Open Polar Sea hypothesis during the second half of the century. Following an apprenticeship in Potsdam and a brief interlude in Edinburgh in Scotland, he moved to London at a time when Arctic travel had galvanized the public’s attention as a result of the missing expedition of John Franklin in the late 1840s (Felsch, 2010). In his maps, Petermann integrated travel narratives of past expeditions with recent innovations in the field of physical geography to recast contemporary understandings of the Arctic. Specifically, the presentation of scientific data in the spatial plane of maps opened up a new visual aesthetic and a new vocabulary to describe the physical geography of the Arctic regions. The power of cartography in the making of the European and American understandings of the Arctic world can be illustrated by a brief discussion of Petermann’s campaign for an Arctic expedition in search of an Open Polar Sea and the missing vessels of the Franklin expedition in the early 1850s. Travel to the Arctic regions for the purposes of exploration and science was dependent on the logistical, financial, and political support of patrons, scientific institutions, and the naval departments of national governments. In mid-nineteenth-century London, learned clubs and societies such as the Royal Geographical Society or the Athenaeum along with individual patrons such as Jane Franklin and the Admiralty of the British government were gatekeepers in the organization of expeditions. When Petermann launched his campaign, he activated a European network of supporters based at geographical societies, naval departments, and ministries, including the diplomatic envoy of Prussia to Britain to lobby public opinion in favour of his scheme. Most importantly, however, Petermann produced a small polar projection map of the Arctic to demonstrate the scientific basis for his plan and to train his audience’s eyes on the central Arctic
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Figure 1. August Petermann, “Polar Chart,” London, 1852, Sammlung Perthes, Gotha.
regions as valuable and accessible. An exceptional example of nineteenth-century science communication, “Polar Chart” (Figure 1) integrated data on the distribution of temperatures, ocean currents, sea ice, flora and river systems to make evident the existence of ice-free waters on the Asian and North American side of the Arctic. The power of the warm Gulf Stream pushing up far along the Eurasian side in combination with the freezing of the Siberian River systems during winter, so the German cartographer suggested, prevented the formation of sea ice in the East Siberian Sea and its movement westwards. Isothermal lines, shaded areas, and swarms of arrows represented the interplay of otherwise isolated natural phenomena. This distributional cartography, describing the Arctic as a system of interrelated forces, lend the German mapmaker the scientific language to suggest that open water existed and maritime navigation, including access to yet untraveled areas and potentially unexploited maritime riches, was possible.
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Petermann’s “Polar Chart” was a visual sensation and an important moment in the re-ordering of European and American ‘habits of seeing’ the Arctic regions. Physical geography and its cartographic representation in the form of distributional mapping helped recast the circumpolar world in the natural scientific categories of emerging scientific disciplines in the nineteenth century. The visual description of the Arctic, for example, in the language of isometrics and oceanography was consequential for seeing the Arctic as regions of nature and of commercial and geopolitical opportunity. Albeit ultimately unsuccessful in his campaign in London, Petermann’s map was instrumental in raising attention to his expedition plan with the British Admiralty, the learned circles of the Royal Geographical Society, and the patrons of polar exploration across Europe and the United States. As U.S. interest in expansion throughout the American hemisphere took on the form of expeditions to the Arctic, “Polar Chart” received a much warmer welcome in the learned halls of New York, Philadelphia, and Washington D.C., helping to lay the foundation for another two decades of American Arctic exploration (Robinson, 2006; Felsch, 2010; Kaalund & Woitkowitz, 2021).
Knowledge and networks in a global Arctic The Arctic was embedded in the global networks of exchange and transfer of the nineteenth century. As state and non-state actors travelled across the North Atlantic, they exchanged data and theories, news and gossip, and scientific objects among sites of collecting and knowledge-making in the Arctic and in the Euro-American world. In this context, cartographies acted as potent vehicles for the transfer of theories and knowledge about the most recent innovations and travels in the regions, further instigating the development of exploration agendas. Transatlantic networks and American exploration The theory of an Open Polar Sea was a catalyst in the emergence of American Arctic exploration in the 1850s. Early oceanographers and advocates of expansionism such as Matthew Fontaine Maury at the U.S. Navy Depot of Charts and Instruments and the U.S. Naval Observatory advanced the notion of open water, lending scientific credence to the theory with his charts of deep-sea soundings, winds, and currents (Rozwadowski, 2018; Hardy & Rozwadowski, 2020). Yet much like the close relations of German and British scientific networks of Arctic exploration, American travellers and institutions were not isolated from their European counterparts. The Euro-American republic of letters sustained a vibrant exchange among learned societies and scientific networks long before the installation of the transatlantic telegraph in the 1860s. Scientific theories and objects circulated among institutions such as the American Philosophical Society in Philadelphia, the American Geographical and Statistical Society in New York, and the Smithsonian Institution in Washington D.C. and their European counterparts in London, Paris, and Berlin. Maps were powerful instruments in the campaigns by American explorers to secure the support of learned societies, patrons of exploration, and governmental agencies. In an effort to lobby Congress and the U.S. Navy to provide financial and logistical support for an expedition to the Smith Sound region along the north-western coast of Greenland, the newspaper owner and patron of Arctic exploration Henry Grinnell and the naval surgeon Elisha Kent Kane grounded their campaign in the theory of an Open Polar Sea. If European travellers sought to locate an entrance to this mythical body of water along the north-eastern passage ways and the East Greenlandic Sea, the route through Smith Sound, they argued, was the surest way to enter the fabled basin in the central Arctic Ocean. Yet for all the novelty and distinction Grinnell and Kane claimed for their project, they Inuit perspectives on Canadian Arctic sovereignty and security
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enlisted the work and the charts of the British naval services and, most importantly, those of the German cartographer August Petermann in their campaign. Petermann’s writings and his Polar Chart had been despatched to New York by various channels, including Jane Franklin’s office. His map was frequently used at scientific meetings and public events to underwrite the scientific basis for the existence of an Open Polar Sea. Claims to exceptionalism and nationalism notwithstanding, from its earliest forms American Arctic exploration was embedded in transatlantic networks of science with European cartographies of the region playing a key role as instruments of knowledge and persuasion (Kaalund & Woitkowitz, 2021). Missionary cartography, Inuit, and German Arctic exploration European cartographies of the Arctic, however, not only circulated among European and American metropoles. Sites in the Arctic, likewise, played an important role in the making of geographical knowledge throughout the nineteenth century. Critical analyses of travel narratives frequently reveal the indispensable role of Inuit co-travellers across the North American Arctic in navigating the Northern and Arctic terrain, identifying geographical formations, and ensuring the survival and safe return of expeditions (Bravo, 2019b). While cartographies of such journeys readily record the ‘discoveries’ and ‘acts of occupations’ by non-Arctic voyagers, the presence of Inuit communities and their roles in the collection of such information often remain unacknowledged, erasing Indigenous agency and knowledge from the cartographic record and further solidifying colonial notions of a terra nullius. The critical role of Inuit knowledge and intermediaries in the making of cartographies of the Arctic is evident in the first German scientific expeditions to East Greenland in the 1860s and 1870s. Interest in the polar regions as an object of scientific inquiry and a commercial and geopolitical region of concern was low at mid-century throughout the German states (Krause, 1992; Krause, 2010). Those Germans traveling to the Arctic regions such as whalers aboard Dutch fishing fleets, missionaries in collaboration with the Danish colonial authorities, or scientists as part of British naval expeditions took advantage of the global infrastructures of European empires in the Arctic. When preparations for the organization of a German voyage to the Arctic began in the early 1860s, historical and contemporary cartographies of Greenland were important instruments for advocates of an expedition around August Petermann and the Justus Perthes Geographical Establishment in Gotha in Germany. As part of the preparations, the charts and reports of Danish explorers and the Danish Navy along with English records were consulted. Yet Petermann’s colleagues deemed as more accurate and reliable those maps that had been produced in Greenland itself, specifically the missionary cartography of the Moravian Church in Noorliit (Neu-Herrnhut) just south of Nuuk. If missionaries acted as lay scientists in the field to collect natural specimen and ethnographic objects as late as the eighteenth century, they also joined the field of lay natural history and cartography in the nineteenth century. When the Danish colonial administration and the mission acquired printing presses at mid-century, missionaries soon began to write natural histories and geographies of Greenland. They also compiled linguistic works, prayer books, and music sheets as part of their missionary activities (Wilhjelm, 2013). Specifically the missionary Samuel Kleinschmidt emerged as a consequential figure in the collecting of data and the production of maps on the geography of Greenland. His map of Greenland, in fact, not only informed the preparations of the
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Figure 2. Adolf Stieler, “Polar Map containing the Countries and Seas surrounding the North Pole,” Gotha, 1874, Sammlung Perthes.
first German Arctic expeditions. It also appeared—without attribution—in one of the leading geographical publications in nineteenth-century Germany, the Stieler Hand-Atlas—rivalled only by Berghaus’s Physical Atlas which was based on Humboldt’s travels. Kleinschmidt, thereafter, prepared corrections and addendums to provide local spellings of toponyms and to specify the location of geographical features such as settlements, mountain ranges or coastal formations. In his writings, he emphatically stressed the importance of geographical information about regions untraveled by Europeans and Americans that he compiled on the basis of extensive reports and observations by Kalaallit as well as maps drawn by Aron and Abraham, two Kalaallit members of the Moravian mission. Indeed, missionaries and Inuit at mission stations of the Moravian Church were important nodes in the global web of meteorological measurements during the first International Polar Year in 1882 and 1883 (Lüdecke, 2005). As a result, European cartographies of the Arctic regions were not the products of seemingly disentangled centres of technology and science in the European or American metropole. Geographical knowledge of the Arctic was coproduced in a multilayered process of colonial governance, imperial science, and Indigenous knowledge. Acknowledgment of this co-productive aspect remained unusual and the encounters, some exploitative and violent, produced lasting consequences for Inuit across the circumpolar world (Bravo, 2019b; Cameron, 2016; LeMoine, Kaplan & Darwent, 2016).
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If missionary cartography and Inuit knowledge of Greenland contributed to expanding and specifying understandings of the geography of mountain ranges and coastlines, they did little to disabuse cartographers of the speculative aspects in their work. The Open Polar Sea remained a popular theory in the advocacy and campaigns for Arctic travel throughout the second half of the nineteenth century. It was not until the 1893-96 Fram expedition under the Norwegian explorer Fridtjof Nansen that Petermann’s hypothesis received a fatal blow. Nansen’s ship drifted across the Laptev and East Greenlandic seas, proving the frozen state of the ocean and revealing a different phenomenon governing Arctic geography: the transpolar drift. Not unlike the Open Polar Sea, sixteenth-century theories of hyperborea, a mythical land and people around the North Pole, also remained potent myths among European cartographers as shown in a map published in Stieler Hand-Atlas of 1874 (Figure 2). These theories were grounded in alleged reports of Inuit migration in and out of mission stations in southwestern Greenland. Such ideas retained valuable appeal for political, commercial, and scientific funders of Arctic exploration far into the early twentieth century as the material of the Canadian Arctic Expedition (1913-1918) led by Vilhjalmur Stefansson document (Figure 3).
Figure 3. Vilhjalmur Stefansson, “The Canadian Arctic Expedition,” Gotha, 1913, Sammlung Perthes.
Legacies of nineteenth-century Arctic cartography Histories of science and cartographies of the Arctic endure in the mental maps and the wider perceptions of today. At the same time, such histories rarely present the easy narratives and pure heroes often enlisted in the circumpolar geopolitics of the twenty-first century (Powell & Dodds, 2014; Steinberg, Tasch & Gerhardt, 2015). Nineteenth-century activities to measure and map the Arctic importantly shaped those ‘habits of seeing’ that laid the foundation for present-day understandings, analytical categories, and wider public perceptions of the Arctic (Woitkowitz,
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2021). As part of this process, European and American scientific activities in the Arctic regions have left complex and lasting legacies that place the present-day Arctic within the wider histories of colonial and imperial science in the non-European world of the nineteenth century. The field of science and the economy of mapmaking, as a result, have been entangled with the commercial, religious, and geopolitical interests of European and American governments, trading companies, missionary societies, and Inuit communities across the Arctic. Science and mapmaking have always existed alongside geopolitics, commerce, and Indigenous knowledge. The emergence of scientific categories to describe the physical geography of the Arctic over the course of the nineteenth century has importantly shaped cartographical portrayals of the region. The presentation of measurements and observations not as isolated data but as interrelated phenomena produced a new visual and analytical vocabulary. The scientific debates over the existence of an Open Polar Sea are a powerful example that demonstrates the practice of relating early fields such as meteorology, oceanography, and marine biology to each other to make projections of the geographical nature of the Arctic Ocean. In cartographies such as Petermann’s “Polar Chart,” these arguments became translated into the visual language of physical geography and proved influential as effective forms of early science communication, securing logistical and financial support from patrons and governments. Echoes of the Arctic as a system of natural phenomena as a predominant lens to understand the regions remain potent in present-day images where the aesthetics of vast wastelands, melting glaciers, and vanishing sea ice retain a significant appeal among non-Arctic audiences. These complex histories also highlight a little understood but fundamental quality of nineteenthcentury Arctic science and cartography: for all the exceptionalist and nationalist rhetoric of expeditions to the circumpolar North, the collection of data and the production of maps about the Arctic regions was a global operation. Cartographers trained in Germany solicited logistical and financial support across Europe and the United States for field science in the central Arctic Ocean. Geographical information publicized in maps and atlases, moreover, were corrected and updated based on knowledge by Inuit and intermediaries. European and American cartographies of the Arctic often silenced such voices and left unacknowledged the role of Indigenous co-travellers and co-producers in the maps and atlases they sold, for example, in London, New York or Berlin. Perspectives that investigate such global flows of knowledge under conditions of unequal power, therefore, are imperative to fully understand the diversity of actors and institutions—state and nonstate, Arctic and non-Arctic—involved in the long history of Arctic science and cartography. The MOSAiC expedition of 2019/2020 enlisted the history of nineteenth-century expeditionary science in the Arctic as a touchstone in the design and communication of its scientific program. The MOSAiC’s Scientific Plan and expedition publications by Markus Rex, the expedition leader, identified the polar drift of Nansen’s Fram expedition as the central reference point for the yearlong journey across the central Arctic Ocean (MOSAiC, 2016; Rex, 2020). The web-based tracker of MOSAiC, for example, juxtaposed diary entries and daily locations of Nansen’s journey with Polarstern’s progress and features of its scientific activities as part of the expedition’s public outreach activities (Figure 4). Indeed, when placed within the context of nineteenth-century Arctic science, however, MOSAiC emerges as a distant cousin of the debates and controversies over the existence of an Open Polar Sea. When preparing for the 1879-81 Jeannette expedition to the Bering Sea, the American publisher James Gordon Bennett consulted with Petermann and his map collection in
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Figure 4. Web-based tracker of MOSAiC showing Fridtjof Nansen's 1893-96 polar drift with daily historical excerpts, MOSAiC Expedition, http://www.follow.mosaic-expedition.org, last accessed October 5, 2021.
Germany to return to the United States convinced of the existence of open water and its accessibility via the Bering Strait. It was debris and personal items of Bennett’s abortive expedition that were found along Greenlandic shores years later that fuelled Nansen’s theory of a transpolar drift and his plans for MOSAiC’s historical precursor, the Fram expedition. The search for an Open Polar Sea and Petermann’s maps, as a result, helped generate a new hypothesis of the physical geography of the Arctic Ocean that would ultimately inform the design of the MOSAiC expedition a century and a half later. On its course to record 90°N latitude in August 2020, Polarstern indeed encountered large sections of open water, free of ice and easily navigable. For the researchers aboard the icebreaker, it constituted one more alarming indication of the accelerated transformations taking place in the Arctic as a consequence of a changing climate. As present-day science seeks to understand the processes and dynamics of these transformations, it is important to recognize knowledges and scientific categories not as self-evident but as products of a certain point in time. Cartography and science in the nineteenth-century generated new forms of describing the central Arctic region in the language of natural science. Understanding this historical dimension not only means acknowledging these forms as consequential in the ways they structure ways of knowing. It also means recognizing such knowledges and categories as transient and therefore amenable to building a more inclusive and equitable future for science and knowledge-making in the circumpolar world.
Acknowledgements I would like to acknowledge the thoughtful comments and suggestions by two anonymous reviewers in preparation of this article. This project has received funding from the European Research Council (ERC) under the European Union’s Horizon 2020 research and innovation programme (Grant Agreement number: 724317 — ARCTIC CULT — ERC-2016-COG). Cartography and the Legacies of Nineteenth-Century Arctic Science
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Research funding was further provided through a Herzog Ernst Fellowship by the Gotha Research Centre, University of Erfurt.
References Aporta, C. (2009). The Trail as Home: Inuit and their Pan-Arctic Network of Routes. Human Ecology, 37 (1), 131-46. Berger, C. (1966). The True North Strong and Free. In P. H. Russell (Ed.), Nationalism in Canada (pp. 83-102). McGraw-Hill. Bravo, M. (2019a). North Pole: Nature and Culture. Reaktion Books. Bravo, M. (2019b). Indigenous Voyaging, Authorship, and Discovery. In A. Craciun & M. Terrall (Eds.), Curious Encounters: Voyaging, Collecting, and Making Knowledge in the Long Eighteenth Century (pp. 71-112). University of Toronto Press. Cameron, E. (2016). Far Off Metal River. Inuit Lands, Settler Stories, and the Making of the Contemporary Arctic. University of British Columbia Press. Cosgrove, D. (2001). Apollo’s Eye: A Cartographic Genealogy of the Earth in the Western Imagination. Johns Hopkins University Press. Craciun, A. (2010). The Frozen Ocean. PMLA, 125 (3), 693-702. David, R. (2000). The Arctic in the British Imagination, 1818-1914. Manchester University Press. Driver, F. (2000). Geography Militant: Cultures of Exploration and Empire. Blackwell Publishers. Felsch, P. (2010). Wie August Petermann den Nordpol erfand. Luchterhand Literaturverlag. Gapp, I. (2021, March 19). Mapping and Materiality: Inuit Cartography in Greenland [Conference presentation]. Arctic Science Summit Week (ASSW). Online, Portugal. Grace, S. (2002). Canada and the Idea of North. McGill-Queen’s University Press. Habermas, R. & Przyrembel, A. Eds. (2013). Von Kädern, Märkten und Menschen: Kolonialismus und Wissen in der Moderne. Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Hardy, P. & Rozwadowski, H. (2020). Maury for Modern Times: Navigating a Racist Legacy in Ocean Science, Oceanography 33 (3), 10-15. Hill, J. (2008). White Horizon. The Arctic in the Nineteenth-Century British Imagination. State University of New York Press. Hulan, R. (2002). Northern Experience and the Myths of Canadian Culture. McGill-Queen’s University Press. Kaalund, N. & Woitkowitz, J. (2021). ‘Ancient Lore with Modern Appliances’: Networks, Expertise, and the Making of the Open Polar Sea, 1851-1853. British Journal for the History of Science 54 (3), 277-299.
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Kirchberger, U. (2014). Zur Bedeutung des Großbritannienaufenthalts deutscher Wissenschaftler im 19. Jahrhundert. In F.-L. Kroll & M. Munke (Eds.), Deutsche Englandreisen (pp. 119-134). Duncker & Humblot. Krause, R. (1992). Die Gründungsphase deutscher Polarforschung, 1865-1875. Kamloth. Krause, R. (2010). Daten statt Sensationen: Der Weg zur internationalen Polarforschung aus einer deutschen Perspektive. Alfred-Wegener Institut für Polarforschung. LeMoine, G.M., Kaplan, S.A. & Darwent, C.M. (2016). Living on the Edge: Inughuit Women and Geography of Contact. Arctic 69 (1), 1-12. Lüdecke, C. (2005). East Meets West: Meteorological observations of the Moravians in Greenland and Labrador since the 18th century. History of Meteorology, 2, 123-32. MacDonald, J. (1998). The Arctic Sky: Inuit Astronomy, Star Lore, and Legend. Royal Ontario Museum. MOSAiC. (2016). Multidisciplinary Drifting Observatory for the Study of Arctic Climate. Science Plan. International Arctic Science Committee. Nippa, A. (2003). Ethnographie und Herrnhuter Mission. Völkerkundemuseum Herrnhut. Powell, R.C. & Dodds, K. (2014). Polar Geopolitics? Knowledges, Resources, and Legal Regimes. Edward Elgar Publishing. Powell, R.C., (2015). The study of geography? Franz Boas and his canonical returns. Journal of Historical Geography, 49, 21-30. Rex, M. (2020). Eingefroren am Nordpol: Das Logbuch von der ‘Polarstern’. C. Bertelsmann. Robinson, M. (2006). The Coldest Crucible: Arctic Exploration and American Culture. University of Chicago Press. Robinson, M. (2007). Reconsidering the Theory of the Open Polar Sea. In K. R. Benson & H. Rozwadowski (Eds.), Extremes: Oceanography’s Adventures (pp. 15-29). Watson Publishing. Rozwadowski, H. (2018). Vast Expanses: A History of the Oceans. Reaktion Books. Steinberg, P., Tasch, J. & Gerhardt, H. (2015). Contesting the Arctic. Politics and Imaginaries in the Circumpolar North. I.B. Tauris. Tammiksaar, E., Sukhova, N. G. & Stone, I. R. (1999). Hypothesis versus Fact: August Petermann and Polar Research. Arctic, 52 (3), 237-243. von Brescius, M. (2019). German Science in the Age of Empire: Enterprise, Opportunity, and the Schlagintweit Brothers. Cambridge University Press. Wilhjelm, H. (2013). Grönländer aus Leidenschaft: Das Leben und Werk von Samuel Kleinschmidt. Erlanger Verlag für Mission und Ökumene. Weber, M. (1919). Wissenschaft als Beruf. In M. Weber., Geistige Arbeit als Beruf. Vorträge vor dem Freistudentischen Bund. Erster Vortrag. Duncker & Humblot. Woitkowitz, J. (2017). The Northern Education of Lester B. Pearson. Zeitschrift für KanadaStudien, 37 (1), 77-98.
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Woitkowitz, J. (2019, December 5). From Herrnhut to the Arctic, and Back Again! Arctic Cultures Project Blog, https://www.arcticcultures.org/2019/12/05/from-herrnhut-to-the-arcticand-back-again/ Woitkowitz, J. (2021, February 11). Adrift in Ice and Time. Arctic Cultures Project Blog, https://www.arcticcultures.org/2021/02/11/adrift-in-ice-and-time/
Inuit perspectives on Canadian Arctic sovereignty and security
The Faroese Sub-State Unit’s Response to Arctic Political Development
Hallbera West
The Arctic is undergoing a process of political region building, including an institutional development of the Arctic Council. Also, the region is attracting attention from a multitude of actors and institutions, including the world’s superpowers. A country facing implications related to this development is the Faroe Islands. The increasing attention towards the Faroe Islands is familiar considering previous Cold War experiences. However, the de-facto autonomy and internal institutional development within the Faroese sub-state unit means that the situation today is different. Thus, Arctic development calls for political attention. This article focuses on the opportunities for the Faroe Islands not only as a sub-state unit but also as a micro sized political unit to conduct foreign policy activity related to Arctic development and to what extent the political system in fact is responding and addressing the development. The expectation is that considering the increase in the salience of Arctic related issues the Faroese political system to a higher degree prioritizes Arctic related issues compared to a decade ago. The article shows that despite formal limitations there still is room for foreign policy manoeuvres and despite limited capacity the political system still has prioritised to develop relevant competences to facilitate foreign policy related activity. The investigation shows that today the political system to a higher extent responds to Arctic development, especially on the governmental level, but also to some extent on the parliamentary level and even on the political party level.
Introduction For some time now the Arctic has been undergoing a process of political region building. This is for instance seen in the increasing institutionalization of the Arctic Council as well as the increasing interest for Arctic Council activity from a multitude of actors and institutions. Also, the world’s superpowers to a high degree prioritize attendance at political council meetings (Exner-Pirot, 2012; Olsen & Shadian, 2016). In addition, recent events show an increasing focus on security and military issues in the Arctic, though not within the Arctic Council.1 A country facing implications due to this development is the North Atlantic sub-state unit of the Faroe Islands.2
Hallbera West is an Assistant Professor at the University of the Faroe Islands.
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The Faroe Islands is in a key position related to new sea routes in the Arctic region3, and has experienced changes like increased activity at sea, which has been followed by challenges in the field of civil security (Jákupsstovu & Berg, 2012; Bailes & Jákupsstovu, 2013). Also, the so-called Taksøe-Jensen (2016) report about Danish foreign policy and security signalled a changed international reality by stating the North Atlantic and Arctic region as one of the main three strategic pillars for the Danish state. For the Faroe Islands, recent events with attention from the world’s superpowers related to trade and export, technology infrastructure as well as the ongoing case about establishing an air surveillance radar seems like a Deja-vu situation considering the resemblance to the cold war situation. This time, however, the Faroe Islands finds itself in a totally different situation considering the de-facto very high degree of autonomy and a completely different state when it comes to institutional development. Still, at the same time, the Faroe Islands is a very small actor in the world of international politics. The increased Arctic related international activity calls for political attention if the islands want some control of the implications for the Faroese sub-state unit, and this article focuses on if and how the Faroe Islands has been responding to these changes and increase in Arctic related international activity. Related to these changes and challenges, this article focuses on the external as well as internal dimension of the Faroe Islands’ sub-state unit. For the external dimension, the article focuses on the options for the Faroe Islands as a sub-state unit to conduct foreign policy and engage in Arctic related international activity. For the internal dimension, the article focuses on institutional conditions in terms of administrative capacity and “know how” required for the conduction of this type of activity. Thereafter, the article investigates to what extent and how the political system has and is responding to this development seen over a 10-year time-period. The expectation is that the Faroe Islands as not only a sub-state unit, but also a very small political unit measured in population size is challenged when it comes to the conduction of foreign policy related activity in general. Also, we know from previous investigations that political parties have not always agreed on the importance of the conduction of an independent Faroese foreign policy (Ólavsdóttir, Justinussen & Jákupsstovu, 2011). In addition, we know that the Faroese administrative traditions are still young (West, 2020), which questions the administrative capacity, and we also know that the salience of foreign policy issues typically are lower compared to other more distributional policy issues (Raunio, 2014), which to an ever-higher degree can be expected to apply for a sub-state unit. Nevertheless, the expectation is that the focus on Arctic related issues within the political system has increased as well as expanded across the different parts of the political system. This article first explores the role of sub-state units in the international system, and then considers the issue of administrative capacity and typical challenges relevant for micro size systems like the Faroese political system. Thereafter, the article presents the research design followed by the investigation of the Arctic focus in Faroese foreign policy, distinguishing between the governmental, parliamentary, and party level. The results show a clear Arctic focus at the governmental level, which was also to be expected, but also some Arctic focus in the foreign affairs committee on the parliamentary level and even on the political party level.
The Faroese sub-state unit and the external dimension In classical international politics and foreign policy there is not much focus on non-sovereign countries, and in the international system, states still are the actor unit par excellence. Nevertheless, West
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today, there is an increasing tendency for regional governments or sub-state units becoming actors on the international stage (Criekemans, 2020). There are the cases of sub-state units striving for independence to gain state sovereignty. Adler-Nissen and Gad (2014) refer to sovereignty games in the international system. Still, sub-state units do also conduct foreign policy activity based on their own distinct foreign policy agenda separate from their “mother” state, but not directly linked to an aim of becoming a sovereign state. In other words, regional governments promote and pursue their own distinct agenda in the international system. Some scholars refer to this type of activity as paradiplomacy (Ackrén, 2014; Wolff, 2007). Ackrén (2014) identifies three layers in paradiplomacy. The first layer is economic related issues, like attracting foreign investments and target markets for export. The second layer is international policy collaboration related to education, culture etc. The third layer relates to international activity that express a distinct identity separate from the central state, like separate representation in international organizations. Regardless, paradiplomacy is still activity that typically falls in a legal and constitutional grey zone (Ackrén, 2014: 45). Also, existing states and their governments view this type of activity with some suspicion, since it potentially undermines their sovereignty and undermines the pursuit of the broader state interest (Wolff, 2007). Related to this, in an Arctic Council context, there is the example of conflicts and resistance about efforts to compensate for the one formal Danish “seat” by bringing more “chairs” to the table (Jacobsen, 2019). The Faroe Islands is a sub-state unit with a high degree of autonomy (Adler-Nissen, 2014: 58; Aldrich and Connell, 1998: 46). Today, the Home Rule authorities handle most jurisdictions (West, 2020) and the autonomy on the internal dimension is extensive. Still, there are limitations, especially on the external dimension. Foreign-, security- and defence policy are for instance defined as Danish responsibility areas.4 Nevertheless, the ‘Foreign Policy Authority Act’ from 2005 still states how and when the Faroe Islands can act and conduct foreign policy related activity. The Faroese government can negotiate and enter international agreements related to Home Rule jurisdictions (§ 1), hire own foreign representatives, though formally linked to Danish foreign representations (§3), and obtain associated membership in international organizations (§ 4). In other words, there is ample room for activity within the previous mentioned first and second layer of paradiplomcy, while activity within the third layer is more constrained. Empirically, there are multiple examples of Faroese foreign policy activivty. There are examples of trade agreements and international fishery negotiations/agreements (NEAFC, NAFO and NASCO). There are also several examples of distinct memberships like in NAMMCO and in the tax related BEPS (within OECD) in their own name, in the Nordic Council as an autonomous area, associate membership in FAO, IMO, UNESCO, and from May 26, 2021, in WHO as well. Related to the EU, by necessity, the Faroe Islands (not EU member) conducts its own negotiations when dealing with the EU, since Denmark as a member cannot sit at both sides of the table. In addition to trade, the collaboration with the EU also includes policy collaboration since the Faroe Islands is a partner in the EU Horizon research framework.5 On the parliamentary level, the Faroe Islands participates in the Nordic Council, and in the West Nordic Council (WNC) as one of three member countries (together with Greenland and Iceland). It is, however, important to stress that Faroese international activity also took place before the 2005 framework, and that this formalization has been heavily disputed because of the constraints that the framework also implies. Bertelsen & Justinussen (2020) nevertheless stress the positive aspects of this formalization since foreign policy now to a higher degree figures as a policy area in Faroese politics (2020: 42). Cartography and the Legacies of Nineteenth-Century Arctic Science
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In other words, on the one hand there are many examples of Faroese distinct international activity, but on the other side the Faroe Islands still face a rather complex institutional reality. Ólavsdóttir, Justinussen & Jákupsstovu (2011) state that the task for the Faroe Islands is to find their place in the hierarchy and to figure out what the manoeuvring room is. Nevertheless, the Faroe Islands has been through all of the successive steps for subnational jurisdictions’ paradiplomacy according to Prinsen (2020). Also, the annual report from the Danish High Commissioner for the Faroe Islands states that the Faroese government today to a high extent are involved in Danish Realm international cases of special importance for the Faroe Islands (2021: 15). In other words, today the Faroe Islands has substantially more experience in the conduction of foreign policy compared to the Cold War situation.
Internal conditions and administrative capacity This section will address some within case institutional conditions of relevance for facilitation of foreign policy activity. Related to this, the section addresses typical challenges for micro sized political units. The Faroe Islands has a rather complete political institutional infrastructure consisting of a parliamentary system and government institutions, which previously have been treated (Sølvará, 2001; West, 2018). The administrative system and capacity, however, has received limited attention. The Faroese political unit is an example of a very small size,6 which means that one can expect that the system capacity to facilitate foreign policy related activity is limited. This section will, however, focus on the relative institutional capacity and development of relevant “know how” for the conduction of foreign policy in the Faroese case. For a sub-state unit, it seems plausible to assume that the higher degree of autonomy, the higher demands the administrative system faces related to being able to handle policy portfolio issues, including securing legislation and regulation. Institutional and administrative capacity is required to meet these demands. For the Faroese case, the very high degree of internal autonomy requires administrative capacity, but there might still be differences across policy areas to consider. Thus, the small size of the system necessitates a prioritization in the organization of public functions. Still, at the same time a complete abandonment of core functions is not an option, at least not for a state (Sarapuu & Randma-Liiv, 2020). Research shows that country/state size is a factor that shapes a national bureaucracy and affects performance and effectiveness. Negative factors for small units are lacking economies of scale and informal coordination mechanisms that are under-specialized and under-professionalized (Jugl, 2019: 119).7 Nevertheless, Corbett, Veenendaal and Connell (2021) refer to natural levels of informal coordination as a positive asset. On a somewhat different note, Baldacchino (2000) and Hovgaard & Bogadóttir (2020) state challenges like administrative capacity on the one side but at the same time point to innovative industry approaches that make actors in small units capable of developing successful strategies and becoming over achievers. Baldacchino (2000: 68) also questions the lacking economies of scales assumption by stating that a substantial part of the highest per capita income populations are micro-states. Prinsen (2020: 370) stresses that peoples in small subnational jurisdictions typically are more prosperous than small sovereign states. For the Faroe Islands figures show large increases and high levelsof per capita income. Regardless of economic performance and how to explain this, the small size of public organizations still limits the division of labour and specializations. Research states that this pushes towards multifunctionalism and tendencies for multi-functional ministries and that small administrations tend to West
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rely more on flexible, informal structures and communication, often characterized by the lack of machinery for formal coordination (Sarapuu & Randma-Liiv, 2020). Nevertheless, the Faroe Islands in the late 1990s implemented a multiple portfolio and individual minister responsibility system and have gradually strengthened the principles of sector specialization. The numbers of governmental departments vary, though typically ranges between 7 and 9 (West, 2020). The development of the Faroese administrative system shows a continuous effort to develop formal institutional procedures, to strenghten organizational performance, but also formal coordination (Interview 1). In other words, the Faroese case questions the assumption about the qualities of informal coordination in smaller administrative settings. Small units face the same technical complexities as larger countries and therefore face similar challenges of balancing specialization and the need of formal coordination. Still, the degree of specialization remains a constant challenge to be handled. According to the most recent Government report (2014), the total number of staff in the central administration is 146,8 where around 70% is academic staff (primarily economists, political scientists, and legally trained). The staff is allocated to different ministry departments. Compared to other Nordic countries, the Faroese central administration has by far the lowest number of staff in relation to number of ministers (Government report, 2014: 61). Yet there still is a substantial output to consider. For the 2013-2019 time-period, the annual average number of new legal rules was 173, and 84% was produced by the Faroese political system (West, 2020). According to the Head of Government’s department for legal control, the system has developed strategies to cope with the challenges of being a very small system facing the same legislative demands as much larger systems (Interview 2). The department has developed a substantial number of procedural guidelines and procedures to support the legal drafting process and produces annual review reports. Foreign affairs capacity and focus on Arctic issues The foreign affairs service was established in 1998 and the first foreign affairs representations abroad were established in Copenhagen (1993) and then Brussels (1998) (Jákupsstovu & Justinussen, 2021). From previous research (a survey), we, however, know that the political parties have not always agreed on the importance of a distinct Faroese foreign policy. The result showed that politicians from parties aiming for sovereignty to a higher degree were in favour of a distinct Faroese foreign policy compared to politicians from parties in favour of unaltered dependency to Denmark: 54.5 % compared to 21.4 % (Ólavsdóttir, Justinussen & Jákupsstovu, 2011: 114). The past decade, the life of the Faroese foreign affairs administration has been rather tumultuous (West, 2020). The short lived CEH 2008 coalition established the first independent foreign affairs ministry department, which was maintained by the 2008-2011 (ABCII) coalition. After this, the status as section was restored, while the affiliation since then has shifted several times, from being part of the Prime Minister department (2011-2015 coalition), to the Department for Trade (20152019 coalition) to the present affiliation to the Department for Culture and Education (2019coalition). Strangely enough the larger coalition parties for the two latest coalition periods have left the foreign policy portfolio to the small coalition parties, to the Progress Party in the 2015-2019 coalition and to the Centre Party in the present 2019- coalition. This indicates that foreign policy is not as high on coalition party’s portfolio priority lists as we know from other countries or that small parties want to be “paid” for securing the final seats for the majority coalition government.
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For the facilitation of activity, the number of staff in the foreign affairs service is important to consider. Compared to the total number of academic staff in the central administration there is a relatively high priority of this policy area. A staff overview shows that this administrative section consists of eleven academic positions and one coordinator. In addition, there are seven foreign representations (Copenhagen, Brussel, London, Reykjavík, Moscow, Beijing and Tel Aviv) that consist of seven academic staff from the foreign service and seven secretaries (typically 1 + 1 for each representative unit).9 For the question about foreign affairs institutional capacity, it is also worth considering the parliamentary level since the governing rule (Legal act no. 103 from 1994: § 54) states that government must consult the foreign affairs committee (seven MPs in committee) before taking decisions of foreign affairs importance. Thus, government must make sure that they have a mandate from parliament. The mandate system is, however, not followed by formal guidelines and examples are of discussions and partisan rivalry. Still, for trade agreements, fishery negotiations, and questions about membership in international associations a treatment practice has been developed.10 Still, government has the initiative, but one might still assume that government anticipates what issues the committee wants to be consulted on. Also, the committee (majority) has an alternative committee question/consultation option to use by its own initiative and hereby has a clear agenda setting instrument. The administrative resource on the parliamentary level is, however, low. A calculated value based on the total number of staff in relation to the number of MPs (33) leaves the value of 0.3. In comparison to the Icelandic parliament the value is 1.7 and for the Danish parliament 2.2. Still, most of the administrative resources in the Faroese case are, however, used to support committee activity (West, 2018: 92-93). In addition to institutional and administrative capacity, the question about policy issues or salience is expected to influence the degree of focus on foreign policy, including Arctic related issues. In general, foreign policy issues rank lower, since people are interested in issues that are close to them (Manza & Cook, 2002: 640-641). Supporting this, Aldrich et al. (2006) make references to low awareness on international issues according to Gallup’s “most important problem” measure. A typical expectation is that parliaments to a higher degree delegate foreign policy issue to government to deal with. Still, the degree of delegated discretion varies in relation to different types of foreign policy, being higher for security and military policy than for foreign economic policy. Thus, a typical expectation is that MPs favour policy issues that have internal distributional implications. Still, the increasing interdependencies between countries and states means that global and regional questions are becoming more salient and also have distributional implications (Raunio, 2014). Considering the development in the Arctic, the salience of Arctic regional related issues has and is increasing. In addition, as previously mentioned, the Faroe Islands is facing implications due to this development. Therefore, the expectation is that the Faroese political system to a higher degree today compared to earlier prioritizes to use the developed foreign policy capacity to focus on Arctic related issues in their foreign policyrelated activity.
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Research design The investigation is conducted as a study of the single Faroese political unit. Still, the case study design has spatial as well as temporal variation (Gerring, 2004). The investigation focuses on different within-units of the political system: the governmental, parliamentary, and party level; and the investigation focuses on changes over time. The main time-period in focus is the past 10-year period, which has consisted of different government coalitions with different unionist- and independence-oriented parties. The governmental level is the most likely setting for a focus on foreign policy, including a focus on Arctic related issues. The expectation for the parliamentary setting is more limited, but the investigation especially focuses on the foreign affairs committee where some Arctic related foreign policy activity is expected. The third level is the party level and the existence of Arctic references in election programs. Election programs relate to a party’s vote seeking activity par excellence and considering the typical low salience of foreign policy this is the least likely setting for political Arctic references. The data for the investigation is primarily different types of public documentary material. For the governmental level, the investigation focuses on government’s reports on foreign policy, specific Arctic strategy reports, newsletters, and information from ministry and other institutions’ webpages. For the parliamentary level, the investigation primarily focuses on the foreign affairs committee. For the committee focus, the investigation covers the mandate consultations for the 2011-2020 time-period11 and the total population of 14 foreign affairs committee questions/consultations. For the additional overall focus on the assembly, a general search was conducted for Arctic related parliamentary activity. The parliamentary data are accessible on the parliament’s homepage: www.logting.fo. For the party level, the investigation is based on election programs for the 2011, 2015, and 2019 Løgting and Folketing elections. The programs have been collected by contacting each respective political party.
The governmental level and the Arctic focus On the governmental level, there are several examples of government reporting to parliament on Faroese foreign policy priorities. Lately, this reporting activity has been more frequent compared to previously. The latest report was for the 2020 parliamentary year and before that for 2018, 2014, 2009, and 2000 (www.logting.fo). All the reports have content that refers to the Arctic and/or the Arctic Council. While the references in the 2000 reports are very general, the reports from 2009 and forward contain more detailed information about Faroese participation in Arctic Council related activity and address Faroese interests. Also, the oral presentation of the latest 2020 foreign affairs report in parliament in 2021, compared to the oral presentations of the 2014 and 2018, showed a stronger Arctic focus, since the Arctic was one of the main topics to be addressed (parliamentary cases FG-4/2014, FG-8/2018, FG-4/2020). In addition to the general foreign affairs reports, the Faroese government joined the Danish Realm Arctic strategy report in 2011 (“Kongeriget Danmarks Strategi for Arktis 2011-2020”) and in 2013 produced a distinct Faroese Arctic strategy paper (“The Faroe Islands – a Nation in the Arctic. Opportunities and Challenges”). For the presentation of the distinct strategy report in parliament in November 2013, the government stated that Arctic matters mainly relate to Faroese Home Rule jurisdictions and therefore a distinct Faroese Arctic strategy is required. The report presents a broad
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range of recommendations and covers topics like trade opportunities for industry actors, rights and regulation of Arctic fishery, research, emergency preparedness, risks of pollution etc. Politically, the strategy paper stresses the importance of participation in Arctic Council activity and to influence Arctic decision making (Parliamentary matter, F-3/2013). Still, compared to the Danish Realm strategy report the focus on international collaborationis limited. Yet, the present (2019-) coalition has announced that an updated version of the distinct Faroese Arctic strategy paper is underway. The governmental reporting activity has been followed up by different types of Arctic related participative activity. It is clearly a political priority to participate in political Arctic Council meetings and to state this participation in newsletters, like for the 2013 Kiruna Arctic Council meeting (N1), the 2015 Iqaluit minister meeting (N2), the 2017 Fairbanks meeting (N6), the 2019 Rovaniemi meeting (N8), and the 2021 Reykjavík meeting (N11). Overall, Faroese representatives have taken active part in ministerial meetings since 2011, and Faroe Islands participates in Senior Arctic Officials forum (SAO), in different working groups, and have in their own name signed the three treaties Search and Rescue (2011), Oil and Spill (2013), and Arctic Scientific Cooperation (2017).12 Other examples of Arctic related activity are political participation in the Arctic Circle conference in for instance 2015 and 2016 (N3, N5), and hosting of the 2018 Arctic Circle related event the Arctic hubs (N7). Also, the minister of education participated in a US White House meeting about Arctic research related to the US Arctic Council chairmanship (N4). Lately, on the governmental level, in addition to reports and participation, steps have been taken to conduct some institutional changes related to Arctic development. The present (2019-) government has established a new Faroese security council within government specifically related to the development in the Arctic (N10). Also, on the Danish Realm political meeting level, Arctic related challenges and opportunities have been addressed and recently a new Danish Realm council has been established. The council consisting of ministers from the three respective governments will meet annually to treat issues related to foreign affairs, including security and defence (N12). The announcement specifically refers to the increased attention from the worlds’ superpowers towards the North Atlantic countries and the Arctic. Interestingly, the announcement publicly addresses the need of a stronger collaboration and coordination within the Danish Realm. In other words, overall on the governmental level, there is Arctic related activity for the whole time-period. Lately, activity seems to have increased and also to change form. There is more frequent reporting activity, different types of meeting activity, and now also institutional changes in form of newly established councils related to Arctic regional development.
The parliamentary level and the Arctic focus In parliament, the foreign affairs committee besides regular cases treats mandate cases as well as committee questions/consultations. In the assembly, the 33 MPs have the option to address Arctic related issues by raising parliamentary assembly questions. In addition, there is the transnational parliamentary collaboration to consider. The level of activity in the foreign affairs committee has been rather stable since the establishment of the foreign affairs service, considering the average number of 22 annual meetings compared to the general average of 24. For an overview of the variation in the committees’ meeting activity, see figure 1.
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Figure 1. Committee activity level: annual number of committee meetings for the seven standing committees13
COMMITTEE MEETINGS, NO. 1997-2018 Finance Committee Business Committee
Foreign Affairs Committee Social and Health Committee
Oversight Committee Culture and Education Committee
60
50
40
30
20
10
0 1997
1998
1999
2000
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
2012
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
The average annual number of foreign affairs regular cases is, however, substantially lower, considering the average annual number of only ten compared to the general average of 22. This is, however, not surprising since foreign policy to a lesser extent relates to legal proposals. Instead, the foreign affairs committee has the additional mandate system consultations as well as the committee questions/consultations. There are 3 - 8 annual mandate consultations in the 2011-2020 time-period, the total number being 62. The investigation of the focus for these mandate consultations shows that almost every second consultation is about fishery negotiations. Moreover, a substantial part, eleven of the consultations, relate to trade. This leaves an impression of a very strong focus on distributional related foreign affairs issues in the committee. Four of the fishery consultations relate to the Arctic and focus on the ongoing multilateral process to regulate Arctic fishery (Íshavið). Nevertheless, there are also four consultations about other Arctic related issues. One is about the Arctic Search and Rescue agreement, another about the Arctic Scientific Cooperation Agreement, a third about the new edition of the distinct Faroese Arctic strategy , and the most recent one is about security and relates to the air surveillance radar case. In other words, there has been some room for Arctic related issues in the mandate consultation system, including very recent activity. These results are displayed in table 1.
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Table 1: Overview of minister mandate consultations in the foreign affairs committee 2011-2020, in numbers, divided by theme 2011
2012
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
Total
Fishery: negotiations
1
2
3
2
2
2
4
3
2
3
24
Arctic: fishery negotiations
0
0
1
0
1
1
0
1
0
0
4
Trade
0
1
2
0
2
1
1
2
2
2
13
Policy collaboration
1
1
1
0
0
0
2
0
0
0
5
Territory:
1
0
1
1
0
1
0
0
1
0
5
1
0
0
0
0
1
0
0
1
1
4
0
0
0
0
1
2
0
0
0
0
3
Other
1
0
0
0
2
0
0
1
0
0
4
Total
5
4
8
3
8
8
7
7
6
6
62
Cont. shelf Relations: Arctic International participation/ membership
Source: Minutes (Gerðabók), Foreign Affairs committee, parliamentary years 2011-2018. For 2019-2020: case overview.
For the committee question/consultation option, where the committee is the agenda-setter, it is important to stress that the general activity level for this question type is very low in the Løgting compared to assembly question types. Still, the foreign affairs committee uses this option more frequent compared to the other committees, since they have raised 14 of the total of 29 questions since 2008 when this question type was introduced. Again, the committee focus has a strong distributional focus since most questions relate to fishery negotiations (9/14). There is no direct reference to Arctic cases but some of the questions relate to changes in the Arctic geopolitical situation, considering the consultations about the Chinese embassy visit and Huawei/5G digital infrastructure case. For an overview of the committee questions, see table 2.
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Table 2: Overview of consultations/questions in the foreign affairs committee 2008-2021, in numbers, divided by theme 2008-2010
2011-2013
2014-2016
2017-2018
2019-2021
Total
Fishery negotiations
4
4
0
0
1
9
Dk relations
0
1
0
0
1
Foreign representatives
0
2
0
0
2
Technology infrastructure
0
0
0
0
2
2
Total
4
7
0
0
3
14
Source: case overviews, consultation/committee questions, collected 09-09-2021.
The additional investigation included a general search on the parliamentary webpage, which revealed some meeting activity between the foreign affairs committee and the Danish minister of foreign affairs with the Arctic on the agenda (on September 2, 2020)14 and a limited number of three assembly questions (Parliamentary cases: 52-044/2012, 52-049/2012, 52-042/2014). The search, however, also revealed that the Løgting hosted a transnational parliamentary debate with Arctic themes on the agenda between Faroese, Greenlandic and Danish MPs on November 9, 2020. Faroese MPs also participate, as previously mentioned, in transnational parliamentary collaboration, which is a rather common part of Arctic governance (Luszczuk, 2015). Faroese MPs have seats in the Nordic Council, but more importantly in the West Nordic Council (WNC), which in 2017 achieved observer status in the Arctic Council (N13). Arctic development was, however, not the original focus for the council (Luszczuk, 2015, Eythórsson & Hovgaard, 2018). According to the WNC administration most of the activity and council recommendations still relates to West Nordic countries’ cultural and industry interests but Arctic issues are though a vital concern. WNC political representatives participate in Arctic related conference activities and host workshops, for instance in the annual Arctic Circle.15 The fact that the WNC recently has established a specific Arctic Committee within the council supports this.16 Summing up, even though there is a very dominant focus on distributional related issues in the foreign affairs committee, especially fishery negotiations, there still are traces of Arctic related parliamentary activity. There is some activity in the foreign affairs committeeand some activity related to transnational parliamentary activity.. Nevertheless, there are no signs of institutional changes on the parliamentary level like an ad-hoc committee or Arctic delegation related to treatment of Arctic issues as is seen on the government level.
The political parties and Arctic references Political parties present election programmes ahead of elections where they state their political goals and focus. As previously stated, the expectation is that compared to the governmental and parliamentary level it is least likely to find an Arctic focus in this type of vote seeking party level activity. The investigation includes election programs for the Løgting and Folketing elections for 2011, 2015, and 2019.18
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The election programmes show a limited degree of Arctic references since there are no references in the programmes for neither the 2011 nor the 2015 elections. However, for the most recent 2019 election, four of the political parties make references to the Arctic in their programs. For the results, see table 3. This indicates an increase in the political salience of Arctic related issues since this was the least likely level to include an Arctic focus. Table 3. The presence of Arctic related references in election programs for 2011, 2015 and 2019 (1/0) Year
Political parties
Arctic references
2011
2015
People’s Party (A)* Unionist Party (B)
0
Social Democratic Party (C)
0
Republican Party (E)
0
Progress Party (F)
0
Centre Party (H)
0
People´s Party (A)
0
Unionist Party (B)
0
Social Democratic Party (C)
0
Republican Party (E)
0
Progress Party (F)
0
Centre Party (H)
0
People´s Party (A)
0
Unionist Party (B)
1
Social Democratic Party (C)
1
Republican Party (E)
1
Progress Party (F)
1
Centre Party (H)
0
2019
The content of the different references in the 2019 election programmes shows, however, some variation in the political parties’ Arctic focus. While the Republican Party (E) and the Progress Party (F) focus on the importance of distinct representation in terms of independent Faroese
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membership in the Arctic Council, the Unionist Party (B) states the importance of international collaboration and more influence in Arctic matters, though without specifying in what way. Also, the Social Democratic Party (C) makes clear Arctic references for the Folketing election and state the importance of overseeing the development but refer to the Danish Folketing as the arena to achieve this aim. The People’s Party (A) – the fourth of the larger parties - makes no Arctic references but still clearly states the importance of a distinct Faroese foreign affairs strategy. Another related document type is the coalition agreements. For this document type, there are no Arctic related references in the 2004, 2008, 2008(2), or the 2015 coalition agreements, but for the 2011 and the 2019 documents there are Arctic references. The content of these references relate to the political goal to develop a distinct Faroese Arctic strategy (the 2011 coalition), and rescue issues combined with the goal to establish a Faroese maritime centre related to Arctic Sea activity (the 2019 coalition). In other words, the investigation shows that political parties recently have started making Arctic references. This confirms the expectation that the salience of Arctic issues is higher today compared to previouslyin the past 10-year time-period.
Conclusion This article has focused on the Faroese substate’s opportunities and institutional capacity to respond to the political development in the Arctic region and has investigated to what extent and how the political system in fact has responded, seen over a 10-year time-period. The expectation was that the increase in salience of Arctic related themes means that the political system today to a higher degree addresses Arctic related issues compared to earlier. The expectation was that the governmental level is the most likely level for Arctic related activity and less expectations were for the parliamentary level, while the party level was the least likely level for an Arctic focus. Overall, the investigation shows a rather clear Arctic focus, especially on the governmental level as expected. Still, there has been some room for Arctic related issues in parliament´s otherwise very distributional orientated foreign affairs committee, and there are even some Arctic references on the party level, in the most recent 2019 election programmes. Therefore, it seems clear that the salience of Arctic related issues has increased and is higher today than previously. Also, the results show that the Faroese unit in fact has a distinct Arctic related foreign policy agenda and that the sub-state unit conducts activity to promote this agenda. On the governmental level there are also recent signs of institutional and procedural changes considering the establishment of councils to facilitate treatment of Arctic related issues. Nevertheless, the investigation also shows that MPs could step up the activity on the parliamentary level and to broaden their focus by including more varied issues and to counterbalance the dominant distributional orientation in the foreign affairs committee. This case study of the single Faroese political unit with spatial as well as temporal variation first and foremost provides information about the Faroese case and the changes and development in the political response to the Arctic regional development. Nevertheless, the study also provides some general insights. The study questions some typical assumptions about natural coordination verses formal coordination for micro sized units and argues in favour of developing strategies and finding ways for micro units to build administrative capacity based on the principle of specialization, formal coordination and formal institutionalization in general. This is also relevant in a specific Arctic context, where the ongoing development is raising a multitude of issues related
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to multiple policy areas. To be able to coordinate the different types of activity and respond in an efficient way is an important capability, also for micro sized political units.
Notes 1. The increasing military and security focus in the Arctic was for instance addressed at the Arctic Futures Symposium 2020. 2. The Faroe Islands consist of 18 islands that make up 1,396 km2 of landmass and is surrounded by a large sea area of 274,000 km2. The islands are positioned in the North Atlantic Ocean at 62º latitude North and 7º longitude West. 3. Eythórsson and Hovgaard (2018) refer to a definition of the Arctic region by AHDR 2004, Nordregio. 4. Stated in the 1948 Home Rule arrangement and in the ‘Takeover Act’, no. 79 from 2005: §1,2. 5. Sources: Danish High Commissioner, Annual report, 2021: section 2.1, and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Culture webpage: www.ummr.fo. 6. The use of the term size in this context is rather ambiguous. One example is Anckar´s (1999) study uses the population measure and classifies populations of less than a million as microstates and states that of the world’s 200 independent states 43 are microstates. Another example is Prinsen (2020: 364) who refers to the distinguishing size of 500,000 for small subnational island jurisdictions, which gives a result of around one hundred islands. 7. The investigation also shows negative effects for larger units (an inverse u-shaped effect). 8. The Faroese case is an example of a Nordic welfare state with a large public sector that occupies a substantial part of the Faroese workforce. For 2020, 37% of the 27,148 wage earners worked in the public sector. For the 2000-2020 period, the proportion has varied between 32 and 39% (Source: Statistics Faroe Islands, AM03030). 9. Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Culture: https://www.ummr.fo/fo/um-radid/starvsfolk/, visited June 1, 2021. 10. Source: Løgtingið, foreign affairs committee secretary, Rannvá Sólheim, November 5, 2020; Ministry director, foreign affairs, Gunnar Holm-Jacobsen, December 1, 2020. 11. The years refer to a parliamentary year, which starts on July 29 and ends on July 29 the following year. 12. Source: Hanna í Horni, Foreign Affairs Service, November 18, 2019. 13. Source: parliamentary overviews and minutes (Gerðabók). 14. There is, however, no overview of meeting activity for the Løgting and the Løgting doesn’t publish annual reports as we know it from other parliaments. 15. Source: WNC: Steen Løgstrup Nielsen, advisor, e-mail September 9 and 10, 2020. 16. Source: KVF, Faroese public service media institution, www.kvf.fo, 22.09.2019 (13.28 PM): “Býta oddasessin millum sín”. 17. Source: Folketinget, https://www.ft.dk/da/internationalt/delegationerne/den-arktiskedelegation/medlemsoversigt, visited August 15, 2019. 18. Missing election programs: People´s Party 2011 elections and the 2015 Folketing election; Progress Party 2011 and 2015 Folketing election. The small crisis inflicted Autonomist party (D) was not included.
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Government report. Kjakupplegg – um bygnaðin í landsfyrisitingini. Føroya Landsstýri. Mars 2014. Taksøe-Jensen, Peter. 2016. Danish Diplomacy and Defence in Times of Change –A Review of Denmark’s Foreign and Security Policy. The Faroe Islands – a Nation in the Arctic. Opportunities and Challenges. Prime Minister’s office, Foreign Affairs Service. 2013. Newsletters (N) Newsletter (N1), May 15, 2013, Prime Minister’s Office: https://www.lms.fo/fo/kunning/tidindi/foroyar-undirritad-arktiska-samstarvsavtalu-umoljutilbugving, visited December 19, 2019. Newsletter (N2), April 25, 2015, Prime Minister’s Office: https://www.lms.fo/fo/kunning/tidindi/logmadur-a-radharrafundi-i-kanada/, visited June 20, 2019. Newsletter (N3), October 17, 2015, Prime Minister’s Office: https://www.lms.fo/fo/kunning/tidindi/vit-skulu-skapa-inntokur-ur-oktu-skipaferdsluni-kringforoyar/, visited September 14, 2021. Newsletter (N4), September 27, 2016, Ministry for Culture: https://www.ummr.fo/fo/kunning/tidindi/rigmor-dam-i-hvitu-husunum/, visited September 30, 2021. Newsletters (N5), October 9, 2016, Prime Minister’s Office: https://www.lms.fo/fo/kunning/tidindi/roda-foroyar-gerast-partur-av-cop21-sattmalanum/, visited September 30, 2021. Newsletter (N6), May 12, 2017, Ministry for Trade and Foreign Affairs: https://www.uvmr.fo/fo/kunning/tidindi/foroyar-undirrita-samstarvsavtalu-um-gransking-iarktisk, visited September 30, 2021. Newsletter (N7), April 11, 2018, Ministry for Trade and Foreign Affairs: https://www.uvmr.fo/fo/kunning/tidindi/arctic-hubs-i-nordurlandahusinum-8-og-9-mai/, visited September 30, 2021. Newsletter (N8), May 7, 2019, Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade: https://www.uvmr.fo/fo/kunning/tidindi/arktiskur-radharrafundur-i-finnlandi/, visited June 20, 2019. Newsletter (N9), January 7, 2020, Prime Minister’s Office: https://www.lms.fo/fo/kunning/tidindi/stjornarleidararnir-i-rikisfelagsskapinumvidgjort-stoduna-i-arktis/, visited September 14, 2021. Newsletter (N10), February 10, 2021, Prime Minister’s Office: https://www.lms.fo/fo/kunning/tidindi/betri-innlit-i-trygdarpolitikk/, visited September 14, 2021.
Cartography and the Legacies of Nineteenth-Century Arctic Science
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Newsletter (N11) May 19, 2021, Prime Minister’s Office: https://www.lms.fo/fo/kunning/tidindi/logmadur-a-fund-i-arktiska-radnum/, visited September 14, 2021. Newsletter (N12) June 11, 2021, Prime Minister’s Office: https://www.lms.fo/fo/kunning/tidindi/nyggjar-tidir-i-rikisfelagsskapinum/, visited September 14, 2021. Newsletter (N13), May 12, 2017, West Nordic Council: https://www.vestnordisk.is/ukategoriseret/vestnordisk-raad-er-nu-observator-i-arktisk-raad/, visited 7 November 2019.
West
Arctic Interests and Policy of Turkey: Dilemmas, Approaches and Initiatives Onur Limon
To date, Turkey has been cautious with its Arctic policy creation and enforcement. In so many ways, this is not surprising in that its regional role is rather low due to being a non-Arctic state. However, in recent years, Turkey’s interest in the region has increased. Turkey, following the logic of some other non-Arctic countries, is not positioning itself as a “near-Arctic” state or a “vertical Arctic nation”. The main arguments for Turkey’s interest in the Arctic may be associated to Turkey’s geographic location, culture and history. In addition, Turkey’s interest in the Arctic entails five main elements: (1) international cooperation and science diplomacy, (2) climate change and the environment, (3) Arctic Council observer membership, (4) economic opportunities, and (5) security. Turkey’s policy towards the Arctic is divided into three periods: (1) from the foundation of the Republic to the end of the Second World War; (2) from the beginning to the end of the Cold War, when Turkey was a member of NATO; and (3) the post-Cold War era. Turkey is interested in the Arctic for scientific, political, and economic reasons. The article aims to examine the reasons for Turkey’s Arctic policy and interests. The importance of Turkey’s participation in the region is discussed from a historical perspective. During the preparation of the article, comprehensive research was carried out on documents from the Presidency State Archives.
Introduction Although most of a state’s daily activities in the international arena are responses to the actions of other countries, each nation tries to implement consistent, comprehensive, long-term strategies to serve its national interests. While some countries publicly announce their national policies and strategies about a certain area or subject (space, the North and South poles, defense, etc.), many other countries, such as the Republic of Turkey (Turkey) either avoid this as a principle or simply do not do so (Aydın, 2020: 209). However, it is possible to identify the strategies of various countries from the actions and explanations of decision-makers. It is not easy to locate an Arctic policy in Turkey’s general foreign policy, to create a specific framework for it, or to identify a coherent factor of continuity in it. Considering that Turkey is not an Arctic coastal state, at first glance, its participation and interest in the region, as well as its Arctic policy, could be seen as surprising. If we focus on scientific studies only, it is possible to limit this
Onur Limon is General Staff in the Turkish Armed Forces. He received his PhD from Trakya University in 2020.
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within the last 15–20 years. In this case, participation and interest in the region, and Turkey’s Arctic policy, could be viewed as a consequence of its efforts to achieve greater political penetration on a global scale. This article examines the complex relationships underlying Turkey’s interest in the Arctic region and focuses on its essence rather than on its visible aspects alone. Documents in the state archives, including the minutes of the Grand National Assembly of Turkey (TBMM), historical scientific publications, newspapers, and the explanations of policymakers, reveal a historical overview of Turkey’s participation and interest in the Arctic. One key purpose of this article is to posit the following: • • •
Hypothesis 1: Turkey’s geographic features, historical and cultural ties to the region are a driving force behind its interest in the Arctic. However, there is a very limited link. Hypothesis 2: Turkey’s Arctic policy has varied slightly over time, the unifying feature is that it has difficulty adopting a holistic approach to the region. Hypothesis 3: Turkey’s reasons and areas of implementation for the Arctic are associated with international business collaboration and science diplomacy, climate change and the environment, Arctic Council observer membership and the Svalbard archipelago, economic opportunities, and security.
This article asserts that in recent years, Turkey’s Arctic policy has aimed to diminish the effects of climate change and to contribute to scientific activities in the Arctic rather than to gain a political zone of influence in the region. The study’s period of interest begins in 1923, the year that modernday Turkey was founded, and extends through to the present. This article utilizes qualitative research methods. In the course of researching this article, a sixmonth comprehensive study was carried out to identify a body of archival documents to be analyzed, re-evaluated, and brought together. In accordance with the archive’s system and its size, a ranking system based on date and place information was preferred. Details concerning issues that appear as a research gap in the content of the article were obtained from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Scientific and Technological Research Council of Turkey (TUBITAK), the Marmara Research Center (MAM), the research assistant Sinan Yirmibeşoğlu from the Circumpolar Research Institute (KARE), the Turkish Shipbuilders Association (GISBIR), and Dr. Heather Exner-Pirot via written communications (e-mail). In accordance with the article’s scope and purpose, the characteristic features of the Arctic are defined. Next, the triggering elements of power regarding Turkey’s interest in the region are explained. Finally, Turkey’s Arctic policy is addressed in different periods, and the reasons for Turkey’s interest in the Arctic, as well as the areas of implementation, are explored.
Characteristic features of the Arctic Four prominent aspects of the Arctic are defined here: The Arctic as a region; security and geopolitics; natural resources and Arctic sea routes; and unresolved legal issues and regional and international cooperation. These four sets of factors provide a strong incentive to increase Turkey’s relations with Arctic states and the Arctic region. •
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Factor 1 – The Arctic region, which is geographically bounded by the northern borders of the Arctic states, has no real political boundary (AMAP, 1998). The region experiences extreme climatic conditions (cold, wind, permafrost, winter darkness, etc.), and its
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population is sparse. Around four million people currently live in the region, which has a very sparse population (Bogoyavlensky, 2004: 27; Heleniak and Bogoyavlensky, 2014: 101; Young, 2004: 18). Factor 2 – Security and geopolitics: Many potential geopolitical changes hinge on changes in Arctic security (Heininen, 2020: 123–125). The transition from military conflict to international cooperation was accelerated by the end of the Cold War, a unique period in the international political system, and the collapse of the Soviet Union and the Warsaw Pact (Heininen, 2020: 123–124). With the end of the Cold War, the Arctic region was transformed from a military theater to a “zone of cooperation and peace” (Heininen, 2013: 102).
Changes in the security and geopolitical structure of the Arctic, the contemporary need for environmental action and scientific research, and increasing economic optimism about the region have drawn Turkey’s attention to the Arctic. •
Factor 3 – Natural resources and Arctic sea routes: The increasing accessibility of the Arctic Ocean due to rapidly shrinking sea ice has led to increased interest in the use of the region’s natural resources. These are mainly related to hydrocarbon and mineral resources, Arctic navigation, and fishing.
Turkey depends on the import of oil, gas, and most minerals, and therefore, the resources in the Arctic region are important and may allow Turkey to diversify its import sources. The reduction of Arctic Ocean sea ice and, Turkey’s use and experience with Arctic sea routes, offers ample opportunities for the Turkish shipbuilding industry (icebreaker, fisher, private yacht, etc.) and Turkish ships. It also allows the region to develop trusting relationships with the coastal Arctic states and the Indigenous peoples of the North for in order to access its resources. •
Factor 4 – Unresolved legal issues and regional and international cooperation: It is possible to define the Arctic region as a peaceful region with pragmatic/collaborative relations between actors (Padrtova, 2020: 34). Turkey has long had a strong desire to increase its relations with Arctic states and the Arctic region, especially since the 2000s.
Turkey contributes to maintaining political stability in the Arctic and protecting the Arctic environment and takes part in scientific research and international collaborations on climate change.
Turkey’s interest in the Arctic The driving forces behind Turkey’s interest in the Arctic can be grouped into two categories. The first of these relates to the geographic features of Turkey, while the second relates to the regions’ intertwined cultures and histories. A striking feature of Turkey is its central geographical location. Turkey occupies a middle ground among Old-World lands, nearly equidistant from the Equator and the North Pole. The Mediterranean, which is a branch of the Atlantic Ocean, penetrates deeply into these lands, and Turkey is surrounded by bodies of water on three sides (the Mediterranean, Aegean, and Black Seas) (Darkot, 1972: 3–4). In terms of landforms (elevation), Turkey can be characterized as a highaltitude country, with an average elevation of 1,130 meters, which is not only 3.5 times higher than the average altitude of the European continent (330 meters) but exceeds even the average altitude
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of Asia (1,050 meters) (Darkot, 1972: 6). Of course, Turkey does not follow the logic of some other non-Arctic states by positioning itself as a “near-Arctic state” like China (Government of China, 2018) or “vertical Arctic nation” like Switzerland (Arctic Council, 2017). The elevation of its territory compared to Europe and Asia makes Turkey a “third pole,” much like the Himalayas or the Alps (Arctic Council, 2020; Tonami, 2016: 109–110), but such a definition is not needed. Turkey inevitably focuses on the polar regions of the world to address its climate problems. In addition, being situated in the path of south-north and east-west migration due to its geographical location forces Turkey to engage fully with its near (the Middle East, Mediterranean, etc.) and distant (the Arctic, EU, etc.) neighbors. The cultural and social structure of the Arctic is dynamic and has changed over time. A common feature for most of the Indigenous communities in the Arctic is that they have already undergone substantial changes due to the introduction of globalized, Western ways of life, state policies, modern transportation, and a mixed economy. Turkey has multifaceted connections and cultures, including Asia, the Middle East, and the West. Turkey shares cultural ties with Arctic Indigenous peoples through those who broke away from Central Asia and Siberia thousands of years ago and crossed to the Americas via the Bering Strait (Grenoble, 2011: 15; Laguna, 1972: 213; Park, 2014: 1004-1005). Similarities in linguistic patterns and traditional lifestyles confirm this. The similarities between some words, the use of fire, many kinds of tools (the sledge, stone tools, the harpoon the simple bow, combs, nets, and basketry), and shamanist beliefs and practices provide several examples (Kaya, 1986: 661). These similarities reveal more of a cultural bond than people’s historical movements. The connections between the linguistic families of Turkey and the Arctic are quite strong. Although shamanistic beliefs have become less prominent in Turkey, they continue to exist. Despite these similarities, there are no shared cultural activities between Turkey and the Indigenous peoples of the Arctic today; the subject is almost unheard of in state-level discussions. However, a small number of academics are interested in establishing such cultural connections.
Turkey’s Arctic policy and its implementation Turkey’s Arctic policy can be divided into two periods, the period from the foundation of the Republic to the end of the Cold War era (1923–1991) and the post-Cold War era. Each period contained elements (internal and external) that, sometimes positively and sometimes negatively, affected Turkey’s Arctic policy. From the foundation of the Republic until the end of the Cold War era (1923–1991) It is possible to subdivide this era into two periods, the first of which took place from the foundation of the Republic to the end of the Second World War. During this period, the principles of “full independence and national sovereignty” prevailed in Turkish foreign policy (Oran, 2010: 143–153). These principles dictated noninterference in countries’ internal affairs. The steps that Turkey took in its policies toward the Arctic region would strengthen its bond with the Western alliance and were developed in hopes of defining a place for Turkey in the balances of power (England-France, Germany-Italy, and the Soviet Union) that emerged in the international system before and during the Second World War (Oran, 2010: 235). The second half of this era was defined by the Cold War. The security and geopolitical features of the Cold War period affected and limited Turkey’s Arctic policy. It can be said that Turkey, which was caught between the blocks, had difficulty producing a policy toward the Arctic region in this period. Turkey’s concern about Limon
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political isolation, especially after the Second World War, the threat of aggression by the Soviet Union, Turkey’s West-friendly foreign policy, and the desire to continue receiving the military and economic aid from the United States (Oran, 2010) led to Turkey becoming a member of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization in 1952. Turkey’s Arctic policy became security-oriented due to the combination of NATO’s strategic bases in the Arctic and the alliance’s perception of a threat. However, since Turkey was a “wing country” bordering the Soviet Union (the enemy), it did not worry about entering a conflict in the Arctic due to its NATO membership. There was no expectation or concern in this direction in the NATO strategies of 1952, 1954, and 1969 (NATO, 1952, 1954, 1969). Post-Cold War era In the early 1990s and 2000s, Turkey’s participation in the Arctic region was quite limited. This situation is both compatible and contradictory with the change in security and geopolitical structure of the Arctic region. The most important reason for its compatibility is NATO’s decreasing interests in the region. The other reason is Turkey’s focus on its close environment (Middle East, Caucasus, etc.) (Bağcı & Bal, 2004). The most important factor for its incompatibility is Turkey’s neglected regional and international cooperation initiatives in the Arctic in the course of this period. Regarding this, for Turkey, the Arctic region after the post-Cold War era was seen as a nonprioritized foreign policy area for an extended period. This situation is similarly described in academic writings as well. With the effect of decreasing interest in the Arctic, the structure of the international system and increasing interest for environmental concerns seem to have turned attention to Antarctica, where Turkey can have the most trouble-free activities in terms of both scientific and political accessibility (Algan, 2013: 1). Turkey acceded to the Antarctic Treaty in 1995 (BCA, 1995). However, Turkey did not attend any meetings of the Consultation of Antarctic Treaty until 2013 (Ministry of Industry and Technology, 2018; Öztürk, 2015). Turkey signed the Madrid Protocol in 2017 (signed on October 4, 1991 and entered into force in 1998), known as Antarctic Treaty Environment Protection Protocol (Official Newspaper, 2017). At this point, initiatives that were commenced by Turkey between 1995-2017 specific to Antarctica can be seen as obviously disconnected. This is influenced by the indifference of policy makers due to Turkey’s failure to establish an institutional structure in or outside of any ministry (as in the case of South Korea, Japan, and Switzerland), especially in Antarctica (Algan, 2013: 1).1 This situation has been changing rapidly in recent years with the contributions of scientific and academic studies, Turkey’s interest in the Arctic has increased and it has become an institutional structure. Three stages of this institutionalization process can be mentioned as follows (Yavaşoglu, 2021: 14): • • •
The Polar Research Center (PolReC) within Istanbul Technical University (ITU) was established in 2014. Starting in 2017, PolRec was started running its polar programs under the responsibility of the Ministry of Industry and Technology. In 2019, TUBITAK Marmara Research Center (MAM) Polar Research Institute (KARE) was established, and the polar coordination task was transferred from ITU PolReC to KARE.
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The institutionalization process shows subjective and functional rationality in terms of human values and objectives. The National Polar Science Program (2018-2022), which was published in 2018, is important in that it is the first official document published by Turkey directly about the poles from the Republic to the present day (Ministry of Industry and Technology, 2018). From this document, which can be defined as a vision document rather than a strategy document (or as a program, as it describes itself), it is clear that Turkey’s primary interest is Antarctica. However, it is crucial to use the concept of polarity in the document and determine its main objectives, strategies, and priorities for the Arctic region. In the Arctic, the following goals are given (Ministry of Industry and Technology, 2018: 10): • • • •
“Turkey has a say in the future of Antarctica and the Arctic and the protection of the poles.” “Establishing a roadmap for Turkey’s accession to the Arctic Council.” “Increasing the effectiveness of our country in this field by providing membership of our country to international organizations related to polar regions.” “Raising awareness of global climate change issues.”
This document is valuable in that it is a program that has been published for the first time. However, a number of shortcomings and uncertainties are clearly visible. First of all, it is not clear how Turkey will have a say in the future of Antarctica and the Arctic. It is also unclear how to raise awareness of climate change issues and whether new initiatives or mechanisms will be established with local and international communities. In this context, Turkey’s interest in the Arctic is more straightforward than the reasons for its interest. Today, the essence of Turkey’s Arctic policy can be defined as “it would be related to a good global citizen in the effort to mitigate climate changes, and its participation in Arctic science” (personal communication, Exner-Pirot, 23 April 2019). In this context, Turkey’s interest, causes, and application areas for the Arctic region, based on the historical experience of the National Polar Science Program and Turkish foreign policy and apart from the elements of driving forces (geographical, historical, and cultural dimension) that enable it to deal with the Arctic, can be gathered in five headings: international cooperation and science diplomacy; climate change and the environment; Arctic Council observer membership and Svalbard archipelago; and economic opportunities and security. Turkey’s Arctic interests and applications International cooperation and science diplomacy In today’s rapidly changing world, problems on a global scale, such as environmental issues, safety and energy, epidemics, and poverty, need solutions that require a global perspective. Therefore, the methods of making policy decisions in international and global dimensions has had to diversify, and new tools such as science diplomacy have been included.2 Countries are in constant communication with each other in polar research, where international cooperation is important in scientific studies. Turkey first participated in international scientific cooperative efforts in the Arctic during the Second International Polar Year (IPY-2, in 1932–1933) (Krupnik, 2011: 13). However, 17 years later, in 1950, a bibliography of approximately 2,000 IPY2 publications was published (Laursen, 1951). There is no information on which activities Turkey participated in IPY-2. Of all IPY initiatives, the third IPY in 1957–1958 (known as the International Limon
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Geophysical Year due to its global geographical coverage) has the best-documented chronology (Krupnik, 2011: 14). The General Directorate of State Meteorology Affairs of Turkey participated in IGY studies with data from 18 high weather synoptic meteorology stations, five of which were equipped with electronic devices, and 14 synoptic ground stations (TBMM, 1958: 986). First of all, IPY-2 and IGY enabled Turkey to develop its informational and technological capacities in the polar regions and contributed to its international visibility. It may be said that Turkey’s later participation in the 2007–2008 IPY also revealed the elements of international cooperation and scientific research in its Arctic policy (Calder & Krupnik, 2011: 555). Countries are in constant communication with each other in polar research, where international cooperation is important in scientific studies. Turkey continues to deliver its own scientific studies to the poles under the roof of KARE and within the scope of the National Polar Science Program and in cooperation with other countries (Ministry of Industry and Technology, 2018; Yirmibeşoğlu et. al, 2019; https://kare.mam.tubitak.gov.tr/tr). Within the scope of international cooperation, it aims to take part in the activities of scientists in foreign polar bases/expeditions, to organize joint activities with foreign countries, and to create membership and exchange/internship programs for international organizations and associations (Ministry of Industry and Technology, 2018: 16). In 2016, the Turkish Antarctic Research Expedition, organized in cooperation with the Ukrainian National Antarctic Science Center and led by PolReC, was Turkey’s first international (UkrainianTurkish cooperation) Antarctic science expedition (Ministry of Industry and Technology, 2018: 8). From 2017 to the first quarter of 2021, five expeditions (Turkish Antarctic/Arctic Scientific Expedition-TASE) were carried out within the scope of the National Polar Science Program, four times in the Antarctic and once in the Arctic (Özsoy, 2021: 3), and a total of 62 international scientific publications have been prepared since 2017 with the work carried out during these expeditions involving more than 90 researchers (https://kare.mam.tubitak.gov.tr/tr). Turkey’s first Arctic expedition on July 11-26, 2019, carried out 15 projects by more than 40 researchers. The expedition, which began in the Svalbard archipelago, also included studies in the Arctic Ocean (PolRec, 2019). During the expedition, Turkish scientists visited science bases in Norway, Poland, Russia, India, and South Korea, and Turkey made initiatives on the ground to develop bilateral cooperation with each individual country (Yirmibeşoğlu et al., 2019; PolRec, 2019). In addition, in KARE coordination, bilateral agreements and memorandums of understanding continue with countries with significant investments in the poles. For example, “Memorandum of Understanding-MoU” agreements are carried out in the polar areas with countries such as Bulgaria, South Korea, Ukraine, Czech Republic, and Belarus, while consultations are underway with many other countries such as Japan, Chile, and Spain to reach an agreement (personal communication, Yirmibeşoğlu, 28 May 2021). Turkey’s polar project calls are funded by KARE, enabling scientists to carry out both national and bilateral cooperation at the poles. Delegations consisting of KARE and related Ministries representing Turkey in international meetings and scientific organizations meet with representatives of countries developing critical scientific studies at the poles and take the necessary steps to increase and develop bilateral cooperation https://kare.mam.tubitak.gov.tr/tr). As a result of its scientific work in cooperation nationally and internationally, Turkey became a member of the Scientific Committee on Antarctic Research (SCAR) (Ministry of Industry and Technology, 2018: 8) in 2017 and the European Polar Board (EPB) in 2020 (EPB, 2020). Turkey demonstrates that it has the vision of contributing to the sustainability of the world in the context Arctic Interests and Policy of Turkey
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of the “continuum of urgencies” that stood out during the Vienna Dialogues (2017) and is committed to carrying out activities in this direction (Caymaz, 2021: 46). Climate change and the environments of Turkey and the Arctic The environmental, economic and social effects of a changing Arctic climate are being felt in Turkey and across the globe. Climate change is expected to displace millions of people worldwide in the coming decades. Approximately 150 to 300 million people will be displaced due to climate change by 2050 (Challe, 2018). Although there has been little systematic research on the potential displacement of Arctic peoples, scientists have long estimated that one of the biggest effects of global warming will be human displacement (Ferris, 2013). As in the first Arctic expedition, Turkey is continuing to conduct research to understand climate change and its effects on the environment of the Arctic. Turkey is expected to be greatly affected by climate change due to generally increasing air temperatures and decreasing precipitation levels. Although Turkey does not yet have a policy in place on this subject (apart from the document entitled “Scientific Basis of Climate Change and Impacts on Turkey” issued by the Ministry of Environment and Urbanisation), it is understood that, except for the Mediterranean coastal zone and the Taurus Mountains, today's climatic conditions will become hotter and drier in the future. The probability of future droughts is high for the southern and mid-southern regions, which already experience low precipitation, very hot and dry summers (with drought conditions effectively prevailing from late spring to mid-autumn), and seasonal and inter-year precipitation variability. Climate change threatens to cost the Turkish economy millions of dollars a year by 2100 (McKinsey Global Institute, 2020). In addition to the general decrease in crop yields that is expected (Bozoglu et al., 2019; Dudu et al., 2009), thousands of people will face drought, flooding, and migration (McKinsey Global Institute, 2020; Ministry of Environment and Urbanisation, 2011). Turkey has launched various initiatives to mitigate the impacts of climate change, but it is also necessary to analyze and understand the mechanisms of how environmental changes will affect its work. The responses Turkey crafts to these challenges should be shared with the international community. The Arctic Council and the Svalbard Treaty The increasing global interest in the Arctic region has also increased interest in the Arctic Council, which has become a natural discussion forum and has drawn a number of applications for observer membership status. Since the foundation of the Arctic Council, because all of the member countries of the Arctic Council have agreed that the Council needs reinforcement, there have been no restrictions or obstacles to membership other than the requirement for unanimous decisions about which countries will be accepted as observer members (Arctic Council, 2016). In 2015 Turkey applied for observer membership of the Arctic Council for the first time. This application not only did not enjoy much support from Turkish public opinion (almost none) but was also not accepted (Knecht, 2015; İnam et al., 2018: 41-43).3 There is no document explaining why the Arctic Council rejected Turkey’s application. However, two fundamental problem areas should be mentioned here concerning the acceptance of observer membership status. The first is the political disagreements between the states which applied for observer membership status of the Arctic Council. Second, the prospective observers made their applications for observer membership without improving or developing their concrete interests (scientific, economic, etc.) in the Arctic region. Even when a state or organization applying for observer membership status in the Arctic Council meets the criteria for membership, the application may be refused (Arctic
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Council, 2016; Arctic Council, 2021). At this point, it should be observed it is not clear whether Turkey is currently qualified to demonstrate its “Arctic interests and specializations relating to Arctic studies” (Knecht, 2015). In 2018 it was decided that it would be appropriate to coordinate the process by which the benefits provided by being a party to the Svalbard Treaty would be revealed in the membership application of Turkey to the Arctic Council, in which the Ministry of Foreign Affairs presented the studies carried out by the Ministry of Industry and Technology (İnam et al., 2018: 41-43). However, the fundamental mistake here is to associate the membership application process and the Svalbard Treaty with each other, and to ignore the opportunities of being a party to the Svalbard Treaty. In addition, there is no direct correlation between being a party to the Svalbard Treaty and the observer membership status of the Arctic Council, or with the observer membership criteria specified by the Arctic Council (Arctic Council, 2016; Arctic Council, 2021). In the long run, Turkey’s participation in international scientific cooperation has been more important than its role in the Svalbard Treaty in terms of Turkey's Arctic policy. Economic opportunities The growth rate in the entire Arctic region between the years 2012 and 2018 was 0.8%, compared to a growth rate of 2.2% in the non-Arctic regions of Arctic states during that timeframe. Exports of minerals, oil, and fish drove this growth. All of these indicators show that the slow growth rate pioneered by Arctic governments will remain the preference of the region in general (Glomsrød & Wei, 2021: 41-46) because state-centered investments are still dominant in the Arctic. The increased accessibility of the Arctic region due to the recession of sea ice caused by global climate change has created increasing interest in the use of the Arctic’s natural resources, mostly hydrocarbon, mineral resources, Arctic navigation, and fishing. This situation has created economic opportunities that Turkey is willing to exploit, namely the production of the “ice-class” or “polar-class” vessels that are used in the region and the use of sea routes, dependent upon an examination of their feasibility. In addition, these opportunities could be conducted so as to create sustainable economic activity in the Arctic region while respecting the lives of the Indigenous people. The Turkish shipbuilding industry is the seventh largest builder of new ships and the third largest builder of yachts in the world (personal communication, GISBIR, 4 June 2021). There is no economic policy and specific Governmental support or incentive for ice class vessels. Today, there are 84 active shipyards in Turkey. The Turkish shipbuilding industry has the ability to build various types of “ice class/polar class” ships, including research vessels for the Arctic and Antarctic Regions. Turkish Shipyards have already delivered many ships that have “ice class” notation in compliance with the requirements of clients and classification societies. The shipbuilding and delivery of “innovative and environment-friendly” ships for the Nordic countries, Russia and the EU continue (personal communication, GISBIR, 4 June 2021).4 Some of these projects are the “world’s-first projects”.5 When compared to competitor countries, the Turkish shipbuilding industry has many advantages: infrastructure and technology, delivery period and production capacity, active shipyards (both for new building and repair and maintenance capacities), a wide range of products, qualified personnel, iron-steel industry support, a convenient geographical position (52 nations within a three-hour flying distance), and the Turkish shipbuilding recycling industries (personal communication, GISBIR, 4 June 2021). Arctic Interests and Policy of Turkey
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An examination of the feasibility of Arctic sea routes is of considerable importance for Turkey. However, given the importance of diversified communication and these sea routes’ positive or negative influence on the use of other strategic waterways, the private sector and policy-makers in Turkey will have to collaborate in evaluating the future potential of these routes. According to data from TUIK (Turkish Statistical Institute), nearly 88% of the volume of Turkey’s foreign commerce is maritime (TUIK, 2020). As maritime opportunities develop, increasingly active discussions are being carried out on the subjects of ensuring navigation security and shipping’s influence on the maritime environment. It is therefore important that Turkey use its specializations in science and technology to develop effective new technologies that will ensure navigation security in the Arctic Ocean. Security dimension Arctic security is a multidimensional issue. Five of the eight Arctic states are NATO members, and Finland and Sweden are enhanced opportunity partners of NATO (NATO, 2021a, 2021b). Russia is considered an aggressive state by NATO and, in particular, by the USA (NATO, 2019; Sengupta, 2019). It may be said that Russia views the situation in reverse (CRS, 2020: 2; Konyshev & Sergunin, 2014: 83). Turkey’s position can be described as follows: taking into consideration the fact that the nuclear systems owned by the USA and Russia retain important contact points in the Arctic region, the continuing simulations of nuclear emergencies present a constantly volatile situation under the guise of military security. Other military security issues take much more theoretical forms in comparison with the changes taking place in the Arctic Ocean due to the influence of climate change (melting ice, the opening of new sea routes and resources, etc.) (Wæver, 2017: 122). Considering that developments in the Arctic region will affect the international security environment not only for the Arctic region but also for a far-ranging community of states, including Turkey, and that coordination is limited on strategic issues affecting the interests of NATO member states (defense expenditures, Syria, Libya, climate change, etc.), the tasks and responsibilities that NATO, led by the USA, may have to undertake in the future against Russia and China in the Arctic region could create a complicated and challenging situation for Turkey.
Conclusion Although Turkey’s Arctic policy has changed periodically, its common thread is that it has difficulty in adopting a holistic approach to the region. Turkey has been cautious about establishing and enacting an Arctic strategy or policy to-date. It is not easy to locate Turkey’s Arctic policy within its general foreign policy or to find an element of continuity in it. This may be one reason why the Arctic Council rejected Turkey’s application for observer member status. Turkey’s historical ties to the region are a driving force behind its interest in the Arctic. The reasons for this interest and its areas of implementation are compatible with the characteristics of the region. However, there is a very limited link. Especially today, no cultural activities take place between the Indigenous peoples of Turkey and the Arctic. It is almost impossible to discuss a statelevel interest in this direction. Given this context, Turkey tends to take a nuanced and measured approach to Arctic policy, one that is institutionalized, that takes into account security and geopolitical trends in the Arctic, and that attaches importance to scientific cooperation. However, deficiencies and uncertainties remain in this approach.
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Turkey lacks clear policies on how to mitigate the effects of climate change locally and nationally, increase scientific cooperation, create sustainable economic activity, and promote international cooperation. Turkey lacks clear policies on how to mitigate the effects of climate change, increase scientific cooperation, create sustainable economic activity, and promote international cooperation in the Arctic.
Notes 1. Five ministers changed in the Ministry of Environment between 1995 and 1998 and three between 1999 and 2003, the Ministry of Environment became the Ministry of Environment and Forestry in 2003 and the Ministry of Environment and Urbanization and the Ministry of Forestry and Water Affairs in 2011 (Algan, 2013:4). 2. Generally considered, science diplomacy is the use of science and international scientific cooperation to improve the foreign policies and international relations of countries and solve common global problems (Ruffini, 2017:13). 3. The EU, Switzerland, Mongolia and Greece are the other countries/organizations which made observer membership applications to the Arctic Council but were refused in the same year (Knecht, 2015). 4. Ice-class tugboat built by Turkish Shipyard delivered to Romania which is an European Union country, and also an icebreaker, built by Turkish Shipyard, delivered to Norway could be an example. Ice-class tugboat built by Turkish Shipyard also delivered to Finland. In addition, there are icebreaker ships that the Turkish Shipyards are currently building and will be delivered to Russia (personal communication, GISBIR, 4 June, 2021). 5. Summary of ship types: fishing vessels (the world’s first battery-LNG-fueled purse seiner trawler and the world’s largest live fish carrier), ferries (zero-emission battery powered, hybrid, LNG-fueled ferries), tugboats (the world’s first all-electric harbor tug, the world’s first remotely-operated commercial vessel and LNG-fueled escort tug), naval ships and coast guard boats (approx. 100 naval ships/boats, with experience in complex ship design and construction), energy ships (innovative floating supply of energy from ship to shore for non-developed countries), offshore supply vessels, research vessels, mega yachts and yachts (third in yacht building), oil tankers and asphalt tankers, chemical tankers (first in small-tonnage chemical tankers 2002–2012), bulk carriers and containers, heavy-lifting ships, and multipurpose vessels (personal communication, GISBIR, 4 June, 2021).
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Responsible International Citizenship and China’s Participation in Arctic Regionalization Liisa Kauppila & Sanna Kopra
This paper analyses the normative underpinnings of China’s participation in processes of Arctic regionalization. Building on Gareth Evans’ concept of responsible international citizenship, it argues that China’s Arctic engagement is chiefly motivated by the government’s efforts to promote the wellbeing of Chinese citizens – a state of affairs that the current regime equals with the ideal of social stability. As a responsible international citizen, China should, however, advance this “enlightened selfinterest” vis-á-vis other members of the Arctic international society, that is, either internalize the established practices that organize the Arctic region or mold them in peaceful ways. In the empirical parts of the paper, we first identify three concrete aims that drive forward China’s participation in Arctic regionalization – creating wealth through more “green” growth, mitigating the effects of climate change on China, and promoting a unifying ideology. We then suggest that China has not directly violated any of the key organizing principles of the Arctic international society, but it has found distinct ways to act out these concrete goals and advance the wellbeing of its citizens. Such means include somewhat challenging the dominant interpretation of these norms and refraining from advocating stricter environmental standards.
Introduction In line with its rising global power, China has become increasingly interested in partaking in economic, social, and political processes that constitute the Arctic region within and outside the Arctic Council (AC), the principal regional intergovernmental forum. Unsurprisingly, an extensive literature examining China’s Arctic interests has emerged (e.g. Kobzeva, 2019; Koivurova & Kopra, 2020; Su & Huntington, 2021). Yet, an ideational basis for China’s Arctic activities has not been elaborated. In this paper, we seek to fulfill this gap by analyzing the normative underpinnings of China’s participation in processes of regionalization. Since the existing literature indicates that China’s rise will alter the future of regions globally (Kavalski, 2009; cf. Dent, 2016; Zhang, 2005), this knowledge is also relevant to broader audiences. Theoretically, we contribute to constructivist work on regionalism by studying the roles of interests, values and other ideational aspects of social life in processes of regionalization; this is an approach that has gained a prominent place in theories of regionalism in recent years (Söderbaum, 2016: 45– 48). We define the Arctic as a socially constructed region that is being made and unmade by various Liisa Kauppila is a Senior Researcher at the Department of Philosophy, Contemporary History and Political Science, University of Turku, Finland, and a PhD Candidate at the Centre for East Asian Studies, University of Turku. Sanna Kopra is a Senior Researcher in the Northern Institute for Environmental and Minority Law of the Arctic Centre at University of Lapland, Finland, and a Senior Fellow at The Arctic Institute – Center for Circumpolar Security Studies in Washington D.C.
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“regionalizing actors” (Söderbaum, 2016) within and outside the traditional geopolitical boundaries of the region. We view these processes as working through historically contingent intersubjective meanings, norms and practices; hence they are inherently normative and shaped by states’ ideas and values, including notions of responsibility. Based on the assumption that all states seek to define international rights and responsibilities in a way that supports the realization of their national needs and greeds, we utilize the concept of responsible international citizenship as a lens to study China’s involvement in Arctic regionalization. Needless to say, this does not mean that we somehow seek to advocate China’s notions of responsibility in the Arctic or elsewhere. Instead, we presume that states’ key responsibility is to enable and maintain the wellbeing of their citizens, and their participation in processes of regionalization is also therefore guided by this duty. As there is no universal understanding of what “wellbeing” means in practice, the ways in which states seek – or can – advance their citizens’ wellbeing depends on the context. In this article, we ask: what are the ways in which China’s participation in Arctic regionalization seeks to advance the wellbeing of Chinese citizens? Obviously, the concept of responsible international citizen does not suggest that states can do whatever they want to advance the needs of their citizens but they must reconcile their policies with those of others. As responsible international citizenship “involves constructive and balanced endeavours” in a regional context (Evans, 1990), we also ask: Does China balance its Arctic policies with the existing norms of Arctic regionalization, or does it seek to somewhat challenge them? If so, does it do it in a peaceful manner? In the following section, we explain our constructivist approach and argue that states’ responsibility to facilitate the wellbeing of their citizens is a principal driver of their participation in global processes of regionalization. In the empirical sections, we demonstrate that three particular notions of wellbeing explain China’s willingness to participate in Arctic regionalization: “green” growth, mitigation of climate change related risks in China, and bringing the people together through a unifying ideology. Our data include China’s official documents, speeches, state media and journal articles written by Chinese scholars. Finally, we conclude that China has not directly violated any of the key organizing principles of the Arctic region, but it has found distinct ways to interpret them in its urge to advance the wellbeing of its citizens.
Regionalization and notions of responsibility No region exists in a vacuum, and regionalization – processes of social, political and economic cooperation, integration and cohesion “by which regions are made and unmade in various fields of activity and at various levels” (Söderbaum, 2016: 54) – is never untouched by “outside” transformation. Acknowledging this, scholars of New Regionalism have studied the relationship between globalization and regionalization, and emphasised that globalization drivers forward processes of regionalization and spawns various kinds of regional forms (e.g. Hettne, Inotai & Sunkel, 1999; Hettne & Söderbaum, 1998; Söderbaum, 2016). Although regionalization is inherently a political process, meaning that it entails discursive struggles over interests, values and norms, New Regionalism pays little attention to the normative dynamics of regionalization. This is rather unsurprising given that International Relations (IR) theory has not traditionally paid much attention to normative aspects of world politics: realists have stated that a state’s responsibility stops at the national border while neorealists and neoliberalists have maintained that states carry responsibilities only if it is in their national interests. Kauppila & Kopra
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Arguably, an analysis of regionalizing actors’ national interests cannot offer us sufficient information of dynamics of processes of regionalization: notions of responsibility matter in the creation of regions. It is widely accepted within IR that organizations such as states, corporations and institutions are moral agents (e.g. Erskine, 2003). Yet, apart from the draft Responsibility of States for Internationally Wrongful Acts compiled by the International Law Commission in 2001, there is no international agreement on state responsibility. From the constructivist perspective, however, this does not matter: responsibilities of states (or any other agent) are not given or static but they are socially constructed in time and place. Hence, they are contingent on international balance of power, material and ideational changes, unexpected events, etc. While national interests undoubtedly shape the social construction of responsibilities, they should not be understood in narrow terms of self-interests; rather, we must investigate their deeper ideational and normative basis to fully understand a state’s notions of legitimate conduct at home and abroad. From a constructivist perspective, the concept of responsible citizenship offers a fruitful lens to analyze states’ notions of responsibility. It was coined by Senator Gareth Evans, Australia’s then Minister for Foreign Affairs, in a series of foreign policy speeches in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Evans stated that ethical standards of conduct are essential if states are to practice responsible foreign policy. Yet he noted that “good international citizenship is not an idealistic distraction or a quixotic quest”, nor “is it the foreign policy equivalent of boy scout good deeds” (Evans, 1990). Hence, good international citizenship means “no more – and no less – than the pursuit of enlightened self-interest” (ibid.). Evans’ concept emphasizes that responsible states do not have to sacrifice their domestic interests (however they are defined) but they must shoulder responsibilities to both their own population and international society as a whole. In modern times, thus, sovereignty can be defined as the “authority to be a member of the international community” (Perrez, 2000: 332), and such authority “inherently includes a duty or responsibility: the duty and the obligation to fulfill the tasks of a state, i.e. to enable and maintain wellbeing of its people, and to participate as a responsible member in the solution of common problems of the international community” (ibid: 335). In the Arctic, the Chinese government has not traditionally been considered a regionalizing actor because China does not possess sovereignty above the Arctic Circle. Since the end of the Cold War, however, the Arctic has globalized in many ways (e.g. Finger & Heininen, 2019), meaning that the space and time compression (Harvey, 1989) has altered the social construction of the region so radically that it can no longer be defined as a geographic and cultural-historic region exclusively projected by the states in the region. Today, many international standards and treaties, such as the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS) and the International Maritime Organization’s (IMO) International Code for Ships Operating in Polar Waters (Polar Code), play a role in Arctic governance, while the Arctic Council continues to be the key platform for regional dialogue. Clearly, China, which in June 2017 officially added the Polar Silk Road (冰上丝绸之路) to President Xi Jinping’s flagship project the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) and published its firstever Arctic strategy in January 2018 (State Council of the PRC, 2018b; Xinhua, 2017; State Council of the PRC, 2021), is not the only external actor that seeks to increase involvement in the Arctic. In addition to China, which was accepted as an observer in the AC in 2013, twelve other nonArctic states and a number of international and non-governmental organizations take part in the Council’s work. Their growing regional interest has greatly invigorated globalization and informal
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processes of regionalization in the Arctic, i.e. those activities that take place outside the formal institutional structures.
Pursuit of domestic wellbeing as a driver of China’s participation in Arctic regionalization By now, it is apparently clear that we do not regard the pursuit for power as a key motivator of China’s Arctic engagement. While acknowledging that power struggles cannot be completely dismissed in international politics, we suggest that China’s involvement in the Arctic is chiefly motivated by the government’s “pursuit of enlightened self-interest” to provide wellbeing for its citizens: a task that the current regime equals, to a large extent, with that of maintaining social stability – a state of affairs that corresponds with the age-old Confucian ideals and the needs of the ruling party (cf. Kallio, 2016). In this section, we identify three concrete means through which the Chinese government pursues to advance the wellbeing of Chinese citizens in the Arctic context: creating wealth through more “green” growth, mitigating the effects of climate change on China and promoting a unifying ideology. Ultimately, all these aspects promote social stability in distinct ways that are further elaborated below. Before proceeding into the actual analysis, a note should be made on the timespan of China’s Arctic visions. Arguably, China’s Arctic strategy is based on the high likelihood that the material importance of the region will increase in the future, especially as the last frontier of fossil fuels and a scene of alternative shipping routes. For this reason, China’s participation in Arctic regionalization illustrates that future-oriented politics are essential if states want to ensure their capability to fulfil their national responsibilities in the decades to come. What is more, the Arctic case illustrates very well the paradoxical nature of contemporary international politics: states are ready to support extremely costly, ambitious, and risky economic projects in far-away places to provide material wellbeing at home, although such schemes may compromise the wellbeing of others – and even their own people, if the long-term consequences of fossil economy are considered. Promoting growth and greenifying the Chinese economy Since the economic reforms started in 1978, China has transformed from a relatively self-sufficient – but poor – economy to a rather open middle-income country that has managed to improve the basic living conditions of its citizens by creating employment, eliminating absolute poverty, and increasing disposable incomes across the country. Generally, this has contributed to the overall satisfaction of the citizens, which is a crucial precondition for social stability and wellbeing. Over the past few decades, the Chinese people have, however, become much more aware of the nexus between growth, pollution and health problems, which has resulted in a growing dissatisfaction (Shapiro, 2012). In a post-totalitarian society, where people are harder to control and order is more challenging to force, these concerns are voiced in numerous protests (Albert & Xu, 2016), which inevitably carries the risk of shaking social stability. Despite the party-state’s ability to control such outbursts much more effectively than democratic societies could or would because of their constitutional liberties (e.g. freedom of speech and assembly), the government is compelled to take drastic actions to “greenify” the economy. Given this two-fold aim to maintain growth and take steady steps towards a low-carbon future in China, it is clear that the state continues to be dependent on overseas resources and partnerships Kauppila & Kopra
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in promoting wellbeing. In practice, the government seeks to make use of imported natural resources and technology transfer in lifting China to the status of an advanced high-income economy that no longer heavily relies on the manufacturing sector but gradually catches up with the West technologically and develops into a “knowledge power” (cf. Mayer, 2012). The overall development of China’s science sector is also in a crucial role in this task: science is the key to both enhancing productivity and mitigating emissions of economic activities. All together, these aims constitute the primary rationale for China’s global outreach and the current strategy through which it is executed: President Xi’s BRI (cf. Kauppila, 2022). Against this backdrop, it is unsurprising that the Chinese government advances its idea of the Polar Silk Road, and thus takes increasingly part in economic processes that seek to utilize Arctic natural resources – and which greatly contribute to the social construction of the Arctic region itself. In addition to the exploration and extraction of natural gas and oil – fossil fuels that are hard to replace with renewables in some critical functions of Chinese society (e.g. air travel) – the government has already supported the development of the Arctic shipping lanes, whose gradual emergence for wider-scale utilization makes it possible to manage energy transportation-related risks (e.g. Beveridge et al., 2016). More specifically, the Sino-Arctic economic activities that already stand to shape the dynamics of the Arctic region on a more frequent basis include sailings on the Northeast Passage (NEP) and liquefied natural gas (LNG) projects in the Russian Arctic. The NEP, which is the most prospective of the three Arctic sea routes known to the Chinese as the Polar Silk Road1, runs through waters north of Russia and offers Chinese stakeholders a shorter route to the European markets and helps the government to alleviate its “Malacca dilemma”. LNG is the least environmentally harmful fossil fuel that offers a chance to diversify China’s energy portfolio and reduce its dependence on coal, which accounts for 58 percent of China’s energy consumption (BP, 2019). What is more, the two Arctic LNG projects in which China takes part, the Yamal LNG Project and the Arctic LNG 2, are not only schemes that add on to the Russia-China flows of LNG but also scenes on which state-of-the-art technology and knowledge are needed, providing a fruitful chance for Chinese companies to gain insights from leading global actors, especially on engineering, energy production and transportation in challenging Arctic conditions (Kauppila, 2022). In addition, Chinese actors have expressed their strong intent to gain a foothold in the extraction of Arctic minerals and rare earth elements as well as in Arctic fisheries. Minerals and rare earth elements have several uses in both energy (e.g. nuclear electricity generation) and technology (e.g. clean tech) sectors in China, whereas the fishing industry contributes significantly to China’s GDP and constitutes an important element of Chinese traditions. The polar science projects, in turn, offer a fruitful chance to develop China’s science sector in a highly international environment. Mitigation of the effects of climate change on China Wellbeing in China is also threatened by climate change, whose effects culminate in the Arctic. According to recent studies, the Arctic climatic changes are linked to extreme weather events, winter cold weather in East Asia (Kim & Kim, 2018), air pollution and flooding in Eastern China (Wang, Chen & Liu, 2015), and problems in China’s agricultural production. All the abovementioned issues are potential sources of general citizen dissatisfaction and triggers for protests and social unrest. For these reasons, the government funds scientific research on Arctic climate change, which is, for example, conducted together with the Russians on polar expeditions and
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under the auspices of a joint research institute, and partakes in Arctic governance – and this way contributes to those social and political processes that reconstruct the Arctic region. Promoting a unifying ideology In addition to the two above-mentioned material acts, bringing the people together through spiritual means is an effective way to enhance social stability. A unifying ideology can instil a sense of belonging and mental affinity towards a collective in a multiethnic and multicultural country. In recent decades, however, finding such a shared system of ideals has become a challenge for the leadership because economic and political reforms have eroded the role of socialism as the guideline of the Chinese society. As a response to this “spiritual and ideological vacuum” (Kallio, 2016: 52), state-nationalism (爱国主义) has emerged as an officially accepted, pragmatic belief system that instills a sense of collective pride by emphasizing the glorious performance of the party in China’s return to the great power status – instead of hailing shared attributes that not all Chinese can relate to (Zhao, 2004). In President Xi’s national rejuvenation (民族复兴), national prowess in such fields as science and technology have emerged as a core theme of the nationalist story. Over the past two decades, the Arctic science collaboration, expeditions and ambitious economic projects have served to fuel nationalist sentiments by constructing an image of a “polar great power”, a militarily, economically and scientifically capable modern country whose influence extends over both poles (Brady, 2017). For example, the National Museum of China portrays pictures of the ice-breaker Xuelong and the Arctic Yellow River Station magnificently in line with the country’s space program; in a similar vein, the museum at the Polar Research Institute of China emphasizes China’s task to become a “great polar expedition country” (“成为极地考察大国”). Although China’s Arctic science engagement is definitely not only motivated by these nationalist aspirations, it is important to recognize them in analyzing China’s role in processes of Arctic regionalization.
China’s enlightened self-interest and the (re)organization of the Arctic region Apparently, the contemporary liberal international order may constrain the Chinese government’s efforts to maintain social stability at domestic level. Therefore, not only China’s capability but also its motivation to reform the building blocks of international order may increase in line with its rise to great power status. To be a responsible international citizen, however, China has to refrain from posing a threat or using force in rewriting international rules and norms so that they correspond with its own values and interests. As Evans (1990) underlines, responsible international citizens pursue “enlightened self-interest” (italics added by the authors), meaning that China should exercise its growing power prudently by reconciling its policies and actions with the established international rules to maintain international peace and order. In this section, we ponder the extent to which China has, so far, conformed to and sought to mold international practices that organize the Arctic region in acting out its responsibility to provide wellbeing to its citizens. While acknowledging unique characteristics of the Arctic, we do not subscribe to the idea about the Arctic as an exceptional region. Hence, we build on a premise that the Arctic is organised by the same set of practices – territoriality and sovereignty, diplomacy, harm prevention and environmental stewardship, international law, and nationalism (e.g. Buzan, 2004) – as the contemporary international society at large, and study China’s contribution to those practices. Kauppila & Kopra
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Territoriality and sovereignty To a large extent, the minimum requirement for China to participate in processes of Arctic regionalization would be that it accepts two norms constitutive of Arctic regional society: sovereignty and territoriality. Although these two international practices substantially hinder China’s attempts to utilize Arctic natural resources for creating growth and greenifying the Chinese economy, it cannot take actions that violate them for two reasons. First, as a non-Arctic country, China is dependent on partnerships in utilizing the region’s resources. For example, around 84 percent of Arctic fossil fuel deposits are located offshore north of Siberia, Alaska, Canada and Greenland (U.S. Geological Survey, 2008), in locations belonging to the Arctic states or their exclusive economic zones (EEZ), that is, sea areas over which they have jurisdiction according to the UNCLOS. Second, China can only benefit from Arctic resources if the region is a conflict-free and stable scene of coexistence. Insofar as direct violations of territorial integrity or making of sovereignty claims count as ultimate infringements of these norms, China has certainly refrained from breaching territoriality and sovereignty in the Arctic. It has not used force against the political independence of the Arctic states or made any sovereignty claims over the Arctic land and waters. Although four Chinese navy vessels reportedly entered the US EEZ near Alaska’s Aleutian islands in late August 2021, they did remain in international waters and cannot be seen to have violated the US sovereignty (e.g. Schreiber, 2021). Moreover, China has relied on cooperation and established partnerships that allow Chinese companies to participate in Arctic energy and mineral extraction. For example, the government’s investment vehicle Silk Road Fund became directly engaged in a pioneering Arctic LNG project in Russia’s Yamal Peninsula in 2016. Through this move, the government supported a Russo-French-Chinese joint venture in which the state-owned China National Petroleum Corporation is a 20 percent shareholder (Yamal LNG Project, n.d.). Chinese participation in the mega project has not only provided the country’s economy with notable volumes of LNG since July 2018, when the first shipment to China took place (Novatek, 2018), but also given Chinese companies a chance to develop skills needed in future projects in the region, including possible oil drilling schemes. A similar project with equal benefits to the Chinese economy is currently launched in Gydan Peninsula, as Novatek’s second LNG project, Arctic LNG 2, is gradually starting its operations. Yet, at the same time, China does somewhat seek to shape the organization of regional order by challenging the norms of territoriality and sovereignty through more subtle methods. Notably, China promotes an idea of the Arctic region that somewhat downplays territoriality as its constitutive practice. As China’s Arctic strategy puts it, “The Arctic situation now goes beyond its original interArctic States or regional nature, having a vital bearing on the interests of States outside the region and the interests of the international community as a whole, as well as on the survival, the development, and the shared future for mankind” (State Council of the PRC, 2018b). In a similar vein, China has adopted a self-identification as a “near-Arctic state” (近北极国家). Unsurprisingly, this discourse has been interpreted as a hawkish claim in more realist (mostly American) analyses – despite the fact that many other non-Arctic states, such as France and India, view and portray their position in a similar manner (cf. Heininen et al., 2019). To support the non-territorial definition of the Arctic region, China also highlights the global nature of the region’s governance structure – a viewpoint that somewhat downplays the role of the
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AC. For example, it has emphasized the importance of international law as an instrument of responsible Arctic governance in major Arctic-related statements over the past few years. The government has repeatedly emphasized the stipulations of the UNCLOS, which outline that external actors possess certain rights to conduct research, navigate and explore resources in the world’s oceans (State Council of the PRC, 2018b). Chinese scholars have also sought to frame some of the natural resources of the Arctic as global commons (e.g. Yan & Li, 2009; Yang et al., 2015). Moreover, some Chinese researchers have expressed their dissatisfaction with the exclusiveness of the existing Arctic governance structure by stating that it does not allow nonArctic countries to take part in its decision-making, even when it deals with “global issues” (Guo & Yao, 2015). Despite the lively debate in Chinese academia, the government, however, refrains from outright criticism of the Arctic Council in official contexts. In this way, it avoids spurring speculation as to whether the country is truly committed to acting out its pledge not to intervene in the Arctic countries’ internal issues, that is, to respect the organizing principle of sovereignty. International law International law directly enables China to participate in those processes of Arctic regionalization that allow the country to create economic growth and conduct science activities to mitigate climate change related risks in China. The UNCLOS, in particular, not only guarantees China the right to ship in the Arctic waters but also provides the right to practice scientific research in certain parts of the Arctic. In a similar vein, the Treaty of Svalbard, which China signed in 1925, has enabled China to set its own research station, Yellow River Research Station (黄河站) in Norway’s Svalbard. Recently, China has also contributed to the development of new regulations concerning the Arctic. In 2015, China was invited by the Arctic Ocean coastal states, together with other major fishing nations (Japan, South Korea, and Iceland) and the EU to take part in negotiations on a legally binding agreement on preventing unregulated fishing in the high seas portion of the Central Arctic Ocean until sustainability of such activities can be guaranteed. As a result, the 2018 Agreement to Prevent Unregulated High Seas Fisheries in the Central Arctic Ocean was adopted. After China ratified the agreement in May 2021, it entered into force. In addition, China took part in the formulation of the IMO’s Polar Code, a standard that sets tightened regulations for shipping in the Arctic (and Antarctic) waters. Although it has become common to almost “expect” China to behave in a manner that violates the stipulations of the UNCLOS based on the quarrels in the South China Sea (cf. Lanteigne, 2021), China has, so far, largely internalized the norms of international law in the Arctic context. As mentioned above, Chinese navy vessels did not break international law in late August 2021 as they did not enter the US territorial waters. Only on one occasion has China – possibly – interpreted international law in a manner that has been questioned by the Arctic states. In 2017, Xuelong sailed through the Northwest Passage under a research permit issued by the Canadian authorities, but based on the stipulations of the UNCLOS. According to the Chinese state media, the test sailing was also utilized for gaining insights for commercial sailings (cf. Fife & Chase, 2017) – something that the research permit does not allow one to do. However, there is no concrete evidence of such actions being taken; in fact, it may well be that Xinhua’s interpretation of the expedition was rather a nationalist show targeted at the domestic audience than a report of its true nature.
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Diplomacy Adhering to the norms of diplomacy has been crucial for China to be able to participate in Arctic regionalization and thus advance its enlightened self-interests. While China’s Arctic strategy does not pay much attention to the role of the AC in regional governance, it confirms that “China is committed to improving and complementing the Arctic governance regime” (State Council of the PRC, 2018b). Currently, bilateral interaction between China and the Arctic countries constitutes one of the most concrete domains of the country’s Arctic diplomacy. China has, for example, strengthened its “bilateral” relations with the Nordic countries under the model of 5+1 diplomacy, on issues ranging from science and technology to transport and energy extraction (cf. SverdrupThygeson et al., 2018). Diplomacy has also facilitated the above-mentioned energy projects in Russia and advanced Chinese economic visions in the Arctic more generally: without strong diplomatic ties, managed by the highest leadership, Sino-Russian business collaboration in developing energy resources and shipping lanes would not be possible. In addition to allocating funding to the actual projects, the governments and leaders of the two countries have eased informal barriers to investments, participated in the negotiations of both new and older deals, made field visits, signed Memorandums of Understanding etc. in the spirit of state capitalism. Notably, the Western economic sanctions, imposed on Russia in the aftermath of the Ukrainian crisis in 2014 strengthened the Sino-Russian Arctic partnership: they created a diplomatic and economic vacuum which China could fill (cf. Gabuev, 2016). The practice of diplomacy is, however, sometimes at odds with China’s urge to access Arctic resources. In 2010, China froze its diplomatic ties with Norway as a response to the decision to award the Nobel Peace Prize to a Chinese dissident Liu Xiaobo. Economic sanctions with Chinese characteristics soon followed: new veterinary inspections were introduced to control the Norwegian exporters’ access to the Chinese market. As a recent gravity model study evaluates, during the period of 2011-2016 this resulted in a 92% drop in the value of Chinese imports of fresh and chilled salmon from Norway – as compared with a non-sanction environment that would have given the Norwegians a chance to expand their business in China (Blomfeldt Mathisrud, 2018). It is, however, unsurprising that the Chinese desire for presumably safe and clean Arctic salmon was soon satisfied with imports from other Northern areas (e.g. Faroe Islands) – some of which traded salmon of Norwegian-origin (Chen & Garcia, 2016). Another related example is the case of Sweden: the Swedish reaction to the captivity of Gui Minhai, a Swedish dissident of Chinese origin, has resulted in diplomatic tensions that have, for example, indirectly led to China setting official warnings against travelling to Sweden and imposing sanctions on a Swedish researcher. Although numerical estimations on the actual economic impact of these diplomatic frictions are not yet available, it is fair to say that Sweden has, overall, become less of a potential destination for Polar Silk Road related investments. These cases illustrate that although overseas resources contribute to growth and wellbeing, most Arctic opportunities are not vitally important for Chinese economic development and business certainly does not continue “as usual” if the social conditions for wellbeing are at risk. Put differently, glorifying the work of dissidents poses a more pressing risk to social stability than freezing or cooling diplomatic relations with small Arctic countries. China has also adhered to the norm of diplomacy in seeking to mitigate the domestic risks of climate change as a member of the Arctic regional society. It has sought to utilize both formal and informal forums of Arctic governance to advance its own agendas and voice its concerns. Despite the rather restricted scope of action of the Arctic Council observers, and the fact that China is not Responsible international citizenship and China’s participation in Arctic regionalization
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committed to the Council’s work to reduce black carbon emissions, it is important for China to be able to participate in the climate discussions that are held under its auspices. Interestingly, the Chinese government also partakes in another, yet emerging setting focusing on mitigating the effects of Arctic climatic changes. Three East Asian observer members of the Arctic Council (China, Japan and South Korea) have organized trilateral meetings on Arctic collaboration since April 2016 – a rare move in the historically tricky context of East Asia. Through this arrangement China seeks to make its voice better heard in the growing mass of Arctic Council observer states and enhance research collaboration among its neighbors (Second Trilateral High-Level Dialogue on the Arctic, 2017). In a similar vein, China has become an active participant in large annual meetings located between track II and track I diplomacy. Particularly, the Arctic Circle Assembly has become an important forum for China to influence the Arctic community. In May 2019, China organized the first-ever Arctic Circle China Forum in Shanghai, giving an opportunity for the Chinese officials to build trust among the Arctic community – a key purpose of the practice of diplomacy. Harm prevention and environmental stewardship Despite the wide-spread criticism that China has faced with regard to its environmental practices globally, China has refrained from violating the key norms of harm prevention and environmental stewardship in the Arctic. From China’s perspective, adhering to these norms has both allowed China to mitigate the effects of climate change on China and build trust within and outside the AC, which is needed to advance its economic visions in the future. Yet, this is not to say that China would have, in any way, sought to advance their more ambitious implementation – although taking such an initiative could greatly strengthen its status as a legitimate member of the region and truly allow it to take a driver’s seat in processes of Arctic regionalization. As mentioned above, China has been favorable towards two legal standards that seek to prevent harm and protect the environment in the region. As for the Polar Code, China participated in the initial correspondence group and gave its own proposals calling for less strict stipulations (Eiterjord, 2020), but in the end did not oppose the final draft. Although the fisheries agreement hinders the Chinese fishing industry from gaining access to the Arctic high sea fisheries, being part of the agreement can be seen as an investment in the future: aligning with the Arctic states builds trust, which is needed for more important schemes, such as energy deals. It should, however, be noted that Arctic climatic changes largely result from global greenhouse gas emissions. Therefore, if China, the largest carbon dioxide emitter in the world, is truly to tackle the domestic risks created by Arctic climatic changes, the first and foremost way of doing so would be to mitigate its own emissions. In September 2020, China indeed announced an ambitious goal of reaching carbon neutrality by 2060 (Xi, 2020). Although China has neither managed to halt the growth of its emissions nor taken part in the Arctic Council’s work to reduce black carbon emissions, recent developments regarding China’s overseas investments have been promising. In July 2021, Guidelines for Greening Overseas Investment and Cooperation were issued by the Ministry of Commerce and the Ministry of Ecology and Environment, and in September 2021, at the UN General Assembly, President Xi announced that China would no longer invest in building coal power abroad. At the same time, especially the lack of concrete environmental engagement in the work of the Arctic Council stands as a clear contradiction of the fact that China’s pursuit of
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wealth through Arctic fossil fuels itself is a significant source of pollutants causing Arctic environmental change. Nationalism The organizing practice of nationalism carries a great potential to both hinder and advance China’s participation in those processes of Arctic regionalization that allow China to promote wellbeing through Arctic resources. Particularly, the highly controversial case of Greenland illustrates both the constraints and potential of nationalism from China’s perspective. Some Greenlandic politicians have welcomed Chinese investments in rare earth and uranium resources because it gives the autonomous country economic freedom from Denmark. For the Danish government, however, Chinese involvement poses risks, not least because Greenland’s new economic development opens the door for the island’s independence (e.g. Gad et al., 2018). Furthermore, Greenland’s northwest coast hosts a US Air Force military base, Thule Air Base, which makes Sino-Greenlandic collaboration a matter of concern for the US. These reasons have already affected China’s ability to do business in Greenland. The establishment of China’s science and satellite stations in the Arctic has also fueled “China threat theories” (cf. Broomfield, 2003) and nationalist sentiments in Arctic countries. Currently, China has these outposts in three Arctic countries: Norway’s Svalbard, Iceland and Sweden. In addition, it has expressed interest in establishing an establishment in Greenland (Cui, 2017) – though so far without success. Several key reports, including those produced by the US and Danish governments (e.g. Office of the Secretary of Defence, 2019; Reuters, 2019), have recently noted that these stations could be used for military purposes, i.e. collecting satellite data for the armed forces and monitoring more than just northern lights and indicators related to climate change. These sentiments may possibly become a major hindrance in China’s urge to utilize Arctic resources to promote wellbeing in China – even if no actual dual-use would be detected.
Conclusions This paper took a departure from the mainstream approaches to IR, which presume that states’ regional conduct is par excellence motivated by struggles for power. We sought to demonstrate that China’s participation in Arctic regionalization is guided by its notions of responsibility. By investigating the normative underpinnings of China’s Arctic policy, we also hope to increase intercultural understanding, which is necessary to secure a resilient future – both in the Arctic and globally. Our purpose was not to assess China’s regional engagement in moral terms. If one wants to evaluate whether or not China’s notions of responsibility are ethically acceptable, it is useful to look at whether China is doing something that could be viewed as irresponsible. In other words, we may gain a better understanding of Chinese practices, perceptions and objectives by highlighting what China does not do in the Arctic. Our analysis demonstrates, for example, that China has not violated the sovereignty of Arctic states or questioned their economic rights. In addition, it has not sought to establish an alternative regional governance model to the AC, although it has, in general, taken a more global approach to regional affairs. Conversely, peaceful socio-economic development of the Arctic is a precondition for China’s goals to promote wellbeing of its citizens. Yet, the purpose of this paper was not to compile a list on what China, or any other state, should Responsible international citizenship and China’s participation in Arctic regionalization
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do to be recognized as a responsible international citizen. This would be a difficult task to do: at the age of increased uncertainty and manufactured risks – or a risk society, as Ulrich Beck puts it – it is increasingly difficult to define what it means to be a responsible international citizen. What is clear, however, is that responsibilities and risks go hand in hand: responsible international citizens forecast and manage risks that may prevent them from acting out their duties.
Acknowledgements Liisa Kauppila wishes to thank the Joel Toivola Foundation and the Academy of Finland (project no. 338145) and Sanna Kopra wishes to thank the Academy of Finland (project no. 315402) for supporting their research for this article.
Notes 1. The other two are the Northwest Passage and the Transpolar Passage.
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Sverdrup-Thygeson, Bjørnar, Lindgren, Wrenn Yennie & Lanteigne, Marc (Eds.) (2018). China and Nordic Diplomacy. Routledge. Söderbaum, Fredrik (2016). Rethinking Regionalism. Macmillan. Su, Ping & Huntington, H.P. (2021) Using critical geopolitical discourse to examine China’s engagement in Arctic affairs. Territory, Politics, Governance, DOI: 10.1080/21622671.2021.1875035. U.S. Geological Survey (2008) Circum-Arctic Resource Appraisal: Estimates of Undiscovered Oil and Gas North of the Arctic Circle. http://pubs.usgs.gov/fs/2008/3049/fs2008-3049.pdf. Wang Hui-Jun, Chen, Huo-Po & Liu, Jiping (2015). Arctic Sea Ice Decline Intensified Haze Pollution in Eastern China. Atmospheric and Oceanic Science Letters, 8(1), 1–9. Xi, Jinping (2020). Statement by H.E. Xi Jinping President of the People's Republic of China at the General Debate of the 75th Session of The United Nations General Assembly. https://www.fmprc.gov.cn/mfa_eng/wjdt_665385/zyjh_665391/t1817098.shtml. Xinhua (2017, June 20). Vision for Maritime Cooperation under the Belt and Road Initiative. http://news.xinhuanet.com/english/2017-06/20/c_136380414.htm Yamal LNG Project (n.d.). Yamal LNG Project. http://yamallng.ru/en/ Yamal LNG Project (2018, March 5). Yamal LNG Ships First Million Tons of LNG. http://yamallng.ru/en/press/news/36264/ Yan, Shuangwu & Li, Mo (2009). 北极争端的症结及其解决路径——公共物品的视角。[The crux of the Arctic dispute and its solution – the perspective of global commons]. 武汉学报 [The Journal of Wuhan University] 6. Yang, Zhengjiao, Liu, Xuexia & Xin, Meijun. (2015). 我国增加在北极地区实质性存在的实现 路径研究。[The research of realised path to enhance China’s substantive presence in the Arctic]. 太 平洋学报 [Pacific Journal] 23(10). Zhang, Tie Jun (2005). China: Towards Regional Actor and World Player. In Farrell, Mary & Hettne, Björn (eds.) Global Politics of Regionalism: Theory and Practice. Pluto Press, 237–251. Zhao, Suisheng (2004). A Nation-State by Construction. Dynamics of Modern Chinese Nationalism. Stanford University Press.
Responsible international citizenship and China’s participation in Arctic regionalization
The Role of Technology in China’s Arctic Engagement: A Means as Well as an End in Itself Camilla T. N. Sørensen & Christopher Weidacher Hsiung
China wants to ensure its role as a major stakeholder in the Arctic, and improving Chinese technological capabilities play a prominent albeit complex role in this endeavour as a means both to strengthen China’s attractiveness in the eyes of the Arctic states and stakeholders and to ensure that China is able to establish a presence in the region and access its resources. However, development and application of Chinese technology in the Arctic is also an end in itself. Beijing defines the polar regions, the seabed and the outer space as “new strategic frontiers” (zhanlüe xin jiangyu) understood as the most challenging – but also most rewarding – areas to operate in, which relates not narrowly to the tangible Arctic resources to be extracted, but also to the pressure Chinese entities in the region are under to advance their knowledge and improve their technological capabilities and solutions. This further links China’s Arctic engagement with its national development strategy, where ensuring China a frontrunner position within new technologies is a key priority, as well as with China’s broader geo-strategic visions and plans. The article has two main contributions. Firstly, it scrutinises the role of technology in China’s Arctic engagement and shows how it is best viewed as a long-term process. Secondly, the article highlights how the intensifying US-China great power rivalry in recent years has led to a pragmatic adjustment in China’s approach and tactics in the region, characterised by what we call Chinese “tactical retreat”. Following the “China’s Arctic engagement as a long-term process” argument, the key point is that establishing Chinese presence and influence in the Arctic will continue to be a persistent Chinese priority, but Beijing is able and willing to scale down and keep a lower profile when assessed as strategically beneficial. This underscores how China’s Arctic engagement has become more confident and sophisticated over the recent decade.
Introduction This article examines the role of technology in China’s Arctic engagement, which so far remains an underexplored topic in the literature on China and the Arctic (e.g. Brady, 2017; Hong, 2020; Kopra, 2020). We set out to highlight how China’s determination to ensure the country a leading role in the development and application of new technologies is linked in complex ways with China’s efforts to establish an Arctic presence. As we show below, Chinese technological advancement in the Arctic is to be seen as a means to help establish China as an Arctic stakeholder, which the Arctic states and other Arctic stakeholders see interests in engaging with. Chinese knowledge and technology can for example contribute to strengthen understanding and mitigation of the rapid climate change taking place in the Arctic. Chinese technological advancement is thus part of Christopher Weidacher Hsiung is a Researcher, Swedish Defence Research Agency (FOI). The author is solely responsible for the content of this article, which does not necessarily reflect the views of the Swedish Defence Research Agency. Camilla T.N. Sørensen is an Associate Professor, Royal Danish Defence College (RDDC).
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Chinese efforts to build comprehensive relationships in the region and present China as a valuable partner for dealing with the challenges facing the Arctic states and other Arctic stakeholders. This implies that technology is a means in China’s Arctic strategy. Technological advancement is, however, also an end in itself for Beijing. In China, the polar regions (i.e. the Arctic and the Antarctic), together with the deep seabed and outer space, are seen as very challenging areas to operate in, resulting in a constant urge for Chinese researchers, engineers etc. to advance their knowledge and improve their technological capabilities and solutions (e.g. Xinhua, 2015). Being able to conduct research and other activities in the Arctic is therefore valued in Beijing also for the way it contributes to promote and raise the overall level of innovation and technology in China, which constitutes a key priority in China’s national development strategy for restructuring and upgrading its economic model. Such emphasis on the Arctic as a crucial frontier for increasing China’s technological level implies that ensuring Chinese access to the Arctic is a means in China’s national development strategy and the development and application of new technologies in the Arctic thus becomes an end in itself. The intensifying US-China great power competition has entered the Arctic in recent years resulting in growing efforts by Washington to decrease China’s manoeuvring space in the region. This includes heightened US concerns over China’s development and application of new technologies in the Arctic, often viewed as having dual-use purposes with potential for military usages. Several of the other Arctic states are also becoming more hesitant in cooperating with Chinese stakeholders in the region (Olesen & Sørensen, 2019). This has led to a pragmatic adjustment in China’s approach and tactics in the Arctic, where China seeks to tone down its Arctic ambitions while reemphasising cooperative policies and how engagement with Chinese stakeholders, including access to Chinese knowledge and technology, can benefit Arctic states and other Arctic stakeholders. We suggest that such pragmatic adjustment is best understood as a Chinese “tactical retreat”. Following our emphasis on how technology plays a role in China’s Arctic engagement as a means and as an end in itself, the key point is that establishing Chinese presence and influence in the Arctic will continue to be a persistent Chinese priority. It thus links up with key domestic objectives and plays into China’s long-term visions and plans about how to ensure its role as a leading great power. However, Beijing is able and willing to scale down and keep a lower profile when assessed necessary and prudent. This underscores how China’s Arctic engagement has become more confident and sophisticated over the recent decade. This article thus has two main contributions. First, it scrutinises China’s Arctic engagement focusing on the role of technology. Here we demonstrate how technology plays a role in China’s Arctic engagement as a means as well as an end in itself, which further leads us to emphasise how China’s Arctic engagement is best viewed as a long-term process. China wants to ensure its position as an Arctic stakeholder and the improvement of Chinese technological capabilities plays a prominent albeit complex role in this endeavour as a means to strengthen China’s attractiveness in the eyes of the Arctic states and other Arctic stakeholders. However, we suggest that for Beijing this is not narrowly a question about ensuring Chinese access to tangible Arctic resources and shipping routes. It is more broadly about ensuring Chinese access to operate in the region , expecting in the process to develop crucial knowledge and new technologies that link up with key domestic objectives and play into China’s long-term visions and plans about how to ensure its role as a leading great power. Second, the article contextualises such developments in China’s Arctic
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engagement in the intensifying US-China great power competition by discussing how Beijing has sought to adjust its approach and tactics in the Arctic in recent years. The article therefore proceeds as follows. We first outline how technological advancement is increasingly emphasised in China’s Arctic engagement, including in key strategic documents and policy statements regarding the region. We then conduct an analysis of the role of technology in China’s Arctic engagement as it manifests itself in practice in three specific areas: (1) scientific research, (2) natural resource extraction and infrastructure development; and (3) digital communication and satellite navigation. These two sections enable us to show how technology plays a role in China’s Arctic engagement as a means as well as an end in itself, which we do in the following section. Next, we discuss how the intensifying US-China great power competition is impacting China’s manoeuvring space in the Arctic and how China is adjusting its approach and tactics. Our main point is that because the Arctic plays a key role in China’s determination to ensure that the country has a leading role in the development and application of new technologies, Chinese interests in the region are persistent and long-term. Therefore, the Chinese manoeuvring in the region in recent years is best understood as a “tactical retreat”. In the end, we elaborate on our main findings and address some policy implications thereof, where a main concern is how the Arctic states and other Arctic stakeholders can continue to engage China and thus ensure access to Chinese knowledge and technology beneficial in dealing with the challenges they face in a rapidly changing Arctic, without coming into conflict with the US or assisting unwanted Chinese activities in the region (Conley & Wall, 2021; Devyatkin, 2021).
The growing emphasis on technology Over the recent decade, China has substantially increased its focus on and presence in the Arctic (e.g. Brady, 2017; Doshi, Dale-Huang & Zhang, 2021). China officially defines itself as a “nearArctic state” (jin beiji guojia) and has underlined how it sees itself as having legitimate interests and rights in the region, notably in relation to conducting research, natural resource extraction and shipping alongside issues pertaining to regional governance. In its Arctic Policy White Paper published in January 2018, Beijing thus highlights how the Arctic should not be regarded as a demarcated region, referring specifically to how climate change in the region has global implications and international impacts (State Council, 2018). The Chinese position therefore is that it is not up to the Arctic states alone to establish the rules and norms for the future development of and access to the region and its resources. Beijing is, however, keenly aware that China not having any Arctic territory depends on the Arctic states and other Arctic stakeholders seeing benefits in having China present and involved in the region and in further developing their relations with Chinese stakeholders. Therefore, China focuses on establishing strong and comprehensive relationships with the Arctic states and other Arctic stakeholders and on gradually increasing China’s presence and influence in Arctic institutions and mechanisms. In order to do this, China seeks to propose benefits to the Arctic states and other Arctic stakeholders. The focus thus is on knitting China into the region – on multiple levels – through offers and agreements regarding for instance research, resource extraction and infrastructure development. Chinese technological advancement plays a growing role in such efforts. It is challenging on many fronts to operate in the Arctic region – most obvious is the harsh and complex physical environment. High levels of knowledge and sophisticated technological equipment are therefore required to operate and to conduct research as well as natural resource extraction and development of needed infrastructure to facilitate
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improved and viable Arctic shipping routes. Improvement of knowledge and technology are therefore always in demand among Arctic states and other Arctic stakeholders, and there is a room to manoeuvre here for China in the region . In recent years, the Chinese government has made it clear that it wants to raise the level of its Arctic knowledge and technological capabilities, evidenced in key strategic documents and policies. For instance, in China’s 13th Five-Year Plan (covering the period 2016–2020), the Chinese government called for strengthening the country’s activism in the polar regions. It, among other things, designed a program for expanding China’s polar scientific capacity, including improving innovation and technological advancement to achieve these goals (Compilation and Translation Bureau, 2016: chapter 41). In the latest plan, the 14th Five-Year Plan (covering the period 20212025), the Chinese government called for even greater engagement in the Arctic Ocean region and Antarctica while also explicitly incorporating the active development of the “Polar Silk Road” as part of the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) (Lanteigne, 2021). In the Arctic Policy White Paper, Beijing also clearly envisioned an increasingly important role of science and technology in its Arctic engagement both in order to better understand the Arctic environment and its global effects, and in order to develop the Arctic through, for example, the utilisation of resources such as oil, natural gas and fisheries (State Council, 2018). Significantly, the Chinese government defines the polar regions, the deep seabed and outer space as crucial frontiers or rather as “new strategic frontiers” (zhanlüe xin jiangyu) for increasing Chinese technological level (e.g. Xinhua, 2015). Chinese interests in the Arctic and the important role given to technology are also spelled out in the authoritative document related to China’s BRI plans. After some years of uncertainty, the Arctic is now formally part of the BRI, officially labeled as the Polar Silk Road. For instance, technological advancement is highlighted as an important component in the Arctic maritime domain, notably in the “Vision for Maritime Cooperation under the Belt and Road Initiative”, a jointly issued strategy document by the China National Development and Reform Commission (NDRC) and the State Ocean Administration (SOA) in 2017. The document declares the Arctic a “blue economic passage”, which calls for strengthening “common maritime security for mutual benefits”, including initiatives such as maritime search and rescue, maritime monitoring and management, sharing ocean navigation results, and building ocean observation and network systems (Xinhua, 2017). Moreover, the document states “China is willing to work with all parties in conducting scientific surveys of navigational routes, setting up land-based monitoring stations, carrying out research on climatic and environmental changes in the Arctic, as well as providing navigational forecasting services” (Xinhua, 2017). Again here, it is emphasized how China with its technological advancements have something to offer in the Arctic. The emphasis on the Arctic in China’s push for digital connectivity as envisioned in its “Digital Silk Road” (DSR) – an increasingly crucial component in China’s overall BRI plans – is also growing (e.g. Jüris, 2020; Tillman, Yang & Nielsson, 2020). Generally, Beijing foresees that the DSR can promote Chinese technical solutions, standards and norms and facilitate Chinese efforts to influence global standards for global digital connectivity (Triolo, Allison, Brown & Broderick, 2020). According to the “Vision for Maritime Cooperation under the Belt and Road Initiative”, the Chinese plan is a harmonization of standards and improved information networks with countries participating in the BRI by “jointly building a system with broad coverage for information transmission, processing, management and application, a system for information standards and specifications, and a network security system, thus providing public platforms for information Sørensen & Weidacher Hsiung
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sharing” (Xinhua, 2017). As will be further demonstrated below, the Arctic plays into such Chinese planning. In sum, according to several key strategic documents, the need to apply and develop advanced knowledge and technology to safeguard and move China’s Arctic engagement forward are clearly articulated. Furthermore, it also links up with key domestic objectives focused on restructuring and upgrading the economy as well as with China’s long-term visions and plans about how to ensure its role as a leading great power. That Chinese technological advancement in the Arctic has such double focus or role becomes clearer if we include analysis of how the various Chinese stakeholders include technologies in their Arctic projects and cooperation.
Use of technology in China’s Arctic engagement In this section, we turn to examine the role of technology in China’s Arctic engagement as it manifests itself in practice in three specific areas. These areas are: (1) scientific research, (2) natural resource extraction and infrastructure development, and (3) digital communication and satellite navigation. The role of technology in China’s scientific research in the Arctic Scientific research on climate change and its impact in the Arctic constitutes a core focus in China’s Arctic engagement.1 Climate change directly affects China. For instance, many of its coastal areas are at risk of experiencing rising sea levels and the country’s agricultural production is also expected to be adversely affected (Jakobson, 2015; Devyatkin, 2021). It is therefore of vital importance for China to improve its scientific understanding of the Arctic, which includes enhancing its technological capacity to conduct the necessary expeditions and experiments, and acquire the necessary data. As understanding and mitigating the rapid climate change taking place in the region is a core objective of all Arctic states and other Arctic stakeholders, any Chinese progress in this area would be met with strong interest and China would be able to utilise such progress to also strengthen its relationships in the region. Looking in particular at how China seeks to strengthen its scientific research in the Arctic, specifically as it relates to technology, there are three main ways. First, China aims to establish and run research stations in the region. Since 2004, China runs a research station, the Yellow River Station (huanghe zhan) in Norwegian Svalbard, that is operated by the Polar Research Institute of China (PRIC). The research station conducts research on sea ice, glacial monitoring and the atmosphere. While the focus is on climate change research, the research also helps China to develop knowledge and technological skills that can advance its overall ability to utilize any future Arctic opportunities. For instance, improved glacial monitoring can mitigate challenges for more reliable navigation for Chinese shipping companies wanting to use the Arctic waters. The China-Iceland Arctic Science Observatory established in 2018 fills similar functions. The observatory is to monitor climate and environmental changes in the Arctic and is managed by PRIC and Iceland’s Institute of Research Centres (e.g. Schreiber, 2018). Moreover, China and Finland are jointly developing the China–Finland Arctic Monitoring and Research Centre between China’s Institute of Remote Sensing and Digital Earth and Finland’s Arctic Space Centre. The main objective is to collect, process and share satellite data to support environmental monitoring, climate change research and Arctic navigation (Chinese Academy of Sciences, 2018). This can clearly assist China’s “Digital Silk Road” in the Arctic, as well as more broadly.
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Second, China conducts scientific expeditions in the Arctic with its two icebreaker vessels Snow Dragon (Xuelong) and Snow Dragon 2 (Xuelong 2) with a growing emphasis on using advanced technology. The newest icebreaker vessel, Snow Dragon 2, constructed in 2019 has been jointly designed with Finnish Aker Arctic and is China’s first indigenously manufactured icebreaker vessel, marking a significant technological advancement. Snow Dragon 2 is equipped with oceanographic survey and monitoring apparatus enabling exploration of the physical oceanography, biodiversity, and atmospheric and environmental conditions in the Arctic. Furthermore, it enables conducting fishery resources surveys (Zhao, 2019). In addition, China is seemingly also building its first nuclear powered icebreaker vessel, which will be a technological leap for China’s scientific and commercial aspirations in the Arctic, and in the broader polar regions (Goldstein, 2020). Since some years back, China has notably begun to conduct increasingly sophisticated scientific experiments as part of its Arctic expeditions that include acoustic and bathymetric surveys to produce navigational charts (Martinson, 2019). During China’s 9th Arctic expedition in 2018, China for the first time independently deployed unmanned observational equipment such as an unmanned ice station and climbing marine profile buoys. It also deployed a Chinese produced autonomous underwater glider (haiyi) used to conduct deep-sea environment observation in vast areas (Zhou, 2020). According to a research report, activities such as these have greatly enhanced China’s ability to observe and monitor the Arctic environment (Wei et al, 2020). In September 2019, China successfully launched its first polar observation satellite. The satellite, called BNU-1, will monitor sea ice drift and ice shelf collapse and is expected to improve China’s remote sensing capability and help expand Arctic shipping (Brady, 2019). In 2021, the satellite started its Arctic mission after first having completed its Antarctic mission, sending back more than 1000 images of the south polar region (Xinhua, 2021). During China’s 11th Arctic expedition in 2020, several advanced scientific experiments and surveys were conducted, for instance obtaining recordbreaking sediment core sample in the Arctic Ocean (China News Service, 2020). Third, China aims at developing closer scientific collaboration with Arctic states and other Arctic stakeholders, both bilateral and multilateral. Since 2012, there has been a Sino-Russian bilateral dialogue, subsequently followed by similar bilateral dialogues with, for instance, Canada. A particular successful example is the China Nordic Arctic Research Center (CNARC) established in 2013, which gathers scientists, entrepreneurs and politicians from China, Norway, Kingdom of Denmark, Iceland, Sweden, Finland well as Russian and US observers (Ping & Mayer, 2018). In addition, as an observer member in the Arctic Council (obtained in 2013), China is involved in the scientific working groups in the Arctic Council (Zhang et al, 2019). China has moreover expressed interest in further developing its role in the scientific working groups in the Arctic Council (e.g. State Council, 2018). The role of technology in China’s natural resource extraction and infrastructure development in the Arctic Aiming to ensure Chinese access to the economic potential of the Arctic, most notably natural resource extraction and usage of Arctic shipping routes, Beijing has a focus on both presenting Chinese companies and other Chinese stakeholders as attractive partners, and on influencing institutional and legal frameworks (State Council, 2018; Doshi, Dale-Huang & Zhang, 2021). However, it is also clear that when Chinese stakeholders seek cooperation with others on natural resource extraction and infrastructure development in the region, it is also aimed at gaining access Sørensen & Weidacher Hsiung
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to knowledge and technological capabilities. Chinese energy companies for example still lag technologically behind many of their Western peers, and therefore their participation in Arctic natural resource extraction is viewed as an opportunity to learn and improve their technological expertise (Hsiung, 2016). However, Chinese experts remain confident that China can, over time, make a valuable contribution with capital and investment, but also as an emerging leading provider of technological equipment (Yang, 2018). Chinese stakeholders have in fact become involved in certain energy and infrastructure projects, where Chinese technology has been utilized. The most developed Arctic energy project with Chinese participation is the Yamal LNG project in Russia’s Northwest Siberia, run by Russia’s Novatek together with China National Petroleum Corporation (CNPC) and French Total. The Yamal project is operational and serves European and Asian customers, China included, with LNG. Broadly speaking, Chinese investments have been crucial for the project with Chinese stakeholders providing up to 60 percent of the financing (Sørensen & Klimenko, 2017). However, Chinese energy companies have also played a role in providing technical equipment such as Arctic modules for the liquefaction process of the LNG terminal, albeit most of the crucial knowhow and technology were provided by French Total. According to Chinese accounts, their participation results in learning as well as enhancement of Chinese technical skills to operate in the Arctic (Hsiung, 2016). The Chinese energy companies CNPC and China National Offshore Oil Company (CNOOC) are also involved in the initial phase of developing a new LNG project – the Arctic LNG 2 at the Gydan Peninsula just across from the Yamal Peninsula, which could provide another opportunity for Chinese companies to learn and acquire advanced technology for complex and challenging energy operations. CNPN and CNOOC have each acquired a 10 percent share respectively alongside the main shareholder Novatek with 60 percent, Total ¨with 10 percent, Mitsui Group with 5 percent and Jogmec with the remaining 5 percent. The Arctic LNG 2 project is expected to begin LNG production in 2023 (Nilsen, 2021). Beyond this, Chinese energy companies have also been engaged in oil exploration surveys, most often in cooperation with Russian partners. In addition, COCSO’s engineering subsidiary China Offshore Oil Engineering Co. through its oilfield service subsidiary China Oilfield Services Limited (COSL) has conducted geophysical surveys and provided marine support in the Arctic (Hsiung & Røseth, 2019). While this suggests still modest Chinese activities, it indicates how there is a growing level of Chinese technological involvement and performance in Arctic natural resource extraction. In other words, Chinese companies and other Chinese stakeholders are applying their own knowledge and technology, but are also developing this and are learning from companies and partners that have longer experience operating in the Arctic, and hence have acquired more Arctic-specific knowledge and technology. The same ‘pattern’ is seen in relation to China’s contribution to the development of shipping infrastructure in the Arctic. The proclaimed benefits of using Arctic shipping routes for trade and commerce between China and Europe via the NSR often tend to be overly optimistic, and indeed actual transits remain quite low (Moe & Stokke, 2019). Nonetheless, China’s long-term strategic calculus indicates a growing interest. As mentioned, China wants to involve Arctic shipping routes as part of its BRI, defined as the Polar Silk Road. China is working especially close with Russia to improve the NSR. More specifically, China has shown interest in the construction of two sea ports, the Zarubino port and the Arkhangelsk deep-water port. The Zarubino port is located close to Vladivostok near the Chinese border and is to aid transportation links in China’s northeast regions The Role of Technology in China’s Arctic Engagement
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and assist in the development of the Russian Far East. China’s Jilin province and China Merchants Group have provided support and capital to the project. Regarding the Arkhangelsk deep-water port, reports note how China Poly Group in 2016 signed an agreement of intent to invest about five billion USD, and also China’s large state-owned shipping company China Ocean Shipping Company (COSCO) has declared interest in the project (Nilsen, 2017). That said, the project seems currently to have come to a halt and future involvement of Chinese stakeholders remain unclear (Moe, 2021). Related to this, China also aims to compete within construction for Arctic-water going vessels. While still lagging behind more advanced nations such as South Korea and Japan, China is learning quick and investing in research and development. China has already gained certain experience in building large ice-vessels, for instance constructing a fleet of seven ice-class 1A container vessels with Maersk, a Danish shipping company, and the Arc7 condensate gas carrier Boris Sokolov for the Yamal LNG project (The Arctic Institute, 2020). In 2019, China’s COSCO and the Silk Road Fund together with Sovcomflot, the Russian state-owned shipbuilding company, and Novatek established a joint venture, the Maritime Arctic Transport, with the goal to manage an ice-breaking tanker fleet of Arctic ice-class vessels to transport LNG from existing and projected LNG projects (Sovcomflot, 2019). Chinese shipbuilders have also put in a bid to build a 220-meter-long floating dock catered to Russia’s new nuclear icebreaker fleet (Staalesen, 2021a). As with natural resource extraction projects, China uses the technology and equipment that have already been developed – often not specifically for polar conditions – but also learns and further improves the technology and equipment in the process. The role of technology in China’s digital communication and satellite navigation in the Arctic The third area relates to digital communication and satellite navigation. The Chinese expect that improved satellite navigation technology in the Arctic can make the country’s commercial shipping activities in the region more predictable and safe, and thus also commercially more viable. China already issued its first Arctic navigation manual in 2014, and in 2016, together with Russia, signed an agreement on cooperation regarding the NSR, which has subsequently been further advanced through the two sides’ formal agreement to jointly develop the NSR as part of China’s BRI (Hsiung & Røseth, 2019). Moreover, in 2022, China plans to launch an imaging satellite to monitor Arctic shipping routes, using Synthetic Aperture Radar (SAR) technology, the first Chinese satellite to use such technology (Zhou, 2020). More broadly, China has long aimed at developing its own global navigation system, the so-called Beidou-system, to limit any dependency and vulnerabilities connected with relying on the US GPSsystem. China has conducted several experimental probes in the Arctic to test its communication capabilities. For instance, in a 2019 evaluation, China assessed a number of technologies, including Very High Frequency (VHF) radio connectivity, medium-frequency Navtex systems, and the DSC system part of the Global Maritime Distress Safety System (Humpert, 2019; Chan, 2019). In 2020 China completed its full navigation satellite system with a total of 35 satellites on three different orbit heights making the system operational (Jones, 2020). China and Russia are also working on increasing the compatibility and interoperability of their national navigation systems (Russia with its GLONASS) (Hsiung, 2021).
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As noted above, Beijing has incorporated the Arctic in the Digital Silk Road, and Chinese stakeholders seem to express especial interest in the so-called Arctic Connect, which is a project run by an international consortium involving mainly the Finnish state-owned company Cinia Oy in partnership with Russian telecommunications provider Megafon, as well as Norwegian and Japanese partners. The aim is to connect Europe and Asia through a 13,800 km long submarine communication cable along the NSR, but also to develop a system to serve local communities in the Russian Arctic. Chinese stakeholders, notably China’s Telecom, has announced interest in the project (Shagina & Buchanan, 2021). Moreover, HMN Technologies (formerly Huawei Marine and responsible for undersea telecom cable communication) has been selected to provide technical platforms in the construction of the Arctic Connect (Jüris, 2020). Participation in the build-up of Arctic information technology solutions is aimed at benefitting Chinese companies commercially and making them more globally competitive, but it is also to try out and improve Chinese technology under the harsh and challenging conditions in the Arctic. Presently, however, it seems that Megafon has decided to temporarily put a halt to the project in order to reassess the structure and economy of the project (Staalesen, 2021a). To summarize, the above examination shows how Chinese researchers, companies and other Chinese stakeholders are increasingly applying and developing their knowledge and new technological equipment and solutions in their Arctic engagement. They aim to take advantage of the new opportunities opening up in the region, but it should not be only narrowly understood as getting access to Arctic resources and shipping routes. It is also a broader focus on taking advantage of the opportunities that the harsh and challenging conditions give for testing and improving Chinese knowledge and technology. This also partly comes with the opportunity for cooperation with researchers and companies from other countries that are more experienced in the Arctic, such as, for example, the cooperation with Finnish counterparts on the design and building of the Chinese icebreaker, the Snow Dragon 2. This way, China gains access to advanced knowledge and new technologies that are also highly valuable for China in other non-Arctic areas or sectors. This underlines how technology plays a role in China’s Arctic engagement as a means as well as an end in itself, as we further elaborate on in the next section.
Linking up with key domestic objectives and long-term visions and plans As we have shown in the two previous sections, technological advancement takes up a growing role in China’s Arctic engagement. The Chinese themselves often present their contribution to developing Arctic science and technological solutions in the region as a means to establish China as an Arctic stakeholder (e.g. Zhang et al, 2019). In addition, the Chinese highlight how sharing their knowledge and technological capacity and strengthening their cooperation with Arctic states and other Arctic stakeholders, can help increase the attraction and legitimacy of China as an Arctic stakeholder (e.g. Sun, 2018). However, in addition to this more widely shared view of technology as a means for China’s Arctic engagement, China’s technological involvement in the Arctic links up with key domestic objectives and plays into China’s long-term visions and plans about how to ensure its role as a leading great power. Technology is a key component in China’s national development policies and more broadly core features of Chinese president Xi Jinping’s strategy for the “great rejuvenation of the Chinese nation” (Zhonghua minzu weida fuxing), which aims to elevate the country to great power status on par with the US (Xinhua, 2018). While innovation and technology have long been key focal points
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in Beijing’s efforts to reform and develop the Chinese economic structure – for example as pillars in Deng Xiaoping’s “four modernisations”2 – the importance of technology has been elevated even further since Xi Jinping came to power in 2012. Especially in the context of developments in the international system in recent years, where Beijing perceives the trend moving towards more uncertainty and increased hostility, particularly between China and the US, the need to build China’s own independent and resilient economy and technological prowess has been amplified (Pei, 2020). Indeed, recent key strategic plans, such as China’s latest Five-Year Plan, or the so-called “Made in China 2025”3, strategy have formulated clear priorities for China to become a leading technological power in a wide range of technological sectors, and to ensure self-sufficiency in order to reduce dependency on foreign technologies and markets. China is particularly keen on advancements in emerging technologies such as artificial intelligence (AI), digitalisation, and intelligent manufacturing (Gill, 2021). The domestic incentives play a crucial role – Chinese leaders are keenly aware that raising the ability to innovate and develop cutting-edge technologies are critical to restructure, upgrade and diversify its economic structure away from the previous export-manufacturing based model to a more sophisticated knowledge and service-based structure. One of the greatest tasks facing China is how to overcome the so-called “middle-income gap” (Glawe & Wagner, 2017). Broadly speaking, China will need to implement several crucial economic reforms to switch the prior heavy focus on capital-intense and low labour cost strategies to improved efficiency and higher productivity. A special focus is on innovation and advanced technology as the driver for China’s future economic structure. Ultimately, sustaining economic growth and prosperity constitutes a core priority for Beijing, because it is a fundamental requirement in order to ensure continued domestic stability, and thus the domestic legitimacy of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) in China (Dickson, 2016). The Chinese focus on ensuring access for its researchers, companies and other Chinese stakeholders to the Arctic, and the emphasis on Chinese technological advancement in the region, have to be viewed in this broader context. Technology thus plays a role in China’s Arctic engagement as an end in itself – or put in another way, the Arctic as a crucial frontier for increasing Chinese technological level implies that ensuring Chinese access to the Arctic is a means within China’s national development strategy. The emphasis on technological advancement in China also has implications for the modernisation of the Chinese military and links up with Beijing’s ambition to develop a world-class Chinese military by 2049 (e.g. Fravel, 2020). This dual-use approach to technological developments is encapsulated in the so-called “military-civil fusion” (MCF) strategy (Kania, 2019). Ensuring Chinese access to the Arctic is also in this context seen as important – again, various Chinese activities in the region can help China acquire important knowledge and experience and push for development of Chinese technology that also have potential military applications. Generally, technology plays an important role for states that aim to enhance their military presence and improving military operational capacity in the Arctic. For instance, the Russian Navy has relied heavily on research on oceanography and meteorology, and the US has made significant research investments and efforts in similar fields, which have resulted in improved operational and tactical awareness for the US Navy (Pedersen, 2019). Sørensen & Weidacher Hsiung
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While China’s military presence in the Arctic so far is limited, it is clear that China’s technological advancement in the Arctic such as its Beidou system can benefit the Chinese military as it gains a domestic Chinese system for guidance and weapon targeting, and for increasing situational awareness. As we will discuss in the conclusion below, such a dual-use approach presents challenges for Arctic states and other Arctic stakeholders in their cooperation with China in the Arctic. First, however, we turn to examine the Chinese response to the growing constraints and challenges – their reduced manoeuvring space – in the Arctic.
Access to the Arctic as a persistent priority – ‘tactical retreat’ In the context of intensifying US-China great power competition, the US as well as several of the US allies, including the ones in the Arctic such as Kingdom of Denmark, Canada and Norway, are increasingly sceptical regarding China’s Arctic engagement. Fundamentally, the US views China as its main great power competitor (The White House, 2017). In his speech at the Arctic Council in 2019, former US Secretary of State Michael Pompeo warned of Chinese revisionist behaviour in the Arctic and made it clear that the US now also views the Arctic as a venue for US-China great power competition (Pompeo, 2019; Sørensen, 2019a). While the Biden administration has taken a more traditional diplomatic approach, the basic contours of the US-China great power competition persist, and it will likely only further increase in the years, if not decades, to come. In the Arctic region, this US-China great power competition has manifested itself with an increasingly active US trying to decrease China’s presence and influence in the region. For instance, Washington has tried to halt Chinese involvement in Greenland, including attempts by China to buy an old naval base and to construct new airports in Greenland (Sørensen, 2018). Beyond this, the US is also boosting its own Arctic capabilities such as, for example, its plans to acquire new icebreakers (Humpert, 2020). Technology constitutes a core issue in the US-China great power competition. A case in point is how the US has embarked on a full-scale effort to limit China’s ambitions to take the lead in the next generation of telecommunication technologies, exemplified by the heated controversy over Chinese telecommunication company Huawei and its global 5G network ambitions. The US has implemented stricter export controls, investment restrictions and is urging US companies and US allies and partners, including in the Arctic, to restrict their business engagement with China (Segal, 2019). Often the US highlights the above-mentioned dual-use application of Chinese knowledge and technologies, including the Chinese knowledge and technologies applied and developed in the Arctic. For instance, in its annual report to Congress, the US Department of Defense stated that China’s “civilian research could support a strengthened Chinese military presence in the Arctic Ocean, which could include deploying submarines to the region as a deterrent against nuclear attacks” (US Department of Defense, 2019: 5). The Chinese response to the US offensive toward China in the Arctic has so far been rather measured and cautious. There are indications of a kind of Chinese “tactical retreat” with reduced Chinese activities in the Arctic states that are allied to the US and are NATO members such as Greenland (Kingdom of Denmark), Iceland and Norway, while China has increased the priority given to Russia (Sørensen, 2019a). The “knitting China into the region” approach mentioned above is increasingly difficult in the context of the intensifying security tension and heightened mutual strategic mistrust between China and the US. The Chinese are therefore seemingly adjusting their approach and tactics.
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However, establishing presence and influence in the Arctic is – as elaborated above – a persistent Chinese priority that links up with China’s ability to succeed in the ongoing restructuring and upgrading of the Chinese economy, and plays into China’s long-term visions and plans about how to ensure its role as a leading great power. Despite toning down its ambitions and reducing its activities, the Chinese therefore continue to follow developments in the region closely and seek to identify opportunities for China to engage without huge disproportionate risks of backlash and costs. A case in point is the two recent Chinese Arctic expeditions – the 11th and the 12th in the autumn of 2020 and 2021 respectively – which seem to have operated exclusively in international waters likely in order to decrease the risk of rejection and negative coverage if China had to apply for permissions to conduct activities in the exclusive economic zones of the Arctic coastal states (Feng, 2020; Staalesen, 2021b). In many ways, such careful and calculated Chinese reaction is a continuation of the more confident and sophisticated Chinese engagement in the Arctic that has developed over the recent decade (Sørensen, 2019b). In addition, it is further probable that the growing US opposition to China’s presence and activities in the Arctic, including US efforts to mobilize the other Arctic states, causes Chinese companies and businesses to reassess their options in the region. In Greenland, there have been incidents pointing to such broader Chinese reassessment and restraint, for example when the Chinese state-owned construction company, China Communication Construction Company Ltd. (CCCC), chose to withdraw its bid for the construction of airports in Greenland in June 2019 referring to political and practical barriers and challenges (Gustafson, 2019).4
Conclusion In this article, we have set out to highlight how China’s determination to ensure the country a leading role in the development and application of new technologies is linked in complex ways with China’s efforts to establish an Arctic presence. We demonstrate how technology plays a role in China’s Arctic engagement as a means as well as an end in itself. It thus goes beyond the question of ensuring access for Chinese researchers and companies to tangible Arctic resources. It is also a question of ensuring access for them to operate in the Arctic, where they then in the process expect to apply and develop knowledge and technology crucial both for the domestic efforts to restructure and upgrade the Chinese economy and for realising China’s long-term visions and plans about how to ensure its role as a leading great power, including developing a world-class Chinese military. As such, technological engagement in the Arctic is part of China’s effort to ensure the country is in a leading position in the domains of innovation, science and technology. We use this to underline how the Chinese priority of the Arctic is persistent and long-term. Therefore, we suggest that the adjustment in China’s approach and tactics in the Arctic in recent years is best understood as a “tactical retreat”. China has toned down its Arctic ambitions but continues to closely follow developments in the region and will engage when it is assessed as viable, such as when it does not bring China in direct opposition to the US and involves huge disproportionate risks of a backlash and costs. In other words, the focus and intensity of China’s Arctic engagement is turned up and down depending on cost-benefit assessments in Beijing that are especially influenced by US policy towards China’s role in the region. Beijing, however, continues to discretely engage with Arctic states and other Arctic stakeholders emphasising how cooperation with Chinese stakeholders, including access to Chinese knowledge and technology, are to their benefit.
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What are the implications of our findings for Arctic states and other Arctic stakeholders? China is investing heavily and are developing knowledge and technology that Arctic states and other Arctic stakeholders have interests in as they have to deal with the challenges they face in a rapidly changing Arctic. The challenge for them, however, is how to engage with the various Chinese stakeholders without coming into conflict with the US or assisting unwanted Chinese activities in the region. It is difficult, and it will be increasingly difficult going forward. We suggest that the focus for Arctic states and other Arctic stakeholders engaging in cooperation and projects with Chinese stakeholders has to be on identifying and managing – or mitigating – vulnerabilities and risks. It requires building knowledge and intelligence on China within the Arctic states and other Arctic stakeholders, such as on Chinese politics and economic statecraft, in order to be able to carefully analyze the stakeholders and methods involved in each Chinese activity, and to assess the potential vulnerabilities and risks engendered. Such a thorough analysis is also a good starting point for designing useful legal and institutional mechanisms or frameworks, for example in relation to investment screening. As pointed out above, it is a particularly complex challenge to deal with the dual-use purpose – the potential parallel civilian and military use – of Chinese knowledge and technology in the region, including as it relates to Chinese research expeditions and stations, satellite stations, resource extraction and infrastructure projects (e.g. Humpert, 2019). China continues to have a Leninist one-party state, where the party is ever-present and involved – but to different degrees – in all matters of Chinese politics, economics and society. There are thus always complex relations and overlaps between the party-state, the military, universities, state-owned national and provincial companies, private companies and other Chinese entities, which amplifies the challenge of categorizing Chinese activities and assessing the potential vulnerabilities and risks they bring (Sørensen, 2021). Hence, it is difficult to pinpoint exactly whom you are dealing with and what the driving motives are. Ideally, one has to look into each of the Chinese activities in the Arctic, such as concrete projects and agreements, in order to assess the level of party involvement and control, as well as to gauge the potential military use and value. Besides being able to identify the Chinese stakeholders involved, it is a question of analyzing the methods used. The danger is that all Chinese activities in the Arctic are characterized as dual-use or as entailing too high vulnerabilities and risks preventing any scientific and technological cooperation with China on Arctic-related issues. This is not helpful for dealing with the challenges materialising in a rapidly changing Arctic. One way to go about this is also to put more efforts into identifying key topics and sectors, and proactively formulate rules and regulations for engagement with Chinese stakeholders. Another way is to seek to integrate Chinese research activities, including research stations, into a broader international collaborative setting (Conley, 2018: 11). So far, Arctic states and other Arctic stakeholders have tended to deal with Chinese activities in the region in a reactive and ad hoc manner, often also resulting in growing tension within the Arctic states between stakeholders with different interests. There is no easy way around this – China is emerging as a leading knowledge and technology provider and in order to deal with the challenges in the Arctic, in particular climate change, all knowledge and technology need to be mobilised and combined (e.g. Devyatkin, 2021). The overview and assessment of the role that technological advancement plays in China’s Arctic engagement, which we have provided in this article, linking it also with China’s national development strategy, is hopefully of value in such efforts.
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Notes 1. It is worth noting that China’s Antarctic scientific research activities remain more comprehensive. For instance, China has five permanent research stations in Antarctic and has conducted 37 Antarctic research exhibitions compared to 12 Arctic research exhibitions as of September 2021. 2. The other three were agriculture, industry and defense. 3. The strategy was announced in 2015 by China’s premier Li Keqiang – the “Made in China” strategy identifies nine priority tasks and ten core industries where China aims to lead innovation and development and created globally competitive businesses. 4. CCCC in particular referred to difficulties obtaining visas for their employees, so they could travel to Greenland and do the initial onsite surveys. The issuing of visas also to Greenland is administered in Copenhagen.
References Brady, Anne-Marie (2017). China as a Polar Great Power. UK: Cambridge University Press Brady, Anne-Marie (2019, December 10). Facing Up to China’s Military Interests in the Arctic. China Brief, 19:21. Retrieved from Facing Up to China’s Military Interests in the Arctic Jamestown Chan, Minnie (2019, June 20). China’s BeiDou satellite navigation system breaks underwater barriers, naval shipbuilder says. South China Morning Post. Retrieved from https://www.scmp.com/news/china/military/article/3015265/chinas-beidou-satellitenavigation-system-breaks-underwater. China News Service (2020, September 17). China's polar icebreaker heading home from Arctic expedition. Retrieved from http://www.ecns.cn/news/2020-09-17/detailihaaeqyp8471195.shtml. Chinese Academy of Sciences (2018, April 17). Zongfen qianding beiji kongjian guance lianhe yanjiu zhongxin hezuo xieyi [China and Finland sign China and Finland sign a cooperation agreement on Arctic Space Observation Joint Research Center]. Retrieved from http://www.radi.cas.cn/dtxw/rdxw/201804/t20180417_4997963.html. Conley, Heather A. (2018) China’s Arctic Dream. Center for Strategic and International Studies. Retrieved from China's Arctic Dream (csis-website-prod.s3.amazonaws.com) Conley, Heather A. and Colin Wall (2021). Hybrid threats in the Arctic: Scenarios and policy options in a vulnerable region. Hybrid CoE Strategic Analysis, No. 28. Retrieved from 20210826_Hybrid_CoE_Strategic_Analysis_28_Hybrid_Threats_in_the_Arctic_WEB.pd f (hybridcoe.fi) Compilation and Translation Bureau (2016). The 13th Five-Year Plan for the Economic and Social Development of The People’s Republic of China (2016-2020), Central Committee of the Communist Party of China Beijing, China. Devyatkin, Pavel (2021, April) Science cooperation with the show dragon: can the US and China work together on the Arctic Climate Crisis? The Arctic Institute. Retrieved from Science Cooperation with the Snow Dragon: Can the U.S. and China work together on the Arctic Climate Crisis? - The Arctic Institute Sørensen & Weidacher Hsiung
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Dickson, Bruce (2016). The Dictator’s Dilemma: The Chinese Communist Party’s Strategy for Survival. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Doshi, Rush, Alexis Dale-Huang and Gaoqi Zhang (2021, April) Northern Expedition. China’s Arctic Activities and Ambitions. Brookings. Retrieved from Northern expedition: China's Arctic ambition and activism (brookings.edu) Feng, Shuang (2020, September 17). China's polar icebreaker heading home from Arctic expedition, Xinhua. Retrieved from http://www.ecns.cn/news/2020-09-17/detailihaaeqyp8471195.shtml Fravel, Taylor M. (2020). China’s “World-Class Military” Ambitions: Origins and Implications, The Washington Quarterly, 43:1, 85-99. Gill, Bates (2021, March 22). China’s quest for greater technological self-reliance. Melbourne Asia Review, Edition 6. Retrieved from: China’s quest for greater technological self-reliance | Melbourne Asia Review Glawe, Linda and Helmut Wagner (2017). The People’s Republic of China in the Middle-Income Gap. ADBI Working Paper 749. Tokyo: Asian Development Bank Institute. Goldstein, J. Lyle (2020, March 16). China Is Building Nuclear Icebreakers To Seek Out A “Polar Silk Road”. National Interest. Retrieved from https://nationalinterest.org/blog/buzz/chinabuilding-nuclear-icebreakers-seek-out-polar-silk-road-132417 Gustafson, Oskar (2019, August 14). A Touch of Frost: Danish Concerns over Chinese Investments. ISDP Voices. Retrieved from https://isdp.eu/danish-concerns-chineseinvestment-greenland/ Hong, Nong (2020), China's Role in the Arctic. Observing and Being Observed. New York, USA: Routledge. Hsiung, Christopher Weidacher (2016). China and Arctic energy: drivers and limitations. Polar Journal, 6(2), 1-16. Hsiung, Christopher Weidacher (2021). China’s Technology Cooperation with Russia: Geopolitics, economics and regime security. The Chinese Jounrnal of International Politics, 14:3, 447-479. Hsiung, Christopher Weidacher and Tom Røseth (2019). The Arctic dimension in Sino-Russian Relations. In Jo Inge Bekkevold and Bobo Lo London (eds.) Sino-Russian relations in the 21st Century. Palgrave Macmillan, 167-187. Humpert, Malte (2019, September 2019). China Looking to Expand Satellite Coverage in Arctic, Experts Warn of Military Purpose. High North News. Retrieved from https://www.highnorthnews.com/en/china-lookingexpand-satellite-coverage-arcticexperts-warn-military-purpose. Humpert, Malte (2020, July 14). U.S. Looking to Acquire 10 Additional Icebreakers, Possibly from Finland. High North News. Retrieved from https://www.highnorthnews.com/en/uslooking-acquire-10-additional-icebreakers-possibly-finland. Jakobson, Linda (2015). China’s security and the Arctic. In Lowell Dittmer and Maochun Yu (eds.) Routledge Handbook of Chinese Security. London: Routledge, 155-166. Jones, Andrew (2020, February 28). China to complete its answer to GPS with Beidou navigation satellite launches in March, May. SpaceNews. Retrieved from https://spacenews.com/chinato-complete-its-answer-to-gps-with-beidou-navigation-satellite-launches-in-march-may/. Jüris, Frank (2020, March 7). Handing over infrastructure for China’s strategic objectives: Arctic Connect and the Digital Silk Road in the Arctic. Sinopsis. Estonia: International Center for
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Defense and Security (ICDS).Retrieved from Handing over Infrastructure for China’s Strategic Objectives: ‘Arctic Connect’ and the Digital Silk Road in the Arctic - ICDS Kania, Elsa B. (2019, August 27). In Military-Civil Fusion, China is Learning Lessons from the United States and Starting to Innovate. The Strategy Bridge. Retrieved from https://thestrategybridge.org/the-bridge/2019/8/27/in-military-civil-fusion-china-islearning-lessons-from-the-united-states-and-starting-to-innovate. Kopra, Sanna (2020, June 18). China and its Arctic Trajectories: Final Remarks. The Arctic Institute. Retrieved from China and its Arctic Trajectories: Final Remarks | The Arctic Institute. Lanteigne, Marc (2021, March 12). The Polar Policies in China’s New Five-Year Plan. The Diplomat. Retrieved from https://thediplomat.com/2021/03/the-polar-policies-in-chinas-new-fiveyear-plan/. Martinson, Ryan D (2019, December 20). The Role of the Arctic in Chinese Naval Strategy. China Brief. Retrieved from https://jamestown.org/program/the-role-of-the-arctic-inchinese-naval-strategy/ Moe, Arild (2021) En kinesisk jernbane til Arktis? Historien om Belkomur – så langt. Nordisk Østforum 35, 126–143. Retrieved from En kinesisk jernbane til Arktis? Historien om Belkomur – så langt ('A Chinese Railway to the Arctic? The Story of Belkomur – so Far') - FNI Moe, Arild and Olav Schram Stokke (2019). Asian Countries and Arctic Shipping: Policies, Interests and Footprints on Governance. Arctic Review on Law and Politics, 10, 24–52. Nilsen, Thomas (2017, December 28). Governor Orlov confirms China as key Arctic partner. The Barents Observer. Retrieved from https://thebarentsobserver.com/en/industry-andenergy/2017/12/governor-orlov-eyes-china-key-arctic-partner. Nilsen, Thomas (2021, May 30). World’s largest LNG construction yard taking shape in Belokamenka. The Barents Observer. Retrieved from World’s largest LNG construction yard taking shape in Belokamenka | The Independent Barents Observer (thebarentsobserver.com) Pedersen, Torbjørn (2019). Polar Research and the Secrets of the Arctic. Arctic Review on Law and Politics, 10, 103–129. Pei, Minxin (2020, December 16) China’s Fateful Inward Turn: Beijing’s New Economic Strategy as Spelled Out by the Resolution of the CCP Central Committee’s 5th Plenum. China Leadership Monitor, 66. Retrieved from Pei | China Leadership (prcleader.org) Ping, Su and Maximilian Mayer (2018). Science Diplomacy and Trust Building: ‘Science China’ in the Arctic. Global Policy, 9:23, 23-28. Pompeo, Michael R. (2019, May 7). Remarks at the Arctic Council Ministerial Meeting. U.S. Department of State. Retrieved from https://www.state.gov/remarks-at-the-arcticcouncil-ministerial-meeting-2/. Segal, Adam (2019, October 23). Geopolitics and Technology – A Conflict Without End? The US-China Tech War. RSIS Commentary, S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies, NTU. Retrieved from Geopolitics and Technology – A Conflict Without End? The USChina Tech War | RSIS Schreiber, Melody (2018, October 31) A New China-Iceland Arctic science observatory is already expanding its focus. Arctic Today. Retrieved from A new China-Iceland Arctic science observatory is already expanding its focus - ArcticToday
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Shagina, Maria and Elizabeth Buchanan (2021, January 17). China enters the Arctic Digitalization Race. The National Interests. Retrieved from https://nationalinterest.org/feature/chinaenters-arctic-digitization-race-176541. Sørensen, Camilla T. N. (2018). China is in the Arctic to Stay as a Great Power: How China’s Increasingly Confident, Proactive and Sophisticated Arctic Diplomacy Plays into Kingdom of Denmark Tensions. In Lassi Heininen and Heather Exner-Pirot (eds), Arctic Yearbook 2018. Retrieved from 3_AY2018_Sorensen.pdf (arcticyearbook.com) Sørensen, Camilla T. N. (2019a). Intensifying great power politics play into the Arctic – implications for China’s Arctic strategy. In Lassi Heininen, Heather Exner-Pirot and Justin Barnes (eds), Arctic Yearbook 2019. Retrieved from Microsoft Word - AY2019 Sorensen FINAL.docx (arcticyearbook.com) Sørensen, Camilla T. N. (2019b). The ice dragon – Chinese interests in the Arctic. Strategic Analysis, 5, 2019. The European Centre of Excellence for Countering Hybrid Threats. Retrieved from https://www.hybridcoe.fi/news/strategic-analysis-5-2019-the-ice-dragonchinese-interests-in-the-arctic. Sørensen, Camilla T. N. (2021). China and the Arctic: Establishing presence and influence. In Paul Dickson (ed.), The Arctic and Hybrid Threats. The European Centre of Excellence for Countering Hybrid Threats (forthcoming). Sørensen, Camilla T. N and Elena Klimenko (2017). Emerging Chinese–Russian Cooperation in the Arctic. SIPRI Policy Paper, 46. Stockholm: Stockholm International Peace and Research Institute. Retrieved from Emerging Chinese–Russian Cooperation in the Arctic: Possibilities and Constraints (sipri.org) Staalesen, Alte (2021a, May 28). Megafon halts trans-Arctic cable project Arctic Connect. The Barents Observer. Retrieved from https://thebarentsobserver.com/en/arctic/2021/05/megafon-halts-its-trans-arctic-cableproject. Staalesen, Alte (2021b, August 12). Chinese icebreaker sails to North Pole, explores remote Arctic ridge. The Arctic Today. Retrieved from Chinese icebreaker sails to North Pole, explores remote Arctic ridge - ArcticToday State Council (2018, January 26). China’s Arctic Policy. The State Council Information Office of the People’s Republic of China. Retrieved from https://www.chinadailyasia.com/articles/188/159/234/1516941033919.html. Sovcomflot (2019, June 7). Sovcomflot, NOVATEK, COSCO, Silk Road Fund sign joint venture agreement. Press release. Retrieved from http://sovcomflot.ru/en/press_office/press_releases/item101590.html. Sun, Yun (2018). The Intricacy of China’s Arctic Policy. Policy Paper. Stimson Center. Retrieved from Microsoft Word - Stimson - The Intricacy of China's Arctic Policy - Yun Sun The Arctic Institute (2020, June 19). China (country information). Retrieved from https://www.thearcticinstitute.org/countries/china/. The White House (2017). National Security Strategy of United States of America. Tillman, Henry, Jian Yang and Egill Thor Nielsson (2018). The Polar Silk Road: China’s New Frontier of International Cooperation. China Quarterly of International Strategic Studies, 14:3, 345-362
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Triolo, Paul, Kevin Allison, Clarise Brown and Kelsey Broderick (2020, April 8) The Digital Silk Road. Expanding China’s Digital Footprint. Eurasia Group. Retrieved from Digital-Silk-RoadExpanding-China-Digital-Footprint-1.pdf (eurasiagroup.net) US Department of Defense (2019). Annual Report to Congress. Military and Security Developments Involving the People’s Republic of China 2019. Washington D.C. Office of the Secretary of Defense. Wei, Zexun, Hongxia Chen, Ruibo Lei, Xiaoguo Yu, Tao Zhang, Lina Lin, Zhongxiang Tian, Yanpei Zhuang, Tao Li and Zhuoli Yuan (2020). Overview of the 9th Chinese National Arctic Research Expedition. Atmospheric and Oceanic Science Letters, 13:1, 1-7. Xinhua (2015, June 24). Guojia anquan fa caoan ni zengjia taikong deng xinxing lingyu de anquan weihu renwu. [The draft national security law will increase security in space and other new areas. Retrieved from http://www.chinanews.com/gn/2015/06-24/7363693.shtml Xinhua (2017, June 6). Full text: Vision for Maritime Cooperation under the Belt and Road Initiative. Retrieved from http://www.xinhuanet.com/english/201706/20/c_136380414.htm. Xinhua (2018, May 29). China Focus: Xi calls for developing China into world science and technology leader. Retrieved from http://www.xinhuanet.com/english/201805/29/c_137213175.htm Xinhua (2021, June 16). China’s polar observing satellite starts Arctic mission. Retrieved from http://www.xinhuanet.com/english/2020-06/16/c_139143622.htm, Yang, Jian (2018). Zhongguo de Beiji zhengce jieshi [An Interpretation of China’s Arctic Policy]. Pacific Journal, 26:3, 1-11. Zhang, Lulu, Jian Yang, Jingjing Zang, Yuhong Wang and Liguang Sun (2019). Reforming China’s polar science and technology system. Interdisciplinary Science Reviews, 44:3-4, 387401. Zhao, Lei (2019, September 30). Icebreaker, satellite and stations bridge polar research gap”, China Daily. Retrieved from https://www.chinadaily.com.cn/a/201909/30/WS5d9178efa310cf3e3556e5cf.html. Zhou, Laura (2020, December 10). China planning to launch satellite to monitor Arctic shipping routes”, South China Morning Post. Retrieved from https://www.scmp.com/news/china/diplomacy/article/3113376/china-planninglaunch-satellite-monitor-arctic-shippingroutes?fbclid=IwAR1zEE49gGyvdP5Hi9wNfMMFIbdUDzxDh4uadrdZvB2M5C7lFfMTlFEY7c.
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Section III: Mapping Russian Arctic Development
Strategy, Competition, and Legitimization: Development of the Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation Sergey Sukhankin, Troy Bouffard & P. Whitney Lackenbauer
In late October 2020, President Vladimir Putin approved the “Strategy for the Development of the Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation and Ensuring National Security for the Period through 2035.”1 Although the casual observer might dismiss this document as yet another Arctic strategy recasting old ideas with fresh rhetoric, the importance of the timing and substance of this Russia strategy is not lost on Arctic observers. The Russian government sequentially released three major Arctic national documents in 2020 that lay out direct requirements and intent across political, military, economic, social, and environmental security sectors. Concurrently, the Kremlin decisively arranged its Arctic political leadership and national advisory groups. Throughout, Russian leadership effectively scripted Arctic national priorities and developed them into narratives, which were synchronized across relevant sectors. How should Western analysts read the Arctic in Russian domestic and foreign policy discourse under Putin, who has “set the task to restore the development and controllability of Russia’s Arctic territories and raised … AZRF development to the level of a national project”?2 French analyst Morgane Fert-Malka has observed that “Russia’s Arctic policy and postures are often misunderstood, overblown, or underrated because they take place in a complex regional context and result from complex internal politics.”3 Thus one might wonder if Russian motivations, core interests, and strategic priorities changed substantively in the face of newly emergent challenges, or is Russian Arctic policy “evolutionary and largely consistent,” as political scientist Maria Lagutina suggests?4 The three key policy documents in Russia’s updated plan for the Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation (AZRF) (see Figure 1), when read together, provide essential insights into Russia’s broader Arctic strategy. In this article, we consider areas of Russian Arctic national priority, Sergey Sukhankin is a Senior Fellow at the Jamestown Foundation. Troy Bouffard is a Faculty Instructor at the University of Alaska Fairbanks. P. Whitney Lackenbauer is a Professor at Trent University.
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contextualize the Kremlin’s latest strategic documents, and provide perspectives on current and near-term opportunities for Russia with respect to Arctic strategic policies and behavior. We observe a continued emphasis on economic development, particularly as tied to the Northern Sea Route (Sevmorput), and to improving quality of life for Russians living in the AZRF. These considerations inform dual messaging with respect to its international agenda, which promotes the Arctic as both a region of peace and stability and as a space where Russia must expand its military capabilities to defend its sovereignty and territorial integrity, which is frequently read in the West as a sign of Russia’s growing assertiveness and potential danger. Russian strategic interests cannot be explained by a simple “hard power” or “soft power” dichotomy5 – they are driven by both. We also note that, while Russia seeks to enhance private sector investment in the Arctic, internal and external drivers constrain these plans. Therefore, it would make sense to adopt a balanced approach that avoids extremes when forecasting the practical results of Russia’s current initiatives. Figure 1. Map of the Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation
Source (and hi-resolution version): https://www.uaf.edu/casr/publications/other/
Literature review Russian experts dedicated to the problems of the Russian Arctic and Kremlin’s regional strategy fall into three distinct, yet partially interdependent, schools of thought. The first school, which we conditionally defined as the “geopolitical school,” is comprised of a broad and diverse group whose opinions do not always converge. These experts are, however, connected in their vision of the Arctic as a “geopolitical battlefield” between great powers. When referring to the region, many of these experts actively employ anti-Western vocabulary, featuring ideas about “conquest”, “great game”, “greatness”, “struggle”, “sovereignty”, “increasing conflict potential”, and “confrontation.” Sukhankin, Bouffard & Lackenbauer
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This points to their conceptual vision of the Arctic as an arena for competition, not a platform for inter-governmental dialogue. The fundamental idea that connects members of this school are postulates (clichés) about a “worsening military-political situation” in the region and “growing competition for Arctic resource,” as well as the desire of non-Russian actors to “undermine Russia’s dominating regional position.” Although these authors consider competition in the Arctic as a part of a larger geopolitical game (and despite ongoing militarization of the region), they general concur that regional competition is unlikely to lead to major military conflict. The most prolific writers in this school include Alexander Khramchihin, who sees the Arctic as a potential field of competition between Russia, China, and the US, but who argues that Moscow and Ottawa have many common and few dividing lines in the Arctic.6 Another noteworthy expert, Valery Zhuravel, the head of the Centre for Arctic Research at the Institute of Europe under the auspices of the Russian Academy of Science, sees the US, China, Japan, and Finland as posing a primary threat to Russia in aiming to internationalize the status of the Northern Sea Route.7 Other authors – primarily former military officers and military thinkers – believe that military-political competition will grow in the future,8 with NATO posing the main challenge to Russia and its national interests.9 A second, “nationalist” school is understudied in the West. Consequently, their role and influence on the Kremlin is misunderstood. This school is primarily grouped around authors coming from the ultra-conservative nationalistic Izborsk Club. Insisting on Russia’s need to increase Russia’s military buildup in the Arctic, this group includes such prominent conservatives and influential thinkers as Leonid Ivashov, Vladislav Shurygin, and Alexey Podberezkin10 who draw clear “red lines” for foreign actors seeking to undermine Russia’s sovereignty in the Arctic. Many members of this school of thought also extend their assertion, underscoring not only the strategic but also the sacred place of the Arctic region in Russia’s statehood and its fundamental meaning for Russia as the new centre of greater Eurasia, which means that Moscow has to embark on expansionist policies in this region. Alexander Dugin, Alexander Mazharov (deputy governor of the YamalNenets Autonomous Region), Vyacheslav Shtyrov (former Head of the Sakha Republic), and devoted Stalinist Alexander Prokhanov are prominent members of this school,11 which envisages the Arctic region as “the northernmost part of the Russian World.”12 A third school of “institutionalists,” consisting of experts from different political orientations, describes Russia’s Arctic strategy as pragmatic and commensurate with its national interests. They see military buildup and other Russian behaviour – which they acknowledge is sometimes questionable by international standards – as motivated by a combination of internal factors, such as Russia’s political culture and negative experience in dealing with the West in the 1990s, as well as external circumstances. They also argue that, despite what Western commentators interpret as aggressive Russian moves in Ukraine, Georgia, and Syria, Russia does not aim to undertake similar actions in the Arctic. Alexander Sergunin, Valery Konyshev, and Dmitry Trenin13 are key representatives of this “institutionalist” school. Foreign writers, experts and thinkers analyzing Russia’s Arctic strategy are conditionally divided into two large schools of thought. First, the “neorealists” pursue a hardline approach toward Russia, which they cast as a rogue and increasingly assertive power (alongside China) that seeks to disrupt the existing balance of power in the Arctic, and generally call on the United States and its NATO allies to confront Russia in the region. According to the neorealist school, Moscow’s actions in the region are primarily driven by geopolitical competition in a zero-sum game. Therefore, Western allies must confront Russia using all means necessary to prevent it from Development of the Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation
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expanding its control in and over the region. Keir Giles, Pavel Baev, Stephen Blank, and Paul Goble are prominent analysts within this school. In general, these authors – and like-minded experts – do not see room for the West to engage in constructive dialogue with Russia in the Arctic owing to the Kremlin’s growing assertiveness and violation of international law as demonstrated in other parts of the world. Similar ideas are expressed by Canadian political scientist Rob Huebert, who argues that “Canada could find itself pushed to the margins in the New Arctic Strategic Triangle Environment (NASTE)” as a result of growing Russian and Chinese assertiveness in the Arctic.14 A second school of thought, the “neoliberal institutionalists,” recognizes that Russia – by far the largest player in the Arctic – has internationally-recognized sovereign rights and special interests in this region and, therefore, has a right to protect them. These experts also argue that the probability of military conflict emanating from regional disputes is highly unlikely and that Russia, despite investing in re-building its military capabilities in the region after allowing them to degrade substantively in the 1990s, is not likely to violate international law through military coercion in the Arctic. Thus far, these authors observe, Russia has remained a stalwart promoter of an institutionalist approach in the region, adhering to international legal norms through the UN and other major multilateral forums. Furthermore, the Arctic region remains a strategic source of economic dividends for Moscow, which makes the prospect of military escalation highly undesirable. Two of the authors of this article (Troy Bouffard and Whitney Lackenbauer) fall within this school, which also includes Elana Wilson Rowe, Andreas Østhagen, Mathieu Boulègue, Elizabeth Buchanan, Kari Roberts, and Marlène Laruelle, all of whom emphasize that Russia faces significant challenges that constrain its ability to fully dominate the region. On this basis, Russia is likely to seize opportunities to highlight its Arctic developments and priorities in carefully crafted language during its 2021-23 chairmanship of the Arctic Council, with a goal of expanding and enhancing its self-defined position in the Circumpolar North. It has set the major pieces in place to pursue a legitimizing campaign, and international audiences should expect clear messaging that emphasizes the Arctic’s importance for Russia and the centrality of Russia in circumpolar affairs. Optimistically, this is part of an overarching strategy that does not seek to revise Arctic governance structures or undermine regional peace but represents Russia’s strategic ‘center of gravity’ for the Arctic, designed to showcase the importance of its northern priorities and interests. Pessimistically, such goals could easily be undermined by a combination of internal factors (such as scarce funds and expanding military expenditures) and heightened competition with the West.15
Russian Arctic strategy in context: Updating Russia’s strategic plan for the AZRF Russia has solidified development of its comprehensive strategic plan for the Arctic region over the past year. In March 2020, Putin signed the “The Foundations of State Policy of the Russian Federation in the Arctic through 2035”16 which outlines key goals and Moscow’s Arctic agenda, including a focus on exploitation of natural resources.17 Following this direction, the Ministry for the Development of the Russian Far East and Arctic submitted a draft implementation strategy for the government’s consideration in May 2020.18 The third document, released on 26 October, outlines the mechanisms to realize the ‘State Policy’ and ‘Socio-Economic Development’ plans in the Arctic. “Most of the challenges tabled in terms of developing the Russian Arctic are indeed domestic in nature,” political scientist Elizabeth Buchanan observes, which is predictable given Sukhankin, Bouffard & Lackenbauer
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that the strategic document is dedicated to developing Russia’s Arctic zone.19 The documents provide both bureaucratic guidance as well as the primary content from which internal actors can develop and deliver consistent narratives. In an authoritarian state with significantly centralized powers, Putin and the Kremlin face little governmental resistance or social interference when enacting core strategies. Unlike the democratic West, Russia does not need civic buy-in and public deliberation, only the illusion of it. Nor does the illusion of election concerns and consequences matter the same way that they do in liberal democracies. For the West, inclusivity remains the hallmark of a healthy relationship between society and government. Embracing viewpoint diversity and dissent can impede strategic coherence and cohesiveness, however, particularly when multiple strategies must be synchronized across various stakeholder groups to achieve optimal national objectives. By contrast, even when autocratic leaders pursue the wrong course of action, they can publish new strategies to adjust course while their subordinates suffer the brunt of blame. With regard to Russia’s new Arctic strategy, members of Duma (депутаты Госдумы) reportedly were not consulted or given opportunity to deliberate or contribute to development.20 In 2019, veteran analyst Pavel Baev of the Peace Research Institute Oslo (PRIO) observed that Russia’s two-track Arctic policy pursues “poorly compatible tracks of expanding military activities and committing to international cooperation.” Russian commentators would likely point to similar dynamics in the regional policies of the other Arctic states as well. Similarly, they might apply Baev’s observation that “Russia’s Arctic policy, as it is officially formulated and interpreted in mainstream Russian commentary, [features] an astounding amount of exaggeration and inflated threat assessment.” Baev’s evidence, however, identifies specific hallmarks of Russian narratives that were subsequently reflected in their 2020 strategic documents: The volume and value of natural resources on the Arctic shelf, particularly hydrocarbons, is grossly overestimated without meaningful Russian data, so that the only reference point even for informed Moscow experts is the appraisal of US Geological Survey from 2008, which is habitually misinterpreted. The appetites of international oil companies are perceived as insatiable, and the struggle for resources, as well as for access to transport routes, is identified in the Foreign Policy Concept (2016) as a key driver for escalation of global tensions. Expeditious growth of international shipping in the Northern Sea Route (Sevmorput) is confidently predicted, despite the miniscule volume of transit traffic in the 2014, 2015, 2016, and 2017 navigations. The most dramatic of all exaggerations, however, is about the intensity of external military threats to Russia’s interests in the Arctic.21 Baev’s nuanced critique also explains why Moscow’s “oscillating” commitment to circumpolar cooperation “should not be taken for a mere camouflage for Russia’s military buildup in the High North.” Stakeholders such as Gazprom and Rosneft understandably seek to promote Arctic exceptionalism that brackets out regional relationships from resurgent strategic competition between Russia and NATO and brings an end to sanctions hindering cooperation with Western energy companies. Industry also tends to avoid doing business under circumstances that involve unresolved regional and international issues, especially any that include aspects of territorial rights and/or sovereignty. Furthermore, Russian investments to promote the Northern Sea Route (NSR) as a major international transportation artery would not benefit from increasing geopolitical
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uncertainty in the region.22 Russia’s strategic documents thus reflect two-track messaging promoting both international cooperation and the perceived need for robust national defences.23
Domestic priorities On 26 October 2020, President Vladimir Putin formally adopted the “Strategy for Developing the Russian Arctic Zone and Ensuring National Security until 2035” which situates the region in the country’s broader socio-economic development and national security goals.24 Specifying clear development objectives, implementation stages and mechanisms, and expected results, the strategy represents the refined, collective goals developed, pursued, and tested over several years. Explicit goals include a reiteration of Russia’s commitment to comprehensively develop seaport infrastructure and shipping routes in the waters of the NSR and the Barents, White, and Pechora Seas. The policy mentions several significant threats and challenges that create risks for the development the AZRF, including intensive climate change, decreasing birth rates and migration to the region, poor access to public services, and higher risk of diseases. The strategy is comprised of a series of lists that articulate demographic, economic, social, political, and security priorities and objectives. It begins with a statement of Arctic exceptionalism from a Russian national perspective, emphasizing specific characteristics that demand “special approaches to its socio-economic development” in the AZRF and to “ensure national security in the Arctic”: a) extreme natural and climatic conditions, extremely low population density and low development of transport and social infrastructure; b) high sensitivity of environmental systems to external influences, especially in the places of residence of the minority Indigenous peoples of the Russian Federation (hereinafter referred to as “Indigenous peoples”); c) climate change contributing to the emergence of both new economic opportunities and risks for the economy and the environment; d) stable geographic, historical and economic ties with the Northern Sea Route; e) uneven industrial and economic development of certain territories of the Arctic Zone, focus of the economy on the extraction of natural resources and their shipment to industrially developed regions of the Russian Federation and export; f) high resource intensity of economic activity and essential services for the population, their dependence on the supply of fuel, food and other vital goods from various constituent entities of the Russian Federation; g) growing potential for conflict in the Arctic.25 This lays the foundation for Russia to build its case for why the AZRF is important for socioeconomic development and national security, with a deliberate emphasis on oil and gas resources (both terrestrial and on the continental shelf), expectations of heightened demand for the NSR “as a transport corridor of global importance,” climate change effects on the environment and security, the presence of Indigenous peoples, and Russia’s positioning of strategic deterrent forces in the region. Most of the actions specified in the 26 October strategy document revolve around the Northern Sea Route (NSR)—which Russia boasts is the shortest, least expensive, and safest way of reaching Sukhankin, Bouffard & Lackenbauer
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northern and western Europe from Asia by sea. While this narrative downplays persistent physical environmental constraints, Russia leveraged the Ever Given incident (which blocked the Suez Canal in March 2021) to promote the NSR for safety and convenience, especially in contrast to the Indian Ocean and Rea Sea. Russia views the NSR simultaneously as a source of income and a means of strengthening its partnership with China.26 Specifically, the strategy commits to the following measures by 2035: • • • •
•
•
Development of general marine infrastructure (seaports and transportation routes/lanes), primarily in strategic junctures of the NSR: the Barents, White and Pechora Seas; Establishment of “headquarters on marine/sea operations and management of naval transportation” along the entire NSR; Digitalization of services (particularly in the realm of cargo transportation and delivery), although ‘Arctic Connect’ plans have been suspended until further assessment;27 Building of five Project 22220 and three Leader-class icebreakers, in line with Russia’s “Icebreaker Diplomacy,” which seeks to rely on its icebreaker fleet in the Arctic as a means of strengthening Moscow’s regional superiority28 – a position established and maintained since the late 19th century; Increasing navigation capabilities via the White Sea–Baltic Canal in general and the basins of the Onega, Northern Dvina, Mezen, Pechora, Ob, Yenisey, Lena and Kolyma rivers in particular. In effect, this draws on yet another aspect of the “Icebreaker Diplomacy” approach specifically concerned with upgrading navigation in Russia’s High North areas (rivers adjacent to the Arctic Ocean). Harboring plans on creating/strengthening land-based transportation infrastructure as an addition to the NSR.29
Taken together, these measures are expected to enhance the navigability of the NSR and facilitate the rapid transportation/delivery of Russia’s energy resources to Asian markets.30 The strategy document also emphasizes that a dramatic improvement in local socio-economic conditions is essential to preserve Russia’s standing in the region and to effectively exploit its natural resources. By creating “a special economic regime, stimulating a transition toward a circular economy,” and paving the way toward economic and ecological sustainability, the Kremlin hopes to curb out-migration and Arctic depopulation trends by attracting human capital to the region.31 Accordingly, the strategy is notable for articulating specific targets for improving social outcomes in the Russian Arctic, beginning with the modernization of health care and education, the preservation and promotion of cultural heritage and Indigenous languages, improved economic opportunities and social security, and the “creation of a state support system for the delivery of fuel, food, and other vital goods to settlements located in remote areas.” This reinforces how the Kremlin considers its northern population to be vital to its strategic goals, and it has integrated input from a wide range of capable and trusted advisors. Specific sections set out main objectives for infrastructure development (with a heavy focus on the NSR), science and technology, environmental protection and environmental safety, emergency and disaster response, and public safety (including anti-extremism and anti-terrorism, anti-drug enforcement, and crime prevention).32 With regard to reversing and stabilizing the population decline issue in the Russian Arctic Zone, no unity of opinion exists on a solution. Some propose a form of previous Soviet methods while others argue the need for a seasonal workforce to offset year-round prohibitive Development of the Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation
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costs as well as incentivizing a desire to maintain northern residence through “improved comfortable living standards.” As the Minister for the Development of the Russian Far East and Arctic Alexander Kozlov highlighted, this amplification of socio-economic development priorities and deliberate regionspecific approach to implementation (in contrast to previous pan-AZRF strategies) distinguishes this strategy from its predecessors.33 While the Strategy mentions parts of Arkhangelsk Oblast, the Republic Sakha (Yakutia), and Karelia and Komi republics, it assigns a clear priority in the Russian High North to Murmansk Oblast, the Chukotka Autonomous Okrug, Yamalo-Nenets Autonomous Okrug (YaNAO), and Nenets Autonomous Okrug.34 The document ascribes each of these latter four entities a special role in promoting Russia’s ambitions and achieving its specific objectives in the Arctic. The Strategy continues to invest particular significance in Murmansk Oblast, emphasizing a broad range of complex and multifaceted transformative measures targeting this province.35 As a result of the relatively warm North Atlantic waters from the Gulf Stream keeping much of the Murmansk maritime area ice-free, the location has always offered a permissive operating environment as well as proximity to urban centers, thus serving as a natural northern strategic epicenter and the Russian Federation’s most prioritized Arctic entity.36 When Russian writer Konstantin Paustovsky visited Murmansk in May of 1932, he referred to it as “Прима Полярэ (Prima Polare)” which has been translated into modern use as “Столица Арктики (The Capital of the Arctic).” Nine decades later, the Russian Federation passed a resolution officially declaring it the territory of advanced socioeconomic development “Capital of the Arctic”,37 which the Murmansk government promotes on its ТОР “Столица Арктики” investment portal website.38 There is strong rationale for this status in light of traditional hydrocarbon and bio-marine resources, high industry (shipbuilding), and strategic transportation potential in and for this region.39 Murmansk is also home to three major ports and several key institutes involving the Northern Sea Route, including the Northern Sea Route Administration (NSRA) established in 2013,40 the Northern Fleet Joint strategic command (Russian military district in force starting on January 2021), and the Northern Sea Route Directorate.41 To reverse downward demographic trends in the region, Konstantin Dolgov, a member of the Federation Council (the upper chamber of the Russian parliament) from Murmansk, suggests that the Russian strategy will create 200,000 new jobs by 2035.42 Multi-modal infrastructure investments seek to transform Murmansk into a complex multi-dimensional transportation hub and a key link along the NSR. The Strategy also underscores a perceived imperative to modernize the oblast’s military and dual-purpose infrastructure for national security reasons. A second set of measures focus on the development of Murmansk’s natural resource potential, particularly hydrocarbons and rare-earth minerals (which are strategically important for both military and civilian applications).43 Other regions play a more limited, even supporting role within the Russian Strategy. Article 22 articulates an explicit resource-oriented approach to Chukotka, emphasizing ambitious transit projects including the Pevek seaport and terminals (Chaun Bay), a transportation-logistical hub in the Provideniya port (Bering Sea), and a year-round sea terminal on the Arinay Lagoon (also on the Bering Sea). For the YaNAO (Article 23), a multi-dimensional program outlines the development of an integrated system of sea- and land-based transportation infrastructure, including the port of Sabetta (with supporting facilities) and the canal in the Gulf of Ob. Concurrently,
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promised facilities related to liquefied natural gas (LNG) and oil production and processing specifically prioritize the gas-endowed Yamal and Gyda peninsulas. The Kremlin also envisages the YaNAO as a major testing ground for Russia’s import-substitution strategy in the realm of petroleum-extraction and -processing capabilities. In the oil-endowed Nadym-Pur and Pur-Taz districts, Russia promises to employ the most up-to-date, domestically-produced means of drilling and extraction.44 Furthermore, the Strategy calls for a regional recreational cluster connecting the towns of Salekhard, Labytnangi, and Kharp – featuring a world-class ski resort with a developed network of hotels, restaurants and recreational facilities – to generate additional revenue and diversify the local economy.45 With respect to the neighboring Nenets Autonomous Okrug, Article 21 of the Strategy discusses five major dimensions, including a deepwater port to serve as a hub for Russian commercial exports; modernizing Nenets’ energy-related infrastructure and extracting and processing facilities; exploration and production of rare-earth minerals; measures to address local food security concerns; and “the development of tourism and recreation as both a job creation engine and as a means to diversify the local economy away from its heavy natural resource–oriented base.”46 Taken as a whole, Russia’s October 2020 Arctic development strategy introduces a qualitatively new approach to dealing with the various issues and challenges faced by local populations and economies. Instead of its traditional one-size-fits-all prescriptions, which de facto ignored the needs of many parts of the Russian High North, Moscow’s implementation of a more region-specific policy allows each Arctic federal entity to use its unique, region-specific competitive advantage to contribute to the development of the Northern Sea Route. It remains to be seen, however, whether Russia carries through on this strategy or ultimately reverts to a simpler policy fixated on nonrenewable resource exploitation.47 Comparing the Kremlin’s stated ambitions in the strategy and the limitations imposed by Russia’s long-term socio-economic realities suggest that Russia will encounter difficulties in its practical implementation. In this regard two main concerns should be voiced. First, despite the rhetorical prioritization of the socio-economic component in Arctic development, one might doubt Russia’s ability to implement this plan based on its limited economic means to achieve such an ambitious plan, as well as deeply rooted corrupt practices and mismanagement. A second concern relates to the method of implementation. Commentary and analysis from leading Russian experts suggest that, in pursuing this objective, Moscow is likely to rely on the “mobilization” option, which heavily depends on so-called command-administrative (kommandno-administrativnii) measures.48 This method – which was a distinctive feature of the Soviet period – can prove effective in the short term but is unlikely to yield favourable long-term results. For example, Russia’s Defence Industry lacks private investment and suffers from huge indebtedness openly recognized and admitted by Russian ruling circles.49 Additionally, given the public image of the Arctic throughout Russia as a far-flung and disadvantaged region, few Russians may be willing to move to remote regions for employment. Previous models predicated on significant Soviet fiscal stimuli proved flawed: once the money ran out, locals immediately began pouring out of the region.50 Today, it is not apparent that Moscow can or will actually enact policies to dramatically increase, at high cost, the size of the population residing in the High North. In fact, Russia already has the largest share of the population (2.5 million) living near or north of the Arctic Circle, and any hypothetical increases could prove detrimental to the Russian economy. Indeed, several influential Russian experts claim that Russia should follow the example of other Arctic players (such as Development of the Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation
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Canada, the United States, and Norway) that rely on the fly-in/fly-out method for their regional labour forces as a more cost-effective way to exploit natural resources in remote areas.51 Despite the seemingly marginal role that militarization and military-related efforts play in the newly adopted Arctic strategy document, these aspects constitute one of the central pillars of Russia’s overarching approach to the High North and will be the main recipients of financial outlays from the federal center. The military buildup to protect strategic nuclear assets on the Kola Peninsula, project power in the Barents Sea region, and secure the eastern part of the Russian Arctic fits awkwardly with international messaging that emphasizes circumpolar cooperation and seeks to “bracket out” confrontation between the West and Russia from Arctic affairs (with the desired Russian goal of ending Western sanctions that hinder Arctic development). “The emphasis on countering external threats by expanding military presence in the High North doesn’t answer the interests of Russian energy giants Gazprom and Rosneft focused on developing co-operation with Western oil and service companies, even if those interests are squeezed by the sanctions regime,” Baev observes. “Plans for making the Sevmorput into an international transportation avenue also fit poorly with the progressive militarization of infrastructure along its route.”52 Given current economic hardships, we expect that Russia will pursue an approach premised on selective investment in strategic “links” connecting key parts of the NSR, at the same time increasing its military capabilities along the maritime artery – which, in Russian logic, are not two mutually exclusive ideas.
International orientation Russia’s strategic international orientation reflects a two-track approach that seeks to legitimize its position, status, and definitions of the Arctic through mixed messaging that reinforces themes of peace, cooperation, and stability through multilateral and bilateral relationships while also emphasizing foreign threats to Russian sovereignty over territory and waters that require investments in defensive capabilities. On the one hand, Russian political elites and academics emphasize the benefits of and need for multilateral diplomacy and stable regional and international governance systems to solve myriad environmental and human security challenges. Accordingly, the October 2020 strategy promises to “implement multi-vector foreign policy activities aimed at preserving the Arctic as a territory of peace, stability, and mutually beneficial cooperation” and to “ensure mutually beneficial bilateral and multilateral cooperation of the Russian Federation with foreign states, including under international treaties, agreements, and conventions to which it is a party.”53 On the other hand, Russia’s great power aspirations and self-perception as the foremost Arctic state, coupled with increasing strategic competition with the West since 2014, have heightened the perceived desire or need for a military build-up to defend against national security challenges. Accordingly, the Kremlin’s strategic messaging seeks to project the ideas of Russian superiority over the West, legitimize Russia as the largest Arctic rightsholder, and reinforce the requirement to defend Russian Arctic territory. Thus, the Arctic development doctrine (including the NSR), icebreaking and construction programs, modernized military infrastructure and capabilities, and reiterations of Russia’s adherence to international law, respect for sovereignty, openness to circumpolar dialogue, and readiness to cooperate on common issues with other Arctic and non-Arctic states, are all intertwined.
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Given the primacy of economic development and control of regional resources, maritime jurisdiction in the AZRF features prominently in both domestic and international dimensions of Russian policy. Accordingly, Russia’s strategies seek to sediment its definition of the NSR (as defined by Russian Federation law) as internal waters which provides Russia complete control over access in accordance with the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea. Moscow’s ultimate goal – to develop the NSR “as a globally competitive national transport corridor” – remains contingent upon a range of international factors, including global energy prices, Asian demand for resources, the comparative accessibility of well-established international straits, physical environmental constraints, and regional stability to ensure conflict-free operation.54 Ekatarina Klimenko astutely notes that “while the Russian Government has continuously pushed both private and state companies to develop the Arctic resource projects, the feasibility of their implementation is under question now more than ever,” and the NSR cannot be considered a competitor to other international sea routes when transit traffic does not exceed 500,000 tons annually.55 Furthermore, Russia’s extensive Arctic coastline affords it sovereign rights to continental shelf resources in accordance with UNCLOS. While Russian commentators often cite the as-yetundetermined limits of the shelf as a prime example of alleged Western powers to usurp control over resources on the Arctic seabed, this is a clear example of what Pavel Baev identifies as widespread “exaggeration and inflated threat assessment” in mainstream Russian commentary.56 By all rational accounts, Russia stands to gain the most if the process of determining the extent of its continental shelf beyond its 200-nautical mile Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ) unfolds in a manner consistent with established international law.57 Accordingly, its Arctic strategy commits to “formalizing the outer boundary of the continental shelf in international legal terms and maintaining interaction with the Arctic states to protect national interests and implement the rights of a coastal state in the Arctic provided for in international acts, including those related to the exploration and development of resources of the continental shelf and the establishment of its external boundaries.”58 On the sensitive issue of Svalbard, which remains a sovereign territory of Norway under a treaty which allows unique, legal access to the international community, Russia pledges to ensure a “Russian presence in the Svalbard archipelago on the basis of equal and mutually beneficial cooperation with Norway and other states of the Svalbard Treaty of February 9, 1920” – an affirmation of the primacy of the treaty and international law that simultaneously protects Russia’s legal position on the archipelago’s continental shelf and fisheries protection that deviates strongly from Norway’s interpretation.59 Russian strategic documents depict the Arctic Council (AC) as “both a centerpiece and cornerstone of the regional governance system,” given that all Arctic states are represented, its multidimensional mandate, and its science-based approach that preserves the autonomous decision-making powers of its members.60 In March 2021, former Russian Senior Arctic Official and Ambassador to Iceland Anton Vasiliev (one of Putin’s key Arctic emissaries) noted: The Arctic Council turns 25 this year as unquestionably one of the most successful multilateral regional and international bodies of our times. Its success is based on common interests and efforts of the Arctic States, clear agenda and the rules of the game, as well as reasonable flexibility to meet new challenges. Russia intends to build on this success, including the excellent outcome of the current Icelandic Chairmanship which had to overcome unprecedented pandemic-related difficulties, to lead the Council into its second quarter century. Development of the Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation
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The Russian Chairmanship will also be motivated by the national Arctic Strategy updated in 2020 for the period up to 2035. It provides for a major step forward in development of the Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation and welcomes mutually beneficial cooperation of Russia with its Arctic partners and, besides, interested nonregional states.61 Accordingly, Russia’s Arctic Council chairmanship (2021-23)62 represents a key opportunity for agenda-setting and for showcasing the country’s “Arctic-ness” and circumpolar leadership for domestic and foreign audiences. Its four priorities – “the Arctic inhabitants, including Indigenous peoples; environmental protection and climate change; social and economic growth; and further strengthening the Arctic Council – the key framework of international Arctic cooperation”63 – connect directly to Russian strategic objectives. Specific lines of effort include enhanced economic cooperation; investments in Arctic urban infrastructure, health care, education, Indigenous welfare; and the “restoration of consensus in the Arctic Council on climate change” (a thinly veiled critique at the Trump Administration’s stance at the Council ministerial meeting in 2019). Furthermore, the strong emphasis on the “rational use of natural resources,”64 presented in the language of stewardship and socio-economic wellbeing, reinforces Russia’s strong emphasis on energy resource development.65 Promoting the NSR as a priority for “safe and beneficial all-season navigation” and the enhancement of search and rescue capacities also dovetail with national priorities. Ultimately, in illustrating “the serious, holistic and constructive approach of Russia to its forthcoming Chairmanship,” Vasiliev ended with the declaration that “Russia bears special responsibility for the state of affairs in the Arctic and counts on support from its regional partners” (emphasis added).66 It is unlikely that Russia will seek to fundamentally revise the Council or its established processes during its chairmanship. Sergunin notes that Moscow will avoid former appeals to “transform the Council from an intergovernmental forum to a full-fledged international organization and bring military security problematique to the Council’s agenda,” and instead will focus its chairmanship on strengthening the forum’s “role in asserting regional stewardship by responding to the challenges of a rapidly changing Arctic and the increasingly more integrated policy frameworks from local to global scales.”67 This maps well with language in the Kremlin’s October 2020 strategy that emphasizes Russia’s leadership role in “ensuring the effective operation of the Arctic Council …, including the promotion of joint projects, including those aimed at ensuring sustainable development of the Arctic and preserving the cultural heritage of Indigenous peoples.”68 The role of Indigenous peoples’ organizations as Permanent Participants represents the most innovative feature of the Arctic Council – but also a historic source of concern for Russia’s national leaders. Moscow decided in 2012 to suspend the Russian Association of Indigenous Peoples of the North (RAIPON), the only nation-wide Indigenous peoples’ organization in the country which had criticized the central government for ignoring persistent problems that Indigenous peoples faced in the AZRF, on the arbitrary grounds that the organization was captive to foreign influence. In draconian fashion, the Kremlin imposed new “friendly” RAIPON leadership before allowing the organization to resume operations the following year, thus drawing the ire of Western commentators69 who likely look with skepticism at Russia’s pledge to: i) support in strengthening ties between the Indigenous peoples living in the Arctic Zone and the Indigenous peoples living in the Arctic territories of foreign states and convening relevant international forums;
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j) promoting the well-rounded development of the young generation of Indigenous peoples through educational, humanitarian and cultural exchanges with young people from other Arctic states.70 [original numbering] Given the Kremlin’s hyper-sensitivity to Indigenous peoples’ critiques that their rights are largely ignored,71 these commitments may represent insincere gestures that, in practical terms, are likely to be quashed at the first sign of serious criticism of Russian state practice. Various non-governmental organizations also have accredited Observer status within the Council. Russia ostensibly supports this involvement – although it also has had uneasy relations with interest groups and NGOs that are critical of the state, and the Putin regime does not welcome critique from civil society actors in the Arctic space any more than it does elsewhere. “Civil society in Russia is still in embryonic form and for this reason its impact on Arctic policy-making is either relatively insignificant or sporadic/chaotic,” Sergunin and Konyshev explain.72 Nevertheless, the Russian strategy sees opportunities for Russian organizations to work with foreign partners to design and implement “professional educational programs related to the development and exploration of the Arctic.” Furthermore, Russia co-chaired the Scientific Cooperation Task Force which produced the text for the third legally-binding agreement negotiated under the auspices of the Arctic Council, signed in 2017. As a prime example of how Russia collaborated with the U.S. to advance a cooperative circumpolar initiative at a time of deteriorating relations between the two countries in the wake of the Ukrainian crisis, the strategic commitment to “ensur[e] the implementation of the Agreement on Enhancing International Arctic Scientific Cooperation”73 serves as a useful basis for scientific diplomacy that promotes Russia’s good circumpolar citizenship.74 Given the strong national emphasis on the development of the AZRF, Russia’s strategy seeks to elevate the profile of its activities internationally to build prestige, secure its central position in the circumpolar order, justify and defend its national interests, and promote its definitions of core concepts such as “sustainable development.” Creating and promoting an online “multilingual information resource dedicated to the development of the Arctic Zone and Russia’s activities in the Arctic” (such as the Arctic Russia investment portal at https://arctic-russia.ru/en/about/) alongside comprehensive Russian-focused websites featuring diverse experts (exemplified by the Arctic 2035 project at https://www.arctic2035.ru/) are key strategic tools to frame and disseminate messages. Other commitments seek to promote Russia’s Arctic economic interests by “strengthening of the role of the Arctic Economic Council as one of the central forums for sustainable development of the Arctic,” “developing general principles for the implementation of investment projects in the Arctic Zone with the participation of foreign capital,” and “organizing events aimed at attracting foreign investors to participate in the implementation of economic (investment) projects in the Arctic Zone.” While “sustainable development” carries different connotations in Russia and the other Arctic states,75 all of these lines of effort seek to promote the mutual benefits of economic cooperation and secure foreign investments and technology transfer on terms of favourable to Russia – ideally, in Russia’s view, by enticing the West to end its sanctions. The list of main objectives for military security, defence, and border protection in the October 2021 Russian strategy is shorter than the list of commitments for international cooperation, but it nevertheless reinforces Russia’s ongoing commitment to increase its military presence and capabilities in the Arctic.76 Specific provisions commit to “improv[ing] the composition and
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structure of Armed Forces” in the AZRF, maintaining an appropriate level of combat readiness “in compliance with the actual and forecast military dangers and threats faced by the Russian Federation in the Arctic,” equipping forces with modern weapons and special equipment adapted to Arctic conditions, developing base infrastructure and logistics, and promoting the “use of dualuse technologies and infrastructure to achieve a comprehensive solution to defense objectives in the Arctic Zone.”77 Given that many of the capabilities have potential offensive as well as defensive applications, Western commentators continue to debate whether the Kremlin’s declared justifications for consistent and systematic investments in an Arctic military buildup since Putin returned to power as president in 2012 can be trusted.78 Given established Russian state narratives since 2008, it should come as no surprise that “ensuring sovereignty and territorial integrity” sit atop the list of Russia’s national interests in the Arctic. “Whilst this could indicate a continuous securitisation of the region by the Russian Government,” Klimenko observes, “it does not in practice indicate a significant change in … policy since Russia will continue its long-term enforcement of its sovereignty over Arctic territories and waters.”79 Other Russian commentators suggest that significant military investments are consistent and compatible with regional stability predicated on respect for Arctic state sovereignty. “Similar to other coastal states, Moscow sees its military presence in the region as an efficient instrument to demonstrate its sovereignty over and protect its national interests in the Arctic,” Sergunin explains. “On the other hand, the Kremlin believes that there are no serious military threats emanating from the Arctic and, for this reason, defense and security issues are put on the bottom of Moscow’s priority list in its strategic documents.” He notes that Russian investments in military capabilities in the region do not represent “a renewed arms race” and that, instead, investments represent “limited modernization and increases or changes in equipment, force levels, and force structure.” Conflating the modernization of strategic nuclear forces based in the Arctic, which are intended to bolster global deterrence, with Arctic issues is problematic. Instead, Sergunin emphasizes that the creation of new cold-weather units, warships, aircraft, and command structures in the AZRF “have little or nothing to do with power projection into the potentially disputed areas (where the Arctic coastal states’ claims overlap) or region at large; rather, they are for the patrolling and protecting of recognized national territories and waters that are becoming more accessible, including for illegal activities, such as overfishing, poaching, smuggling, and uncontrolled migration.” In his assessment, these modernization programs do not inhibit or degrade the prospects of regional cooperation.80 While military considerations are subordinated to other priorities in this document, they still “constitute one of the central pillars of Russia’s overarching approach to the High North and will be the main recipients of financial outlays from the federal center.” 81 Russian narratives point to U.S. and NATO aggression in the Arctic as a pretext for investments in robust defences to protect the ANRF, strategic resources, and people. Accordingly, in an era of resurgent great power competition, Moscow seeks to delegitimize, discredit, and destabilize the Western alliance and continue to promote that the US and NATO – not Russia – is responsible for Arctic “militarization” while using this to justify its own militarization agenda. Conversely, Russian narratives promoting “constructive” and “peaceful” Arctic relations (including calls to resume a military-to-military dialogue on Arctic affairs) seek to normalize relations with the West to solidify a new status quo in which Russian aggression in Ukraine and elsewhere becomes a fait accompli and Moscow can secure an end to Western sanctions. Sukhankin, Bouffard & Lackenbauer
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Implementation plans and leveraging the private sector82 Russia’s October 2020 strategy concluded with a three-stage implementation plan, with specific targets to measure results at each stage. The “unified action plan” would involve coordinated action by “federal government bodies, executive bodies of the constituent entities of the Russian Federation, local government bodies, state academies of sciences, other scientific and educational organizations, funds for supporting scientific, technical and innovative activities, nonprofit organizations, state corporations, state companies, joint stock companies with state participation and the business community.” President Putin would oversee “the general management of the implementation of this Strategy,” thus ensuring centralized control.83 Towards these ends, Putin reshuffled his government on 9 November 2020 with a strong nod to the Arctic.84 Minister of Transportation Yevgeny Dietrich was relieved owing to lagging NSR developments. Dmitri Kobylkin was removed as natural resources and the environment ministry, likely because of the major fuel spill in Norilsk in May 202085 and the marine pollution incident in Kamchatka that October.86 The Minister of Development of the Far East and Arctic, Alexander Kozlov, replaced Kobylkin as Minister of Natural Resources and Environment,87 and Alexei Chekunov was advanced to the Minister for the Development of the Far East and Arctic. Later that month, Putin signed a decree to establish the Committee on Russia’s Chairmanship in the Arctic Council in 2021-2023, with Presidential Plenipotentiary, Yury Trutnev, assigned as the committee chair.88 These political changes represented an attempt by Russia to refresh its Arctic image in the face of recent environmental disasters, growing public discontent in the Far East with Russia’s failure to address local problems, and slow progress on economic improvements in the AZRF. Regional levels also received attention when the Kremlin combined two ministries to establish the Ministry for the Development of the Arctic and Economy for the Murmansk Region – an area that serves as an epicenter of Arctic public- and private-sector interests.89 On 15 April 2021, the Russian government approved a single action plan for the implementation of the Basic Principles of the State Policy of the Russian Federation in the Arctic until 2035 and the Strategy for Developing the Russian Arctic Zone and Ensuring National Security until 2035. This fifty-four-page document lists 268 measures and lead agencies, schedules specific actions for the 2021-22 timeframe (although some, such as development of the icebreakers fleet, are longer-term), and intends to serve as a stable foundation for Russia to realize its strategic development ambitions for the AZRF. The plan does not prioritize military investments, and instead has an explicitly socioeconomic orientation. In other words, its primary strategic goal is to improve standards of living for Russia’s Arctic population, with particular emphasis on: • • • • •
solving the most acute social problems; stimulating industrial production and creating jobs; improving the quality of medical services (with the use of up-to-date technologies); improving supply chain mechanisms to deliver staples and food to the Russian Arctic and High North; and improving local infrastructure (ports and airports) to ensure transportation flows.
Another strategic aspect in the document pertains to Russia’s readiness to provide more freedom and opportunities for joint public and private sector investments (such as airport reconstruction in Arkhangelsk). Being firmly integrated in the global economy, and thus attentive to global
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macroeconomic and financial trends, Russia’s leadership clearly understands that failing to engage private capital is archaic and unsustainable in managing large projects. While the Russian state has always played a central role in nearly all Arctic-related projects, Moscow indicates a growing understanding of the necessity to increase the share of private sector involvement. The Ministry for Development of the Russian Far East and Arctic (Minvostokrazvitia) voiced its first concrete idea on the subject in 2020 when declaring its “serious preferences” and economic stimuli for private companies willing to invest in the Arctic.90 On 1 February 2021, Russian Prime Minister Mikhail Mishustin signed a decree approving the launch of six major statesupported investment projects that allow participation of private companies to promote the comprehensive development of the AZRF. According to the document, Russia expects to attract more than 200 billion rubles (approximately $2.7 billion) in outside investments aimed at regional economic revitalization, and the state is ready to defray up to 20% of total investment costs for projects of at least 300 million rubles ($4 million).91 If this condition is fulfilled, the federal government promises to partially compensate Russian companies for infrastructure-related construction expenditures (transportation, energy, and electricity). This subsidy extends to both completed (operational) projects and those still under development, with available data suggesting that the Russian side is prepared to divert up to 13 billion rubles ($176 million) for this purpose until 2023. The decree also names six large projects in Murmansk Oblast, the Novaya Zemlya archipelago, and the Taymyr Peninsula that must be completed by 2027.92 Minvostokrazvitia head Alexei Chekunkov underscored that “private businesses will have to invest ten times more than the Russian government,” generating 5,800 new jobs and 42 billion rubles ($569 million) in tax revenues. He also articulated how “the realization of these [six major projects] solves the strategic goals related to the development of local logistics, the modernization of seaport infrastructure, and safeguarding of transportation along the Northern Sea Route [NSR].”93 Various forums assembling representatives of Russian academia, policymakers, the business community, and the public sector have grappled with how to increase the overall share of private sector involvement in Arctic-based projects. For example, the fifth international “Arktika-2020” conference, held in Moscow in February 2020, focused on the development of Russia’s continental shelf and the AZRF more broadly. Yuri Vazhenin, a member of the Federation Council, openly stated that “from technological point of view, Russia is still unable to explore resource-endowed Arctic region,” noting an ongoing reliance on foreign technologies to explore and exploit resources. The head of Russia’s oil and gas producers union, Gannady Shmal, observed that the logic of oil/gas exploration in the Arctic has shifted from a fixation on large deposits toward smaller ones. Given low levels of Russian investment in research and development, however, he expressed skepticism about the country’s ability to transition successfully to this new model and adjust to a changing reality. Other speakers highlighted the strategic importance of digital connectivity for public life and industrial development, with lagging technology inhibiting resource exploration and decreasing the region’s attractiveness to professionals who might work there.94 Inspired by this guidance, Minvostokrazvitia proposed liberalizing access to Russia’s Arctic continental shelf, particularly for foreign and domestic companies actively investing in oil and natural gas/liquefied natural gas (LNG) development. The ministry also began to devise flexible and up-to-date leasing mechanisms for the region,95 which Krutikov explained in November 2020 during the “Days of the Arctic and Antarctic in Moscow” forum.96
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Nevertheless, Russia’s ideas about the private sector’s role in Arctic development, while more refined than previously, remain unclear with respect to five major issues. The first relates to the legal framework. Specifically, a new law passed in February 2021 facilitates more rapid transportation of goods via the NSR97 and draws upon Russia’s desire to promote the region as a free economic zone (FEZ), but Russia’s recent experience with these zones (particularly in the Kaliningrad Oblast) has proven largely unsuccessful. A second issue relates to lack of clarity about the economic model behind the general implementation plan. While Russian mainstream experts and policymakers accept that economic development requires private sector resources, some commentators (such as Aleksandr Tsybulskii, the head of Arkhangelsk Oblast), insist that the “Arctic territories need to develop as a single macro-region with the help of some sort of a Gosplan [State Planning Committee].”98 Given Russia’s brutal historical experience with a mobilization-type, centrally-planned economy, such ideas are questionable and even unpalatable. It remains unclear how Russia wishes to, or could, combine this economic model with free market principles over the long term. The third issue concerns the Kremlin placing an increasingly pronounced emphasis on regionspecific initiatives for NSR and AZRF development. For example, local authorities in Murmansk are creating a Ministry for the Development of the Arctic and Economics which, according to local governor Andrei Chibis, will “not only boost the leading role of Murmansk oblast … but also facilitate and streamline the process of attracting investors.”99 This approach was unfathomable in the pre-1991 period of Russian/Soviet history, when the Arctic region was treated as a homogenous entity without due consideration for sub-regional specificities. This positive idea, however, might have one flipside. While prioritizing the development of some regions for intensive growth using both private and state funds, other areas might be used as source of natural resources and raw materials. For now, when these ideas/projects remain at the development stage, this dynamic might not seem worrisome. In the future, however, deciding which regions receive what status could raise questions affecting the long-term cohesiveness of the Russian Federation. The federal center has clearly chosen a handful of “prioritized” regions that will enjoy massive federal support to bolster Arctic development. If the local elites of neighboring regions (less endowed with strategic natural resources or less important for the NSR) feel frustrated at being excluded, economically-driven tensions could transform into political grievances, thus sharpening interregional rivalries as well as heightening centrifugal dynamics across the Russian Arctic. Incidentally, deep analysis of Russian-language sources explicitly points to this concern.100 A fourth issue arises from a combination of two security-related factors: international sanctions against Russia and militarization of the Arctic region which could turn the Bering Strait into a bottleneck. Both factors could discourage prospective foreign partners from investing in the AZRF or in using the NSR as a transportation route. Furthermore, it remains uncertain whether private sector partners – especially foreign entities – will be enthusiastic about the massive financial investments required to develop both Russian Arctic-based energy projects and the NSR as a viable international transit route. In light of growing international momentum to reduce dependencies on non-renewable energy, both European and major Asian players (including China) may be dissuaded from investing heavily in Russia’s Arctic initiatives. Several key Russian experts already acknowledge this challenge,101 which may jeopardize Russia’s ability to fully implements its Arctic strategy.
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Conclusions Recent Russian strategic documents and implementation plans confirm that development of the AZRF is one of the country’s highest national priorities. “For Russia, the Arctic is not some remote, hard-to-reach territory,” Lagutina notes, “but an actual part of state territory, fully integrated into the socioeconomic and political systems of the Russian Federation.” Accordingly, its domestic and foreign policies reflect core priorities: to ensure sovereignty and territorial integrity, improve standards of living for regional residents, protect the environment, and develop the Russian Arctic “as a strategic resource base.”102 In effect, the development of the Arctic for Russia represents the central, overarching focus from which to synchronize, align, and assign primary purpose to other related state activities. Russia must sell this priority to both the domestic and international audience, which involves maintenance and delivery of a dual-narrative: one aspect emphasizing good circumpolar citizenship and the other offering overexaggerated threat assessments. Both serve a purpose consistent with legitimizing goals that seek to shape perspectives and secure advantage from international competition without undermining national interests. “A framework of institutional governance represents the status quo in the region, and in many ways this benefits Russia,” political scientist Kari Roberts astutely notes. “There is little real evidence to forewarn of Russian disruption in the Arctic, apart from those who rush to connect its activities elsewhere to its priorities in the North or assume that its Arctic military spending is inherently more offensive than defensive.”103 Our analysis also supports Baev’s assessment that “in Russian strategic planning and military preparations, the Arctic occupies a more prominent place than it ‘objectively’ deserves. Whatever the economic dreams about looting the ‘treasure chest’ of natural resources in the High North or the nationalistic ambitions about ‘owning’ and ‘conquering’ the vast Northern spaces, Russia’s interests in the Arctic are not threatened in any practical or symbolic way by its neighbors.”104 While exaggerated threat assessments of foreign threats to the AZRF inform the latest Russian Arctic and national security strategies, they do not dominate the narrative. After all, Russian experts acknowledge that the military dimension can only play a modest (and perhaps even negligible) role in helping to overcome deep-rooted population and economic stability issues in the region. Nevertheless, Russia is highly unlikely to reduce its Arctic military presence given its strategic deterrence function, symbolism as a form of regional dominance, and practical dual-use benefits that support shipping, resource extraction, and human and environmental security agendas. As for any Arctic nation, articulating northern goals is one thing; reality often prescribes outcomes that are notably different. The Arctic environment presents significant limitations on the ability to achieve objectives without tremendous burden and cost. The authoritarian nature of the Russian Federation means that the Kremlin is not as forthcoming about difficulties as are its Western counterparts, where accountability and the ability to question power is more permissible and common. Accordingly, practical difficulties associated with Arctic development should lead Western commentators to avoid overzealous and excessively alarmist rhetoric about Russia’s regional goals – most of which are clearly within their sovereign rights and jurisdiction as an Arctic state. Alternatively, more focus should be directed toward analyzing the feasibility of Russia meeting its objectives and its actual developments (rather than its desired or forecasted ones). This article presents several examples of substantive problems that Russia faces in terms of implementing its strategies – including ever-present industrial and market forces that heighten
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uncertainty, alongside challenges posed by an austere and harsh physical environment in flux owing to global climate change. Even if Russia manages to align and synchronize public- and privatesector actors, its strategic implementation plans for the Arctic will remain highly ambitious – but should encourage investment across political, military, economic, social, and environmental security sectors that advance Russia’s multi-track domestic, circumpolar, and international strategies.
Notes 1. Президент Российской Федерации, “О Стратегии Развития Арктической Зоны Российской Федерации И Обеспечения Национальной Безопасности На Период До 2035 Года,” ed. Администрация Президента России (Москва, Россия: Кремль, 2020), [“On the Strategy of the development of the Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation and Ensuring the National Security for the Period until 2035”] (hereafter Russia, “Strategy for Developing the Russian Arctic Zone”). http://publication.pravo.gov.ru/Document/View/0001202010260033 2. Maria Lagutina, “Russia’s Arctic policies: concepts, domestic and international priorities,” Polar Journal (2021): 1. 3. Morgane Fert-Malka, “Russia’s Blindfolded Arctic Policy,” World Policy [World Policy Institute], 22 March 2017, http://worldpolicy.org/2017/03/22/russias-blindfolded-arcticpolicy/. 4. Lagutina, “Russia’s Arctic policies.” 5. Alexander Sergunin and Valery Konyshev, Russia in the Arctic: Hard or Soft Power? (Stuttgart: Ibidem-Verlag, 2016). 6. Alexander Khramchihin, “Арктика как поле боя” [Arctic as the battlefield], 22 March 2021, https://nvo.ng.ru/realty/2021-03-25/1_1134_arctic.html 7. Vasily Zhuravel, “Горячие точки Арктики” [Arctic’s hot spots], 28 June 2020, https://www.ng.ru/dipkurer/2020-06-28/9_7896_arctic.html 8. Dmitry Litovkin, “Арктический рейд. Зачем российские подводники ломали лед на полюсе” [The Arctic raid. How did the Russian submarines break the Arctic ice], 1 April 2021, https://nvo.ng.ru/realty/2021-04-01/1_1135_raid.html 9. Vladimir Mukhin, “НАТО готовится к покорению Арктики” [NATO is getting ready to annex the Arctic], 8 September 2020, https://www.ng.ru/armies/2020-0908/1_7958_arctic.html 10. “Леонид Ивашов: если у России в Арктике не будет военной силы – отнимут всё!” [Leonid Ivashov: if Russia does not military power in the Artic – they will grab everything!], 9 February 2021, https://news.rambler.ru/army/45777194-leonid-ivashov-esli-u-rossii-varktike-ne-budet-voennoy-sily-otnimut-vse/; Shurygin Vladislav, “Арктика для нас важна стратегически” [The Arctic is strategically important for us], 30 June 2016, https://izborsk-club.ru/9752; and “А. Подберезкин: Демонстрации сил НАТО в Арктике носят провокационный характер” [A.Podberezkin: NATO’s demonstration of force in the Arctic is provocative in nature], 10 May 2020, http://eurasiandefence.ru/?q=node/46718
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11. Alexander Dugin, “Арктика должна быть нашей” [The Arctic has to be ours], 24 June 2016, https://izborsk-club.ru/9574; Mazharov Alexander, “Россия будет прирастать Арктикой” [Russia will be growing with the Arctic], 23 December 2020, https://izborskclub.ru/20411; Shtyrkov Viacheslav, “Арктика. Величие проекта” [The Arctic. Greatness of the project], 8 February 2018, https://izborsk-club.ru/14751; and Prokhanov Alexander, “Арктика — общее дело” [Arctic – our common affair], 18 March 2017, https://izborsk-club.ru/12788 12. Oleg Rozanov, “Арктика — Северный полюс Русского мира” [Arctic – the Northern Pole of the Russian World], 1 July 2016, https://izborsk-club.ru/9745 13. See, for example, Valery Konyshev and Alexander Sergunin (2014) Is Russia a revisionist military power in the Arctic?, Defense & Security Analysis, 30 (4): 323-335; Dmitri Trenin, “Russia and China in the Arctic: Cooperation, Competition, and Consequences”, 31 March 2020, https://carnegie.ru/commentary/81407 14. Rob Huebert. “The New Arctic Strategic Triangle Environment (NASTE),” in Breaking the Ice Curtain? Breaking the Ice Curtain? Russia, Canada, and Arctic Security in a Changing Circumpolar World, eds. P. Whitney Lackenbauer and Suzanne Lalonde (Calgary: Canadian Global Affairs Institute, 2019), 75-92. 15. Troy Bouffard and P. Whitney Lackenbauer, “The Development of the Russian Arctic Council Chairmanship: A Strategic Plan of Preparation and Pursuit,” North American and Arctic Defence and Security Network Strategic Perspectives (30 March 2021), https://www.naadsn.ca/wp-content/ uploads/2021/03/Strategic-Perspectives-RussianArctic-Council-Chairmanship-TB-PWL-mar-2021.pdf. 16. “Президент Утвердил Основы Государственной Политики В Арктике,” [The President approved the Principles of State Policy in the Arctic], Администрация Президента России, updated 5 March, 2020, http://kremlin.ru/acts/news/62947. 17. “Behind Putin’s New Arctic Strategy Lies a Rude Quest for Natural Resources,” The Independent Barents Observer AS, 30 October 2020, https://thebarentsobserver.com/en/climate-crisis/2020/10/behind-putins-new-arcticstrategy-lies-rude-quest-natural-resources. 18. “Минвостокразвития Начало Разработку Новой Госпрограммы Развития Арктики,” [The Ministry for the Development of the Russian Far East begins the development of a new state program for the development of the Arctic], TASS, 13 May 2020, https://tass.ru/ekonomika/8464809. 19. “Russia’s Updated Arctic Strategy: New Strategic Planning Document Approved,” High North News, 23 October 2020, https://www.highnorthnews.com/en/russias-updatedarctic-strategy-new-strategic-planning-document-approved 20. “Долгожданное Решение Для Регионов Крайнего Севера,” [Long-awaited solution for Far North regions], Няръяна вындер, updated 31 October, 2020, http://nvinder.ru/article/vypusk-no-119-21033-ot-31-oktyabrya-2020-g/82721dolgozhdannoe-reshenie-dlya-regionov. 21. Pavel Baev, “Threat Assessments and Strategic Objectives in Russia’s Arctic Policy,” Journal of Slavic Military Studies 32:1 (2019): 25-26. 22. Baev, “Threat Assessments and Strategic Objectives in Russia’s Arctic Policy,” 26. 23. See also Sergey Sukhankin, “Russia Unveils New Arctic Development Strategy: Focal Points and Key Priorities,” Eurasian Daily Monitor (Jamestown Foundation), 9 November Sukhankin, Bouffard & Lackenbauer
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26.
27.
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29.
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31.
32. 33. 34. 35. 36.
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2020, https://jamestown.org/program/russia-unveils-new-arctic-development-strategyfocal-points-and-key-priorities/; and Elizabeth Buchanan, “Putin’s Real Arctic Playbook: Demography, Development, and Defense,” The National Interest, 27 October 2020, https://nationalinterest.org/blog/buzz/putin%E2%80%99s-real-arctic-playbookdemography-development-and-defense-171465. Russia, “Strategy for Developing the Russian Arctic Zone.” Указ Президента Российской Федерации от 26.10.2020 № 645, “О Стратегии развития Арктической зоны Российской Федерации и обеспечения национальной безопасности на период до 2035 года” [“Strategy for Developing the Russian Arctic Zone and Ensuring National Security until 2035”], 26 October 2020, http://publication.pravo.gov.ru/Document/View/0001202010260033. Sergey Sukhankin, “Russia’s Arctic strategy melts under scrutiny”, 8 May 2020, https://www.ridl.io/en/russia-s-arctic-strategy-melts-underscrutiny/#:~:text=Russia%E2%80%99s%20Arctic%20strategy%20melts%20under%20s crutiny%20by%20Sergey,Arctic%20territories%20are%20large%2C%20sparsely%20popu lated%2C%20and%20resource-endowed “Megafon freezes Arctic Connect submarine cable project”, 31 MAY 2021, https://developingtelecoms.com/telecom-technology/optical-fixed-networks/11233megafon-freezes-arctic-connect-submarine-cable-project.html Sergey Sukhankin, “‘Icebreaker Diplomacy’: Russia’s New-Old Strategy to Dominate the Arctic”, 12 June 2019, https://jamestown.org/program/icebreaker-diplomacy-russiasnew-old-strategy-to-dominate-the-arctic/ Sergey Sukhankin, “Russia’s Belkomur Arctic Railway Project: Hope, Illusion or Necessity?”, 17 July 2019, https://jamestown.org/program/russias-belkomur-arcticrailway-project-hope-illusion-or-necessity/ Sergey Sukhankin, “Looking Beyond China: Asian Actors in the Russian Arctic (Part One)”, 7 May 2020, https://jamestown.org/program/looking-beyond-china-asian-actorsin-the-russian-arctic-part-one/ Since 1989, the population of the Arctic zone and the High North has dwindled by at least 20 percent (Lenta.ru, October 29, 2019) due to worsening local socio-economic conditions and lack of attractiveness. See, for example, Joan Nymand Larsen, Peter Schweitzer, and Andrey Petrov, Arctic Social Indicators (ASI II) (Copenhagen: Nordic Council of Ministers, 2013); Jennifer Schmidt, Margrethe Aanesen, Konstantin Klokov, Sergei Khrutschev, and Vera Hausner, “Demographic and economic disparities among Arctic regions,” Polar Geography 38/4 (2015): 251-270; Irina Efremova, Nikolay Didenko, Dmitry Rudenko, and Djamilia Skripnuk, “Disparities in rural development of the Russian Arctic zone regions,” Research for Rural Development 2 (2017): 189-194; Marlene Laruelle, ed., New Mobilities and Social Changes in Russia's Arctic Regions (New York: Routledge, 2020). Russia, “Strategy for Developing the Russian Arctic Zone.” Quoted in “В России принята Стратегия развития Арктики до 2035 года,” 27 October 2020, https://www.eprussia.ru/news/base/2020/3779712.htm. Russia, “Strategy for Developing the Russian Arctic Zone.” Russia, “Strategy for Developing the Russian Arctic Zone.” In 2007, an initiative named the “Arctic Bridge” envisaged creating a seasonal, 6,700kilometer maritime transport route between Murmansk and the Canadian port of Churchill, Development of the Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation
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39. 40. 41.
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46. 47.
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Manitoba (RBC, October 19, 2007). More recently, during last year’s ninth international “Arctic: Present and Future” Forum, the Murmansk delegation delivered a presentation entitled “Murmansk—The Capital of the Arctic,” which highlighted several key sectors that drive economic development in the oblast. Постановление Правительства Российской Федерации "О создании территории опережающего социально-экономического развития ‘Столица Арктики’, [“On the creation of the territories of accelerated socio-economic growth ‘Arctic Capital’], 12 June 2020, http://publication.pravo.gov.ru/Document/View/0001202005130028?index=0&rangeSi ze=1 “Территория опережающего развития «Столица Арктики»” [Territory of accelerated growth the ‘Arctic Capital’], Accessed on: 30 June 2021, https://invest.nashsever51.ru/pages/tor-stolitsa-arktiki “Новая стратегия России в Арктике — трансляция” [Russia`s new strategy in the Arctic – transliatsiya], 6 December 2019, https://news.myseldon.com/ru/news/index/220117446 “Northern Sea Route”, Accessed on: 30 June 2021, https://russiancouncil.ru/en/northernsearoute#kotlyar Thomas Nilsen, “Vyacheslav Ruksha will lead the newly established Northern Sea Route Directorate”, 24 June 2018, https://thebarentsobserver.com/ru/node/4195; Atle Staalesen, “A Management Center for Arctic Shipping is Coming to Murmansk”, 6 December 2019, https://thebarentsobserver.com/en/arctic/2019/12/managementcenter-arctic-shipping-coming-murmansk Mikhailov Alexey, “Север теперь не крайний” [The North is not far now], 3 November 2020, https://rg.ru/2020/11/03/reg-szfo/utverzhdena-strategiia-razvitiia-rossijskojarktiki-do-2035-goda.html Russia, “Strategy for Developing the Russian Arctic Zone.” It is not clear, however, whether Russia has developed a clear business/strategic plan that explains whether investments in development/exploration of Arctic/High North energy resources will ever pay off. For example, Russia is planning to make large investments in its coal industry, but it is not clear if this is 100% based on the principle of economic sustainability rather than the economic interests of someone. Sukhankin, “Coal Strategy 2035: Is Russia Preparing for the Last War?”, 27 July 2020, https://jamestown.org/program/coal-strategy-2035-is-russia-preparing-for-the-last-war/ Russia, “Strategy for Developing the Russian Arctic Zone.” YaNAO’s Governor Dmitry Artukhov stated that “this year [2020] has clearly demonstrated that the locals and all Russian citizens have a great interest in new resorts and tourist destinations. That is why, the creation of a new ski resort is the foundation of our project” (Sever-press.ru, October 27). Russia, “Strategy for Developing the Russian Arctic Zone.” Sergey Sukhankin, “Russia Pursues ‘Region-Oriented’ Approach in Arctic Development,” Eurasian Daily Monitor, 19 November 2020, https://jamestown.org/program/russiapursues-region-oriented-approach-in-arctic-development/ Zueva Stanislava, “Образ будущего Арктики. Эксперты обсудили перспективы развития Севера” [The image of Arctic’s future. Exerts have discussed prospects of the development of the North], 14 May 2020,
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52. 53. 54.
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https://aif.ru/society/ecology/obraz_budushchego_ arktiki_eksperty_obsudili_perspektivy_razvitiya_severa Sukhankin, “Russia’s Defense-Industrial Complex at a Crossroads: Aura Versus Reality (Parts One, Two)”, 13 April 2021, https://jamestown.org/program/russias-defenseindustrial-complex-at-a-crossroads-aura-versus-reality-part-one/ A state-sponsored documentary by Rossiya 1 information outlet tacitly corroborates. For more information see: “Севморпуть. Дорога во льдах. Документальный фильм Михаила Кожухова”, 6 May 2019. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qJLTsdN f5KY&ab_channel=%D0%A0%D0%BE%D1%81%D1%81%D0%B8%D1%8F24 Makurin Alexey, “Узники Заполярья. Кто будет осваивать российскую Арктику?” [Prisoners of the Far North. Who will be mastering the Arctic?] 20 January 2020, https://aif.ru/money/economy/uzniki_zapolyarya_kto_budet_osvaivat_rossiyskuyu_ark tiku Pavel Baev, “Threat Assessments and Strategic Objectives in Russia’s Arctic Policy,” Journal of Slavic Military Studies 32, no. 1 (2019): 26. Russia, “Strategy for Developing the Russian Arctic Zone.” See, for example, Dan Wang, Renke Ding, Yu Gong, Rui Wang, Jie Wang, and Xiaoling Huang, “Feasibility of the Northern Sea Route for oil shipping from the economic and environmental perspective and its influence on China's oil imports,” Marine Policy 118 (2020): 104006; Gleb Sibul and Jian Gang Jin, “Evaluating the feasibility of combined use of the Northern Sea Route and the Suez Canal Route considering ice parameters,” Transportation Research Part A: Policy and Practice 147 (2021): 350-369; Sriram Rajagopal and Pengfei Zhang, “How widespread is the usage of the Northern Sea Route as a commercially viable shipping route?,” Marine Policy 125 (2021): 104300; and Dimitrios Theocharis, Vasco Sanchez Rodrigues, Stephen Pettit, Jane Haider, ”Feasibility of the Northern Sea Route for seasonal transit navigation: The role of ship speed on ice and alternative fuel types for the oil product tanker market,” Transportation Research Part A: Policy and Practice (in press 2021), https://doi.org/10.1016/j.tra.2021.03.013. Ekaterina Klimenko, “Russia’s new Arctic policy document signals continuity rather than change,” SIPRI Commentary, 6 April 2020, https://www.sipri.org/commentary/ essay/2020/russias-new-arctic-policy-document-signals-continuity-rather-change. See also: “Северный морской путь признали ненужным для транзита” [The Northern Sea Route has been recognized unsuitable for transit], 24 January 2020, https://lenta.ru/news/2020/01/24/nep/ Baev, “Threat Assessments and Strategic Objectives,” 25. Betsy Baker, “Law, Science, and the Continental Shelf: the Russian Federation and the promise of Arctic cooperation,” American University International Law Rev. 25 (2010): 251; Timo Koivurova, “The Actions of the Arctic States Respecting the Continental Shelf: A Reflective Essay,” Ocean Development & International Law 42, no. 3 (2011): 211-226; Michael Byers, International Law and the Arctic (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013); and Lev Voronkov, “Russia: The Russian Claim for an Extended Continental Shelf in the Arctic,” Environmental Policy and Law 47, no. 2 (2017): 88-94. Russia, “Strategy for Developing the Russian Arctic Zone.”
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59. Torbjørn Pedersen, “The Svalbard continental shelf controversy: legal disputes and political rivalries,” Ocean Development & International Law 37, no. 3-4 (2006): 339-358; Andrey Todorov, “Russia in Maritime Areas Off Spitsbergen (Svalbard): Is it Worth Opening the Pandora’s Box?,” Marine Policy 122 (2020): 104264; and Andreas Østhagen, “Norway’s Arctic Policy: Still High North, Low Tension?,” Polar Journal (2021): 4-5. 60. Alexander Sergunin, “Thinking about Russian Arctic Council Chairmanship: Challenges and opportunities,” Polar Science 29 (September 2021): 100694. See also Andrei Sakharov, “Arctic Council as a Regional Governance Institution,” International Organisations Research Journal 10, no.4 (2015): 40-53; Viatcheslav Gavrilov, “Pravovoe razvitie arkticheskogo regiona: predposylki i perspektivy [legal development of the Arctic: background and prospects],” Journal of Russian Law 3 (2017):148-157, 10.12737/24859; Lev Voronkov and A. Smirnova, “Arktichesky sovet kak mezhdunarodnaya organizatsiya novogo tipa [the arctic council as a new type of international organization],” International Analytics 3 (2017): 7-16; D. Voronchikhina, “Arktichesky sovet kak mezhdunarodny forum sotrudnichestva gosudarstv: uchastie Rossii [the Arctic Council as an international forum of the state cooperation: the participation of Russia],” Ars Administrandi 11, no.2 (2019): 306329, 10.17072/2218-9173-2019-2-306-329; “Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov’s Remarks at the 11th Arctic Council Ministerial Meeting, Rovaniemi,” 7 May 2019, https://oaarchive.arcticcouncil.org/bitstream/handle/11374/2405/2019_Rovaniemi_Ministerial_Statement_by_ the_Russian_Federation_English.pdf?sequence=5&isAllowed=y; A. Sergunin, Russia and the Arctic Council: Towards a New Agenda (Kobe: Polar Cooperation Research Centre, 2020), http://www.research.kobe-u.ac.jp/gsics-pcrc/index.html. 61. Anton Vasiliev, “Priorities of the Russian Chairmanship of the Arctic Council 2021-2023,” 29 March 2021, http://www.arcticcircle.org/Media/arctic-circle-journal06vasiliev.pdf. 62. “Ministerial Meeting, ” Calendar, Arctic Council Secretariat, https://arcticcouncil.org/en/events/ministerial-meeting/. 63. Anton Vasiliev insists that “the game plan conceived by Russia has many ideas, but no surprises,” given that “the Arctic Council is a collective body operated by consensus. It treats in a balanced way the two designated areas of the Arctic Council mandate – environmental protection and sustainable development.” Vasiliev, “Priorities of the Russian Chairmanship of the Arctic Council 2021-2023,” 29 March 2021, http://www.arcticcircle.org/Media/arctic-circle-journal06vasiliev.pdf. 64. Vasiliev, “Priorities of the Russian Chairmanship.” 65. Thomas Nilsen, “Ambassador Vasiliev lists Russia’s new Arctic priorities with focus on fossils fuels and positive effects of climate changes,” Barents Observer, 27 January 2021, https://thebarentsobserver.com/en/arctic/2021/01/ambassador-vasiliev-lists-russiasnew-arctic-priorities. 66. Vasiliev, “Priorities of the Russian Chairmanship.” 67. Sergunin, “Thinking about Russian Arctic Council Chairmanship.” 68. Russia, “Strategy for Developing the Russian Arctic Zone.” 69. See, for example, Ron Wallace, “The Case for RAIPON: Implications for Canada and the Arctic Council” (Calgary: Canadian Defence and Foreign Affairs Institute, 2013); Alexandra Tomaselli and Anna Koch, “Implementation of Indigenous Rights in Russia: Shortcomings and Recent Developments,” International Indigenous Policy Journal 5/4 (2014): Sukhankin, Bouffard & Lackenbauer
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1-21; and Nikolaeva Sardana, “Post-soviet melancholia and impossibility of indigenous politics in the Russian North,” Арктика XXI век. Гуманитарные науки 2/12 (2017): 12-22. Russia, “Strategy for Developing the Russian Arctic Zone.” See, for example, Liubov Sulyandziga, “Indigenous Peoples and Extractive Industry Encounters: Benefit-Sharing Agreements in Russian Arctic,” Polar Science 21 (2019): 68-74. Sergunin and Konyshev, “Forging Russia’s Arctic Strategy.” Russia, “Strategy for Developing the Russian Arctic Zone.” See, for example, Paul Berkman, Lars Kullerud, Allen Pope, Alexander N. Vylegzhanin, and Oran Young, “The Arctic Science Agreement Propels Science Kiplomacy,” Science 358, no. 6363 (2017): 596-598; and Rasmus Bertelsen, “Science Diplomacy and the Arctic,” in Routledge Handbook of Arctic Security, eds. Gunhild Hoogensen Gjørv, Marc Lanteigne, Horatio Sam-Aggrey (London: Routledge, 2020), 234-245. Elana Wilson Rowe, “Same Word, Same Idea?: Sustainable Development Talk and the Russian Arctic,” in The Politics of Sustainability in the Arctic, ed. Ulrik Pram Gad and Jeppe Strandsbjerg (London: Routledge, 2018), 108-120. Alexander Sergunin and Valery Konyshev, “Russian Military Strategies in the Arctic: Change or Continuity?,” European Security 26, no.2 (2017): 171189, 10.1080/09662839.2017.1318849. Russia, “Strategy for Developing the Russian Arctic Zone.” See, for example, Mathieu Boulègue, “Russia’s Military Posture in the Arctic: Managing Hard Power in a 'Low Tension' Environment” (London: Chatham House, 2019); Katarzyna Zysk, “Russia’s Military Build-Up in the Arctic: To What End?” (Washington: Center for Naval Analysis, 2020); and Michael Petersen and Rebecca Pincus, “Arctic Militarization and Russian Military Theory,” Orbis 65/3 (2021): 490-512. Klimenko, “Russia’s new Arctic policy document.” Sergunin, “Thinking about Russian Arctic council chairmanship.” See also Konyshev and Sergunin, 2019; Lasserre et al., 2012; Sergunin and Konyshev, 2017. Sukhankin, “Russia Unveils New Arctic Development Strategy.” Parts of this section are derived from Sukhankin, “Russia’s New ‘Arctic Offensive’: Do the Benefits Outweigh the Costs?” (two parts), Eurasia Daily Monitor, 2 March 2021, https://jamestown.org/program/russias-new-arctic-offensive-do-the-benefits-outweighthe-costs-part-one/ and https://jamestown.org/program/russias-new-arctic-offensivedo-the-benefits-outweigh-the-costs-part-two/. Russia, “Strategy for Developing the Russian Arctic Zone.” “Russia’s Cabinet Reshuffle Affects Several Key Arctic Roles,” Arctic Today (Reuters), 9 November 2020, https://www.arctictoday.com/russias-cabinet-reshuffle-affects-severalkey-arctic-roles/. “Катастрофа Для Арктики”. Что Известно О Разливе Топлива В Норильске,” [“Catastrophe for the Arctic” What is known about the fuel spill in Norilsk], BBC, updated 4 June, 2020, https://www.bbc.com/russian/features-52926977. “Сотрудники Кроноцкого Заповедника Поделились С Владимиром Солодовым Впечатлениями От Увиденного На Юге Авачинской Бухты,” [Employees of the Kronotsky Reserve shared with Vladimir Solodov impressions of what they saw in the south of Avachinskaya Bay], Правительство Камчатского края, 2020, accessed 7 October,
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2020, https://www.kamgov.ru/news/sotrudniki-kronockogo-zapovednika-podelilis-svladimirom-solodovym-vpecatleniami-ot-uvidennogo-na-uge-avacinskoj-buhty-34201. “Александр Козлов Назначен Министром Природных Ресурсов И Экологии,” [Alexander Kozlov appointed Minister of Natural Resources and Environment], Администрация Президента России, updated 09 November, 2020, accessed 09 November, 2020, http://kremlin.ru/catalog/keywords/92/events/64390. Презилент Путин, “Указ Президента Российской Федерации От 25.11.2020 № 740 «Об Организационном Комитете По Подготовке И Обеспечению Председательства Российской Федерации В Арктическом Совете В 2021 - 2023 Годах»,” [“On the Organization Committee for the Preparation and Implementation of Russia`s Chairmanship in the Arctic Council between 2021-2023 ] in № 740, ed. Креимль (Москва, Россия: Официальный интернет-портал правовой информации, 2020), http://publication.pravo.gov.ru/Document/View/0001202011250037. “Министерство Развития Арктики Появится В Мурманской Области,” The Ministry for the Development of the Arctic will appear in the Murmansk region, Известия, 11 January 2021, https://iz.ru/1110116/2021-01-11/ministerstvo-razvitiia-arktiki-iekonomiki-sozdadut-v-murmanskoi-oblasti. “Власти заинтересовались привлечением частного капитала в Арктику” [Authorities are interested in attracting private capital to the Arctic], 18 March 2020, https://lenta.ru/news/2020/03/18/kapital/ “Government to allocate 214 billion rubles for large Arctic projects”, 01 February 2021, https://arctic.ru/economics/20210201/990654.html “Перечень инвестиционных проектов, планируемых к реализации на территории Арктической зоны Российской Федерации” [Roster of investment projects planned for realization on the territory of the Arctic zone of the Russian Federation], 1 February 2021, http://static.government.ru/media/files/G3HwvCERdovsxxQCN6vm1dlhct0JuW46.pd f. Additional details include that the subsidy (allocated by the Russian state) must be covered (through taxation) within ten years and new jobs must be created by launching new businesses or modernizing already existing ones. “Правительство РФ одобрило шесть бизнес-проектов для развития Арктики” [The Russian government has approved six business projects on the development of the Arctic], 3 February 2021, https://rossaprimavera.ru/news/608e5c8e “Арктика-2020: определены векторы развития” [Arctic-2020: vectors for the development have been determined], 21 February 2020, https://neftegaz.ru/news/partnership/526318-arktika-2020-opredeleny-vektoryrazvitiya/ “На арктическом шельфе РФ могут создать льготный режим” [On the Arctic shelf a concessionary regime could be created], 11 December 2020, https://neftegaz.ru/news/gosreg/654195-na-arkticheskom-shelfe-rf-mogut-sozdatlgotnyy-rezhim/ “Минвостокразвития разрабатывает механизм поддержки лизинга для бизнеса в Арктике” [Monvostokzavitiya is developing a mechanism to support leasing in the Arctic for businesses], 25 November 2020, https://tass.ru/ekonomika/10096951 “В арктических пунктах пропуска упростили прохождение проверок” [Rules in the Arctic checking points have been relaxed], 11 February 2021, https://sever-
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press.ru/2021/02/11/v-arkticheskih-punktah-propuska-uprostili-prohozhdenieproverok/ 98. “Российская Арктика: арктические концессии для бизнеса и крупные инвестиционные проекты” [The Russian Arctic: Arctic concessions for business and large investment projects], 15 January 2021, https://gaidarforum.ru/ru/news/2011/ 99. “В Мурманской области будет создано министерство развития Арктики и экономики” [A new ministry of economic development of the Arctic and economics will be created in Murmansk oblast], 11 January 2021, https://govmurman.ru/info/news/388888/ 100. Sergey Sukhankin, “Russia’s ‘Pivot to Asia’ Encounters New Difficulties,” Eurasia Daily Monitor 17, no. 167 (24 November 2020), https://jamestown.org/program/russiaspivot-to-asia-encounters-new-difficulties/. 101. “Китай готовится отказаться от покупки нефти и газа у внешних игроков” [China is preparing to stop buying oil and natural gas from external actors], 14 May 2021, https://russtrat.ru/analytics/14-maya-2021-0010-4178?utm_source=finobzor.ru 102. Lagutina, “Russia’s Arctic policies,” 14. 103. Kari Roberts, “Understanding Russia’s Security Priorities in the Arctic: Why Canada-Russia Cooperation is Still Possible,” Canadian Foreign Policy Journal 27, no.2 (2020): 211-227. 104. Baev, “Threat Assessments and Strategic Objectives,” 39.
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The Development of Arctic Offshore Oil and Gas Resources in Russia: Energy Policy Updates and New Activities by Companies Luiza Brodt
The development of its Arctic offshore oil and gas resources remains one of Russia’s strategic priorities, both in terms of ensuring national energy security and cementing its presence in the region. As existing fields in West Siberia mature and become less productive, Russia needs to bring new sources on stream, with these being primarily located in the country’s Arctic region, including its continental shelf, even though this presents considerable challenges to the industry. Some steps have already been taken to initiate and encourage this development, such as the process of adoption of a federal law liberalizing continental shelf access for private oil and gas companies and ongoing domestic development of offshore technologies that can be applied in the Arctic. This article analyses Russia’s contemporary strategies in the energy sector in terms of future offshore oil and gas development in the Arctic. It provides relevant updates on Arctic offshore oil and gas activities in Russia since 2014, illustrates the challenges Russian companies face in operating in this region, and outlines commercial agreements underlying long-term Arctic offshore interests. This analysis also helps to better understand future risk-sharing strategies for the Russian oil and gas companies in the Arctic that will need to be developed.
Introduction Melting Arctic sea ice presents new opportunities and has opened the Arctic Ocean to shipping as well as to oil and gas exploration for the Arctic states. But even with the considerable reduction in sea ice extent, thickness, and volume in recent decades (AMAP, 2017; IPCC, 2021), there is still large uncertainty associated with offshore oil and gas assessments in the Arctic, where exploration drilling is costly. Nonetheless, resource potential estimates from Arctic state official agencies (USGS, 2008; EIA, 2009; REA, 2019; US National Petroleum Council, 2019) and expert forecasts of future Arctic offshore oil and gas production are available (Lindholt & Glomsrød, 2012, 2018; Bourmistrov et al., 2015; Laverov et al., 2016; Kaminskiy et al., 2020). The U.S. Geological Survey estimated in 2008 that the total amount of undiscovered hydrocarbon resources (oil, natural gas and natural gas liquids) in the Arctic amounts to 413 billion barrels of oil equivalent (bboe), of which approximately 84% is thought to be in offshore areas (Bird et al., 2008). This estimate has been widely cited by scholars, despite the fact that USGS resource appraisal represents only Luiza Brodt is a PhD Candidate and Senior Lecturer at Novosibirsk State University (Russia) and Research Fellow at the Stanford US-Russia Forum (USA).
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possible reserves and was based on geological probability rather than on actual offshore drilling data. Lindholt and Glomsrød (2012) considered the oil and gas supplies from six Arctic regions (Alaska, Canada, Norway, Greenland, West Russian Arctic and East Russian Arctic) during 2010– 2050 based on the USGS estimates and followed the IEA reference oil price assumption, concluding that the Arctic share of global production will only be 8–10%. In their recent research, they have already adjusted these numbers upward (Lindholt & Glomsrød, 2018). Bourmistrov et al. (2015) considered possible future scenarios for Barents Sea oil and gas development and Norwegian-Russian cooperation therein. Arctic offshore oil and gas production predictions have also been made by Russian researchers for the Pechora Sea (Laverov et al., 2016) and the Kara Sea (Kaminskiy et al., 2020). In the case of the Russian continental shelf, many offshore oil and gas fields in the western part of the Russian Arctic have been known since the 1980s, such as the Prirazlomnoe, the Pomorskoe and the Dolginskoe in the Pechora Sea, the Shtokman, the Ludlovskoe, and the Murmanskoe in the Barents Sea, and the Rusanovskoe and the Leningradskoe in the Kara Sea. However, at present, despite this knowledge, it is difficult to assess the full potentially recoverable oil and gas reserves of the entire Russian Arctic offshore region. Thus, according to recent updates from the US National Petroleum Council (2019), the potential resources of the Arctic Ocean offshore area are estimated at no less than 390 bboe, with the share in the Russian Federation being 60%. Estimates of the recoverable resources of the eastern part of the Russian Arctic are poorer, but this will change as new geological data from these regions are obtained (Zhdaneev et al., 2020). The development of the Arctic region and, specifically, of oil and gas resources in the region is a significant element of Russia’s contemporary policy. Further oil and gas exploration and production, including of the country’s Arctic offshore regions, are outlined as a long-term goal in official energy policy documents of the Russian Federation at federal, regional, and industrial levels (Ministry of Natural…, 2018; Ministry of Energy…, 2020), which also address issues of infrastructure renewal and the development of transport routes in the Arctic region. The question now is whether the Russian oil and gas industry and its component companies will succeed in developing the necessary new offshore technologies in the Arctic, or whether overseas companies will continue to play an important role in future developments. The Arctic continental shelf presents considerable challenges for offshore oil and gas exploration, where those proposing to do so face harsh environmental conditions with extremely low temperatures, icebergs, icing, the lack of infrastructure or advanced technologies and, related to those, the need for considerable investment. A number of analyses of oil and gas company operations on the Arctic shelf have been prepared in recent years, focusing on commercial and legal issues, risks and opportunities as well as on the impacts of western economic sanctions (Henderson & Loe, 2014; Koivurova, 2017; Mitrova et al., 2018; Nikitina, 2018; Shapovalova & Stephen, 2019; Overland & Poussenkova, 2020). Sidortsov (2016, 2017) reviewed Russian policy, specifically the legal and regulatory frameworks, on the access to offshore oil and gas resources and the conditions of their development. Pilyasov (2015, 2020, 2021) comprehensively examined how Russian Arctic resource corporations adapt to the high risks of economic activity in the Arctic and considered the challenges and prospects for Arctic offshore oil and gas development. Thus, it is clear that issues of resources estimation and future production prediction from the Arctic offshore have been studied by researchers, along with the governance of oil and gas offshore resources and
Brodt
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company’s operations therein. However, this field is evolving and warrants further research, particularly in Russia. The primary objective of this article is to provide an overview of future offshore oil and gas strategies and developments in the Russian Arctic by describing current and planned offshore oil and gas industrial activities. The article also explores how the Russian government perceives the role of Arctic offshore hydrocarbons in the contemporary energy industry and near future national strategy, particularly in the context of the currently limited access to leading technologies. First, Russia’s updated energy and related industrial strategies are considered in terms of Arctic offshore oil and development. Oil and gas activities on the Russian Arctic shelf after 2014 are considered, as well as ongoing domestic development of offshore technologies that can be applied in the Arctic Ocean. Then, the contemporary adoption of a federal law liberalizing continental shelf access for private oil and gas companies as well as for foreign partners in the Russian Arctic is analyzed. In view of the large Arctic hydrocarbon resource potential, evolving energy strategies and continuing development of offshore technologies in the country, the components of the Russian energy industry will need to further transform their strategies, increasing focus on the environmental risks of future activities and recognizing the key role of international cooperation in the global oil and gas industry.
Framing of Arctic offshore oil and gas development in contemporary strategies The newly approved Energy Strategy of the Russian Federation until 2035 outlines the further development of the Russian energy sector: on the one hand, to support the social and economic development of the country and guarantee energy affordability for domestic consumers and, on the other hand, to strengthen and maintain the position of the Russian Federation in global energy markets until at least 2035 (Ministry of Energy…, 2020). Additionally, the strategy of states that accelerated development of the most efficient reserves and reduced investment in oil and gas exploration in some regions in the world will create the preconditions for crude oil supply to decrease globally after 2020, which will require extensive investment in offshore and other expensive projects, and may lead to the beginning of a new price rise cycle. In a recent interview, Russian Minister of Energy Nikolai Shulginov clearly outlined that Russia cannot ignore the energy transition and global energy sector transformations, but at the same time emphasized that it is inappropriate to consider abandoning oil exports: “There is no need to rush parting with hydrocarbons, it is necessary to develop renewable energy sources along with traditional energy resources” (Shulginov, 2021). In terms of oil, according to expert estimates after 2025-2030, Russian oil companies will increasingly struggle to maintain the current level of oil production, primarily due to decreases in reserve quality (Mitrova, 2019). Future Russian oil production could be supported by in-depth development of existing conventional oil fields using intensification methods (Mitrova, 2019), development of non-conventional reserves or the development of Arctic offshore fields (Morgunova, 2020). Furthermore, Arctic offshore development has itself been emphasized as a strategic national goal for the approaching decades. According to the 2035 Strategy: the development of the hydrocarbon resource potential of the Arctic continental shelf and Russian northern territories is the most significant geopolitical and technological challenge for the Russian petroleum industry. An adequate response to this challenge is to ensure The Development of Arctic Offshore Oil and Gas Resources in Russia
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sufficient production of oil and gas resources in the country over the time prospect of 2035, compensating for the inevitable decline in their production from old fields (Ministry of Energy…, 2020). Among the main features of the Russian energy policy documents, for example in the Strategy for the Development of the Mineral and Raw Materials Base of the Russian Federation until 2035 it is emphasized that the global fossil fuel balance will gradually change, the share of oil use will gradually decrease, and the share of natural gas will grow. Russia assumes that oil will remain as a dominant fuel in the medium term and might continue to be so in the long term. However, natural gas has more advantages in the long term, as a relatively cleaner-burning fossil fuel. In general, the strategy concludes that the demand for energy sources in the world economy in absolute terms will increase, although some energy resources may be less in demand due to the emergence of new materials and technologies (Ministry of Natural Resources…, 2018). Separately, the significance of maritime logistics along the Western Europe-East Asia route through the Northern Sea Route (NSR) is increasing. According to the draft of the new Transport Strategy of the Russian Federation for the period up to 2035, the volume of freight traffic along the NSR will increase up to 80 million tonnes in 2024, 100 million tonnes in 2030, and up to 120 million tonnes by 2035 (Ministry of Transportation…, 2020: 15). In common with the above-mentioned strategies, this implies that Russia will promote future Arctic natural resource development and production facility construction along the country’s northern coastline, which will create further traffic using the NSR. Furthermore, the development of the NSR is providing Russia with an opportunity to diversify its energy policy by linking Russian Arctic hydrocarbon production directly with Asian markets. Recent examples, such as the Christophe de Margerie LNG tanker record-early voyage across the NSR in May 2020, confirm that the sea ice reduction along the Russian Arctic coast opens new opportunities for further development of the region (Sovcomflot, 2020). It is important to note that in late 2019, the Government signed an order approving The Infrastructure Development Plan for the Northern Sea Route until 2035 (The Russian Government, 2019). The plan was formed based on the forecast of all existing and prospective cargo flows, which includes freight of natural resources projects implemented by oil and gas companies such as Gazprom Neft, Rosneft, Novatek and others. The emergence of a plan for the development of the NSR infrastructure can be considered a big step forward since this is the first official document that determines the development of the largest sea transportation route in the Russian North. Initially, the federal project Northern Sea Route (2018-2024) was prepared by the Ministry of Transport but then transferred to Rosatom state company. The main tasks for the NSR development are increasing the freight traffic by the NSR up to 80 million tonnes per year, ensuring year-round navigation of ships on the NSR, the building of new ships and the mapping of natural resources. However, some experts consider that there is an indirect impact of economic sanctions on the NSR, through the slowdown of the offshore activities and consequential slowdown in shipping relative to expectations (Shapovalova et al., 2020). It is also important to highlight that the implementation of the tasks set within the Federal project of NSR (2018-2024) is carried out at the expense of the federal budget, which means that these government investments are already approved. Furthermore, there are some new agreements with private Russian companies to contribute to funding. In October 2020, Russia approved the new Strategy for Developing the Russian Arctic Zone and Ensuring National Security through 2035, which defines the country’s vision and development plans for the region over the next 15 years. The Strategy is to be implemented in three stages: 2020–2024, 2025– Brodt
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2030 and 2031–2035 (Decree of the President…, 2020). During the first stage, several important tasks are envisaged, which include the creation of mechanisms for the accelerated economic and social development of the region, the modernization of the health care system in the Russian Arctic, the application of a new model for the implementation of resource projects on the Arctic continental shelf and several other tasks. The new Arctic strategy plans for state support for investment in energy infrastructure and transport as well as oil and gas technology developments (The Russian Government, 2021). However, the strategy also has significantly increased content devoted to the assessment of climate change. Specifically, state support will also be provided for mitigating the impact of climate change on the region, including for projects that improve energy efficiency and increase the use of LNG and renewables. There is also a discussion of possibilities for international cooperation in the region. At the same time, taking advantage of the consequences of the ongoing warming of the Arctic, the strategy aims to advance the development of the Arctic’s abundant resources, in particular oil and gas. It is clear from the above-mentioned strategies that Russia continues to see the Arctic region as a key development priority. Official energy strategies prescribe the need to increase oil and gas production in the Arctic, including offshore, to secure the stable operation of the country’s energy industry in the long term. At the same time, environmental risks, inadequate technologies, high risks for investors and limited access for private oil and gas companies are factors that could significantly complicate and hold back Arctic offshore oil and gas development.
Access to the Russian Arctic continental shelf Almost all issues associated with mineral extraction rights and their development in Russia are regulated by the Federal Law on Subsoil Resources (Federal Law № 2395-I, 1992). This Law stipulates that a license is required to explore and exploit subsoil resources, and the license certifies the right to carry out mineral extraction in a certain geographic area over a specified period. Articles of this law as well as different by-laws regulate most of the issues related to the terms of use of subsoil areas, the rights and obligations of the subsoil operators, the participation of foreign investors, etc. According to Article 20, the State can terminate a license for violation of its essential conditions, for safety threats in case of emergencies (natural disasters, military operations, etc.), or if the license holder has not started to operate within the period specified in the license. The State conducts nominal work and collects preliminary geological information, then puts up licensed blocks for auction. At present this Law specifies that only state-owned (more than 50% state share in authorized capital) companies with at least five years’ experience in Russian continental shelf development can apply for Arctic offshore licenses (Ibid.: Article 9). Currently, two Russian oil companies have met these requirements – Rosneft and Gazprom. These two companies and their subsidiaries currently hold 73.2% of licensed blocks on the Russian Arctic continental shelf (Bogoyavlensky, 2017), which raises the question of how the licenses for most available Arctic offshore areas have already been distributed between these two companies. Some commentators explain this situation as a consequence of a form of “competition” between Gazprom and Rosneft during the mass distribution of offshore licenses in the 2010s, while other companies were ineligible to access new offshore license blocks in the Arctic (Ampilov, 2020). Another interpretation is that there was a rational approach in these companies’ activities. During the period when most of the licenses were purchased in 2011-2014, the global oil price was very high ($100-120 per barrel), making it
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advantageous for the two Russian companies to develop hydrocarbon production on the Arctic shelf and to increase their capitalization by acquiring the licenses. Foreign oil and gas companies were equally interested in Russian Arctic offshore development at this time. During this period, strategically important cooperation agreements were signed between Rosneft and ExxonMobil in the Kara Sea in 2011, and with ENI and Equinor in the Barents Sea in 2012. In 2013, Rosneft and ExxonMobil set up joint ventures to conduct Arctic offshore research and exploration. The CEO of Rosneft Igor Sechin even stated that the Rosneft alliance with ExxonMobil “... surpasses projects such as the first spacewalk or flight to the Moon, and the volume of investments was compared with the development of the Brazilian shelf or the North Sea shelf” (Kommersant, 2012). However, importantly, a moratorium on the issue of new licenses on the Arctic shelf is currently in place in Russia. Company activities and new strategies since 2014 A major geopolitical shift occurred in 2014, with economic sanctions applied by the USA and EU specifically targeting the Russian Arctic offshore areas covered by agreements with foreign partners (EU, 2014). After the imposition of sanctions, the two major Russian oil companies tried to continue offshore activities in the Arctic independently. At the same time this shift opens opportunities for Russian oil and gas companies to direct an eye to the East, where Chinese, Vietnamese and other companies do not necessarily have to abide by these sanctions. Moreover, some Russian petroleum companies already have such experience in onshore oil and gas projects in the Russian Arctic (such as Arctic-LNG, Arctic LNG-2). Gazprom Neft In 2014, Gazprom Neft commenced production at the Prirazlomnoye oil field in the Pechora Sea. Currently this is the only field on the Russian Arctic shelf that is being actively exploited. Though Gazprom Neft did not engage with foreign companies to develop this field, many external contractors took part in the project. Several foreign partners were employed in the stages of the drilling, engineering and servicing of the systems operating at the Prirazlomnaya platform (Mitrova et al., 2018). For seven years, production has been carried out at the Prirazlomnoye, and by November 2020, the field had produced 110 million barrels of oil out of an estimated 600 million barrels available. The production period of the field is estimated to be at least 36 years (Gazprom, 2020). The Arctic continental shelf is a region of strategic interests for Gazprom and its affiliate company, Gazprom Neft, in particular. At present, Gazprom Neft subsidiaries own licenses to the SeveroZapadny block in the Pechora Sea and the Severo-Vrangelevsky block, located on the continental shelves of the East Siberian Sea and the Chukchi Sea respectively (Figure 1).
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Figure 1. Arctic offshore licenses owned by Gazprom Neft (Source: Gazprom Neft, modified by author)
Except for the Prirazlomnoye, all these fields are currently undergoing geological prospecting. The most thoroughly investigated is the Dolginskoye oil field (more than 1500 million barrels of oil estimated), where several exploratory wells have been drilled, along with geophysical and hydrodynamic investigations during the short ice-free period (Gazprom Neft, 2018). In 2015, Gazprom Neft signed an agreement with Vietnam’s PetroVietnam company on the potential joint exploration and development of the Dolginskoye field, which is located relatively close to the Prirazlomnoye project facilities. In 2016, Gazprom invited the Chinese company “China National Offshore Oil Corporation” (CNOOC) to participate in the development of oil fields on the Russian Arctic shelf (Vedomosti, 2016). CNOOC specializes in offshore production, and Gazprom lacks both financial resources and competencies. At the same time, CNOOC needs to look for resources for the future, so they may be interested in cooperation in Russian offshore projects. In 2017, Gazprom Neft and Indian Oil & Natural Gas Corporation signed a framework agreement on Arctic offshore cooperation, also focusing on exploration opportunities in the Dolginskoye field. However, there remain questions about the competencies of these Asian oil companies to replace the expertise of the previous western partners in the challenging Arctic offshore conditions. Gazprom Neft initially planned to launch the Dolginskoye field in 2019 but then delayed the target date to 2031, citing the need to reconfigure the field’s geological model. In 2017-2018, 3D seismic studies were completed in the Severo-Zapadny license area, as well as offshore 2D seismic investigations at the Severo-Vrangelevsky license area. Another of the company’s assets, the Kheysovsky license block, located 1,000 km offshore in the Barents Sea (Figure 1), with more challenging geographical and weather-related challenges, remains a prospect for the much more distant future. Gazprom Neft is systematically establishing cooperation with prospective partners, a process that can take many years. In June 2021, Gazprom Neft and the Russian private gas company NOVATEK established a joint venture for offshore operations in the Arctic, specifically to develop the Severo-Vrangelevsky license area. Pursuant to this agreement, NOVATEK acquired a 49% interest in the charter capital of Gazprom Neft’s subsidiary Gazpromneft-Sakhalin, which holds geological prospecting,
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exploration and development rights within the Severo-Vrangelevsky license block. Gazprom Neft’s interest in the joint venture will be 51%. Rosneft One of the main strategic directions of Rosneft, similar to Gazprom Neft, is the development of oil and gas resources on the continental shelf. According to company statements, today, “when almost all major large oil and gas onshore fields have been discovered and developed, when technologies and shale oil production are rapidly developing, it is undeniable that the future of world oil production lies on the continental shelf” (Rosneft, 2020). As of June 1, 2021, Rosneft holds 28 licenses for Arctic offshore areas (Figure 2), including 19 in the Western Russian Arctic (the Barents, the Pechora and the Kara Seas), and 9 in the Eastern Russian Arctic (the Laptev, the East Siberian and the Chukchi Seas). Rosneft signed a number of cooperation agreements with ExxonMobil, ENI and Equinor during 2011-2013. In 2012, Rosneft and ENI signed a joint venture agreement on the development of two offshore licensed areas in the Barents Sea. However, at present, this project is postponed. In September 2014, Rosneft and ExxonMobil began drilling the northernmost well on the Russian shelf – the Universitetskaya-1 well in the Kara Sea. They made a major discovery of oil and natural gas reserves and named the field “Pobeda”, which means “victory” in Russian. However, following the second round of sanctions imposed a few days before the planned opening, ExxonMobil suspended the project and withdrew from Russian joint ventures under the sanctions, writing off one billion US dollars (Mitrova et al., 2018). For ExxonMobil itself, the withdrawal from this project was a serious financial blow, and further, the company could not put these reserves on its balance sheet, so it also lost the opportunity to increase its capitalization. Rosneft announced that independent development of this project would proceed, but as yet no activities are taking place.
Figure 2. Arctic offshore licenses owned by the Rosneft (Source: Rosneft Upstream, modified by author) In 2017, Rosneft began drilling the Central-Olginskaya-1 well in the Laptev Sea, which was the first-ever well in this Sea. Later, Rosneft confirmed the discovery of a new field in the Khatanga Bay with reserves estimated at more than 600 million barrels of oil (similar to the Prirazlomnoye field reserves). The company secured the license to develop the Khatanga block on the eastern Russian Arctic shelf in December 2015. In record time, they carried out preparatory work and started exploratory drilling in early April 2017 (Offshore, 2017). “Drilling is carried out from the shore. Thus, this technology can significantly save financial resources, ensure efficiency and high Brodt
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environmental standards” – said Igor Sechin, who was at that time on the shore of the Khatanga Bay (Rosneft, 2017). However, while there are no ports close to this field and the navigation period in this area currently does not exceed two months each year, the company is not slowing the pace of work and intends to increase the scale of investment in developing Arctic offshore oil and gas. Rosneft is trying to attract eastern partners whenever possible. In August 2020, Rosneft began drilling the Vikulovskaya-1 well at the East-Prinovozemelskiy-1 block in the Kara Sea (see Figure 2) by using the Chinese platform Nan Hai Jiu Hao (Nan Hai IX), owned by China Oilfield Services Limited (controlled by CNOOC). Another Chinese jack-up rig “Oriental Discovery” (owned by Tianjin China State Shipbuilding Corporation) is drilling now the Ragozinskaya-1 exploratory well at the East-Prinovozemelskiy-2 block (Neftianka, 2020). All exploration offshore areas are estimated to have significant reserves of natural gas. The company stated that, by 2050, the Arctic shelf will provide 20-30% of all Russian oil production (Rosneft, 2017). New strategies and technology development In general, the Gazprom Neft strategy aims to adapt swiftly to external challenges in the upstream segment, focusing on cost control, import-substitution, development of new technologies, and implementation of major onshore and offshore projects in the Arctic (Overland & Poussenkova, 2020). According to Gazprom Neft Sustainable Development Report (2021), one of the company’s primary targets today is improving transport safety and logistics in its Arctic operations. Thus, in 2020, Gazprom Neft commissioned the Arctic heliport at Varandey rotation camp (the company Lukoil owns the Varandey terminal). It should allow reliable and uninterrupted delivery of shift workers to the field, transport of cargo and, in the future, may serve as a springboard for the development of other offshore petroleum projects in the Barents Sea (Gazprom Neft Report, 2021: 86). A large part of Gazprom Neft’s Arctic investment in innovation is focused on digital transformation. The company is rolling out its intelligent “Kapitan” system that ensures safe operations in the Arctic offshore environment. The system monitors crude oil shipments and inventories 24/7, taking into account weather conditions and changes in ice conditions to support optimum operational planning. The deployment of this system resulted in a 12% cost reduction in 2019-2020 through optimizing tanker operational costs (by selecting the most viable routes), better fuel economy, lower expenditure on icebreaker support, together with reduced down-time (Gazprom, 2021). In 2020, the company worked with experts to develop the formulation of a dispersant able to manage oil spills in ice conditions (Oilcapital, 2020). The technology is tailored to the Arctic marine climate and is currently the only Russian-manufactured reagent for oil spill management at low temperatures. Since Gazprom Neft has active onshore and offshore projects in the western part of the Russian Arctic, Rosneft positions itself more as a pioneer in the eastern part of the Arctic offshore, which presents more severe environmental challenges for exploration and development. The development of appropriate Arctic offshore activities is a central focus of Rosneft’s strategy. The company is seeking to build its capacity to manufacture offshore equipment and vessels capable of operating in this more severe region. Its main effort to date has been aimed at creating the “Zvezda” shipbuilding facility in the Russian Far East. Contracts with the leading international companies involved in offshore equipment manufacturer signed illustrate that sanctions have not entirely succeeded in restricting Rosneft’s access to foreign partners and their technologies.
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It is important to have the sequence of actions necessary to work on the Arctic shelf while international sanctions are in place. In Russia, the challenges of hydraulic fracturing, drilling of horizontal wells and production of a number of components have been resolved. State oil and gas companies are quite active in using Chinese drilling rigs on the Russian Arctic shelf, as well as in repairing of Russian offshore rigs in China (PortNews, 2020) and Singapore. But the key issue of offshore platform construction remains. For the active development of the Arctic shelf, it is necessary to create a new industry. So far, only Rosneft is following this path. As noted above, the “Zvezda” shipyard was created near Vladivostok, and a shipyard is also planned for the construction of the foundations of drilling platforms in Roslyakovo, Murmansk region. These must provide the entire range of vessels required for offshore development, including platforms for drilling exploration and production wells on the Arctic shelf. This is a new type of platform and needs to be fully ice classified. Thus, the work on the creation of this equipment is still at the R&D stage. The liberalization of access Over the past few years, Russia has been discussing tools to attract foreign partners for oil and gas development on the country’s Arctic shelf. In particular, Deputy Prime Minister and Presidential Plenipotentiary Envoy to the Far Eastern Federal District Yury Trutnev put forward a proposal to create a state agency that would own a share of 25.1% of all Arctic shelf projects. To this end, the Ministry for the Development of the Far East and the Arctic proposed to establish the “RosShelf” state corporation, with which foreign investors would have to conclude agreements on joint activities on the Russian Arctic shelf. However, the proposal did not find support in the Ministry of Energy of Russia. Explaining the position of his department, Deputy Minister Pavel Sorokin noted that “the project creates a conflict of interest: the state corporation is endowed with both administrative and law-making powers, at the same time it will be a party to the agreement” (Kommersant, 2020). In June 2020, the Ministry for the Development of the Far East and the Arctic prepared a draft of another law, which proposes to establish a new model for foreign investor operations on the Arctic shelf of the Russian Federation. It involves the transfer of powers in matters of field development on the Arctic shelf to the state corporation VEB.RF (ВЭБ.РФ). VEB.RF is Russia’s national economic development institution, established by Russian federal law exclusively for the public good, as a non-commercial, non-profit organization with no shareholders. VEB.RF’s charter capital comprises funds and other property contributed by the Russian Federation; it also receives direct contributions from the Federal Budget. However, it is not a ministry, but a special entity, tasked with facilitating a wide range of socio-economic development activities. The corporation’s tasks will include facilitating the implementation of investment in hydrocarbon projects on the continental shelf of the Russian Federation, as well as attracting foreign investment in the development of offshore projects in the Arctic. In December 2020, this draft law was submitted by the Ministry for the Development of the Far East and the Arctic for consideration to the Russian government. At the time of writing, this draft law can be inspected on the Official site of draft regulatory legal acts by federal executive authorities for their public discussion (Draft Federal Law, 2021). The bill provides for the right of private investors to be allocated an unlimited number of subsoil areas on the shelf, provided that a financial guarantee is provided. The bill is intended to create conditions for stimulating both foreign and domestic private investors to operate on the Russian continental shelf. Brodt
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Concluding remarks The contemporary oil and gas industry is under significant pressure due to increasing environmental and climate concerns, especially in the context of developing resources in the Arctic region. At the same time, more accessible reserves have been developed already and exploration is taking the industry to more remote and challenging areas. One such area is the Arctic region and its continental shelf, in particular. Increasing access to Arctic resources through improved shipping routes is widely expected to increase the levels of activity of Arctic states and resource extraction industries. Moreover, some investment activities from non-Arctic states are involved. New offshore hydrocarbon developments continue to be of particular interest for the Arctic littoral states. Commercial development on the Arctic continental shelf continues in Norway (“Snohvit”, “Goliat”, “Aasta Hansten”), the USA (“Northstar”, “Oooguruk”, “Nikaitchuq”, “Liberty” prospect) and Russia (“Prirazlomnoye”). The largest element of the Arctic offshore area falls under Russian sovereign administration and includes many locations of current and potential oil and gas production. Thus, Russia may prioritize the Barents Sea or other areas such as the Pechora Sea or the Kara Sea shelf of the Russian Arctic, and its Arctic offshore exploration activities are continuing. At present these activities are not very intensive and mostly involve geological exploration in various license blocks, amendments to the legislation regarding the further development of the Arctic shelf, and the development of associated industries, such as the Arctic shipbuilding and new offshore technology development. New Arctic oil and gas projects may be attractive for foreign investors, depending on the region of production, the resource itself and global geopolitics (including the use of sanctions). The Russian Government views western sanctions as an opportunity to develop its own Arctic technologies, also with the support of eastern partners from China, Korea and Vietnam. When analyzing the prospects for Russian oil and gas offshore projects in the Arctic, it is important to understand that the size and potential reserves of the fields yet identified will complicate offshore operations by companies, and will require the careful selection of technologies, partners and strategies. For Russia it is necessary to study the experience of foreign oil and gas companies currently operating on the Arctic shelf (Brodt, 2021). The summaries presented here demonstrate that the current and somewhat enforced slow activity presents a good opportunity for the Russian oil and gas industry and its component companies to improve and test the technologies that will be required for the successful and environmentally sensitive future implementation of offshore projects in the Russian Arctic.
Acknowledgments The author acknowledges support shared by Professor Peter Convey and Nikolay Matushkin.
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Ministry of Transportation of the Russian Federation. (2020). Draft Transport Strategy until 2035 [Proekt transportnoi strategii Rossii do 2035 goda]. https://omorrss.ru/upload/files/%D0%9F%D1%80%D0%BE%D0%B5%D0%BA%D 1%82%20%D0%A2%D1%80%D0%B0%D0%BD%D1%81%D0%BF%D0%BE%D1 %80%D1%82%D0%BD%D0%BE%D0%B9%20%D1%81%D1%82%D1%80%D0%B 0%D1%82%D0%B5%D0%B3%D0%B8%D0%B8%20%D0%BD%D0%B0%20%D0 %BF%D0%B5%D1%80%D0%B8%D0%BE%D0%B4%20%D0%B4%D0%BE%2020 35%20%D0%B3..pdf Mitrova, T., Grushevenko, E. and Malov A. (2018) Prospects for Russian Oil Production: Life under Sanctions (In Russian). Skolkovo Business School Energy Centre. https://energy.skolkovo.ru/downloads/documents/SEneC/research04-en.pdf Mitrova, T. (2019). Russia’s Energy Strategy. Atlantic Council Eurasia Center, Accessed 15 May 2021 https://css.ethz.ch/content/dam/ethz/special-interest/gess/cis/center-for-securitiesstudies/resources/docs/AtlanticCouncil_Russias_Energy_Strategy.pdf Morgunova, M. (2020) Why is exploitation of Arctic offshore oil and natural gas resources ongoing? A multi-level perspective on the cases of Norway and Russia, The Polar Journal, 10-1, 64-81 DOI: 10.1080/2154896X.2020.1757823 Neftianka (2020). VNIIOkeanologiya: "323 wells drilled on the Russian shelf". http://neftianka.ru/vniiokeanologiya-na-shelfe-rossii-probureny-323-skvazhiny/ Accessed 29 September 2021 Nikitina E.N. (2018) Arctic Transformations: Multinational Companies Facing the New Challenges of Sustainable Development. Outlines of global transformations: politics, economics, law, 11(1), 65-87. (In Russian). https://doi.org/10.23932/2542-0240-2018-11-1-65-87 Offshore (2017, June 22) Rosneft finds oil in shallow water in the Laptev Sea. Retrieved from https://www.offshore-mag.com/drilling-completion/article/16800540/rosneft-finds-oilin-shallow-water-in-the-laptev-sea Oilcapital (2020, October 28). Reagent for oil spill response in the Arctic has been created. Retrieved from https://oilcapital.ru/news/companies/28-10-2020/sozdan-reagent-dlyalikvidatsii-razlivov-nefti-v-arktike Overland, I. & Poussenkova, N. (2020). Russian Oil Companies in an Evolving World. Cheltenham, UK: Edward Elgar Publishing. https://doi.org/10.4337/9781788978019 Pilyasov, A.N. and Putilova, E.S. (2020). New Projects for the Development of the Russian Arctic: Space Matters!, ISSN 2221-2698. Arctic and North. 2020. № 38, 21. Pilyasov, A.N. and Kotov, A.V. (2015). The Russian Arctic: Potential for International Cooperation: Report No. 17 / 2015 / [A.N. Pilyasov (Head), A.V. Kotov]. Ivanov I.S. (Ed.). Russian International Affairs Council (RIAC). https://russiancouncil.ru/en/activity/publications/the-russian-arctic-potential-forinternational-cooperation/ Pilyasov, A.N. and Tsukerman, V.A. (2021). Arctic Corporations and Development Risks: Challenge and Response. ISSN 2221-2698. Arctic and North. 2021. № 44, 103. PortNews (2020, October 2). "Northern Lights" and "Polar Star" drilling rigs will go to China for repairs. Retrieved from https://portnews.ru/news/302619/ Prirazlomnoye project. Accessed 5 June 2021 https://www.gazprom-neft.com/company/majorprojects/prirazlomnoe/
Brodt
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REA (Russian Energy Agency of the Ministry of Energy of Russian Federation). (2019). Arctic oil and gas Klondike [Neftegazoviy klondayk Arktiki]. Accessed 29 September 2021 https://www.cdu.ru/tek_russia/articles/1/545/?PAGEN_1=2 Rosneft (2017). Rosneft starts drilling the northernmost well on the Russian shelf. Accessed 10 June 2021 https://www.rosneft.ru/press/today/item/186077/ Rosneft (2020). Offshore projects. Accessed 10 June 2021 https://www.rosneft.ru/business/Upstream/offshore/ Shapovalova, D., & Stephen, K. (2019). No race for the Arctic? Examination of interconnections between legal regimes for offshore petroleum licensing and level of industry activity. Energy policy, 129, 907-917. Shapovalova, D., Galimullin, E., & Grushevenko, E. (2020). Russian Arctic offshore petroleum governance: The effects of western sanctions and outlook for northern development. Energy Policy, 146, 111753. Shulginov N. (2021) There is no need to part with hydrocarbons, it is necessary to develop renewable energy sources along with traditional types of energy. Energy Policy, 5 (159), 414. (In Russian). DOI: 10.46920/2409-5516_2021_5159_4. Sidortsov, R. (2016). A perfect moment during imperfect times: Arctic energy research in a lowcarbon era. Energy Research & Social Science, 16, 1-7. Sidortsov, R. (2017). The Russian offshore oil and gas regime - When tight control means less order. In Pelaudeix, C., & Basse, E.M. (Eds.). Governance of Arctic Offshore Oil and Gas (1st ed.). Routledge. https://doi.org/10.4324/9781315585475 Sovcomflot, Gas shipper "Christophe de Margerie" sailed along the NSR in an eastern direction two months earlier than usual. Accessed 31 May 2021 http://www.scfgroup.com/press_office/press_releases/item103400.html The Russian Government (2019). Infrastructure development plan for the Northern Sea Route until 2035 [Plan razvitiya infrastrukturi Severnogo Morskogo Putin a period do 2035 goda]. http://government.ru/docs/38714/ Accessed 30 September 2021 The Russian Government (2021). A Unified Plan of measures to implement the Fundamentals of State Policy of the Russian Federation in the Arctic for the period up to 2035 and the Strategy for the Development of the Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation and Ensuring National Security for the Period up to 2035. Accessed 2 June 2021 http://static.government.ru/media/files/p8DfCI0Pr1XZnAk08G7J3jUXUuDvswHr.pdf ?fbclid=IwAR2kD3xHVsRfRwxYh28UNfemWEx4nLgUzmYW7xvApPJVULuCvGGK0D7HyQ U.S. National Petroleum Council. (2019). Supplemental Assessment to the 2015 Report Arctic Potential: Realizing the Promise of U.S. Arctic Oil and Gas Resources. Washington DC. Accessed 1 May 2021 https://www.npcarcticreport.org/pdf/2019-Arctic_SA-LoRes.pdf Vedomosti (2016, September 6). Gazprom invites China's CNOOC to the shelf. Retrieved from https://www.vedomosti.ru/business/articles/2016/09/07/655966-gazprom-kitaiskuyucnooc Zhdaneev O. V., Frolov K. N., Konygin A. E., Gekhaev M. R. (2020) Exploration drilling on the Russian Arctic and Far East shelf. Arctic: Ecology and Economy, 3 (39), 112—125. DOI: 10.25283/2223-4594-2020-3-112-125.
The Development of Arctic Offshore Oil and Gas Resources in Russia
How Russia’s New Vision of Territorial Development in the Arctic Can Boost China-Russia Economic Collaboration Gao Tianming & Vasilii Erokhin
In recent years, a growing number of investment projects in the Arctic zone of Russia have been contributed to by China’s capital and technologies, but the industrial development of the Russian Arctic remains extremely fragmented. The focal location of productive forces and population hampers integration of the northern territories into global supply chains, limits international investment cooperation to few mineral resources basins, and thus poses a threat to the resilient development of the entire region. Russia’s government has been paying increasing attention to mitigating social and economic imbalances in the Arctic. The new Strategy for the Development of the Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation and Provision of National Security through 2035 (approved in November 2020) for the first time focuses on the development priorities of individual regions and includes perterritory summaries of investment, infrastructure, and social projects. The Arctic Zone of Russia is expanding by the inclusion of new administrative entities. In 2020, Russia announced preferences for investors which have turned the Russian Arctic into the world’s largest free economic zone of almost five million square kilometers. Such changes cannot but affect business links with foreign counterparts. In this study, the authors explore new possibilities of Russia-China economic and investment cooperation in the High North. The analysis includes Russia’s national Arctic strategy and regional strategies of the nine administrative territories that constitute the Arctic Zone of Russia. The study concludes with the per-territory identification of the most promising investment and infrastructure projects for China to take part in.
Introduction The Arctic zone is of crucial importance for Russia’s economy. Over 80% of Russia’s natural gas and 17% of its oil come from oil and gas fields in the High North (Southcott et al., 2018). The importance of the Northern Sea Route (NSR) as an international transport corridor is growing amid progressing climate change and new opportunities for the exploration and transportation of minerals and hydrocarbons. In the past decades, territorial development of the Russian (or rather Soviet) Arctic, motivated by resource factors, was aimed at the establishment of transport and industrial infrastructure and settling territories in places of resource localization. This approach has resulted in the focal distribution of productive forces throughout the vast and poorly connected territories of the Russian Arctic. Gao Tianming, Professor, School of Economics and Management, Director and Chief Expert at the Arctic Blue Economy Research Center, Harbin Engineering University, China; and Vasilii Erokhin, Associate Professor, School of Economics and Management, Research Fellow at the Arctic Blue Economy Research Center, Harbin Engineering University, China.
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Studies on the economic geography and territorial development of the Arctic (Nuttal & Callaghan, 2019; Howkins, 2015; Lipina et al., 2019; Galtseva et al., 2015; Gao et al., 2021; Wood-Donnelly, 2018; Heininen et al., 2020) distinguish three main models of the spatial economy which differ in the degree of administrative regulation of industrial, social, and economic development. While the North American and European models are both characterized by decentralization and sharing of governance functions between central and provincial governments, the Russian model assumes high centralization of resources management along with the formulation of territorial development priorities and principles by the federal government. The specifics of administration of territorial development processes in Russia manifests itself in various spheres. Many scholars, including Kudryashova et al. (2019), Plisetskii and Plisetskii (2019), Gubina and Provorova (2018), and Zaykov et al. (2017), among others, emphasize drawbacks peculiar to contemporary territorial development of the Russian Arctic, such as: • • • • •
spatial fragmentation and segmentation, the concentration of the population and economic activity around resource deposits; non-stationarity of productive forces due to the seasonal nature of a rotation system; uneven settlement, the polarization of the Arctic space due to the concentration of productive forces in cities and industrial centers, densification of settlement systems, labor outflow; high concentration of resources of better comparative characteristics and qualities (natural, human, financial, material, technical, etc.); pioneer nature of territorial development, due to the geographical remoteness of Arctic territories and vast undeveloped areas (particularly, in northern Yakutia and Chukotka).
These factors aggravate the instability of social and economic systems in the Russian Arctic, as well as the fragility of the spatial organization of the economy, which significantly increases the risks of economic and investment activities. In recent years, along with the factor of resource development, territorial development in the Arctic has been increasingly shaped by geopolitical interests of Russia and other Arctic states, as well as by the growing interests of China and other non-Arctic countries in various aspects of studying, exploration, and development of the Arctic. Approaches to territorial development in the High North are determined by the international status of land and water areas including the continental shelf, the importance of oil and gas resources in the global perspective including for non-Arctic stakeholders, and the formats of regional governance and their impact on economic, environmental, and military stability and security (Tamnes & Offerdal, 2014; Goldin, 2016). The models of resource-based territorial development of the Arctic are becoming less responsive to contemporary geopolitical and economic challenges. This requires their adaptation to the development of the Arctic space with the involvement of non-Arctic countries. Among non-Arctic countries, one of the principal actors in the region now is China. Since 2014, when the first international sanctions were imposed against Russia, many Western companies have quit joint projects with Rosneft, Gazprom, and other Russian tycoons in the Arctic, restricting the access for the latter to a variety of technologies and innovations, not to mention investments (Gao & Erokhin, 2019). In an attempt to recoup the losses, Russia has reoriented its foreign policy to the East, primarily, China. This ‘Pivot to Asia’ has resulted in the Joint Statement of the Russian Federation and the People’s Republic of China on Developing Comprehensive Partnership and
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Strategic Interaction (President of the Russian Federation, 2019) and the number of Russia-China agreements. Although they have not been exclusively focused on the Arctic, the intentions of both countries to collaborate in the improvement of the NSR infrastructure, economic evaluation and exploration of mineral, biological, and other resources of Russia’s northern territories have been articulated (Gao & Erokhin, 2020). Despite the increased intensity of cooperation and the entry of Chinese investors into a number of resource and infrastructure projects in the Russian Arctic, the prospects for China’s involvement in the territorial development of the Arctic Zone of Russia have received little attention in the literature. Most studies concentrate on geopolitical aspects of China’s growing role in the Arctic, downplaying the impacts of China’s activities in the region on territorial development. A comparative study of major international publications in recent years (Sun, 2013; Sinha & Bekkevold, 2015; Peng & Wegge, 2015; Su & Lanteigne, 2015; Sakhuja & Narula, 2016; Ivanov, 2016; Tonami, 2016; Keil & Knecht, 2017; Finger & Heininen, 2019; Nuttall & Callaghan, 2019; Erokhin et al., 2019; Conde & Sanchez, 2019; Hong, 2020; Coates & Holroyd, 2020; Koivurova & Kopra, 2020; Heininen et al., 2020) indicates two main gaps in research. Either China’s participation is not considered when analyzing territorial development issues in the Arctic, or it is limited to reviewing the participation of Chinese companies in focal industrial projects in Russia and northern Europe and navigation along the NSR. Although most researchers agree that cooperation with China and other non-Arctic countries is inseparable from the social and economic development of circumpolar territories (Blunden, 2012; Heininen, 2014; Moe & Oystein, 2010; Melia et al., 2017), they mainly focus on institutional policy and governance in the Arctic, rather than on the regional aspects of development and allocation of productive forces. Participation of Chinese companies in the development of resources in the Arctic and their export to China (Bertelsen & Gallucci, 2016; Fairhall, 2011; Flake, 2013) explore marine navigation, rail, or pipeline transportation issues. Thus, China’s involvement in the development of resources and transport routes does not add up to one picture with territorial development goals of Russia and individual Russian regions along the potential Polar Silk Road corridors. Among Chinese sources, the adaptation of China-Russia cooperation mechanisms to the spatial, industrial, and economic development of the Russian Arctic has remained underinvestigated, in contrast to abundant research in the fields of political science, resource development and transport routes, and climatology (Lu, 2010; Xu, 2016; Zhao et al., 2016; Xu, 2017; Meng et al., 2017; Wang et al., 2017; Lim, 2018; Hong, 2018; Deng, 2018; Zhu et al., 2018; Li et al., 2018; Yang & Zhao, 2019). Practical studies of the mechanisms of China’s participation in the territorial and industrial development of the Arctic Zone of Russia are very scarce. It is important to investigate the opportunities for China to contribute to the development of circumpolar territories in Russia in a complex way: not only within the Arctic Council format, where either China’s or Russia’s interests can be blocked by Arctic states but within the bilateral framework of individual interactions between China and Russia. This study attempts to contribute to the literature on China’s role in the territorial development of the Arctic by exploring the possibilities of Russia-China economic and investment cooperation in the High North across nine administrative territories that constitute the Arctic Zone of Russia.
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Arctic Zone of Russia The Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation includes land territories, adjacent internal waters, territorial sea, exclusive economic zone, and continental shelf (President of the Russian Federation, 2020a). The list of Arctic land territories established in 2014 (President of the Russian Federation, 2014) has been revised and expanded three times since then. According to the latest revision of the Decree “On the Land Territories of the Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation”, four administrative entities of Russia are fully located in the Arctic (Nenets, Yamal-Nenets, and Chukotka autonomous districts and Murmansk Oblast). In the other five administrative entities (Republic of Karelia, Arkhangelsk Oblast, Komi Republic, Krasnoyarsk Krai, and Republic of Sakha), individual territories are recognized as belonging to the Arctic Zone (Figure 1).
Figure 1. Land territories of Russia’s Arctic Zone Source: Authors’ development
The total land area of the Russian Arctic is about 5 million km2. This territory is home to more than 2.5 million people, which is about 40% of the entire population of the Arctic. Most of the settlements are located along the coast of the Arctic Ocean or in the immediate vicinity of it, as well as in the lower reaches of rivers. The three world’s largest cities above the Arctic Circle are all located in Russia: Murmansk (325,000 people), Norilsk (205,000 people), and Vorkuta (85,000 people).
Russia’s vision of territorial development of the Arctic Zone The vision of territorial development of the Arctic is shaped by not only the size of the Arctic Zone but its role in Russia’s economy. The Arctic Zone contributes about 20% of the budget revenues, provides for the production of more than 80% of natural combustible gas and 17% of oil (including gas condensate) in Russia. The continental shelf contains more than 85.1 trillion m3 of natural combustible gas, 17.3 billion tons of oil (including gas condensate), and other mineral resources. It is a small surprise that the territorial development of the Arctic Zone strongly pursues economic goals. The 2020 Strategy for the Development of the Arctic Zone (President of the Gao & Erokhin
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Russian Federation, 2020b) envisages the introduction of a special economic regime in the Arctic Zone that promotes the transition to a circular economy and the development of new oil and gas provinces, deposits of solid commercial minerals and hard-to-extract hydrocarbon reserves, increasing deep oil refining, production of liquefied natural gas and gas chemical products. The regions of the Russian Arctic are the area of transport and economic influence of the NSR, which advances inland for hundreds of kilometers, depending on the configuration of the river network and other communication routes associated with the existing and potential cargo base of the NSR. Therefore, economic goals of territorial development in the Russian Arctic are inextricably linked to the construction and modernization of various types of infrastructure: inland water and marine transportation, railroads and airports, pipelines and information communication, etc. Among the priorities of infrastructure construction in the Arctic, Russia declares the comprehensive development of a network of seaports and sea shipping routes along the NSR and in the Barents, White, and Pechora seas. The 2020 Strategy (President of the Russian Federation, 2020b) schedules the construction of hub ports and the creation of a container operator to provide international and coastal transportation in the NSR, as well as the improvement of shipping conditions (dredging and setting of inland river ports) along the White Sea-Baltic Canal and in the basins of Onega, Northern Dvina, Mezen, Pechora, Ob, Yenisei, Lena, and Kolyma rivers. This territory-economy-infrastructure triangle has been particularly emphasized as the strategic vision of territorial development in Russia in recent years. It has been unified across the documents that now establish the governance system in the Arctic Zone: Foundations of the State Policy of the Russian Federation in the Arctic till 2035 (President of the Russian Federation, 2020a), Strategy for the Development of the Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation and Ensurance of National Security till 2035 (President of the Russian Federation, 2020b), and State Program for Social and Economic Development of the Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation (Government of the Russian Federation, 2021). Most of the administrative entities that compose the Arctic Zone of Russia have updated their regional Arctic strategies according to the federal-level framework. Murmansk Oblast The territory of Murmansk Oblast (144.9 thousand km2, or 0.86% of the area of Russia) is fully assigned to the land territories of Russia’s Arctic Zone (President of the Russian Federation, 2014). With 92.2% of its 731.4 thousand people living in the cities, Murmansk Oblast is the most urbanized region in the Russian Arctic (Federal State Statistics Service Directorate for Murmansk Oblast, 2021). The territory is rich in various kinds of ore minerals and aquatic biological resources. Over 60 large deposits of crude minerals have been discovered in the Kola Peninsula, including copper, nickel, iron, apatite-nepheline ores, and rare earth metals. There are significant deposits of mica, raw materials for construction and ceramic products, facing stones, and semi-precious and ornamental stones. Murmansk Oblast produces 100% of Russia’s apatite, nepheline and baddeleyite concentrates and 45%, 11%, and 7% of nickel, iron ore concentrate, and refined copper, respectively. Significant oil and gas deposits are discovered on the continental shelf of the Barents Sea, including the largest Shtokman gas condensate field. Among the territories of Russia’s Arctic Zone, Murmansk Oblast enjoys the most developed transport infrastructure. Murmansk sea port is the only ice-free deep-water harbour in the European part of the Russian High North. It is a home port for Russia’s nuclear-powered icebreaker fleet, which serves the entire NSR. A total of three sea ports are located on the coast of China-Russia Economic Collaboration
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the White and Barents seas. Further development of the transport infrastructure and deeper integration of Murmansk Oblast in the global supply chains and transcontinental cargo corridors between Europe and Asia are among the priorities of territorial development (Table 1). According to the Regional Program of Social and Economic Development “Murmansk Oblast – Strategic Center of the Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation” (Governor of Murmansk Oblast, 2014) and the Strategy of Social and Economic Development of Murmansk Oblast (Government of Murmansk Oblast, 2013), it is planned to establish a year-round deep-sea international center for processing of oil cargo, transshipment of coal and mineral fertilizers. The project provides for the development of infrastructure for marine, rail, and road transport, as well as logistics and warehouse infrastructure. The development of railway network includes the construction of the Vykhodnoy – Lavna line, Lavna and Promezhutochnaya railway stations, a railway bridge across the Kola Bay, as well as the development of existing facilities (Vykhodnoy and Murmashi-2 railway stations) with a total traffic capacity of 28 million tons and dredging of the water approaches to railway terminals. Investments will be directed to the construction of coal and oil transshipment terminals on the western bank of the Kola Bay. Table 1. Priorities of territorial, economic, and infrastructure development in Murmansk Oblast Spheres Territorial development
Economy
Infrastructure
Measures 1. Comprehensive development of restricted-access administrative entities and locations of military units, including the development of infrastructure and modernization of dual-use facilities 2. Development of tourist and recreational clusters, including in Kirovsk city, Teriberka settlement, and Kovdorsky, Pechengsky, and Tersky municipal districts 3. Establishment and development of enterprises engaged in repair, supply, and bunkering of vessels and improvement of coastal bases for navigation along the NSR 4. Establishment and development of a center for the construction of large-capacity offshore structures intended for the production, storage, and shipment of liquefied natural gas. 5. Establishment and development of enterprises engaged in repair and maintenance of marine equipment and equipment for the development of offshore hydrocarbon deposits 6. Geological exploration of the mineral resource base of the Kola Peninsula, the establishment of new and development of existing mineral resource centers specializing in the extraction and processing of minerals 7. Development of the fishery complex, technical re-equipment of enterprises, including the construction of vessels, introduction of new capacities for deep processing of aquatic biological resources, and development of aquaculture. 8. Integrated development of the ice-free seaport of Murmansk, development of the multimodal transport hub, construction of new terminals and transshipment complexes 9. Development of power supply infrastructure, including replacement of fuel oil facilities with those consuming other types of energy for power and heat generation 10. Modernization of airport complexes, including the Murmansk International Airport 11. Development of congress, exhibition and business infrastructure
Source: Authors’ development based on President of the Russian Federation (2020b), Governor of Murmansk Oblast (2014), and Government of Murmansk Oblast (2013)
The problems of territorial development in Murmansk Oblast are rather common for most of the Arctic regions of Russia. Among them, we identify (1) significant inter-district inequality in the degree of economic activity, development of social infrastructure, and the standard of living of the population; (2) low density and continuing outflow of the population; (3) the local mono-industry nature of the economy and low-diversified production; (4) unfavorable natural and climatic conditions that determine the increased costs of construction and maintenance of residential,
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industrial, and infrastructure facilities; (5) high depreciation of fixed assets, especially transport, industrial, energy, and municipal infrastructure; (6) deterioration of mining conditions, exploration of deeper layers and underground mining; (7) high accumulated environmental damage. Nenets Autonomous District Similar to Murmansk Oblast, the territory of the Nenets Autonomous District (176,800 km2) entirely belongs to the Arctic Zone of Russia. With a population of 44,400 people as of January 1, 2021, the district is the least populous region in the country (Federal State Statistics Service Directorate for Arkhangelsk Oblast and Nenets Autonomous District, 2021). The spatial structure of the settlement is characterized by a high concentration of the population in a small area. The entire urban population is concentrated in Naryan-Mar capital city and the adjacent Iskateley settlement and makes up 73% of the population of the Nenets Autonomous District. Such a high dispersion of settlement, small remote localities, extremely low level of transport accessibility, and predominance of air transportation contribute to exceptionally high costs for the territorial and economic development of the region. The district possesses significant reserves of hydrocarbons: about 1 billion tons of oil and over 500 billion m3 of gas. Oil and gas-bearing areas are relatively well explored, and the degree of depletion is low (25% oil and only 1% for gas). Existing pipeline infrastructure allows increasing oil exports by 60-80% compared to the current production volumes (about 15 million tons per year). Oil production establishes about 75% of the gross regional product and generates 25% of the total number of jobs. The northern shores of Nenets Autonomous District are washed by the Barents, White, and Kara seas. The length of the coastline exceeds 1,500 km, which is 10% of the NSR. Transport infrastructure, however, is extremely poorly developed. The district is the only administrative entity in the European part of Russia that has no permanent land transport connection with other territories. The absence of railways does not allow creating stable logistics. Due to the significant potential for the exploitation of well-explored natural resources and underdeveloped transport infrastructure, the priorities identified in the Strategy of Social and Economic Development of Nenets Autonomous District till 2030 (Assembly of Deputies of Nenets Autonomous District, 2019) include the development of oil and mineral resource centers and construction of railways and sea ports (Table 2). Table 2. Priorities of territorial, economic, and infrastructure development in Nenets Autonomous District Spheres
Territorial development
Economy
Infrastructure
Measures 1. Development of Varandeysky, Kolguyevsky, Kharyago-Usinsky, and Khasyreysky oil and mineral resource centers 2. Creation of gas-condensate mineral resource centers, including the development of Korovinsky and Kumzhinsky gas-condensate fields, Vaneyvissky and Layavozhsky oil and gas-condensate fields 3. Development of the tourism cluster and infrastructure of cultural, religious, and ethnic tourism 4. Geological exploration and development of solid commercial minerals 5. Construction of an agro-industrial park and implementation of export-oriented projects in the sphere of deep processing of venison 6. Development of the project for the construction of Indiga deep-water seaport and the Sosnogorsk – Indiga railway 7. Development of transport infrastructure, including reconstruction of Naryan-Mar seaport, Naryan-Mar airport, and Amderma airport, dredging on the Pechora River, and construction of the Naryan-Mar – Usinsk highway
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Source: Authors’ development based on President of the Russian Federation (2020b) and Assembly of Deputies of Nenets Autonomous District (2019)
Along with the overall backwardness and even absence of transport infrastructure, it is worth mentioning the transport divergence of the district, when some territories (particularly, in the western part of the district) are better connected with neighboring entities than with Naryan-Mar capital city. As a result, such territories naturally gravitate to other regions (Arkhangelsk Oblast, Komi Republic, Yamal-Nenets Autonomous District), not to the administrative center of Nenets Autonomous District. The influence of these transportation and spatial factors blunts the effectiveness of territorial development measures. An important limitation of growth is the lack of pipeline capacity for the development of gas fields. The capacity of oil pipelines allows for a significant increase in oil production, but transport infrastructure for gas exports is missing. A number of megaprojects, in which Chinese investors were supposed to participate, are postponed or frozen, including Pechora LNG (postponed indefinitely), the Syktyvkar – Ukhta – Pechora – Usinsk – Naryan-Mar highway (postponed to 2022), Barentskomur railway, and Indiga sea port (both projects have not yet been approved). Chukotka Autonomous District Significant problems with the development of transport infrastructure also persist in Chukotka. The main cargo transport route that provides the region with goods, food, raw materials, machinery, equipment, and materials is the NSR (the Northern Supply program during the navigation window). Similar to Nenets Autonomous District, Chukotka lacks railway and motorway networks. The energy network is also poorly developed. Three power hubs (Anadyrsky, Egvekinotsky, and Chaun-Bilibinsky) operate separately from each other. There is also a decentralized power supply zone which includes 35 rural settlements and industrial enterprises that use their own generating facilities. High cost of energy and excessive transport costs are the main obstacles to sustainable territorial development outlined in the Strategy of Social and Economic Development of Chukotka Autonomous District till 2030 (Government of Chukotka Autonomous District, 2014) and Russia’s Strategy for the Development of the Arctic Zone (President of the Russian Federation, 2020b) (Table 3). Table 3. Priorities of territorial, economic, and infrastructure development in Chukotka Autonomous District Spheres Territorial development Economy
Infrastructure
Gao & Erokhin
Measures 1. Development of Baimsky and Pyrkakay-Maysky mineral resource centers of precious and nonferrous metals 2. Development of Bering coal mineral resource center 3. Establishment of ethnic and environmental tourism clusters in Anadyr, Pevek, and Provideniya 4. Development of Arctic cruise tourism 5. Development of sea port and terminals in Pevek 6. Establishment of a transport and logistics hub in Provideniya deep-water year-round port 7. Construction of a year-round coal terminal in Arinai deep-water lagoon 8. Modernization of Chaun-Bilibinsky power generation system 9. Development of transport infrastructure, including the construction of the Kolyma – Omsukchan – Omolon – Anadyr interregional highway 10. Joining the unified telecommunications network by the construction of the PetropavlovskKamchatsky – Anadyr underwater fiber-optic communication line 11. Establishment of an emergency rescue unit and an Arctic crisis management center in Pevek
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Source: Authors’ development based on President of the Russian Federation (2020b) and Government of Chukotka Autonomous District (2014)
The priorities of territorial development of Chukotka Autonomous District for the next decade are determined by the exploitation of mineral deposits concentrated in two industrial zones of advanced development. Anadyrskaya industrial zone is focused on the development of coal deposits in the Bering coal basin and oil and gas in the Anadyrsky and Khatyrsky oil and gas basins. The Zapadno-Ozernoye gas field has been put into operation to meet the internal needs of the district. An investment project is being prepared for the development of the Amaamsky and Verkhne-Alkatwaamsky areas of the Bering coal basin to start exporting high-quality coal to China and other countries of Asia. The Chaun-Bilibinskaya industrial zone possesses substantial deposits of gold, silver, tin, and copper. To date, Mayskoye, Kupol, Karalveem, and Dvoynoe gold deposits have been put into operation. Kekura and Klen gold deposits are being prepared for commissioning in the near future. Long-term strategic prospects include the development of tin deposits (Pyrkakai stockworks) and the development of Baimskaya ore zone, primarily Peschanka gold-bearing copper-porphyry deposit, the largest in Russia’s Northeast. Thus, non-ferrous metallurgy and the coal industry are seen as the main drivers of territorial and economic development in Chukotka. The most promising projects are the development of Baimsksya ore zone and the Bering coal basin. Their exploitation can substantially diversify extractive industries in the district. The production of high-quality coal in the Bering basin is promising due to the estimated volume of reserves (over one billion tons). The deposits are located close to the coastal zone, which could significantly cut transport costs when exporting coal to China and other countries. The estimated annual capacity of Amaamsky field, the largest in the basin, is 7 million tons of coking coal, while that of Alkatwaamsky field is 5 million tons of commercial coal. The development of Baimskaya ore zone (gold, silver, copper, and molybdenum) may become one of the largest mining projects in Russia. Geological exploration at Peschanka field estimated 27 million tons of copper and 1,600 tons of gold. The project provides that annual production of copper and gold will reach 200,000 tons and 9 tons, respectively, by 2027. Yamal-Nenets Autonomous District Yamal-Nenets Autonomous District is one of the largest administrative entities in Russia (769,300 km2, or 4.5% of the total territory of the country). The main part of the district is the sparsely populated territories of inhabitance and economic activity of Indigenous people. Similar to other Arctic regions, the population is densely distributed (0.7 people per km2), highly urbanized, and focally settled near major resource bases and along rivers and transport routes. About 85% of the population lives in urban areas, of which 41% in the two largest cities (Novy Urengoy and Noyabrsk). Year-round transport accessibility of all localities across the district is possible only by air. The land transport system (railways and highways) is fragmented and serves local needs. Six districts out of seven are not permanently connected with the capital city of Salekhard, while three districts (Krasnoselkupsky, Yamalsky, and Shuryshkarsky) have no year-round automobile roads. The two main transport areas (Western and Eastern) that were established during the exploration of oil fields in the 1970-1990s are not connected to each other. The Western area is built around the transport link between Salekhard and Labytnangsky industrial and transport hub and the
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Obskaya – Bovanenkovo – Karskaya railway, the northernmost operating railways in the world. The Eastern area includes the Novy Urengoy – Tyumen railway section and the Nadym, Pur, and Taz rivers. Here, the road infrastructure is more developed with access to highways. The problem of poor transport connectivity is exacerbated by the condition of existing transport infrastructure. Most airports, railway lines, and highways require reconstruction and capacity addition. Measures for the development of the transport infrastructure have been particularly emphasized since the adoption of the Strategy of Social and Economic Development of Yamal-Nenets Autonomous District in 2011 (Legislative Assembly of Yamal-Nenets Autonomous District, 2011). Along with the expansion of resource extraction projects, infrastructure-related issues stand out among the priorities of strategic territorial development of the district till 2030 (Governor of Yamal-Nenets Autonomous District, 2018) (Table 4). Table 4. Priorities of territorial, economic, and infrastructure development in Yamal-Nenets Autonomous District Spheres Territorial development
Economy
Infrastructure
Measures 1. Development of Novoportovskoye oil and gas condensate mineral resource center and Bovanenkovskoye gas-condensate mineral resource center, development of Tambey group of fields, and preparation for the development of offshore fields 2. Establishment of industrial zones of oil and gas service in largest settlements 3. Establishment of a tourism cluster in the Salekhard – Labytnangi – Harp agglomeration 4. Expansion of liquefied natural gas production in the Yamal and Gydan peninsulas 5. Exploration of gas fields in the Ob Bay and development of the pipeline gas transportation system 6. Development of oil and gas chemical industries in Sabetta, Yamburg, and Novy Urengoy and establishment of the multi-faceted industrial and technological center for gas processing and petrochemistry 7. Production of construction materials to meet the needs of the fuel and energy sector and residential construction 8. Development of sea port and shipment terminals in Sabetta and the navigable shipway in the Gulf of Ob 9. Construction and development of the Obskaya – Salekhard – Nadym – Pangody – Novy Urengoy – Korotchayevo and the Obskaya – Bovanenkovo – Sabetta railway lines 10. Maintenance and development of gas and oil pipeline networks, development of gas and oil mineral resource centers connected to pipelines in Nadym-Pur and Pur-Taz oil and gas regions, including the use of new technologies for the extraction and development of underlying layers and hard-to-extract oil reserves 11. Expansion of the centralized power supply zone by connecting settlements to the unified power grid 12. Establishment of an emergency rescue unit and an Arctic crisis management center in Sabetta
Source: Authors’ development based on President of the Russian Federation (2020b), Legislative Assembly of Yamal-Nenets Autonomous District (2011), and Governor of Yamal-Nenets Autonomous District (2018)
The economy of Yamal-Nenets Autonomous District is based on the substantial deposits of hydrocarbons. The shares of the district in the global proven gas and oil reserves are 18% and 2%, respectively (65% and 18% of all gas and oil in Russia). The extraction of hydrocarbons is mainly carried out in the Nadym-Pur-Tazovskaya oil and gas province in Medvezhye, Urengoyskoye, and Yamburgskoye mega-fields. This area is best equipped with transport, energy, and industrial facilities. Development prospects of the province are associated with the exploration of hard-torecover hydrocarbon reserves of the Bazhenov and Achimov formations. In the future, substantial investments will be required to continue the exploitation of existing oil fields and involve deeperlying horizons into production to increase oil recovery.
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There are obvious prospects for increasing investment in the development of new gas fields, increasing capacity, and building new LNG plants, which are being implemented with the participation of Chinese investors. Industrial development of the Yamal Peninsula began in 2012 with the putting of the Bovanenkovskoye oil and gas condensate field into operation. Currently, new gas production facilities are being launched such as the Yamal LNG and Arctic LNG 2 projects. Yamal LNG in the South Tambey field is an integrated project encompassing the production of 16.5 million tons of natural gas per year. The field’s proven and probable reserves are estimated at 926 billion m3. (Yamal LNG, 2021). Arctic LNG 2 provides for the construction of three LNG lines of 6.6 million tons each. It is expected that the total annual capacity of the three lines will reach 19.8 million tons of LNG (Novatek, 2021). The resource base of the Arctic LNG 2 project is the Utrennee field on the Gydan Peninsula. In the long run, the establishment of industrial production centers on the Yamal and Gydan peninsulas and offshore fields in the Kara Sea, as well as the complex transport development of these territories, will contribute to the growth of production and export of LNG to China and the global market. However, the development of hydrocarbon projects requires radical improvement of transport accessibility of Yamal-Nenets Autonomous District. Some of the measures include construction of the Northern Latitudinal Railway along with the associated Bovanenkovo – Sabetta non-public railway track, as well as the construction of the Nadym – Salekhard road section as a part of the Surgut – Salekhard highway. The implementation of these projects will reduce transport costs, create opportunities for the development of other than fuel sectors, and help diversify the singleindustry economy of Yamal-Nenets Autonomous District. Republic of Karelia The area of the Arctic zone of the Republic of Karelia was significantly expanded in 2020 by the inclusion of three districts located along the Arctic Circle in the permafrost zone. Currently, the Arctic zone of the republic includes Belomorsky, Loukhsky, Kemsky, Segezhsky, and Kalevalsky districts and Kostomuksha settlement, which makes up almost 40% of Karelia’s territory. Among other Russia’s entities, Karelia is an Arctic newcomer, so no individual strategic vision for the development of the six Arctic districts has yet been developed. However, general approaches to territorial development are outlined in the Strategy of Social and Economic Development of the Republic of Karelia till 2030 (Government of the Republic of Karelia, 2018) and the Individual Program of Social and Economic Development of the Republic of Karelia for 2020-2014 (Government of the Russian Federation, 2020) (Table 5). The population of Karelia is about 609,000 people, of which 80.4% live in the cities. Petrozavodsk capital city is home to more than 45% of the region’s population. The Arctic zone of the republic is sparsely populated, and most people (73%) live in the southern part of the region. The demographic situation is generally unfavorable, and there is a significant outflow of the population (Federal State Statistics Service Directorate for the Republic of Karelia, 2021). Mineral resources are diverse. There are significant deposits of chromium (more than 50% of Russia’s reserves), molybdenum (10%), iron ores (1.2%), uranium-vanadium ores, and other minerals. Timber volume amounts to more than 1.03 billion m3, and over 53% of the territory is covered with woodland.
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Table 5. Priorities of territorial, economic, and infrastructure development in the Republic of Karelia Spheres Territorial development Economy
Infrastructure
Measures 1. Establishment and development of mineral resource centers in the East Karelia copper-goldmolybdenum zone 2. Development of the construction materials industry based on building stone deposits 3. Establishment and development of the deep wood processing cluster 4. Development of the fisheries and aquaculture cluster 5. Development of cultural, historical, and environmental tourism 6. Modernization of the White Sea – Baltic Canal 7. Establishment of cascades of small hydropower plants 8. Establishment of a network of data processing and storage centers
Source: Authors’ development based on President of the Russian Federation (2020b), Government of the Republic of Karelia (2018), and Government of the Russian Federation (2020)
One of the main advantages of Karelia is its geographical location. The region geographically connects Saint Petersburg, Murmansk, and Arkhangelsk sea hubs with other territories of Russia. Karelia has access to the White Sea in the east and borders with Finland in the west, which ensures the potential for transit transportation between the NSR sea ports and Northern Europe. The throughout cargo capacity of Saint Petersburg and major European Arctic ports in Murmansk and Arkhangelsk as transit transport hubs is limited. Therefore, the increasing cargo traffic between Europe and China (primarily container shipments) could be directed through alternative routes in Karelia. The construction of Kem deep-sea cargo and passenger port along with the reconstruction of Belomorsk berth are scheduled among measures of development of territories, historically associated with the Solovetsky Archipelago. Documents are being prepared for the establishment of a federal enterprise on the basis of the Petrozavodsk airport and the development of landing sites in Kostomuksha and Kalevala. These measures are included in the Individual Program of Social and Economic Development of the Republic of Karelia for 2020-2014 (Government of the Russian Federation, 2020). The Karelian White Sea region has substantial logistical potential, but interregional cooperation is critical for its development. Karelia should establish links with other Arctic territories of Russia (Murmansk and Archangelsk oblasts) in order to implement major infrastructure projects and be able to grow into a prominent transport hub within the Asia-Europe transport corridor. Arkhangelsk Oblast Along with Karelia and Murmansk, Arkhangelsk Oblast has significant potential for integration into international transport corridors on the basis of both the NSR and multimodal shipments between Northern Europe, Russia, and Asian countries. As is the case with Karelia, the Arctic zone of Arkhangelsk Oblast was expanded in 2020 by the inclusion of two districts. Currently, nine administrative entities belong to the Arctic: Arkhangelsk, Severodvinsk, and Novodvinsk cities, Mezensky, Onezhsky, Primorsky, Leshukonsky, and Pinezhsky districts, and Novaya Zemlya island. The territory is rich in timber and water resources. The forest cover of Arkhangelsk Oblast without Novaya Zemlya and smaller islands in the White Sea and the Arctic Ocean is 72.4%. The total land area covered by forests exceeds 29 million ha, of which about 20 million ha are under industrial exploitation. There are significant deposits of 25 kinds of minerals and raw materials, including bauxites, limestone and clay for cement production, limestone for the pulp and paper industry, dolomites for metallurgy, zinc, lead, silver, gypsum, anhydrite, building stones (granites and basalts),
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peat, sand, and carbonate rocks. Arkhangelsk Oblast ranks second after Yakutia in Russia in terms of discovered diamond reserves – 248.3 million carats, or about 21% of all national deposits. The vision of strategic priorities for the territorial development of Arkhangelsk Oblast is based on the combination and joint use of resource and geographical advantages: development of mineral resource centers for the production of lead, zinc, diamond, timber industries, fisheries, shipbuilding, and development of transport infrastructure to integrate domestic producers to global supply chains and transport corridors (Table 6). Table 6. Priorities of territorial, economic, and infrastructure development in Arkhangelsk Oblast Spheres Territorial development
Economy
Measures 1. Development of the lead-zinc mineral resource center in the Novaya Zemlya archipelago 2. Development of diamond mineral resource centers 3. Development of cultural, educational, ethnographic, and environmental tourism cluster and sea cruise tourism on the Solovetsky Islands 4. Development of the woodworking and pulp and paper industries, establishment of the full-cycle wood processing complex, and introduction of technologies for the production of biofuels from wood processing waste 5. Development of the shipbuilding and ship repair industries and production of equipment for oil and gas extraction on the continental shelf 6. Development of the fishing cluster, construction, modernization, and repair of the fishing fleet, establishment of enterprises for the production of fish and other products from aquatic biological resources, and development of biotechnologies and aquaculture 7. Modernization of the existing terminals at Arkhangelsk sea port, dredging, the establishment of a new deep-water area, production and logistics complexes and access infrastructure, implementation of coordination systems and digital management of the transport hub
Infrastructure
8. Development of transport infrastructure (railways, waterways, and highways) to link Arkhangelsk sea port with Northwest Russia, the Urals, and Siberia, including the justification for the construction of the Karpogory – Vendinga and the Mikun – Solikamsk railway sections 9. Development of the Arkhangelsk international airport
Source: Authors’ development based on President of the Russian Federation (2020b) and Assembly of Deputies of Arkhangelsk Oblast (2019)
Although to a lesser degree compared to other regions of the Russian Arctic, both transport and industrial infrastructure in Arkhangelsk Oblast still requires significant modernization and radical improvement. Among critical threats to sustainable territorial development of the region, the Strategy of Social and Economic Development of Arkhangelsk Oblast till 2035 (Assembly of Deputies of Arkhangelsk Oblast, 2019) underscores the low level of exploration of territories and the low spatial density of industrial facilities, which both reduce the efficiency of infrastructure use. Arkhangelsk sea port is connected by rail lines with Moscow and Saint Petersburg, as well as neighboring regions. Internal railway communication is provided by trains that link Arkhangelsk with Kotlassky, Pinezhsky, Velsky, Plesetsky, Onezhsky, Ustyansky, Nyandomsky, and Konoshsky districts. The total length of the railway network exceeds 1700 km. Waterways also play a significant role in cargo transportation. The water transport network integrates the basins of the White Sea and three rivers: Northern Dvina (including Vychegda, Vaga, and Pinega rivers), Mezen (including Kuloy river), and Onega. The Northern Dvina, Onega, Vychegda, and Kuloy rivers are fully navigable for the entire summer period, while the other rivers are used for cargo transportation during the spring flood window.
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The largest investment project in the sphere of water transport infrastructure is the construction of a deep-water port and port infrastructure near Arkhangelsk. The project provides for the construction of six marine terminals for mineral fertilizers, petroleum products and gas condensate, bulk cargo, timber, metals, and containers, as well as automobile road and railway between Arkhangelsk city and the port area and external engineering infrastructure (communication, water supply, and power supply networks) (Arkhangelsk Transport Hub, 2021). Since 2016, Chinese investors (Poly International Holding Co) have been demonstrating interest in the project (Region 29 Information Agency, 2016), while in 2018, it was included in the list of investment initiatives to be implemented in the framework of convergence between the Eurasian Economic Union and the Silk Road Economic Belt (Zubkov, 2018). The economic feasibility of the construction is directly linked to the radical expansion of the railway network (in particular, the Belkomur railway) to link the port with cargo base localities and major markets. However, due to the uncertain cargo base, Russia’s Ministry of Transport doubts the potential economic efficiency of the Belkomur railway, that is why the construction of the deepwater port in Arkhangelsk has been put on hold indefinitely along with that of the railway (Gao & Erokhin, 2020). Komi Republic In 2020, Vorkuta municipal district of the Komi Republic was supplemented by Usinsk and Inta cities and Ust-Tsilemsky district to establish the Arctic zone of the region. For Komi, the expansion of the Arctic zone is of crucial importance, as northern areas of the republic possess substantial natural resources (minerals, land, water), as well as they are promising for the development of cargo logistics and international transit. The resource potential of the Komi Republic is represented by oil and gas in the Timan-Pechora oil and gas province (one of the largest in Russia), coking and energy coals in the Pechora coal basin (the second-largest in the country), and oil shale in the Vychegodsky and Timan-Pechora shale basins. Ore minerals (ferrous, non-ferrous, and precious metals, manganese, chromium, and titanium ores) are concentrated in the Polar Urals and Middle and Southern Timan. Timan area also contains about one-third of Russia’s deposits of bauxites. The Pizhemskoye and Yaregskoye titanium ore deposits are the largest in Russia with more than half of the country’s reserves of titanium. In total, the explored deposits of the Komi Republic contain about 3% of all Russia’s oil, 4.5% of coal, 13% of barite, 30% of bauxite, about 50% of titanium, and about 80% of quartz. Geological exploration is being conducted at Verkhnepizhemsky subsurface area, a part of the Pizhemskoye field, where large deposits of titanium and quartz have been identified. Forests cover about 80% of the Komi’s territory, or 36.3 million ha (3.2% of all woodlands in Russia and 50% of woodlands in Russia’s European North). More than 75% of the forest land fund (3.1 billion m3) is under industrial exploitation. Taking into account the unity of nature management complexes and the interregional transport and logistics connectivity of Vorkuta, Usinsk, and Inta cities and Ust-Tsilemsky district with other territories of the Russian Arctic, the territorial development of the Arctic zone of the Komi Republic is considered in the context of integration of economic development measures, modernization and construction of transport infrastructure, development of the tourism sector, and maintenance of traditional economic activities of indigenous peoples (Table 7).
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Table 7. Priorities of territorial, economic, and infrastructure development in the Komi Republic Spheres
Territorial development
Economy
Measures 1. Integrated social and economic development of single-industry urban districts of Vorkuta and Inta 2. Development of coal mineral resource centers in the Pechora coal basin 3. Establishment and development of oil and gas mineral resource centers in the Timan-Pechora oil and gas province 4. Establishment and development of the Parnoksky ferromanganese mineral resource center 5. Development of the cultural, ethnographic, and historical tourism cluster and the active natural tourism cluster 6. Establishment of complexes for deep processing of coal raw materials and coal chemistry 7. Development of oil and gas processing facilities 8. Geological exploration of territories and development of solid commercial minerals fields 9. Establishment and development of the vertically integrated mining and metallurgical complex for processing of titanium ores and quartz (glass) sands in Pizhemskoye field 10. Construction of the Sosnogorsk – Indiga railway, reconstruction of the Konosha – Kotlas – Chum – Labytnangi railway section, justification of the feasibility of reconstruction of the Mikun – Vendinga railway section, and construction of the Vendinga – Karpogory railway section
Infrastructure
11. Construction and reconstruction of the Syktyvkar – Ukhta – Pechora – Usinsk – Naryan-Mar highway 12. Dredging on the Pechora River 13. Reconstruction and modernization of the airport network, including the joint deployment of Vorkuta airport
Source: Authors’ development based on President of the Russian Federation (2020b) and Government of the Komi Republic (2019)
Among the main challenges of territorial development in the coming years, the Strategy of Social and Economic Development of the Komi Republic till 2035 (Government of the Komi Republic, 2019) emphasizes significant territorial disparities, low population density, uneven allocation of the population across the region, and a high concentration of industrial facilities (in particular, in Vorkuta). Other problems that are typical for many regions of the Russian Arctic are the low density of automobile roads, poor transport accessibility of remote settlements, inequality between districts in the development of transport infrastructure, the lack of access to the NSR ports, and insufficient capacity of and coverage by railway lines. Nevertheless, the relative remoteness of the Arctic territories of the Komi Republic from the water and land borders of Russia provides conditions for the development of a secured and stable transport connections and a transport and logistics hub by the construction of the new Vorkuta – Ust-Kara and Sosnogorsk – Indiga railways. It is assumed that the implementation of these infrastructure projects will be supplemented by the construction of the Northern Latitudinal Railway to connect the Komi Republic with the Yamal Peninsula and the NSR through Sabetta sea port. The connection of the cargo base in Komi (minerals, timber, etc.) with the NSR will significantly increase traffic in the route, including potential exports to China. Also, as part of the implementation of the “North-East – Polar Urals” project, the regional Strategy (Government of the Komi Republic, 2019) plans for the construction of the Syktyvkar – Vorkuta – Salekhard highway with access to Naryan-Mar. Krasnoyarsk Krai A similar vision of the need to develop economic and transport corridors with the inclusion of Arctic territories is also highlighted in the Strategy of Social and Economic Development of
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Northern and Arctic Territories and Support of Indigenous People in Krasnoyarsk Krai till 2030 (Government of Krasnoyarsk Krai, 2020). The Arctic zone of Krasnoyarsk Krai is one of the economic and industrial centers of the Russian Arctic due to a long history of the resource extraction industries in Taimyr Dolgan-Nenets and Evenki municipal districts. However, amid the depletion of long-exploited deposits and the discovery of new ones, there have been emerging disproportions in the development of the northern territories. According to the parameters of transport accessibility and implementation of resource projects, Arctic territories in Krasnoyarsk Krai are divided into six main types: •
Relatively developed areas with year-round land transportation. This type includes the most populated areas of the southernmost districts in the Arctic zone – Yeniseysky, Motyginsky, Boguchansky, Kezhemsky, and Severo-Yeniseysky districts, where major cities of Yeniseysk and Lesosibirsk are located.
•
Coastal river zones and the NSR zone accessible for large-capacity water transport. Even though water transport is fundamentally important for the entire Arctic zone of Krasnoyarsk Krai, these areas cannot be undoubtedly recognized as economic development locomotives. The advantage of their position is attained only if largescale resource projects are implemented or large-scale cargo transshipment is carried out nearby.
•
Off-road zone, where communication is carried out by seasonal winter roads, small rivers, or by air. These are the most problematic areas in terms of territorial development. There are required the introduction of life-support technologies, reduction of fuel and product supply costs, and new solutions in transportation and marketing of reindeer and other local products.
•
Territories of large industrial projects at the stage of development (new resource projects). They include oil production areas (Vankor oil production cluster – Vankorskoe, Suzunskoe, and adjacent fields in Turukhansky district, fields in Yuryubcheno-Takhomskaya zone, oil production areas in East Taimyr); gold mining area in Severo-Yeniseysky district (Olympiadninsky and adjacent fields); timber production in Boguchansky and Kezhemsky districts; coal mining area around Dikson; development of new oil and gas fields in the Angara region.
•
Territories of large industrial projects at the stage of production decline or after the termination of exploitation. These are the “northern old industrial territories” of Igarka, Dikson, and Motyginsky and neighboring districts. For them, it is necessary to develop measures for controlled depopulation with an increase in the quality of life of the remaining dwellers and the development of alternative employment opportunities.
•
The mature industrial area is represented by the Norilsk cluster. It covers a vast area that supports the Norilsk industrial complex and the city of Norilsk, including Pelyatkinskoye gas field and Kureyskaya and Ust-Khantayskaya hydro power plants.
The points of economic growth for the Arctic territories in Krasnoyarsk Krai are new large resource projects. Infrastructure growth zones correspond to the sites of newly explored oil, gas,
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and gold deposits. In coastal zones, off-road zones, and old industrial territories, specific growth points will include strengthening energy and food security (Table 8). Table 8. Priorities of territorial, economic, and infrastructure development in Krasnoyarsk Krai Spheres
Territorial development
Economy
Infrastructure
Measures 1. Integrated social and economic development of the single-industry Norilsk municipal district 2. Development of the Norilsk industrial district specializing in the extraction and enrichment (processing) of non-ferrous metals and platinum group metals 3. Establishment and development of the oil and mineral resource center in Western Taimyr oil fields to export extracted resources via the NSR 4. Establishment of the West-Taimyr coal industry cluster to export coal via the NSR 5. Development of the tourism and recreational cluster in Taimyr Dolgan-Nenets municipal district, Norilsk, and Dudinka 6. Construction of new production facilities and modernization of Zapolyarnaya mine 7. Development of Popigaysky field of technical diamonds and establishment of the mineral resource center 8. Development of the resources of the Taimyr-Severozemelsky gold-bearing province 9. Development of sea ports in Dikson (including the construction of new coal terminals and oil terminal) and Dudinka 10. Reconstruction and modernization of the airport network, including Khatanga airport 11. Establishment of an emergency rescue unit and an Arctic crisis management center in Dikson
Source: Authors’ development based on President of the Russian Federation (2020b) and Government of Krasnoyarsk Krai (2020)
Taking into account the geological conditions of the Arctic territories of Krasnoyarsk Krai, the priority in economic development is given to hydrocarbons. The 2030 Strategy (Government of Krasnoyarsk Krai, 2020) declares oil and gas projects to become anchor measures of economic and territorial development for the next decade. A new center of oil and gas production is being formed near the eastern coast of the Yenisei Bay based on the Payakhskoe and Baikalskoe deposits. Their total recoverable reserves amount to more than 200 million tons of oil and about 90 billion m3 of natural gas. Oil transportation will be carried out through the NSR, for which purpose Sever marine oil terminal and the 413 km long oil supply pipeline will be constructed. The launch of an oil and gas production center near the coast of the Khatanga Bay is also promising, from where hydrocarbons will be directed to the NSR. In addition to the onshore deposits, the 2030 Strategy envisages the exploration of the continental shelf. Currently, the geological structure and prospects of oil and gas extraction are being studied in the eastern part of the Kara Sea and the Yenisei Bay. Republic of Sakha (Yakutia) The area of the Arctic zone on the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia) is 1.609 million km2 or over half of the entire territory of the republic. The Arctic zone includes thirteen districts divided into five groups according to their location in one of the basins of major navigable rivers: Anabarskaya, Prilenskaya, Yanskaya, Indigirskaya, and Kolymskaya groups. The population of Arctic territories accounts for 67,000 people, which is 7.0% of the total population of the republic. Apart from Zhigansky district, where all settlements are located linearly along the Lena River, other territories are characterized by high dispersion of small rural and hard-to-reach settlements (particularly in Verkhoyansky and Srednekolymsky districts). In the Arctic zone of Yakutia, there are large deposits of diamonds, gold, non-ferrous and rare earth metals, coal, hydrocarbons, and mammoth ivory. The mining industry is localized in Anabarsky, Oleneksky, Bulunsky, Verkhoyansky, Ust-Yansky, and Verkhnekolymsky districts. The China-Russia Economic Collaboration
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geological knowledge of the region is low due to the underdevelopment and inaccessibility of many territories, so a complex geological exploration is required. However, even at the current point of geologic certainty, it is evident that the Arctic zone of Yakutia is promising for the identification of deposits of diamonds, rare metals, oil and gas, and coal, primarily in Anabarsky, Oleneksky, and Bulunsky districts. The development of this territory is based on the exploration of the Tomtorsky deposit of rare-earth metals, Pronchishchevsky and Zapadno-Anabarsky areas that are promising for the detection of oil and gas, Taimylyr coal and boghead deposits, and the Laptev Sea shelf. The development of the Ust-Yansky mining and industrial cluster is considered promising due to the exploration of Kuchus gold deposits, tin in Deputatskoye, Churpunya, Odinoky, Kester, and Tirekhtyakh fields, and gold placers in Kularsky ore placer field. The territory is promising for identifying deposits of platinum, copper, uranium, and rare metals (Table 9). Table 9. Priorities of territorial, economic, and infrastructure development in the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia) Spheres
Territorial development
Economy
Infrastructure
Measures 1. Integrated development of the Anabar and Lena basins, development of mineral resource centers 2. Integrated development of Tiksi settlement, including dual-use infrastructure 3. Integrated development of territories in the Yana river basin 4. Integrated development of territories in the Indigirka river basin, ensuring their energy security 5. Integrated development of territories in the Kolyma river basin 6. Development of the scientific, cultural, ethnographic, and expedition tourism cluster 7. Development of the Tomtorsky deposit of rare earth metals 8. Development of alluvial diamond deposits in Anabarsky, Bulunsky, and Oleneksky districts and Verkhne-Munsky diamond deposit 9. Development of the Taimylyr coal deposit 10. Development of the West Anabar oil and mineral resource center 11. Development of solid minerals fields in the Yansk basin, including Kuchus gold deposit, Prognoz silver deposit, and Deputatsky and Tirekhtyakh tin deposits 12. Development of Krasnorechensk coal deposit 13. Production of construction materials based on basalt and building stone deposits in the Indigirka river basin 14. Dredging on the Anabar, Lena, Yana, Indigirka, and Kolyma rivers 15. Reconstruction of the sea port and terminals in Tiksi 16. Construction of power supply and transport infrastructure facilities in the Yana river basin 17. Modernization of Zeleny Mys river port and development of the Zyryansk coal mineral resource center in the Kolyma river basin 18. Establishment of a network of trade and logistics centers to ensure the delivery of fuel, food, and other goods to remote settlements 19. Establishment of an emergency rescue unit and an Arctic crisis management center in Tiksi
Source: Authors’ development based on President of the Russian Federation (2020b) and Head of the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia) (2020)
One of the main problems of the balanced spatial development of Yakutia is the almost complete absence of a year-round land transport system to connect settlements within the Arctic zone, as well as the Arctic zone with other territories of the republic. Transport framework is made up of the Anabar, Lena, Yana, Indigirka, and Kolyma rivers, the NSR section from the mouth of the Lena River to the mouths of other Arctic rivers, Tiksi sea port, three river ports (Zelenomyssky and Nizhneyansky river ports and Belogorsky shipping section), and river berths in Ust-Kuiga, Batagai, Zyryanka, and Yuryung-Khaya. Tiksi is recognized as the base point of infrastructure management in the eastern part of the NSR. The reconstruction of the sea port in Tiksi will ensure Gao & Erokhin
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safe entry of vessels with a draft of up to ten meters and allow to increase cargo turnover up to 300 thousand tons per year, including coal, lumber, equipment, and supply cargo for Arctic territories. Potentially, Tiksi port can turn into a central transport hub in the Arctic Yakutia for servicing export-import traffic on the Lena River and the NSR. The Strategy of Social and Economic Development of the Arctic Zone of the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia) till 2035 (Head of the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia), 2020) schedules dredging operations on the Anabar, Lena, Yana, Indigirka, and Kolyma rivers. The goal is to bring the parameters of inland waterways to the level that provides sufficient capacity for river navigation.
China’s interests in the Arctic: Possible matches with Russia’s approaches to territorial development The fact that China is a non-Arctic country determines the range of national interests in the region, which is somewhat different from that of Russia and other Arctic countries. Having released the White Paper on the Arctic Policy in 2018, China emphasized “climate change, environment, scientific research, utilization of shipping routes, resource exploration and exploitation, security, and global governance” (State Council of the People’s Republic of China, 2018: article II) as priority areas trans-regional and international collaboration in the Arctic. Obviously, the territorial development agenda is not directly addressed in China’s Arctic Strategy, but indirectly it is expressed through such priorities as “deepening the exploration and understanding of the Arctic” (State Council of the People’s Republic of China, 2018: article IV.1) and “utilizing Arctic resources in a lawful and rational manner” (State Council of the People’s Republic of China, 2018: article IV.3). In the sphere of exploration of the Arctic, China specifically encourages the studies on the development of polar equipment in the fields of deep-sea exploration, ice zone prospecting, exploitation of natural resources, renewable energy development, navigation and monitoring in ice zones, and construction of new-type icebreakers (State Council of the People’s Republic of China, 2018: article IV.1). Investigations in such areas as geology and geophysics of mineral resources and geography of Arctic territories are underscored among core multi-disciplinary studies for Chinese enterprises and research institutions to get involved in. Utilization of Arctic resources includes the development of shipping routes in the Arctic Ocean to build the Polar Silk Route, participation in the exploration for and exploitation of oil, gas, mineral and other non-living resources, and cooperation with Arctic countries in developing tourism in the region. China “calls for stronger international cooperation on infrastructure construction and operation of the Arctic routes” (State Council of the People’s Republic of China, 2018: article IV.3.1) and prioritizes infrastructure construction for the Polar Silk Road, navigation security, and hydrographic surveys to improve logistical capacities of the NSR and the Northeast, Northwest, and Central passages. In the sphere of tourism, China “supports and encourages its enterprises to cooperate with Arctic States … and calls for continuous efforts to enhance security, insurance, and rescue systems to ensure the safety of tourists in the Arctic” (State Council of the People’s Republic of China, 2018: article IV.3.4). The White Paper particularly declares every respect to the traditions and cultures of the Arctic residents including the Indigenous peoples, preserving their lifestyles and values, and respecting the efforts made by the Arctic countries to foster social and economic progress in circumpolar territories.
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Chinese enterprises are also encouraged to participate in the exploitation of oil, gas, and mineral resources in the Arctic through cooperation in various forms with residents in the region. As Chinese businesses have been entering many investment projects in the Arctic in recent years, there exist various estimations of and attitudes to China’s role in the territorial development of the region. Russia is so far the biggest recipient of Chinese investment in the Arctic projects. The $27 billion Yamal LNG project (China National Petroleum Corporation (CNPC) – 20% equity stake, Silk Road Fund – 9.9%) was followed by the $25.5-billion Arctic LNG 2, where CNPC and China National Offshore Oil Corporation (CNOOC) took 10% shares each (Daiss, 2019). The two projects are estimated to have an aggregated capacity of over 37 million tons of LNG per year (Humpert, 2019), moving both Russia and China to the top positions in the global LNG market. In 2020, Novatek, Russian operator of both Yamal LNG and Arctic LNG 2, announced the search for investors for its Arctic LNG 3 project, where China is expected to take part. Despite these numbers, Chinese investments in the Russian Arctic still represent a negligible percentage of Russia’s GDP, while those in some Nordic countries are rather substantial (for instance, 11.6% in Greenland and 5.7% in Iceland in 2012-2017) (Auerswald, 2019). Apart from a skyrocketing development of the LNG industry, other projects where Chinese enterprises were expected to participate, have not been that successful. There were plans to attract Chinese investment in the exploration of the continental shelf in the Barents and Pechora seas, as well as to exploit Shtokman gas field and Prirazlomnoe offshore oilfield, but as global oil prices went down in 2015-2016, Rosneft, Russian oil tycoon, suspended those projects. As mentioned earlier, the mega infrastructure projects such as Belkomur railroad and Arkhangelsk deepwater port in which China initially declared its interest (Erokhin & Gao, 2018; Erokhin et al., 2018) have not been launched due to the delays and concerns from the Russian side. The new strategic vision of the territorial development provided by Russian authorities on the federal (the State Policy of the Russian Federation in the Arctic till 2035 and the Strategy for the Development of the Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation and Ensurance of National Security till 2035) and regional levels (the nine regional development strategies) focus the development efforts on the networks of interrelated investment projects (economic clusters). Russia aims to establish favorable conditions for the implementation of large-scale infrastructure projects in its Arctic zone, modernize the existing infrastructure, and create the centers of attraction for foreign investments. Across the nine territories, development priorities include mining and processing of mineral resources, transport, extraction and processing of diamonds, geological survey and exploration, power generation, fishing and agriculture, environmental protection, and tourism. For China, many of Russia’s priorities could be matched with strategic interests in the Arctic as they fit the Polar Silk Road concept (Table 10). New development zones allocated across Russia’s Arctic territories will allow to increase potential cargo base for the NSR and improve the infrastructure connectivity of the Polar Silk Road.
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Table 10. Matches between Russia’s territorial development priorities and China’s interests in the Arctic Russia’s Arctic territories / priorities
China’s priority areas Exploration of the Arctic
Development of shipping routes
Murmansk Oblast Territory Economy 1.6 1.3; 1.4; 1.5 Infrastructure Nenets Autonomous District Territory Economy 2.4 Infrastructure 2.6 Chukotka Autonomous District Territory Economy Infrastructure 3.5; 3.6; 3.7 Yamal-Nenets Autonomous District Territory Economy 4.5 Infrastructure 4.8 Republic of Karelia Territory Economy Infrastructure 5.6 Arkhangelsk Oblast Territory Economy 6.5 Infrastructure 6.7 Komi Republic Territory Economy 7.8 Infrastructure 7.12 Krasnoyarsk Krai Territory Economy Infrastructure 8.9 Republic of Sakha (Yakutia) Territory
Infrastructure construction
Navigation security
9.14; 9.15
Tourism 1.2
1.8; 1.9; 1.10
1.11 2.1; 2.2
2.3
3.1; 3.2
3.3 3.4
4.1 4.4; 4.6 4.10
4.3
2.6; 2.7
3.8; 3.9; 3.10
4.9; 4.11
3.11
4.12
5.1 5.2; 5.3; 5.4
5.5
5.7; 5.8 6.1; 6.2 6.4; 6.6
6.3
7.2; 7.3; 7.4 7.6; 7.7; 7.9
7.5
8.2; 8.3; 8.4 8.6; 8.7; 8.8
8.5
9.1 9.7; 9.8; 9.9; 9.10; 9.11; 9.12; 9.13 9.17
9.6
6.8; 6.9
7.10; 7.11; 7.13
8.10
8.11
Economy Infrastructure
Exploitation of resources
9.16
9.19
Note: Matches are presented in X.YY format, where X – number of table in the text (tables 1-9), YY – number of measure in the respective table.
Source: Authors’ development based on President of the Russian Federation (2020a, 2020b), Governor of Murmansk Oblast (2014), Government of Murmansk Oblast (2013), Assembly of Deputies of Nenets Autonomous District (2019), Government of Chukotka Autonomous District (2014), Legislative Assembly of Yamal-Nenets Autonomous District (2011), Governor of Yamal-Nenets Autonomous District (2018), Government of the Republic of Karelia (2018), Government of the Russian Federation (2020), Assembly of Deputies of Arkhangelsk Oblast (2019), Government of the Komi Republic (2019), Government of Krasnoyarsk Krai (2020), Head of the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia) (2020)
To encourage investment in the Arctic projects, Russia announced a raft of support measures (Petlevoy et al., 2019). New investment projects above RUB 10 million each (nearly $160,000) will
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be granted tax reductions and other preferences. For offshore oil production projects, the mineral extraction tax (MET) rate will be reduced down to 5% within fifteen years depending on the level of oil field depletion. For selected oil fields explored by Rosneft and Neftegazholding, a 0% MET rate will be applied until the depletion reaches 1%. After that, the MET rate will be increased gradually. In addition to lower tax rates, investment projects in the Arctic will be granted other preferences, including non-regression of tax environment and protection in the court, as well as the possibility to attract foreign labor above quotas, conclude concessional agreements without tendering, and receive federal subsidies for the construction of external infrastructure. LNG projects, in which China has been particularly interested so far, will also receive preferences, including the MET exemption for twelve years after the start of production. The governments of the nine Arctic territories will be able to implement additional support measures to incentivize the attraction of investment according to their regional priorities (for instance, zero rates of profit tax, property tax, and land tax). Specifically, the regime will be applied to Novatek’s projects, including Arctic LNG 3, in which China (the Silk Road Fund, CNPC, CNOOC, China Development Bank, or China’s Export-Import Bank) will most definitely get involved.
Conclusion In recent years, Russia’s policy in the Arctic has been undergoing changes, refocusing from an exclusively territorial principle of defining priorities to the implementation of complex multiterritorial projects, the establishment of the advanced development zones, and support of interterritorial industrial clusters. In 2020, along with the expansion of the list of administrative entities that make up the Arctic zone of the country, there started the unification of Arctic strategies of the nine territories among themselves, as well as with an updated body of the Arctic-related documents adopted at the federal level (Foundations of the State Policy of the Russian Federation in the Arctic till 2035, Strategy for the Development of the Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation and Ensurance of National Security till 2035, Plan for the Development of the Northern Sea Route Infrastructure until 2035, and State Program of Social and Economic Development of the Arctic Zone of the Russian Federation till 2024). However, despite all the changes, the main lines of Russia’s vision of the territorial development of the Arctic remain the exploitation of natural resources and the improvement of infrastructure (since recently, external transport infrastructure to increase exports and international transits in the NSR). Such a vision fairly builds into China’s set of priorities for the development of the Arctic as a promising Polar Silk Road corridor between Asia, Russia, and Northern Europe. Although China does not directly outline territorial development among its strategic interests in the Arctic, the similarity of attitudes to economic and infrastructure issues substantially strengthens the basis for Russia-China cooperation in the region. To better align the Polar Silk Road initiative with the NSR and Russia’s priorities for the sustainable development of resources and the transport-trade-economic corridor in the High North, it is necessary to advance from spotty resource projects (Yamal LNG, Arctic 2 LNG, etc.) to comprehensive cooperation to improve the resource base and infrastructure capabilities of the future corridor. As this study shows, in all nine Arctic territories of Russia, it is possible to match Russia’s and China’s interests in such areas as the exploration and exploitation of the Arctic resources, development of marine and river shipping routes, construction of shipping, transport, power supply, and communication infrastructure, improvement of navigation security, and other sectors, such as tourism, fishery, timber industry, and traditional economic activities of indigenous people. Gao & Erokhin
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Acknowledgment The study is supported by the National Key R&D Program of China (project no. 2019YFC1408202), Sino-Russian Cooperation Fund of Harbin Engineering University (project no. 2021HEUCRF007), and Grant of Central Universities of the Ministry of Education of the People’s Republic of China (project no. 3072021CFP0904).
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Section IV: The Economics of Geography
A Geopolitical Outlook on Arctification in Northern Europe: Insights from Tourism, Regional Branding, and Higher Education Institutions Dorothee Bohn & Alix Varnajot
This paper discusses the everyday bordering practices of non- and sub-state actors in the European Arctic through a geopolitical lens. Specifically, we analyse the mechanisms, aims, and effects of how regional development and higher education and research institutions (HER), as well as the tourism sector, in climatically subarctic Fennoscandia, actively reposition themselves as centrally located in the Arctic. We depart from a critical and economic reading of geopolitics, which enquires into the production of territories of wealth, power, security, and belonging. Given the global publicity of the Arctic in media, research, and politics, the region has become an economic opportunity for sparsely populated areas in the European High North. This rescaling towards the global Arctic, also termed Arctification, offers non- and sub-state bodies the possibility to turn a historically deprived peripheral location into a competitive advantage. Hence, the Arctic moves southwards into Fennoscandian provinces that until recently had shown little identification with the region. The soft borders of the Arctic render the region a relational space that can be adapted and reinterpreted according to the interests of different actors. As such, Arctification appears to be a geopolitical process that alters representations of both the Arctic and the Nordic countries, which is nonetheless rooted in the global circuits of contemporary capitalism.
Introduction A defining and widely discussed feature of the Arctic are the region’s ‘fuzzy borderlands’ (Heininen, 2014: 241), located within the jurisdiction of eight nation-states. Research has addressed the dynamism of Arctic borders, for instance in the context of climate change. Diminishing sea ice has enabled the marine operations of a multitude of international players in the region, but this challenges conventional notions of sovereign resource rights of states and law (Shake et al., 2018). Moreover, border concerns are prominent in issues of Arctic governance, such as the clash between Indigenous self-determination and Westphalian state boundaries (Shadian, 2018), post-Cold War cooperation and the establishment of multilateral cross-border institutions (Wilson Rowe, 2018), or the Arctic Council’s shift from territorially defined legitimation to open governance, which allows different states to take on observer roles in the organisation (Ingimundarson, 2014; Koivurova, 2010). Indeed, international interest in the Arctic and the alignment of non-Arctic states with the circumpolar region have dramatically increased over the past two decades and are said to Dorothee Bohn, Department of Geography, Umeå University, Umeå, Sweden; Alix Varnajot, Multidimensional Tourism Institute, University of Lapland, Rovaniemi, Finland.
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be driven by economic, political, and ecological future(s) that are projected within the region (Dodds, 2013; Väätänen & Zimmerbauer, 2020). Against this background, the term ‘global Arctic’ emerged as a reference both to the co-constitution of the Arctic and the global and to the region’s transformation into a platform for international cooperation (Heininen & Finger, 2018). It has been noted that this arena is inherently multiscalar and as such is not limited to nation-state actors and high politics (Stephenson, 2018). At the meso and micro levels there are private enterprises, sub-national bodies, research institutions, and people actively involved in transforming and negotiating the Arctic and its boundaries on an everyday basis (Rumford, 2008; Saarinen & Varnajot, 2019; Timothy et al., 2016). This vantage point has its roots in the focus of contemporary border studies on relational notions of space where borders are conceived as “an active verb – bordering – and a space of struggle where value, rationality, meaning, symbols, and action shape our knowledge and spatial practices” beyond the exclusive realm of sovereign countries (Peña, 2021: 15). Nevertheless, the nation-state dominates as the unit of choice in analyses of circumpolar geopolitics and border dynamics, while most research attention has been devoted to the A5 High Arctic. Climatically subarctic European regions have received far less consideration, although a number of recent studies underscore the growing incorporation of the Arctic in regional domestic matters (e.g. Coates & Holroyd, 2020; Tennberg et al., 2019). Müller and Viken (2017: 288) termed this phenomenon ‘Arctification’, denoting a process of creating “new geographical imaginations of the north of Europe as part of the Arctic and consecutively new social, economic and political relations.” This paper examines these everyday ‘geo-graphing’ or bordering practices of non- and sub-state actors in the European Arctic through a geopolitical lens. Specifically, we analyse the mechanisms, aims, and respective effects of how regional development and higher education and research institutions (HER), as well as the tourism industry, in the Fennoscandian north actively shape the Arctic. While these three sectors are central spheres of contemporary Nordic society and economy (Coates & Holroyd, 2020; Husebekk et al. 2020), scrutiny from geopolitical vantage points has been rather limited. Nevertheless, this perspective not only amends the nation-state predominance within the circumpolar International Relations (IR) and political science literature but also highlights the significance of the service and knowledge-based economy in the Arctic, which are oftentimes overlooked given the region’s vast natural resource reservoirs (Busch, 2021; Mineev et al., 2020). In the remainder, we first introduce the main tenets of geopolitical thought that have permeated Arctic (border) research. We then apply a material reading of geopolitics, as outlined by Moisio (2018) and Väätänen (2021), to the examination of tourism and regional development, plus the research and education sector, in northern Sweden and Finland with the aim of illuminating how the Arctic is put to work and filled with meaning. In our case, geopolitics refers to “the production of territories of wealth, power, security and belonging (…) [including] the conflicts and contradictions entailed therein” (Moisio, 2018: 41) and merges absolute and relational dimensions of space. In other words, the objective of our enquiry is to connect the effects of the political choices – rooted in the social and economic dynamics of capitalism and globalisation – of nonand sub-state actors to the region’s human and non-human environments. As Dodds (2018: 194) reminds us, such analysis of the ‘global Arctic’ is a timely undertaking, given that power geometries can “be reconfigured, reimagined and restored in ways that benefit some people, places, practices, interests, and ideas more than others.” We conclude by discussing our findings in the light of the Bohn & Varnajot
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Arctic in the Anthropocene and the global ecological and economic challenges for local societies that lie ahead.
Arctic geopolitics and shifting borders The Arctic itself is frequently referred to as “a space of and for geopolitics” (Dittmer et al. 2011: 202). As such, geopolitics has been employed as both a theoretical foundation and an empirical object of research. Most examinations within an Arctic context depart from a classical, neo-realist approach to geopolitics, which focuses on nation-states’ interventions in the region driven by security concerns and resource competition, including the race for new shipping routes (Powell & Dodds, 2014). With respect to borders, current geopolitical scholarship particularly emphasises the consequences of geophysical alterations caused by climate change, which manifest due to Arctic amplification being much more severe in the northern hemisphere than elsewhere on the globe (Jayaram et al., 2021). Retreating sea ice and melting glaciers challenge maritime borders and the sovereignty of the littoral Arctic states, while external countries justify their presence in the region with its global commercial, political, and scientific relevance (Strandsbjerg, 2012). Especially critical geopolitics scholarship, which emphasises spatialising discourses, underscores that the region is a space where geopolitics and geoeconomics are deeply intertwined in the global scramble for its resources, yet peaceful interstate cooperation and multiscalar governance outweigh conflict (Busch, 2021). Nilsson (2018) argues that there occurred a shift in the region from a concern for human or national security during the Cold War to retaining peace also for the sake of safeguarding business operations of firms and states. Indeed, in most of the A8 strategy papers, the Arctic is seen as an economic opportunity for sustainable development, and a multi-stakeholder engagement of private, public, and third-sector bodies is favoured (Heininen et al., 2020). Väätänen (2021) exemplifies this in the case of Finland’s endeavours to gain a competitive edge in the global race for the Arctic by highlighting the country’s unique geographical expertise in generating solutions to the region’s problems. The reconfiguration of ‘the Arctic from a global economic periphery to a landscape in which numerous state and non-state actors from within and beyond the region hold a significant stake’ also gives rise to further border dynamics (Stephenson, 2018: 183). Drawing upon critical geopolitics, Väätänen and Zimmerbauer (2020) explore how France and Japan reposition themselves as Arctic countries in order to gain legitimacy in the region. Furthermore, using ice as a geopolitical metaphor, Dodds (2021) elucidates how the thawing and melting of the cryosphere can be understood in tandem with political, economic, and social changes in the region that accompany mobile borders. Regional and nation-state branding is another sphere of geopolitical typesetting that aims to generate a competitive advantage in global capitalism. As a strategic instrument “for the politics of geographical imaginations”, branding is inherently a balancing act between competing narratives on the genuine nature of a spatial entity that might exclude unwanted subjects and thus be a form of bordering (Browning & de Oliveira, 2017: 496). Concerning the audience of branding strategies, international investment and tourism are the prime targets. Particularly the latter is increasingly regarded as a geopolitical force itself with respect to the sector’s power to shape the image of places (Mostafanezhad et al., 2020) and its utility for states to exert territorial influence without official power, as seen in China’s strategy for enhancing tourism in the Arctic (Bennett & Iaquinto, 2021). Although sub-state and commercial bodies are frequently mentioned alongside transnational actors as significant players in the Arctic (Stephenson, 2018), there do not seem to be many geopolitical
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enquiries into how these entities harness the region spatially. In order to fill this gap, we draw upon Moisio’s (2018) aforementioned economic reading of geopolitics in our discussion of tourism, regional development, and higher education and research because this conceptualisation offers a platform for combining structure and agency as well as the representational and the material. In the following section, we first introduce the interrelationships between our three case fields, along with the socioeconomic significance of these fields in the Arctic.
Geo-graphing the Arctic: a geopolitical examination of tourism, regional development, and higher research and education institutions Not only in the Arctic but also in other places, there has been a strong call for “a triangular alliance of government, academia, and private business” as a promising pathway for sustainable regional development (Heininen et al., 2020: 249). Such sentiment has its roots in the governance revolution (Klijn & Koppenjan, 2020) and in the economic shift in Western nations from industrial production to the dominance of the service sector and the knowledge-based economy (Moisio, 2018). The former denotes a wave of public management reforms in OECD countries that were triggered by advancing globalisation, financial crises, and calls for more efficient administrative structures able to absorb growing economic and societal complexities. As such, state power devolved not only to corporate bodies in the form of public-private partnerships, network structures including higher education institutions, NGOs, and civil society, but also to sub-state governments. The knowledgebased economy, as a post-Fordist mode of producing goods and services, represents a fundamental alternation in socioeconomic organisation that is generally rooted in neoliberal political regulation. It is argued that knowledge-intensive capitalism requires a human subject characterised by an entrepreneurial attitude, and is spatially constituted through places, such as technopoles, smart cities, or trans-border regions (Moisio, 2019). HER are crucial in this respect as institutional agents that equip students with the desired enterprising mindset, support regional development, and produce research outputs that are (economically) competitive at a global scale. Yet, given the common view of the Arctic as resource extraction periphery, innovative business activities based on “northern lifestyle and values” are often side-lined in regional reviews (Mineev et al., 2020: 147). Tourism emerged in this context as a vital option in many Nordic regional development strategies due to the sector’s low entry barriers and the possibility to obtain EU funding for exploiting regional assets such as the natural environment (Giordano, 2017). Before the COVID-19 pandemic brought international travel to an abrupt halt, tourism based on the aurora borealis, the cold, snow, nature, and Indigenous culture had been growing significantly in many Arctic regions (Müller & Viken, 2017). Stereotypes and fuzzy borders of a touristic Arctic Although the Arctic is a conglomerate of various biomes, political systems, environments, and cultures (Müller, 2015), in tourism the region seems to always relate to the same images of a cold, white landscape devoid of any human trace (Hall & Saarinen, 2010). In line with this, Saarinen and Varnajot (2019) observed that, whatever the location within the circumpolar North, tourism products and experiences coalesce around identical activities as well, namely snowmobiling, dogsledding, reindeer farm visits, and chasing the northern lights. These Arctic tourism practices resonate with the collective imaginaries forged by outsiders through the media, movies, and popular myths (Fjellestad, 2016) that are, nonetheless, major pull factors for incoming tourists. However, these issues overshadow the reality and diversity of the Arctic region (Rantala et al., 2019), and Bohn & Varnajot
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Arctic tourism appears to be grounded in a stereotypical production of cryospheric elements and an oversimplification of the region’s nature and cultures, both of which are defining components of the Arctification phenomenon (Carson, 2020; Lundmark et al., 2020). In the European North, Arctification has been increasing alongside the rapid growth of tourism in the region and is palpable in the production of Swedish and Finnish Lapland as standardised representations of the Arctic (Müller & Viken, 2017). Given the rise in touristic interest in the Arctic, usually explained by the intensifying public attention to the Arctic (Lundmark et al., 2020) and climate change debates (Hovelsrud et al., 2011), these Arctic core elements have become central to strategic tourism promotion and offer opportunities for economic development. This has resulted in “places and regions using Arctic imaginary [despite] being geographically located south of the Arctic Circle, which is generally regarded as the border of the Arctic region” (TervoKankare & Saarinen, 2020: 58). In this respect, there are several places in northern Finland, located south of the Arctic Circle, that have developed tourism activities grounded in Arctic imaginaries. For instance, in Kemi icebreaker tours are arranged in the frozen Bothnian Bay (Saarinen & Varnajot, 2019), and Oulu hosts a ‘reindeer fair’ every year (Tervo-Kankare & Saarinen, 2020). Similarly, in Sweden, the recently built ‘Arctic Bath’ spa and wellness hotel – situated north of Luleå and south of the Arctic Circle – promotes typical Nordic sauna activities infused with Arctic semantics and imaginaries. Within the fuzzy borderlands of the Arctic (Heininen, 2014), tourism emerges as an interesting point for conceptual discussion. Although the Arctic Circle has often been regarded as the border for Arctic tourism (Varnajot 2019a), Arctification operates as a driving force that shifts opportunities for Arctic tourism experiences and products southwards and, therefore, also pushes the border of the Arctic in tourism southwards. This circumstance gains significance regarding the generally absent historical economic and social identification of northern Sweden and Finland with the Arctic prior to these countries’ membership in the Arctic Council (Keskitalo, 2004). Moreover, these touristic bordering processes are exercised by private and sub-state actors on a rather mundane basis instead of at the level of high politics (Saarinen & Varnajot, 2019). Müller (2021) finds that, even though the travel sector has been acknowledged in the A8 nations’ Arctic strategies as a meaningful economic activity for peripheries in the High North, tourism represents no significant geopolitical tool of statecraft in these documents. Conversely, from the vantage point of critical geopolitics, Arctic tourism discourses, found in texts and illustrations of promotion materials, on websites, or during guided tours, become “political processes of representations, whereby [Nordic] places became [Arctic] destinations laden with multiple but often recurring and similar histories” (Mostafanezhad & Norum, 2016: 226). Therefore, in the northern European context, Arctification offers intriguing grounds for studying the relationship between tourism and popular geopolitics. Popular geopolitics focuses on how popular culture such as films, TV shows, and novels can shape geopolitical discourses (Dittmer & Gray, 2010). As noted above, current popular culture representations of the Arctic (see Fjellestad, 2016) materialise as a set of homogenous tourism experiences and narratives in the Nordic region and are reproduced by tourists in their social media holiday documentation (Varnajot, 2019b). These imaginaries might also shape what Gillen and Mostafanezhad (2019: 71) termed “geopolitical encounters”, which exist “between and among people (hosts and guests or guests and guests), places, objects, and meanings.” With respect to the promotion and development of Fennoscandian places as a touristic Arctic, it might not only be that a clash occurs between hosts’ heterogonous A Geopolitical Outlook on Arctification in Northern Europe
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everyday realities and guests’ stereotyped expectations, but this might also hold material consequences. While a narrow focus on a distinct and highly trend-dependent tourism product renders the possibility for wealth creation, it might worsen seasonality effects and trigger an alteration of labour structures by increasing the reliance upon a mobile and seasonal workforce. Moreover, there arises the danger of reinforcing a vulnerability to economic ‘boom and bust’ cycles that jeopardise regional sustainability and long-term prosperity (Carson, 2020; Carson & Carson, 2017). Regional development, branding, and smart specialisation: the Arctic as a competitive imaginary Within the far-ranging but variegated transformations in Western welfare states from Fordism/Keynesianism to Post-Fordism/Neoliberalism from the 1970s onwards, new governance frameworks emerged (Brenner, 2009). Nordic countries have seen continuous reforms to the administrative apparatus that have multiplied municipalities’ and regions’ responsibilities for social service provision and regional development (Sjöblom. 2020). While the geopolitical authority of city regions has gained research momentum, particularly in the context of the knowledge-based economy (Moisio, 2018), sub-national governments’ attempts at territorial moulding have been examined to a lesser degree. Unlike its Swedish neighbour Norrbotten, Finnish Lapland mobilised and institutionalised its Arctic position for regional development purposes, evidenced particularly in regional branding efforts. The vision of Lapland’s Provincial Programme 2018-2021 states that “in 2021 Lapland will be Arctic, open and smart. We produce sustainable success in the world’s cleanest region” (Hyry et al., 2017: 10, authors’ translation). In the document, particular emphasis is placed on the competitive advantage of jointly utilising resources that are not located within the national state borders, and the strategic position of Lapland as a transport node in the Arctic: Arctic cross-border co-operation in the utilisation of the northern region’s assets guarantees competitiveness in the global market. Lapland has grown into a hub for Arctic transport and an internationally renowned environment for the development of intelligent traffic (Hyry et al., 2017: 9, authors’ translation). This spatial upscaling corresponds to Browning and de Oliveira’s (2017: 496) observation that a common denominator of place-branding activities is “to transform a stigmatized geopolitical location into a more positive one” by presenting the spatial entity as an opportunity providing a gateway or crossroads between different regions. Finnish Lapland has faced all the strains of peripheries caused by socioeconomic restructuring, namely declining primary production, outmigration, dependency on external development funding, and difficulties maintaining public services in sparsely populated areas (Grunfelder et al., 2017). Furthermore, Lapland had previously had marginal political influence in Finland’s national government, but the country’s EU accession in 1995 opened up new possibilities for the region to discard its status as a powerless periphery (Arter, 2001). This window of economic and political opportunity, linked to Lapland’s spatial reimagination as an Arctic and a European player instead of simply a region in Finland, runs as a common thread through the Provincial Programme 2018-2021: It is desired that the active role of Lapland in Arctic policy increase, and it is expected to have a significant impact on the region’s business life and
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competitiveness. In the coming programming period, internationality will be elevated more clearly into the centre of Lapland’s regional development so that Lapland is an Arctic and international success. The aim is to make Lapland the most innovative and entrepreneurial region in the EU’s sparsely populated and circumpolar regions. This will be achieved by bringing together Lapland’s actors to build the province’s role as an international actor and to commit to securing Lapland’s economic development in structural change. The Arctic is an integral part of the internationally known Lapland brand (Hyry et al., 2017: 16, authors’ translation). In order to substantiate Lapland’s ‘spatial socialization’ (Paasi, 2010) economically, the region has also placed the Arctic front and centre in its smart specialisation programme, ‘Arctic Smartness’. Smart specialisation (S3) denotes a place-based policy approach that aims to promote competitiveness through bottom-up mobilisation of territorial assets, technological innovation, and entrepreneurship. Establishing an S3 framework has been a precondition for European regions’ eligibility for EU Structural and Investment Funds during the 2014-2020 programme period. Lapland’s S3 programme has gained some research momentum, and is generally perceived as a success in terms of local actors’ improved inclusion in extra-regional networks and access to international R&D funding (Morales & Sariego-Kluge, 2021). However, in their study, Ghinoi et al. (2021) conclude that Lapland’s S3 implementation lacks currently effective stakeholder networks that would expedite diversified specialisation as well as actual entrepreneurial discovery activities and significant business diversification. Indeed, like the strategies of most of the other northern European regions, it is built around the exploitation of natural assets. However, the geopolitical caveat of Lapland’s S3 strategy is that it aims to transcend its hard administrative regional borders – the standard scale for most of the EU’s S3 programmes – in order to employ the Arctic’s fuzzy borders. In the document, the Arctic is portrayed as “one of the cleanest and best-preserved places on earth but facing yet many dynamic and complex changes… In addition to challenges, global changes bring great potential” (Arcticsmartness.eu, n.d.). This vantage point taps into the common future-oriented geopolitical conception of the Arctic as a territory of economic opportunity (Busch, 2021). Hence, the strategic aim is to tie the natural and cultural resources of the Arctic hinterlands, under the banner of sustainable growth, into the flow of capital accumulation and wealth creation. Related to this, Lapland’s spatial socialisation aims to spur an entrepreneurial society that strongly associates itself with the Arctic instead of merely with Finland. Education and research institutions: producing knowledge of and for the Arctic Research played a decisive role in institutionalising the Arctic with respect to rendering “descriptive authority” on which policy-makers could build their (geopolitical) agendas (Keskitalo, 2004: 166). In these pre-Arctic Council times, region-specific research typically focused on environmental matters due to the growing ecological awareness of Western nations, as well as on the region’s Indigenous communities. In the late 1990s, the Arctic Council commissioned a feasibility project for establishing an Arctic university, which was officially inaugurated in 2001 and today consists of a decentralised network of HER around the globe that offer programmes, courses, and academic exchange (University of the Arctic, 2021). The geopolitical underpinning of the UArctic is particularly evident in the organisation’s Strategic Plan 2030:
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The Arctic is where we see the strongest impacts of the climate change today. While the Arctic has just a fraction of a percent of the world’s population, it contributes nearly 20% of many globally important resources such as minerals, energy, fish, freshwater, and the most pristine nature, which illustrates its interdependence with the rest of the globe. The Arctic is a vital region for the world, and UArctic has a key role in ensuring that those outside the region understand northern realities. …Southern solutions are often ill-suited to the northern experience. UArctic works for the people in the Arctic; that they have a central role in defining the future of the region, and have sufficient knowledge and capacity to do so (UArctic, n.d.: 1). The University of the Arctic justifies its legitimacy and power by referring to the universal significance of the Arctic as a concern for the whole globe, where climate and natural resources denote a geopolitical top priority. By emphasising the exceptionalism of the Arctic, the organisation charts out its unique ability to speak ‘truth’ for and on the behalf of its inhabitants, as well as its capacity for crafting solutions available to northerners in the form of support for policy and “knowledge-based decision-making” (UArctic, n.d.: 6). Yet, such bordering practice leaves one wondering where the ‘South’ begins: Is it in Helsinki or Stockholm, Brussels, Bologna, Paris, or Dubai? The document clarifies this question by pointing out the region’s relational character and stating that “northern or Arctic is more often about [the] attitude than latitude of the location” (UArctic, n.d.: 1). The University of Oulu, located below the Arctic Circle, makes use of this relational association with the region as well. The university chose ‘Science with Arctic Attitude’ as its mission slogan, and on its website highlights its geographical proximity to the Arctic as a duty as well as a competitive advantage in international knowledge production: We are situated close to the Arctic region, humanity’s new frontier. As one of the Northernmost international science universities, we have a particular responsibility toward questions related to the Arctic. The Arctic area is changing, and it affects to the future of the whole globe. We at the University of Oulu, are in the front line searching for solutions to the global challenges of Arctic and relieving the effects of changes (University of Oulu, n.d.). On the one hand, these statements of how HER position themselves in the Arctic illustrate the geopolitical tensions enmeshed in “determining in practice which issues are relevant for an ‘Arctic region’ and which actors are entitled to speak on ‘the Arctic’” (Keskitalo, 2004: 104). On the other hand, the strong emphasis on the global challenges around the Arctic might outweigh local perspectives and aspects that are relevant for societies in the Arctic. Nevertheless, a few smaller institutions dedicated to Indigenous Arctic perspectives can be found across the circumpolar North. Located in Kautokeino, the Sámi University of Applied Sciences was founded “as a result of the needs of the Sámi society for higher education and research in order to safeguard and further [develop] the Sámi language, culture, land, and traditional ways of living” (SUAS, n.d.). Similarly, although not situated in Europe, the recently reorganised Yukon University has developed strong links with local First Nations in both the organisation of courses and the management of the university (Yukon University, n.d.). Yet, Junka-Aikio (2019) points out that the recent upsurge in attention to Indigenous studies – which has also ensured additional research funding – is coupled to global processes, namely the Arctification of the Nordic political economy and the neoliberalisation of academia.
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Globalisation is also at play in the networked nature of HER institutions in the circumpolar North. Moisio (2018: 87) underscores that regional network formation among HER is characteristic in the knowledge-based economy, where these webs represent “nodes or sites of globalization” and a “decisive strategic-political infrastructure of competitiveness” in global value chains. In addition to the UArctic organisation, the northernmost universities of Finland (the Universities of Oulu and Lapland), Sweden (Umeå University and Luleå Technical University), and Norway (University of Tromsø) together form the ‘Arctic Five’ network. According to Husebekk et al. (2020), this structure is a capacity-building response to the common demographic challenges of northern peripheries. The fuzzy Arctic borders make it possible to cooperate across hard national borders while still offering a unifying image – the Arctic. Moreover, the Arctic bestows on these universities a space for upscaling the significance of their research outputs to the global level. For instance, Umeå University in Sweden has been conducting circumpolar research for three decades. Since 2012 the university has hosted the Arctic Research Centre Arcum, which unites scholars from various departments across the university and produces knowledge on a wide range of Arctic topics, such as climate change, culture and history, tourism, geopolitics, economy, health and wellbeing, law, and natural resources and energy (Umeå University, n.d.). Framing empirical work on Nordic issues as ‘Arctic’ is beneficial for researchers in terms of internationalisation and obtaining research funding (Müller & Sköld, 2021). In addition, hosting the International Congress of Arctic Social Sciences in June 2017 “further [contributed] to creating relations between Umeå and a wider Arctic discourse” (Müller, 2021: 77) in academic spheres. Scientific Arctification has benefited some fields such as Sámi studies (Junka-Aikio, 2019), connected researchers intra- and extraregionally, and elevated local research concerns to issues of global significance (Husebekk et al., 2020). Broad-focused research centres like Arcum might also introduce additional perspectives on the region that amend the dominant discourse on the Arctic as a pristine natural environment and Indigenous cultural space. While the latter might be perceived to be for the good of the Arctic, it also locks the region into a rather restraining and homogenous representation. However, given the increasing dependence of HER on external funding, which is allotted by decision-making centres that are often located outside the Arctic and driven by agendas revolving around international relevance and competitiveness, disciplines and fields that generate no measurable economic yield might be existentially threatened. Thus, accelerating neoliberalisation – also tangible in governmental pressure on universities to define distinct research profiles – might redefine the territory of academic belonging towards market viability as its main criteria, while research that is locally important in the Arctic but fails to attract a global audience might vanish.
Discussion and conclusions Drawing upon a critical and economic reading of geopolitics, this review unearthed Arctification processes advanced by non- and sub-state actors in the Fennoscandian North. Prior to the countries becoming members of the Arctic Council, the northernmost regions of Finland and Sweden did not exhibit a strong economic and social identification with the Arctic (Keskitalo, 2004). Yet, given the global attention in the region fuelled by media reports, last-chance travel, and climate change awareness, the Arctic has become an opportunity for sparsely populated areas in the European High North to capitalise on the region’s future prospects (Väätänen, 2021) and turn a historically deprived peripheral location into a competitive advantage. Sub-state entities, HER, and the tourism sector actively reposition themselves as centrally located in the Arctic. This
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relational approach to space, coupled with the fuzzy Arctic borders, is instrumental in transcending administrative hard borders in order to extend territories of wealth, power, and belonging. In many places and regions located both south and north of the Arctic Circle, the tourism sector draws upon stereotypical Arctic imaginaries in the production of signature experiences such as dogsledding, aurora borealis tours, reindeer safaris, and overnight stays in glass igloos for international markets (Saarinen & Varnajot, 2019). These products were highly successful before the COVID-19 pandemic severely disrupted international travel. Nevertheless, touristic Arctification often promotes a static vision of the Arctic, overlooking the diversity and dynamic nature of the region, which in turn can negatively affect host communities with respect to tourists’ expectations of an uninhabited frontier that awaits discovery (Rantala, et al., 2019). The narrow product portfolio on winter- and cryospheric-based tourism also amplifies seasonality effects and increases the reliance upon a mobile and temporary workforce, while the serial reproduction of an identical tourism infrastructure across the Arctic region reinforces the vulnerability to boom and bust cycles (Carson & Carson, 2017). Taken together, these spatial development processes undermine the universally proclaimed goal of tourism to bring sustainable employment and growth to peripheries. Additionally, the international travel restrictions accompanying policies for curbing the spread of COVID-19 unearthed the volatility of human mobility-based sectors like tourism when wealth accumulation clashes with biosecurity and previously invisible borders suddenly become impermeable for leisure travellers. At the sub-national level, Lapland incorporated the Arctic into regional development efforts as a competitive geopolitical imaginary. The Finnish region presents itself in branding and smart specialisation strategies as being centrally located in the Arctic. These spatial socialisation attempts are directed both at an extra-regional audience by displaying to the world that Lapland provides access to the Arctic region and at its own society, which should develop an entrepreneurial mindset. With respect to the S3 programme, research has found that Lapland focuses on the utilisation of natural resources instead of promoting more diversified innovation (Ghinoi et al., 2021). Hence, the strategic aim is to appear as a legitimate Arctic player with the power to tie the natural and cultural resources of the northern hinterlands into the flow of capital accumulation. HER institutions not only constitute societally important stakeholders in the Arctic but are also actively engaged in shaping the region in geopolitical terms. At its foundation lies the local-global dichotomy to which the Arctic is tied. On the one hand, global interest in the region and academic Arctification have helped local issues of a formerly insignificant northern periphery to be presented as Arctic topics, which are of global concern. On the other hand, however, global neoliberalism entails downsides when regional universities are dependent on grants from extra-regional funding bodies that decide what is worthwhile to study and what is important for the Arctic. This in turn influences what is known about the region (e.g. Carey, 2007), how its peoples are portrayed (e.g. Saarinen, 1999), and what kinds of evidence-based policies are pursued. The fuzzy, soft borders of the Arctic render the region a relational space that can be adapted and reinterpreted according to the interests of different actors. As such, Arctification appears to be an everyday geopolitical geo-graphing process that alters representations of both the Arctic and the Nordic countries and is exercised with material, economic ends in mind. Furthermore, the Arctic “is caught up in an assembly of cultural, political, literary, economic and strategic registers and interests” (Dodds, 2021: 1141). Thus, building on Dodds’s argument, not only does the process of Arctification have implications for representations of the Arctic; it also has direct outcomes on Bohn & Varnajot
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regional geopolitical developments. Examining the everyday geopolitics of sub-national and nonstate bodies is especially crucial when sectors, such as tourism, are depicted in apolitical terms. As our review has shown, regional development authorities, tourism, and HER organisations engage in space-making, which is a deeply political process. Regarding future research on the production of territories of wealth, power, security, and belonging, a critical variable entails the bordering practices between the inclusion and exclusion of people and discourses, as well as the regimes of truth that they together constitute. In an Arctic context, this could be translated into the enquiry of the geopolitics of sustainability that goes along with soft borders, the age of neoliberal capitalism in which responsibilities are passed down to the individual level, and a shrinking cryosphere. What will the future of the Arctic – a white, wild, cold, and always snowy space – be like when glaciers further retreat, lakes barely freeze over the winter, and snow begins falling later in the winter and melts earlier in the spring? What are the ecological and social consequences of Arctification in a post-Arctic context (Varnajot & Saarinen, 2021), and what will the geopolitical ramifications be?
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A Picture is Worth [More Than] a Thousand Words: Visualizing Local and Tourist Perceptions of Greenland through Social Media Photo Mapping Tracy Michaud, Colleen Metcalf & Matthew Bampton
The old adage “a picture is worth a thousand words” is apt when examining social media photo posts. The Volunteered Geographic Information (VGI) embedded within social media photos from online sites such as Flickr provides depths of information for tourism managers beyond the image itself. This research analyzes Flickr VGI from photos of Kalaallit Nunaat or Greenland, from 2004-2020 within a netnography framework and cultural geographic approach. This theoretical outlook argues that geo-visualizations create novel impressions of what tourists and local people value, give insights into how people perceive a destination, and influence sense of place. Greenlanders, although familiar with exploration and colonization, have only recently begun to deal with a growing number of tourists. While the tenants of responsible tourism management include a strong local voice in conversations on tourism development, results show Flickr images of Greenland are dominated by tourist photos, especially those in cruise ship ports, many likely taken from the ship. Furthermore there appears to be distinctly different photo patterns between locals and visitors. These dichotomies suggest the need for more conversation within broader tourism planning work around how the world “sees” Greenland, how it might affect the quality of life of locals, and sustainable tourism development for travelers. As visitation increases in Greenland, and in Polar regions in general, VGI provides an efficient, cost-effective way to visualize perceptions of various stakeholders, which can guide conversations in tourism management, and serve as a reminder to acknowledge and prioritize local voices.
Introduction Volunteered Geographic Information (VGI) and “Big Data” The old adage “a picture is worth a thousand words” is apt when examining patterns of social media photo posts within a location, but not in the way one might think. A single picture captured by a tourist’s camera and posted on a public social media platform, such as Flickr, provides depths of information beyond the image itself. The Volunteered Geographic Information (VGI) embedded within social media photos can indicate exactly where a photo is taken and where the Tracy Michaud is an Assistant Professor of Tourism and Hospitality in the Tourism and Hospitality Program at the University of Southern Maine, Portland, Maine, USA and Lecturer at Reykjavik University, Business Administration Department, Reykjavik, Iceland. Colleen Metcalf is a Geography undergraduate student in the GeographyAnthropology Department at the University of Southern Maine, Portland, Maine, USA. Matthew Bampton is a Professor of Geography in the Geography-Anthropology Department at the University of Southern Maine, Portland, Maine, USA.
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photo taker is from. VGI is defined as voluntarily generated geo-spatial content produced by online users (Goodchild, 2007) and is increasingly used to assess consumer behavior and tourism’s impact in a destination. VGI can be aggregated into “big data” involving sets of sometimes millions of data points. This type of data is now regularly used by data analytic companies and researchers, allowing the analysis of large amounts of very detailed and specific information (McAfee & Brynjolfsson, 2012; Safegraph, 2021). Recent research has shown that VGI from social media sites such as Flickr produces accurate and significant patterns of tourist movement (Ding & Hongchao, 2019; Donaire et al., 2014; Elwood et al., 2013; Flanagin & Metzger, 2008; Girardin et al., 2008; Kadar, 2014; Wood et al. 2013; Zhen et al., 2017), even in rural places with smaller datasets (Michaud et al., 2021). When mapped, VGI from online photos can show where tourists move on the landscape through time (Cao et al., 2010; 2012; Runge et al., 2020) and can be compared to patterns of local populations. There has been little use of VGI data analysis in the Arctic to look at visitor movement and the patterns of various users on the landscape (Leung, et al., 2013; Runge et al., 2020). Runge et al. (2020) uses Flickr photos to show increases and changes in tourist distribution through time in the Arctic. The research in this paper builds on and contributes to this type of work by analyzing VGI from images of Greenland on Flickr from 2004-2020 guided by a netnography methodology within a cultural geographic framework. This theoretical approach suggests that visualizations create novel impressions of what tourists and locals value and gives insights into how people perceive a destination, which ultimately influences sense of place. The goal of the research in this paper is to uncover patterns through time of where and how visitors take and share photos of Greenland, in order to show who is influencing the way the outside world “sees” Greenland. This information can help guide conversations in tourism management. Tourist photographs and social media Photographic pictures verify a person’s presence at a distinct time and place (Hillman, 2007) and have been used to document aspects of life from the mundane to the extraordinary for almost two centuries. One aspect that photos have become intricately linked with is travel and tourism (Cedarholm, 2004; Chalfen, 1979; Gretzel, 2017; Jenkins 2003; Lo et al., 2011). Photographs are used to market destinations (Cedarholm, 2004; Jenkins, 2003), create souvenirs, and capture memories of travel (Berger et al., 2007). Tourists take photos to create records of their visit. It is proof they consumed an experience (Garrod, 2009; Jenkins, 2003; Kadar, 2014; Larsen, 2006; Urry, 1990). The act of taking photographs is recognized a part of the tourist experience and has been studied from numerous host/guest perspectives over the years (Chalfen, 1979; Garrod, 2008; Jenkins, 2003; MacCannell, 2001, Urry & Larsen, 2011). Jenkins (2003) shows that photos by tourists and those from iconic destinations inform and influence one another. “Tourist photos are a very relevant indicator of the perceived image of a destination” (Donaire et al., 2014: 32). They give insights into how different groups of people reflect a destination and ultimately influence and inform how the place itself is defined (Chalfen, 1979; Garrod, 2009; Urry, 1990). Widespread access to new technologies such as digital cameras, smart phones, free WIFI, and photo apps, coupled with the extensive popularity of social media, have made the taking and sharing pictures and videos easy, and photo sharing has increased dramatically in the last two decades (Dinhopl & Gretzel, 2015; Donaire et al. 2014). In the past, photos taken by a non-digital camera needed to complete a relatively lengthy and expensive process by experts before results
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were seen by anyone, today it is mere seconds before digital images can be taken, reviewed, edited and shared with everyone. This had led to an explosion of documentation of everyday life through social media images, as well as much more detailed travel imagery (Donaire et al., 2014; Lo et al., 2011). The trend toward the dominance of user-generated, visual content over professional textual content on the web has been noted through time (Buhalis & Law, 2008; Du et al., 2020; Hays et al., 2013; Munar et al., 2013; Munar & Jacobsen, 2014; Volo, 2010) and visual online content is considered a new channel for the creation and public consumption of meaning in tourism experiences (Munar & Jacobsen, 2014). Participatory culture, especially among millennials, has enabled and encouraged tourists to instantly share their travel experiences on social media platforms (Du et al., 2020) and this sharing activity influences the perceptions and experience of a place (Shanks and Svabo, 2013). Du et al.’s (2020) research in China has shown how TikTok, an online video sharing platform, has increasingly played a role in shaping tourist behavior and destination image. In theoretical discussions of the post-tourism world (Jansson, 2018), the expansion of these web-based social media platforms reinforces and accelerates the dynamic of explorers finding and sharing unique, untouched, and authentic experiences, which due to their visiting, ultimately leads to the erosion of the pristine places, extraordinary experiences, and unique identities they were seeking in the first place (Jansson, 2007; Tribe & Mkono, 2017). This conundrum is a real risk to emerging destinations in the Arctic. Starting when people are just dreaming of travel on platforms such as Pinterest (Gretzel, 2021), researchers agree that social media strongly influences knowledge creation, tourism culture, and how tourists interact with a destination (Amsdorffer et al., 2012; Chalkiti & Sigala, 2008; Dinhopl & Gretzel, 2015; Paris, 2012; Zeng & Gerritsen, 2014). The growing influence of social media on how destinations are constructed, viewed and appropriated means that the connection between user generated content and commercial interests (booking systems, hotels, tour operators, accommodation sharing sites, and other hospitality services) is increasing (Frith, 2017; Jansson, 2018; Månsson, 2011; Tribe & Mkono, 2017; van der Hoeven, 2017). These commercial interests (Stiphas, 2015; Van Dijck & Poell, 2013) rarely have social issues, such as a community well-being, at the center of their logic. As tourists increasingly contextualize their experiences through messages communicated by commercial-focused social media with user-generated content (Du et al., 2020; Gretzel, 2021; Jansson, 2002), understanding who is creating the content and where they are creating it matters more than ever for the communities involved in emerging destinations. While content analysis and immersive exploration of social media images and videos (Du et al., 2020; Gretzel, 2021) has been ongoing, there is valuable social information to be gained beyond the image. Cao et al. (2012,) argue that the act of geotagging digital photos is a recommendation in and of itself for that destination. The visual power of photographs can be harnessed in maps of geo-tagged photos to create new ways to investigate what tourists and locals’ value within a destination, and how the world sees and understands the place. Social media VGI provides handsoff, publicly accessible, immediate data that is increasingly important in a world where a global pandemic can restrict access to in-person data collection techniques. For these reasons, Flickr.com, an online photo sharing site, with a strong research literature showing it can act as a proxy for tourist and local movement and behavior, was chosen as the photo source for this analysis (GarcíaPalomares et al., 2015; Girardin et al., 2008; Kadar, 2014; Runge et al., 2020).
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Cultural geography, sense of place, and quality of life As tourism is by nature geographic, the value in using a social geographic lens to research tourism management issues is recognized. Tourism occurs in a place, and involves movement between spaces, which has been viewed in the past as something different than mundane life (Carr, 2002; Graburn, 1989; Larsen et al., 2006; Jennings & Nickerson, 2006). While recent research argues that the boundaries between tourism and everyday life experiences is becoming more porous due to modern technology (Chang & Gibson, 2011; Du et al., 2020; Jansson, 2002; Jansson, 2018; Larsen 2008; Ribeiro & Yarnal, 2008), it is still useful to understand the tourism experience within a geographic framework. Social geography focuses on human society and its relationship to space, in particular how society determines and structures space and how spatial conditions influence societies (Hall, 2013). Cultural geography is a subset of social geography, viewing tourism not as an isolated activity but one that is part of a broader life or culture. At the center of this paper’s analysis is a cultural geography theoretical perspective, the concept that tourism not only consumes a place, but also contributes to and constructs a sense of place at a destination (Aitchison, 2006; Larsen et al., 2006; MacCannell, 2001). By studying local and visitor perceptions of Greenland through social media, this work builds on research unveiling the blurring of boundaries between tourism and mundane life. Sense of place is a label that tries to capture the relationship between a spatial setting and people’s feeling or perception they have about the place (Agnew & Duncan, 1989; Altman & Low, 1992; Tuan, 2013). Sense of place is directly related to the concept of quality of life. Quality of life is composed of an individual’s perception of their health, comfort, and happiness within the context of their cultural position in life, and argued by researchers to be affected (positively and negatively) by tourism (Adanan et al., 2010; Kim et al., 2013; Steenholdt & Chimirri, 2018). While tourism researchers have shown that quality of life might improve with the income and infrastructure tourism brings to a community, there are equal long-running concerns that Indigenous cultures are losing (or have lost) their sense of place due to influences like tourism and climate change (Basso, 1996). This can potentially reduce their quality of life. Both factors are distinctly at play in the Arctic. As places like Greenland become more focused on developing tourism and climate change makes the place more accessible, making sure the impacts of any changes are understood and guided by Greenlanders, in order to preserve their sense of place, if that is what they want. These conversations are important in maintaining or improving quality of life for local communities, and vital for the tourism industry itself as it recognizes an increasing interest from travelers around minimizing not just their negative environmental impact but their cultural impact as well (Runge et al., 2020; Visit Greenland, 2021). Some research on local and visitor perceptions of place has focused on ways perceptions are similar, for instance, Munoz et al. (2019) shows that local and visitor values of protected landscapes in Norway overlap. Munro et al. (2017) indicate that while maritime areas often have contested values associated with different groups of people, in the Kimberly, Australia coastal region, residents and non-residents were more alike in their values and management preferences than not. However, it was noted there still could be differences in policy priorities between the groups. Other research shows stronger differences between where locals and visitors are found within a destination. For instance, Dongying et al. (2018) studied urban tourists in ten US cities through mapping Flickr VGI and concluded that tourists tended to cluster around city centers and locals were more dispersed
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throughout the city. There has been scant research in the Arctic looking at local and visitor patterns and perceptions through social media VGI, and this research aims to begin to fill this gap. Arctic tourism For several decades the Arctic has been undergoing significant changes in environment, culture and economy, straining an already stressed human and economic environment (Nuttall & Callaghan, 2000; Stewart & Draper 2009). Arctic tourism’s visibility has rapidly increased (Maher, 2017; Saarinen & Varnajot, 2019), helped by the proliferation of striking social media images of wild and frozen landscapes (Runge et al., 2020). The Arctic as a destination has been studied from various scales and viewpoints through time. Stewart et al. (2017) compiles the research into eight themes: development, management, experience, global change, governance, impact, community, and reviews (Ciaputa & Salwicka, 1997; Davis, 1998; Enzenbacher, 1994; Johnston, 1998; Kaltenborn, 2000; Kaltenborn & Emmelin, 1993; Mason, 1997; Mason & Mowforth, 1996; Scott, 2001; Smith, 1994; Splettstoesser & Folks, 1994; Storehouse, 1990). The dominant sub-theme is managing cruise tourism, as that is the most popular mode of transport for tourists to polar regions, and has long been connected to environmental and cultural issues in the Arctic and beyond (Bertram et al., 2008; Hall et al., 2010; Huijbens, 2015; Lamers & Pashkevich, 2015; Lasserre & Têtu, 2015; Lynch et al., 2010; Stewart & Draper, 2009; Wright, 2008). Bystrowska and Dawson (2017) argue that Arctic cruise itineraries have significant impact in creating tourism destinations and diversifying tourism space throughout the Arctic. Their research creates a typology of perceived values of a tourism destination and shows that decisions on choosing a cruise ship destination is based primarily on sailing conditions, shipping logistics, and perceived risks, with social factors (and hence impact on local communities) less important. Integrated management strategies of cruise tourism in the Arctic are suggested in order to make development more socially equitable and environmentally responsible to local communities (Stewart & Draper, 2009). Previous research has also noted that the images of the Arctic are often dominated by outsider photos of unpopulated natural areas (Saarinen & Varnajot, 2019). The way the Arctic is marketed creates a set of expectations for tourists as visiting a frozen, empty, and wild place (Buhalis, 2000; Runge et al., 2020). These images influence local and regional tourism development objectives and policy. As social media becomes a strong marketing tool, what photos, who is posting them, and where, should raise questions on how this changes the sense of place and quality of life for those living in increasingly urban environments in the Arctic. There needs to be more research focused on cultural sensitivity, taking into account local community voice and local perspectives in Arctic tourism and polar research in general (Kaján, 2013; Lemelin et al., 2012; Stewart & Draper, 2009; Stewart et al., 2011; Stewart et al., 2015; Runge et al., 2020). Stewart et al. (2017) suggests conducting research in changing tourism demand, understanding new polar actors, governance and regulation, global change, and the influence of new technology in tourism management. Saarinen & Varnajot (2019) argue that acknowledging alternative views and diversity around the concept of Arctic tourism, outside those externally constructed views and perceptions of the region as cold, harsh, wild and empty, could produce positive development paths that better serve increasingly urbanbased Arctic communities. The research in this paper contributes to this work through photosharing technology that allows new comparisons of external and internal “view” points, laying the groundwork for conversations about perceptions of place and tourism management.
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Greenland as an emerging tourism destination Greenland is the largest island in the world. Most of the island is under an icecap with few roads and airports connecting settlements along the coast. With a population around 56,000, it has the smallest density of people of any country. Greenland has self-rule under the Kingdom of Denmark. Eighty percent of Greenlanders are of Inuit decent, the rest are mostly Danish. Most have public jobs in municipalities and government, followed by hunting (seal, whale, reindeer, and musk ox), fishing (prawn, mackerel, cod, and halibut) and agriculture (sheep and tame reindeer). Fishing dominates the economy, with tourism and mining also contributing significantly. Many Greenlanders maintain a subsistence lifestyle, and are more likely to own boats than cars. They are increasingly urbanizing with 60% of the population now living in the five largest towns (Statistics Greenland, 2021). Greenlanders, although familiar with exploration and colonization, have only recently began to deal with a growing number of tourists. Primarily driven by climate change, tourism in Greenland has increased since the 1990s despite the often harsh weather conditions, expense, extreme isolation of communities, and lack of tourism infrastructure. Spectacular scenery and wildlife and lower-cost cruises and other accommodations has led to bucket list tourism or “Last Chance Tourism” growing in the polar regions (Eijgelaar et al., 2010; Lamers, 2009; Lemelin et al., 2012; Runge et al., 2020; Stewart et al., 2017). In Greenland, like other places in the Arctic, tourism development has been undertaken as a way to diversify and build the economy (Johnston, 2011). It is viewed as a viable alternative to direct natural resource extraction options such as fishing and mining (Nuttall, 2008; Ren & Chimirri, 2018). Greenland has looked to neighboring Iceland for models, lessons, and perhaps warnings, on tourism development following Iceland’s dramatic increase of mass tourism in little over a decade (Government of Iceland, 2020; Ren & Chimirri, 2018). Unlike Iceland, tourism growth has been tempered by the fact that Greenland has had only one major passenger airport in Kangerlussuaq, few roads, and a general lack of accessibility compared to other nearby destinations (Kaae, 2006). However this is likely to change as infrastructure and airports are updated and built (Runge et al., 2020). Sustainability issues for the environment and local cultures is a concern and something recognized as important to address during the tourism development process (Government of Iceland, 2020). Controlling “Arctification” has been discussed. This refers to the changes in social, economic, and political relations from tourism processes in the Arctic due to experiences like a temporary concentration of tourists in popular attractions, leading some local communities to experience over-tourism and potentially decrease their sense of place (Lundmark, 2020). Like other polar destinations, cruise ships are the way a majority of tourists visit Greenland (Eijgelaar et al., 2010). Before 2020, when the COVID-19 pandemic essentially stopped tourism around the world, cruise passengers to Greenland rose relatively steadily between 2004 to 2019, from just over 15,000 to just over 45,000 (Statistics Greenland, 2021). During 2008-2019, international flight passengers in Greenland totaled 70,000-90,000 annually (Statbank Greenland, 2021), making cruise ship passengers an increasing proportion of international visitors to Greenland (see Figure 1).
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Figure 1. Cruise Ship passengers from 2004-2020 in Greenland (Statistics Greenland, 2021).
Cruise passengers in Greenland 50000 40000 30000 20000 10000 0 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018 2019 2020
Visiting a place from a cruise ship or an airplane (almost all visitor excursions into the center of Greenland is by plane), could provide an extremely different perception of the place from Greenlanders who live there. Since photos and other visualizations influence how the place itself is defined by the outside world (Runge et al., 2020) and tourism growth influences Arctic landscapes and culture, mapping and analyzing VGI from social media photographs of Greenland on Flickr by locals and tourists from 2004-2020 allows a direct assessment of who dominates the images of Greenland that the world sees. This research looks at where photos are taken, how, and by whom, in order to develop groundwork for discussions on local sense place, quality of life, control, and how this interacts with tourism development (Runge et al., 2020).
Methodology This research is connected to the netnography framework, which refers to qualitative ethnographic methods used to gain deeper cultural understand from the web, social media and digital apps, including the “big data” that online communities such as Flickr generate (Kozinets, 2015; 2020b). While initially used in marketing research, it is beginning to be applied to other industries and in eTourism research (Gretzel, 2017; Kozinets, 2020a; Tavakoli, 2018; Whalen 2018). The research in this paper is guided by the investigative netnography methodology, which involves the ethical, systematic collection of existing digital data (Kozinets, 2020b) in order to begin the investigation of the social and cultural meaning of the data, in this case through geo-visualizations of Flickr VGI in Greenland. VGI from social media photos offers researchers increased granularity when studying peoples’ interactions with their environment (Bugs et al., 2010; Li et al., 2018; Liu et al., 2015). These photos are considered a modern form of public communication as people are intentionally posting their information (Girardin et al., 2008). While Flickr is not as large as other social media platforms such as Instagram and Facebook, Flickr VGI is free, relatively easy to access, and is publicly available unlike other platforms (Kadar, 2014). Research shows that social media users tend to be younger, better educated, and earn higher incomes than those that do not (DiMinin et al., 2015; Li et al., 2013; Lo et al., 2011; Nov & Ye, 2010). Flickr users in particular are usually well-travelled and tech savvy, and Flickr is used by more professional photographers than other photo sharing platforms (Girardin et al., 2008). Despite this specific demographic, most research indicates that Flickr activity acts as a reliable proxy for visitor activity, providing significant information on broader travel
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patterns and consumer behavior (Heikinheimo et al., 2017; Michaud et al., 2021; Runge et al., 2020; Wood et al., 2013). Locational data from social media posts in past studies indicate representative and accurate movement patterns of both tourists and local populations in a destination (Ding & Hongchao, 2019; Elwood et al., 2013; Flanagin & Metzger, 2008; Zhen et al., 2017). A strong correlation has been shown between the number of tourists visiting a destination and the number of photos taken, with several studies accurately estimating the levels of visitation from Flickr photo data comparative to other sources such as survey and travel logs (Kadar, 2014; Levin et al., 2015; Wood et al., 2013). Heikinheimo et al. (2017) and Wood et al. (2013) argue that social media user origins generally correspond to information about visitor origins from other sources as well. Flickr data has been shown to be an accurate representation of movement patterns of visitors from different countries (Gao et al., 2017; Jiang et al., 2015; Lansley & Longley, 2016; Lloyd & Chesirer, 2017). Ding & Hongchao’s (2019) discussion of Flickr photos in London indicates a 97% accuracy of geolocation information from photos tagged to landmark buildings. Chen et al. (2019) argues high densities of Flickr photo posts reflect a consensual view that the aspect being photographed is of interest (Hu et al., 2015) or valued by visitors. The research in this paper builds on these previous conclusions that social media activity, namely Flickr photo posts, can act as a proxy for human behavior within tourism management studies, making it a relevant dataset to use within the methodology. The specific methods for retrieving the data are discussed below. Flickr VGI VGI data was gathered from the Flickr API on April 25, 2021. Geotagged photos of Greenland from January 1, 2004 to December 31, 2020 were downloaded as this represented all the photos available on Flickr up to that point and provides 16 years of evidence to set baseline patterns for future analysis. The metadata from Flickr photos were obtained from the Flickr Application Programming Interface (API). Flickr is a photo sharing site with over 100 million unique users posting tens of billions of photos annually (Flicker.com, 2021). The Flickr API allows users to interact with its database to pull or manage data for free. To interact with the API, software was downloaded from the Python Package Index. Flickrapi is an open source python interface for the Flickr API (Stuvel, 2018). The flickr.photos.search function allows researchers to search for publicly shared photos. Geographical bounding boxes were chosen to encompass all of Greenland and the ocean surrounding it for 80 kilometers. This was to capture images of Greenland taken on nearby boats and ships. Attributes selected include accuracy, latitude, longitude, owner (Flickr user ID), date taken, title, and tags. The initial data set contained 26,910 photos and 711 users. The data was further processed to remove photos outside the selected boarder and eliminate duplicate photos to reduce contribution bias. Duplicate photos were defined as photos that have the same owner, latitude, and longitude. Note that in 2020, during the COVID-19 pandemic when there were global travel restrictions, there was only one photo of Greenland posted on Flickr, so the vast majority of photographs in this dataset were posted before the pandemic, representative of “normal” travel years. One well-established technique to identify the origin of a Flickr user involves the retrieving of the user’s self-identified location from their profile (Girardin et al., 2008; Li et al., 2017; Liu et al., 2018). Once a user’s location is determined, (Flickr.people.getinfo), users can be separated into categories for further study. During the analysis of local versus tourist photo location densities,
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photos that did not have a user identified location were dropped from the dataset. Users were then categorized by Greenlandic resident (local) and non-resident (tourist). After all these data cleaning processes were instituted, the data had 9,361 photos and 302 geo-tagged users. Density-based spatial clustering maps and graphs of various groups of Flickr photos in Greenland were created and analyzed to indicate where the highest clusters of photos were located. Next, tags of Greenlandic Flickr photos were analyzed. “Tagged” photos are a unique phenomenon in online information sharing. They are comprised of two types, the geotag and the user tag. Geotags are latitude and longitude coordinates that are attached to a photo, usually by a device at the time the photo was taken. With the correct settings enabled, the geotagging process can be automated and achieved with little to no effort from the user. Other tags are chosen and added by the user. They are terms or keywords that mark the photo’s content with meaningful descriptions (Deng et al., 2014). Flickr users upload and tag photos with the intent to share information publicly. A study of motivations found that public photo tagging was ranked as the most important motivation for using Flickr (Nov & Ye, 2010). The action of attaching tags to photographs is a direct communication from the user and assigns meaning and context to the objects and places in the photo (Deng et al., 2014). When a place or attraction is tagged by many users with similar interests, it is assumed they are semantically related (Wu et al., 2006). The consensus of Flickr user tags enables a deeper meaning of a place to be derived. The most popular tags attached to photographs are related to photo subjects, content, time, components, and places (Deng et al., 2014). In this study, geotags and user tags are used to indicate the mode the photo was taken whether it be on land, in the air, or from the water. The process of grouping the Greenlandic Flickr photos to land, water and air was complex as sometimes geotags were right on the edge of water and land, or user tags indicated something different than the geotag. When the tag was not definitive, it was labeled as “unclassified” and added to the land group. Figure 2: Density Map of Flickr photos in Greenland 2004-2020 (26,910 photos from 711 users).
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Results Flickr photo posts from 2004 to 2020 are found in the highest densities along the south coasts of Greenland, although there are photos in the interior and a number out to sea. Figure 2 (above) is a density map of Flickr photos, with orange and red circles indicating “hotspots” or the areas of highest densities. The results show two distinct hotspots of Flickr photos in Greenland from 2004 to 2020 in Qaqortog and Ilulissat, both popular tourist areas on the southwest coast. Figure 3 (below) represents photos posted only by visitors (Flickr users whose origins were outside Greenland). This map shows the same pattern as Figure 2 likely due to the fact that photos by tourists in Greenland from 2004 to 2020 encompass 99.5% of the total Flickr photos dataset (9309 out of 9361). Hotspots in the density maps indicate areas of highest photo density in Qaqortog, the largest cruise ship port in Greenland, and Ilulissat or Disko Bay, another popular cruise ship port and UNESCO World Heritage Site. Figure 3: Density Map of Visitor Flickr Photos in Greenland 2004-2020 (9309 photos from 297 geotagged users).
In Greenland, there was found to be a strong correlation between tourist Flickr photo VGI locations and cruise ship ports. Figure 4 shows the relationship between high densities of cruise ships (larger black dots) and high densities of Flickr photos (yellow, orange, and red circles).
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Figure 4: Map of 2004-2020 visitor Flickr photo densities overlaid with scheduled cruise ship visits for 2021. Note the largest black dots represent places with the most scheduled cruise ship visits in 2021. These cruise ship locations correlate to the largest densities of Flickr activity (yellow, orange, red).
It is important to note the small amount of Flickr photos posted by local Greenlanders from 20042020 with only 52 photos and 5 users. With such a small dataset (representing .5% of the total photos posted) those images are not definitively representative of broader photo posting patterns of Greenlanders on social media. However, in terms of Flickr users, Figure 5 suggests that there might be different hotspots of Greenlanders when compared to tourists, with areas of highest photo density around Qeqertaq, Sisimuit, and Nuuk. The latter two are the largest communities in Greenland, where a large percentage of the population lives. This is different from the nature-based cruise ship locations tourists are photographing and posting on Flickr. Figure 5: Density map of local Flickr photos in Greenland 2004-2020 (52 photos and 5 users). Red/orange hotspots indicate areas of highest photo density in Qeqertaq, Sisimuit, and Nuuk.
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When both geo-tags and user tags of the Flickr photos are analyzed, this provides more understanding in how people are likely experiencing the place. The brown dots in Figure 6 represent 394 photos from 2004-2020 in Greenland tagged to flights including “air, sky, airplane, plane, flight, fly” tags; the blue dots represent 5,199 photos from 2004-2020 geotagged to water; the green dots represent 3,588 photos from 2004-2020 geotagged to land and not user-tagged to “flights”, as well as the 165 photos from 2004-2020 unclassified. Of the 9,346 photos from 20042020, 40% are from land/unclassified, 56% water, 4% air, showing photos from water dominate the dataset. Note all interior photos of Greenland are taken from the air. Figure 6: Flickr photos of Greenland from 2004-2020 tagged from air, water, land/unassigned
When the percentage of land, water, and air photos are further categorized by locals and tourists, their patterns are once again different. See Figure 7 for comparison pie charts. For visitors to Greenland from 2004-2020, 56% posted Flickr photos from water, 4% from the air, and 40% from land. For locals, only 23% posted from water, 0% from the air, and 77% from land. Even though the local photos are a small percentage of the total Flickr photos, where local people live on land make up most of the local photos, whereas the data shows that the view from the water, likely from cruise ships, dominates tourist photos and hence the overall photos of Greenland. Figure 7: Tourists and local Flickr photo tag percentages from water, air, land in Greenland 2004-2020 Flickr Photo tags (Water, Air, Land) from Greenland Tourists 2004-2020
Flickr Photo tags (Water, Air, Land) 23%
40%
0%
56% 77%
4% Water
Air
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To further investigate the impact of cruise tourism on images posted by tourists, Figure 8 compares the distribution and density of Flickr photo posts in Greenland through time, from 2004-2012 with 1814 photos to 2013-2020 with 7532 photos. The overall number of photo posts increase dramatically through time and photo density hotspots move to cruise ship destinations Qaqortaq and Ilulisat. Of note is the more dispersed overall distribution of photos along the south coast in the 2013-2020 map. This is in contrast to the 2004-2012 map which had more photos in the northern regions of Greenland and less dispersion of photos along the south coast. This movement is in line with research conducted by Runge et al. (2020), indicating an increasingly wider distribution pattern of tourists throughout the Arctic, with photo densities strongly connected to cruise ship landings. It also supports previous photo maps in this research (Figure 6) indicating the large amount of photos taken from water are likely from cruise ships (Figure 4). Figure 8: Flickr Photo Densities in Greenland from 2004-2012 Compared to 2013-2020. Note a changing pattern to higher densities and more widespread along the south coast correlated to cruise ship routes.
Discussion Geo-visualizations of the overall Flickr VGI suggest that local Greenlanders have a strikingly different photo posting pattern than Greenlandic tourists, with photos in more urban areas, where most Greenlanders live, not in the nature-based tourist destinations. Another pattern revealed in the data is the high percentage of tourist photos coming from places not on land, likely cruise ships and airplanes. While the correlation between cruise ship landings and Flickr photo densities might not be surprising, what is interesting from the tag analysis was the large amount of total visitor photographs specifically taken from the water (56%). This percentage again differs from local Flickr users who mostly post photos from land (77%). This could mean that Greenlanders, known to spend much time on the water hunting and fishing, don’t have time or the inclination to take pictures and post to Flickr while working. It is highly likely that locals value the maritime perspective, but perhaps not in the same way as tourists using the Flickr platform. Unlike destinations where tourists have most of their time exploring on land, the lack of land-based infrastructure sets the tourist experience apart from the local living experience, setting the stage for tourists to potentially miss the cultural, community, and more urban aspects of Greenlandic life
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that is becoming more common in lieu of the wild, empty, natural aspects of this destination. For instance, hunting and fishing on the water is a distinct part of life for many Greenlanders that might be overshadowed by images of icebergs and casually observed maritime wildlife by tourists on cruise ships. This could be determined to be a positive tourism development direction (keep the tourists in the nature-based tourist areas viewing wildlife from afar) or not (integrate local cultural understanding into the tourist experience so they learn more about hunting wildlife for subsistence and life in more urban villages) depending on the goals and wishes of Greenlanders to preserve and protect their sense of place. The dichotomy shown in the data between tourist photos from water and air and local photos from land is something Greenlanders need to discuss as part of shaping how tourism develops and grows in tandem with their everyday life. The 52 Flickr photos from Greenlanders represent less than 1% of total Flickr photos from 20042020, therefor definitive conclusions cannot be made on local perceptions of Greenland based on this small dataset. However, the fact that the number of local Flickr photo posts is so small shows that tourist images in Greenland almost completely dominates the Flickr platform, indicating a likely domination of the outsider’s images and hence perceptions of Greenland on other social media platforms as well. Since visitor behavior can be significantly shifted due to social media content, polices that affect local quality of life can be implemented to serve visitors above locals, which might pose issues. As the blurring between travel and mundane life occurs, the disparate but dominant tourist perception could disproportionately end up shaping the lives and culture of Greenlanders. Understanding implications of social media photo posting trends and their potential effects on Greenlandic sense of place, is not only important to discussing how to preserve and improve local quality of life, but also because issues of tourism’s impact on cultures are becoming more important to travelers as well, with many cruise ships starting to incorporate some aspect of cultural understanding in their excursions. Seeing how visitor’s social media photo posts of Greenland compare to local patterns is useful in pointing out where visitor perceptions might be dominating in order to remind tourism managers that discussions on sustainable tourism must be inclusive. Local voices should be involved in assessing “image” and perception dichotomies, if they are acceptable, and if not, what to do about it. Since images themselves strongly influence sense of place within a destination, and social media can immediately influence how visitors interact with a destination, this research supports the strengthening of the local voice in framing the conversation around how the world “sees” Greenland.
Future research and conclusions By analyzing the location of Flickr photo densities in Greenland of tourists through time and comparing them to local patterns, dominances and dichotomies were uncovered that should be researched further. To start, what do Greenlanders take pictures of and how does this inform their perception of their homeland? While the thousands of Flickr tourist photos in the dataset created a good sense of how they perceive Greenland (nature-based landscapes viewed from cruise ships), future work needs to be done creating geo-visualizations from other types of social media that Greenlanders might participate in more, to investigate local Greenlander’s perceptions of place more in depth, and to see if the patterns suggested from Flickr VGI, are similar. Future research should also compare the percentages of local and visitor Flickr posts from other destinations in the North Atlantic and Arctic to see if tourist photos dominate to the extent they do in Greenland,
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and if not, why? Finally, while this research was investigative in nature, a more immersive data collection strategy could add additional relevant information about sense of place through in depth content analysis of the Flickr images and interviews with users (Whalen, 2018). As visitation is poised to increase in Greenland, a cultural geography approach within a netnography methodology, using publicly available social media photo VGI is useful. VGI from photos posted on Flickr provides an efficient, cost-effective way to rapidly visualize perceptions of and interactions with the landscape of various people (locals and visitors) and can be accomplished remotely if need be. These pictures from Flickr (and the geo-locational data they hold) are worth more than a thousand words in this conversation on responsible tourism development in Greenland and other emerging tourism destinations in the Arctic.
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Defining the Limitations and Opportunities in the Consultation with the Sámi: The Cases of the Arctic Railway and the Davvi Vindpark Inker-Anni Sara, Torkel Rasmussen & Roy Krøvel
The results of this study point to a number of limitations in the consultation with the Sámi, such as incomplete information, lack of transparency and the failure of governments to build relationships based on trust with the Sámi. The article discusses limitations and opportunities of consulting Indigenous peoples based on two cases, the Arctic Railway and Davvi Vindpark. It builds on the analysis of news articles from the Sámi unit of the Finnish national broadcasting company as well as “memory-work.” Additionally, the findings of this study seem to indicate that the limitations to consultation and participation of Indigenous peoples persist even after signing international agreements such as the ILO Convention No. 169. In the conclusions, we also point to some opportunities for consultation and greater participation found in the investigation.
Introduction In this article, we discuss limitations and opportunities of consulting the Sámi in relation to the planning of the Arctic Railway and Davvi Vindpark, and the role of the Sámi media in relation to the consultation with the Sámi. The aim is to better understand the limitations and opportunities based on the two case studies. Additionally, we wish to explore the differences between Norway and Finland based on the fact that Norway has signed the ILO Convention No. 169. Finally, we discuss the role of the Sámi media in covering the consultation with the Sámi. The Arctic Railway is planned to be built from the city of Rovaniemi in Finland to the city of Kirkonjárga/Kirkenes in northern Norway. The construction of the Davvi Vindpark in northern Norway would require an area of 63 square kilometers and over 100 kilometers of service road networks. The Arctic Railway would connect the Arctic regions to the Northeast Passage. Climate change causing the melting of continental ice is expected to open up new sea routes, which would shorten transportation from Asia to Europe by 40%. According to the original plans, Davvi Vindpark, Inker-Anni Sara is an Associate Professor at Sámi University of Applied Sciences. Torkel Rasmussen is an Associate Professor at Sámi University of Applied Sciences. Roy Krøvel is a Professor at Oslo Metropolitan University.
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with a total of 231 windmills, was planned to be built in the municipalities of Davvisiida/Lebesby and Deatnu/Tana in Finnmark, Norway. Due to local resistance, they also withdrew from Deatnu/Tana later. The article draws on the concepts of “consultation” and “participation” of Indigenous peoples to examine how the consultation between Indigenous Sámi people, authorities and developers is actually realized, focusing on Finland and Norway. As previous studies on Indigenous journalism demonstrate, Indigenous media play an important role in reporting on matters important for the Sámi and acting as a watchdog. The Sámi Parliaments of Finland and Norway are the highest representative bodies of the Sámi people with which authorities shall negotiate “in all far-reaching and important measures.” The Act on the Sámi Parliament of Finland (974/1995) and its provision 6 provide that “In matters pertaining to its tasks, the Sámi Parliament shall represent the Sámi in national and international connections.” It is a similar formulation in the Norwegian law on the Sámi parliament (1987: 56 § 2.1.) stating: “The business of the Sámi parliament is any matter that in the view of the parliament particularly affects the Sami people.” The Sámi parliament may on its own initiative raise and pronounce an opinion on any matter coming within the scope of its business. It may also, on its own initiative, refer matters to public authorities and private institutions, etc. In 2005 the Sámi Parliament in Norway and the Norwegian Government (2005), agreed upon consultation procedures that apply to governments, ministries, directorates and other governmental bodies. The procedures are supposed to be followed in cases that could directly affect Sámi’s interests. In February 2021, the government proposed to include procedures for consultations with the Sámi Parliament in Norwegian law, as a section of the Law on the Sámi Parliament (Ministry of Local Government and Modernisation, 2021). The proposal was accepted by the Norwegian parliament in June 2021. The investigation comprises three phases of research. First, it builds on the limitations and opportunities in the consultation with Indigenous peoples as described by Sara (2018). During the second phase, news articles about the Arctic Railway plan produced by Yle Sápmi were analyzed to map how seven types of limitations and seven types of opportunities in the consultation with the Sámi were reflected in the news articles. This resulted in a need to move to a third phase of research deepening the understanding of limitations and opportunities in the consultation with the Sámi by investigating the case of the Davvi Vindpark power plant in Norway. This led author Inker-Anni Sara to interview her colleague and co-author of the article, Associate Professor Torkel Rasmussen, about his observations based on his involvement in an association opposing the Davvi Vindpark project. The research design in the second phase of the research was guided by the following research questions: RQ1:
What do the news articles and the memory work reveal about the limitations and opportunities concerning Indigenous consultation and the role of the Sámi media in informing the Sámi on the planning of the Arctic Railway and Davvi Vindpark?
Setting out to investigate RQ1 led us to ask more questions related to the consultation process and especially those aspects that were not necessarily covered by the news media. We followed up by reconstructing key aspects of a parallel consultation process with great importance for Sámi living
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in neighboring Norway. We expected to find better consultation procedures in Norway as Norway has ratified ILO Convention No. 169, concerning Indigenous and Tribal Peoples in Independent Countries, which Finland on the contrary has not ratified. RQ2:
Did the fact that Norway has ratified the ILO Convention No. 169 concerning Indigenous and Tribal Peoples in Independent Countries, provide the Sámi in Norway with better opportunities for extended participation in the consultation than Sámi people in Finland?
Background of the study At its meeting on May 2021, the Council of Lapland returned the Northern Lapland regional land use plan including the Arctic Railway for re-preparation. The first indications about plans for an “Arctic Railway” came in 2012 when a Finnish-Norwegian working group recommended the construction of a railway from the city of Rovaniemi in Finland to the city of Kirkenes in Norway. In 2013, the Finnish Government launched Finland’s Arctic Strategy including the Arctic Railway plan intended to evaluate alternative routes for the railway. In 2017, the Regional Council of Lapland initiated the process of Lapland’s regional land use plan, including the railway project. In March 2018, the Ministry of Transport and Communications of Finland announced the final route to be built from the city of Rovaniemi Finland to the city of Kirkenes in Norway. In May 2018, three separate Finnish-Norwegian working groups were established to clarify the preconditions for the Arctic Railway construction and e.g. its funding options, global impacts and the impacts on Sámi culture and reindeer herding. In January 2019, the Finnish Norwegian working group concluded that the Arctic Railway project is not profitable. Still, the Regional Council of Lapland initiated hearings on the railway construction in the affected municipalities and voted for the inclusion of the Arctic Railway in the Lapland’ regional land use plan. Moreover, a well-known Finnish businessman continued to plan the Arctic Railway. The planning of the Davvi Vindpark has been running since at least 2008, however, NRK Sápmi reported on it for the first time before Christmas in 2016. In 2018, Ságat Sámi newspaper revealed a secret plan between Grenselandet AS and municipalities. Some Sámi and Norwegian activists opposing the wind power plan organized the first meeting to resist the plan in 2019. Afterwards, this activist group established an association to oppose the Davvi Vinpark power plant, and allied for example with a Norwegian social movement “MotVind” which organizes resistance against Wind Power Plants and opposes wind power policy on a national level, arguing that it destroys nature and wildlife, and that Norway already produces enough electricity for its own consumption. Davvi Vinpark is planned to cover 78 square kilometers with 120 kilometers of new gravel roads. The Davvi Vindpark wind power plant would produce 6.3 times the amount of electricity as the infamous dam on the Alta-Guovdageaidnu River in Northern Norway.
Consultation and participation As consultation and participation are the key elements of ILO 169, governments concerned are required to initiate consultation of Indigenous peoples in order to achieve consensus in decisionmaking that may affect Indigenous communities. Consultation should ensure that the
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governments concerned shall negotiate “in good faith” with the affected Indigenous peoples (Handbook for ILO Tripartite Constituents, 2013: 6, 11-19). To implement the land rights of Indigenous peoples, ILO 169 sets out four requirements for consultation: “a participation obligation, an extended consultation obligation, a benefit-sharing obligation and a compensation obligation” (Ravna, 2015). The UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples aims to protect Indigenous rights by seeking free, prior, and informed consent of Indigenous peoples whenever administrative or legislative measures are taken that may affect Indigenous communities (Anaya & Puig, 2017). In the Nordic countries, the consultation obligation is based on international law (Allard, 2018). For example, the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) guarantees the effective participation of the Sámi (Scheinin, 2000). Although the Constitution and other laws including the ILO Convention No. 169 protect the rights of the Sámi, earlier research reveals various shortcomings related to consultation with the Sámi, for example the lack of information and not starting consultation early enough to have an impact on the planning of a project (Sara, 2018).
Matters of land use Conflicts related to the planning of development projects often escalate due to a lack of information and create tension, as consultations are not initiated early enough with the affected communities (Sara, 2018). In the Nenets Autonomous Okrug, Russia, oil suppliers did not consult with the affected Reindeer Herding farm early enough (Meschtyp et al., 2005). The consultation of the First Nations in Northern Saskatchewan, Canada, on water governance lacked information, resulting in a lack of trust against the Canadian government (Lemoine & Patrick, 2014). In Bolivia, Latin America, those Indigenous groups who opposed other government projects were excluded from the consultation meetings on the reform of the forest legislation (Hirsh, 2017). A Norwegian study demonstrated that in environmental policy making on reindeer pastoralism power was unevenly distributed between the Ministry of Agriculture and Food and the Reindeer Herding Association of Norway (Ulvevadet & Hausner, 2011). In the case of Stihken, in Västerbotten Sweden, the Sámi Reindeer Herding Cooperative was excluded from hearings related to wind power development (Lawrence, 2014). In the case of Storuman and Vilhelmina in Sweden, the negotiations with the forest industry were merely discussions for Sámi reindeer herders with no real influence on logging (Keskitalo et al., 2014). In Kvalsund and Guovdageaidnu in Norway, “vague legislation” and financial interests overcame the influence of the Sámi in the consultation related to the extractive industry (Nygaard, 2016). In Canada, the unclear division of roles and responsibilities between government and developers produced a lack of transparency since the government placed the consultation obligation on developers (Udofia et al., 2017).
The role of journalism and news media in fostering participation The role of the news media is considered important for the function of democracy, for example freedom of speech (Hanitzsch & Vos, 2018: 149). A free press is supposed to protect civil rights from abuse of power by informing citizens about the actions of political actors (Scammell & Semetko, 2018). Moreover, journalism is seen as a prerequisite for democracy enabling citizen participation in policy processes (Deuze & Witsche, 2018: 168). The role of the media in providing information may encourage people to exchange views and engage in public debate and policy-
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making (Konieczna & Powers, 2016: 14). However, “in a high choice media environment” some may be more informed than others and have a better understanding of what effective participation is thus creating inequality in opportunities to affect policy making (Van Aelst et al., 2017: 19).
Methods This investigation employs the flexible approach of social exploratory research. According to Schutt, (2018), social exploratory research “seeks to find out how people get along in the setting under question... The goal is to learn ‘what is going on here?’” We started from earlier research on the limitations and opportunities in Indigenous consultation in a Sámi context (Sara, 2018). The second phase of the research was to take these types of limitations and opportunities as the starting point for investigating Yle Sápmi’s news coverage on the Arctic Railway plan in the period 20132020. We expected the investigation of the Finnish national broadcasting company to shed light on the role of the news media in relation to Indigenous consultation. Still, we wanted to move beyond the media analysis to investigate consultation from the Sámi grassroots perspective. For this purpose, we selected the case of the Davvi Vindpark because news reports revealed that the developers had planned wind turbines in a Sámi area for eight years without involving the Sámi Parliament of Norway. Some Sámi were only involved when the Sámi media revealed that the plans existed. We realized that the amount of news coverage was much smaller than in the case from Finland. This second phase led to new questions, which we explored through exploratory interviews with Associate Professor in Journalism Torkel Rasmussen. In accordance with Tuhiwai Smith (2007: 75) “the two activities of activism and research connect the visions, aspirations and needs of Indigenous communities.” Rasmussen was uniquely placed to reconstruct the history of Indigenous consultation and participation for several reasons. Firstly, Rasmussen is a first-hand source to the experiences of Sámi participants. Secondly, Rasmussen knew where to locate documents and archives to reconstruct the process in a way few outsiders could have achieved. Thirdly, as a researcher of media and journalism, Rasmussen could provide a unique inside account of the interaction of Indigenous participation and process, and media coverage. The “memory-work” was done as a dialogue between Sara and Rasmussen, with Sara writing down the memories of Rasmussen as the discussion moved between memory and consultation of documents (Onyx & Small, 2001). Following established Indigenous research methodology, the knowledge holder (Torkel Rasmussen) is credited as co-author of this article. Rasmussen has additionally been an active contributor to the analysis and writing process. The questions posed in this phase led him to further interrogate archives, including digital archives, emails, Facebook and Messenger communication, meetings minutes and hearing statements to reconstruct the story of consultation and Indigenous participation (Larsen, 2021). The analysis both in the second and third phases is based on thematic content analysis applying the limitations and opportunities for participation in the consultation with Indigenous peoples (Sara, 2018). The nine types of limitations are: 1) Consultations too late in the process; 2) Selective stakeholder participation; 3) The creation of long-standing relationships; 4) Lack of transparency of the procedures; 5) Lack of information for participants; 6) A shared understanding was missing; 7) Lacking free, prior, and informed consent and the right to say “no”; 8) Unclear roles and responsibilities; and 9) Traditional knowledge not considered legitimate. The five types of
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opportunities are: 1) Binding legislation; 2) Provisions for litigation and appeals; 3) Networking and building long-standing mutually beneficial relationships; 4) Awareness of one’s Indigenous rights; and 5) Traditional knowledge considered legitimate.
Analysis: Limitations and opportunities in the consultation with the Sámi The analysis of the research data on the planning of the Arctic Railway and Davvi Vindpark showed a lack of transparency and several shortcomings in the consultation with the Sámi in Finland and Norway during the process. Early consultations The research data addressed the initiation of consultation at an early stage in both cases. Despite the obligation to consult, the consultation of the Sámi on the planned Arctic Railway was not initiated well in advance. The planning process has been ongoing since at least 2013, and negotiations including several other actors have taken place over years. The Ministry of Transport and Communications of Finland negotiated for the first time with the Sámi Parliament of Finland, in January 2018. In addition to the lack of early consultations, Indigenous peoples are often not consulted at all. In the Nenets Autonomous Okrug, Russia, the Nenets reindeer herders were not engaged in the consultation related to oil shipping early enough (Meschtyp et al., 2005). In the case of Davvi Vindpark, the consultation was not initiated at an early stage. The planning of Davvi Vindpark has lasted since 2008, but the Sámi Parliament of Norway has not been consulted so far. It took at least eight years for wind power developers to initiate negotiations with right holders such as reindeer herding districts and the landowner FeFo. Grenselandet AS did provide prior information to the Sámi Parliament of Norway regarding the permit application for the construction to be submitted to the Norwegian authorities. This application has been submitted but the process is on hold and a time limit for processing has not been set. Until 2021, the Sámi Parliament of Norway did not have an official role to play in the consultation on the planning of development projects under Norwegian law. It is important to study the coverage of the Sámi media regarding the consultation of the Sámi, since a free press is supposed to help uphold civil rights and protect against abuse of power by informing citizens about the actions of political leaders (Scammell & Semetko 2018). The role of the media and journalism is seen as a prerequisite for democracy facilitating citizen participation in policy processes (Deuze & Witsche 2018, 168). Selective stakeholder participation The research data indicated selective stakeholder participation. Much had happened in the planning in 2012–2018 and many other actors as the Finnish Government, ministers, other leading politicians, regional authorities, municipalities, and the business sectors of Finland and Norway were involved in it. The Finnish-Norwegian working group had recommended the construction of the Railway, Finland’s Arctic strategy including the railway plan was launched, the different route options were explored and Lapland’s regional land use plan was initiated. The Sámi Parliaments of Finland and Norway, the Sámi communities and the Reindeer Herding Cooperatives were excluded from the planning process for at least five years. When the final track for the railway was selected in March 2018, the Sámi Parliament of Finland was denied access.
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The research data on the planning of Davvi Vindpark indicated selective stakeholder participation. The three owners of Grenselandet AS, St1, VindKraft Nord and Ny Energi have been planning Davvi Vindpark since 2008. The Sámi Parliament of Norway has been consulted before the company started the impact assessment. The municipalities of Davvisiida/Lebesby, Poršaŋgu/Porsanger and Deatnu/Tana, the four affected reindeer herding districts with usufruct and FeFo as the landowner have been involved in the negotiations. However, the Sámi Parliament of Norway and other Sámi communities have been excluded from the negotiations. The developers did a terrain survey in the area including the reindeer herding districts, municipalities, county municipality and county governor. Earlier research on Indigenous consultation also indicates selective stakeholder participation. Research from Bolivia reveals that some Indigenous groups have been excluded from the consultation on the Forest legislation reform (Hirsch, 2017). The creation of long-standing relationships In the case of the Arctic Railway, the Government of Finland’s actions lacked in creating longlasting relationships with the Sámi Parliament of Finland, because the affected Sámi communities were not engaged in the consultation well in advance. The Sámi Parliament of Finland had to request negotiations several times. Previous research shows that the Norwegian government is not interested in establishing a long-standing relationship based on equality with the Sámi people. In Norway, environmental policy making regarding reindeer pastures reflected the unbalanced power relations between the parties (Ulvavedet & Hausner, 2011). In the case of Davvi Vindpark, the actions of Grenselandet AS lacked in creating long-standing relationships with the Sámi Parliament of Norway. The developers excluded the Sámi Parliament of Norway from the consultation on the planning of the Davvi Vindpark project. Grenselandet AS contacted the Sámi Parliament and asked for a meeting with its political leadership. In its reply, the Sámi Parliament of Norway demanded that all Sámi right holders and stakeholders should be involved in negotiations. However, the developers never succeeded in organizing the meeting. Transparency of the procedures According to the data, the consultation process on the Arctic Railway project lacked transparency. A lack of trust was created, when the Ministry of Transport and Communications of Finland stated that such a great railway plan would not be realistic to implement. However, only two months later the final route for the railway track was announced by the Ministry. A previous study demonstrates similar results from Finland: “The loose legal requirements for consultation and the lack of a substantive binding regulation” created a lack of transparency, because Metsähallitus did not determine the rules of negotiations in advance” (Raitio, 2012: 314). The case of Davvi Vindpark reveals a lack of transparency as VindKraft Nord did invite three affected municipalities Lebesby, Porsanger and Tana to negotiations while the Sámi Parliament of Norway was denied access. Developers desired to keep the negotiations secret and none of the municipalities recorded VindKraft Nord’s letter of invitation in the public diary. The result was that the media had difficulties receiving information both beforehand and after the meeting. However, Ságat Sámi newspaper was able to cover the secret negotiations the wind power developers wanted to conceal.
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Lack of information The data about the planning of the Arctic Railway revealed how a lack of information was a problem during the follow-up investigations carried out by the Finnish-Norwegian working groups. A Sámi member of one working group claimed that the working group did not function well since the opinions of the Sámi were not reflected in the report. Moreover, the document translations were not available in a timely manner. Free and open news media is a cornerstone of democracy. The news media is expected to produce reliable information, and to cover a multiplicity of views (Hanitzsch & Vos, 2018: 148). Along the same lines, scholars as well as most news media adhere to the normative view that media should try to report on voices otherwise excluded from policy- making. In the case of the Davvi Vindpark, the research data addressed lacking information. The developers did not begin to inform the Sámi right holders and stakeholders at an early stage. The planning of the wind park had been going on for years. Moreover, the developers had already decided to apply for permission from the authority to build the wind plant before contacting the various parties. Other studies regarding Indigenous consultation also highlight lack of information as a major hindrance. The case of water governance in Northern Saskatchewan, Canada showed that the lack of information led to a lack of trust against the Canadian government (Lemone & Patrick, 2014). A shared understanding was missing The data demonstrated that a shared understanding of the consultation process related to the Arctic Railway project, between those promoting the railway and those resisting it, was missing. The Minister of the Transport and Communications of Finland stated that the ministry had negotiated with the Sámi Parliament as the law obligates. The Sámi Parliament claimed that the Sámi were not consulted early enough. In 2018, the Sámi Parliament of Finland claimed that the Sámi concerns such as the impact assessment remained unresolved in the follow-up investigations. In the case of Davvi Vindpark, the Sámi perceptions of nature and the company’s views are far apart. The developers have stated that the area is well suited for wind power because there are no people living there. The Sámi reindeer herders claim that the area is important for reindeer herding and some state that these mountains are sacred according to the Sámi world view. In the summer heat, when there are a lot of mosquitoes, the reindeer gets to cool off and rest in the high mountains. For the Sámi, areas more than 50 kilometers away from their homes, the sea, the forest, the river and the tundra are also important for fishing and hunting. Something that developers do not understand. Also earlier studies from Canada show that the First Nations, developers and governments concerned may have different approaches to what Indigenous participation is (Udofia et al., 2017). Free, prior and informed consent and the right to say “no” The research data addressed if there was free, prior, and informed consent, and the right of the Sámi to say “no”. In 2018, when the final route for the Arctic Railway track was selected, some reindeer herders stated that the Sámi did not have an opportunity to influence this decision and had not the right to say “no”. In 2018, the ready-made maps on the Arctic Railway plan with
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different alternative route options were presented for the reindeer herders in negotiations on Lapland’s regional land use plan. The herders were expected to choose the best route for the railway and evaluate its impacts on reindeer herding. In the case of Davvi Vindpark, hearings organized in Sámi villages by Grenselandet AS and The Norwegian Water Resources and Energy Directorate (NVE) in 2019-2020 have been little more than meetings where the Sámi have been able to express their opinions without any influence on the planning process. Some Sámi state that the company has organized public hearings in order to be able to record the Sámi consultation in their reports. This looks good when authorities begin to process their application. Still, many Sámi do not feel that the developers have any intention of taking into account their views. Unclear roles and responsibilities The research data on the Arctic Railway project demonstrate unclear roles and responsibilities between the Finnish government and the developers in relation to the consultation. In May 2019, a well-known Finnish businessman continued to plan the Arctic Railway construction. Unclear roles and responsibilities occurred when the Finnish government’s obligation to consult with the Sámi Parliament was instead placed on the developers. The research data on Davvi Vindpark demonstrated that until now the obligation to negotiate and consult with the Sámi has been on developers. Under Norwegian law, the authorities were not obliged to consult the Sámi Parliament of Norway before the company delivers a permit application to the Norwegian Water Resources and Energy Directorate (NVE). Unclear roles and responsibilities is a challenge in consulting the First Nations in Canada. The consultation of the First Nations demonstrated unclear roles and responsibilities because of the responsibility for consulting Indigenous people lay on the developers (Udofia et al., 2017). Traditional Indigenous knowledge was not considered legitimate The research data on Davvi Vindpark demonstrated that the traditional knowledge of the Sámi is not considered legitimate by developers. Sámi perceptions about nature, the use of nature such as hunting, and the traditional knowledge of Sámi reindeer herders were not considered relevant by developers. Instead, the views of municipalities are highly valued. When one municipality (Deatnu/Tana) affected by the plan showed a negative view, the company withdrew. Another municipality (Davvisiida/Lebesby) has shown a more positive attitude against the project and the company has been frequently in contact with this municipality.
Opportunities for the realisation of consultations We identified many limitations. Still, some opportunities for Indigenous participation were found in the research data. Protection by the existing legislation The existing legislation provided opportunities for the Sámi to be consulted in the planning of the Arctic Railway. The Ministry of Transport and Communications of Finland negotiated on the planned Arctic Railway with the Sámi Parliament in January 2018. Almost a year later, the Sámi Parliament of Finland requested negotiations on the shortcomings of the follow-up investigations. The same year, the Regional Council of Lapland negotiated with the affected Reindeer Herding Cooperatives on Lapland’s regional land use plan and hearings were organized in the affected Sámi Defining the limitations and opportunities in the consultation with the Sámi
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municipalities. Hence, the agenda setting power of the media lies in its ability to shape opinions, exchange ideas and by engaging people in public debate and policy-making societal change may occur (Konieczna & Powers, 2016: 14). Norwegian law protects the rights of Sámi and provides opportunities for participation and consultation. However, in the case of Davvi Vindpark, the Sámi Parliament of Norway was not consulted until the Norwegian Water Resources and Energy Directorate (NVE) is considering the company’s permit application to build a wind power plant. Earlier studies indicate that the existing legislation protecting the rights of Indigenous peoples provides more opportunities for participation than in cases where such legislation does not exist (Sara, 2018). Litigation, appeals and traditional knowledge The research data on the Arctic Railway project demonstrates that litigation intensifies governments and developers’ readiness to listen to Indigenous views. In 2019, the Board of Lapland's Regional Council decided to include the Arctic Railway plan in Lapland’s regional land use plan and the Deputy Chair stated that no group has a complete veto power over this important project. This was followed by an appeal from the Sámi Parliament of Finland to the international courts about the disregard of the rights of the Sámi. Previous Nordic research shows that demonstrations helped Sámi protesters to achieve their goals. In Sweden, appeals to international courts by the Sámi speeded up the sharing of benefits and compensation (Lawrence, 2014). Networking and building mutually beneficial relationships The research data on the planning of the Arctic Railway demonstrate that networking helped Sámi actors to achieve their goals. In autumn 2018, Greenpeace, Suohpanterror Sámi art group, the Sámi Youth Organization of Finland together with the Sámi Parliament of Finland and the Sámi communities organized peaceful Red Line “No consent, No access” demonstrations in the affected Sámi Villages claiming a halt to industrial development. In the summer of 2018, the Sámi Music Festival Riddu Riđđu in Gáivuotna, Norway organized a debate about the Arctic Railway. Also, the Saami Council invited all Sámi communities to a seminar to discuss the Arctic Railway plan and required the Ministry of Transport and Communications of Finland to negotiate with all Sámi organizations and communities. The research data on the Davvi Vindpark showed that networking helped the Sámi to achieve their objectives and make the wind power plans public. Several Sámi activists together with the national “MotVind” movement against wind power with 20,000 members allied and mobilized a civic movement against Davvi Vindpark. This association has arranged public events and issued statements to the Norwegian government to oppose the Davvi Vindpark project. As an example, an outdoor gathering was arranged during the summer of 2020. Local land users, also reindeer herders, told how they would be affected alongside environmentalists and experts on flora and wildlife. Elsewhere in the world, Indigenous peoples have achieved positive outcomes through networking. By building mutually beneficial relationships with the oil industry, Nenets herders managed to receive compensations and economic assistance (Meschtyp et al., 2005). Awareness of their Indigenous rights In relation to the planning of the Arctic Railway, Greenpeace and the affected Sámi communities launched a campaign to collect names to protect old-growth forests and reindeer herding. Some
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demanded that the rights of the Sámi should be respected. The Sámi Parliament of Norway has publicly opposed the construction of Davvi Vindpark. One member of the Sámi parliament’s board, named the plan as “Outright stupidity”. The Sámi parliament of Norway has demanded that all Sámi right holders and stakeholders should be allowed to participate in the consultation and the planning process. In Sweden, awareness of their Indigenous rights provided Sámi with more opportunities for negotiations (Sara, 2018). Traditional Indigenous knowledge was considered legitimate The research data on the Arctic Railway indicated that the traditional knowledge of Sámi reindeer herders was considered legitimate. The affected Reindeer Herding Cooperatives were expected to select one of the proposed routes for the railway track and to assess its impact on reindeer herding based on their traditional knowledge. In this way, the damage to reindeer herding was minimized.
Conclusions Although the Sámi in Finland and Norway have legal rights, the results of this study point to a number of limitations in the consultation with the Sámi, such as incomplete information, lack of transparency and the failure of governments to build relationships based on trust with the Sámi. In relation to RQ1, we found that the 61 news articles did discuss limitations and opportunities in the consultation with the Sámi. The findings demonstrate that the news coverage highlighted aspects of the issues important to the Sámi in relation to consultation and participation. We also wanted to see if the fact that Norway had signed the ILO Convention No. 169 meant that the Sámi in Norway benefitted from earlier and better consultation leading to greater participation than the Sámi in Finland (RQ2). However, the findings of this study seem to indicate that the limitations to consultation and participation of Indigenous peoples persist even after signing international agreements. The findings indicate that the limitations in the consultation were quite similar in the Norwegian and the Finnish cases. The findings resonate with findings in previous studies (Sara, 2018) on Indigenous participation in consultation. Indigenous peoples worldwide face similar challenges when competing land uses threaten Indigenous communities. We found that consultation of the Sámi both on the planning of the Arctic Railway and Davvi Vindpark was initiated too late to have an effect on important processes. Further, we found that the Sámi Parliaments of both Finland and Norway were excluded when the final decision was made about the track of the railway. It is fair to call this a very selective stakeholder participation in the meaning that important stakeholders were not selected to participate. The government of Finland and Grenselandet AS were not creating long-standing relationships with the Sámi Parliaments of Finland and Norway. In both cases, a lack of information produced a lack of transparency in the consultation. The data also demonstrated that the parties involved did not have a shared understanding of what Indigenous participation is. In the Davvi Vindpark project, Sámi reindeer herders’ traditional knowledge was considered illegitimate. Moreover, the consultations did not include free, prior and informed consent by the Sámi, and while negotiations took place, the Sámi did not in reality, have a right to say “no”. In addition to limitations, we also found some opportunities for consultation. The legislation at the time provided opportunities for consultation via networking and awareness of one’s Indigenous rights. The traditional knowledge of Sámi herders was considered legitimate, but as the
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consultation merely focused on choosing between proposed routes its use still led to a poor outcome for the herders.
References Allard, C. (2018). The Rationale for the Duty to Consult Indigenous Peoples: Comparative Reflections from Nordic and Canadian Legal Contexts. Arctic Review on Law and Politics, 9, 25–43. Anaya, J. S. & Puig, S. (2017). Mitigating State Sovereignty: The Duty to Consult with Indigenous Peoples. University of Toronto Law Journal, 67(4), 435–464, DOI: 10.3138/utlj.67.1 Deuze, M. & Witsche, T. (2018). Beyond journalism: Theorizing the transformation of journalism. Journalism 19(2), 165–181. Handbook: For ILO Tripartite Constituents. Understanding the Indigenous and Tribal Peoples Convention, 1989 (No. 169) (2013). Geneva: International Labor Office. Hanitzsch, T. & Vos, T.P. (2018). Journalism beyond democracy: A new look into journalistic roles in political and everyday life. Journalism 19(2), 146–164. Hirsch, C. (2017). Makers and shapers of environmental policy making: Power and participation in forest legislation in Bolivia. Journal of Rural Studies, 50, 148–158. Keskitalo, H. C. E., Baird, J., Ambjörnsson, E. L., & Plummer, R. (2014). Social network analysis of multi-level linkages: A Swedish case study on northern forest-based sectors. Ambio, 43, 745–758. Konieczna, M. and Powers, E. (2016). What can Nonprofit Journalists Actually do for Democracy? Journalism Studies. Available at: doi 10.1080/1461670X.2015.1134273 [Accessed 14 February 2016] th
Larsen, E. 2021. Political advisor at the Sámi Parliament in Norway. Personal communication, March 4 and June 9, 2021. Lawrence, R. (2014). Internal colonisation and Indigenous resource sovereignty: wind power developments on traditional Saami lands. Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 32, 1036–1053. Lemoine, N. & Patric, R. J. (2014). Water governance in Northern Saskatchewan: opportunities and challenges. Canadian Journal of Urban Research, 23(1), 46–60. Meschtyp, N. A., Forbes, B. C., & Kankaanpää, P. (2005). Social impact assessment along Russia’s northern sea route: Petroleum transport and the Arctic Operational Platform (ARCOP). Arctic, 58(3), 322–327. Ministry of Local Government and Modernisation (2021). Prop. 86 L (2020 –2021) Proposisjon til Stortinget (forslag til lovvedtak). Endringer i sameloven mv. (konsultasjoner). [Prop. 86 L (2020 –2021) Proposition to the Parliament (proposed legislative resolution). Changes in the Sami Act, etc.
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(consultations)]. https://www.regjeringen.no/contentassets/e81b293f4132459f8512d d77dcb24682/no/pdfs/prp202020210086000dddpdfs.pdf [Accessed May 25, 2021]. Norwegian Government (2005). Prosedyrer for konsultasjoner mellom statlige myndigheter og Sametinget [Procedures for consultations between state authorities and the Sami Parliament]. https://www.regjeringen.no/no/tema/urfolk-ogminoriteter/samepolitikk/midtspalte/prosedyrer-for-konsultasjoner-mellomsta/id450743/ [Accessed May 25, 2021]. Nygaard, V. (2016). Do indigenous interests have a say in planning of new mining projects? Experiences from Finnmark, Norway. The Extractive Industries and Society, 3, 17–24. Onyx, J. & Small, J. (2001). Memory-Work: The Method. Qualitative Inquiry, 7(6), 773-786. doi:10.1177/107780040100700608). Raitio, K. (2012). New institutional approach to collaborative forest planning on public land: Methods for analysis and lessons for policy. Land Use Policy, 29, 309–316. Ravna, Ø. (2015). Sámi rights to natural resources and lands in Norway. In N. Loukacheva (Ed.), Polar Law and Resources (63–77). TemaNord 2015: 533. Copenhagen: Norden. Sara, I.-A. (2018). Whose voice? Understanding stakeholder involvement in law-drafting affecting Sámi reindeer herding. JYU Dissertations 44. University of Jyväskylä. Scammell, M. & Semetko, H. (2018). Introduction. Media and Democracy: Democracy and the Media. In The Media, Journalism and Democracy, eds. M. Scammell and H. Semetko. London: Routledge. Scheinin, M. (2000). The right to enjoy a distinct culture: Indigenous and competing uses of land. In T. S. Orlin, A. Rosas, & M. Scheinin (Eds.), The jurisprudence of human rights law: A comparative interpretive approach (160–232). Turku: Åbo Akademi University. Schutt, R.K. (2018). Investigating the Social World: The Process and Practice of Research, 7th Edition. Los Angeles: Sage. Tuhiwai Smith L. (2007). Getting the Story Right – Telling the Story Well, Indigenous Activism – Indigenous Research. In A. T. P. Mead & S. Ratuva (Eds.), Pacific Genes & Life Patents. Pacific Indigenous Experiences & Analysis of the Commodification & Ownership of Life (74-81). Creative Commons License. Udofia, A., Noble, B., & Poelzer, G. (2017). Meaningful and efficient? Enduring challenges to Aboriginal participation in environmental assessment. Environmental Impact Assessment Review, 65, 164–174. Ulvevadet, B. & Hausner, V. H. (2011). Incentives and regulations to reconcile conservation and development: Thirty years of governance of the Sami pastoral ecosystem in Finnmark, Norway. Journal of Environmental Management, 92, 2794–2802. Van Aelst, P., Strömbäck, J., Aalberg, T., Esser, F., de Vreese, C., Matthes, J., Hopmann, D., Salgado, S., Hubé, N., Stępińska, A., Papathanassopoulos, S., Berganza, R., Legnante, G., Reinemann, C., Sheafer, T. and Stanyer, J. (2017). Political communication in a high-choice media environment: a challenge for democracy? Annals of the International Communication Association 41(1), 3–27. Defining the limitations and opportunities in the consultation with the Sámi
Building a High-Performing Collaborative Innovation Ecosystem in the Arctic
Ekaterina Sofroneeva, Catharina von Koskull & Hannu Makkonen
Global climate change, growing economic interest in the Arctic, and the inflow of investments into infrastructure in the Arctic regions have provided added impetus for the development of technology clusters and innovation ecosystems in the North and the Arctic. The goal of this study is to conceptually illustrate the roles of the actors involved in the development process of the innovation ecosystem in the Arctic regions. This research is crucial for optimizing the role of the actors responsible for the genesis of the innovation ecosystem in the Arctic regions and is based on a case study of the Yakutia innovation ecosystem. The Republic of Sakha (Yakutia) currently holds the leading position in the IT sphere of Far East Russia, accounting for 85% of the region’s IT services exports in the first quarter of 2020 and 82% in 2019. Yakutia develops the northernmost innovation ecosystem, with IT Park Yakutsk as its base, in collaboration with different actors from governments, universities, startup communities, and venture capital firms. This study applies a qualitative approach, with the data collection conducted using indepth interviews. The interviewees in this study represent various actors, including businesses, governments, universities, and financial institutions. Theories developed by Dedehayir et al. (2018) and Tsujimoto et al. (2018) are used to explain and analyze the disposition, roles, and interactions of the actors during the genesis (birth phase) of the innovation ecosystem in the North. This study argues that building high-performing innovation ecosystems will produce digital and economic transformations that improve the sustainability and resilience of the societies in the Arctic.
Introduction: Genesis of the innovation ecosystems in the Arctic Digitalization has opened new opportunities for isolated northern areas, such as the Arctic regions. The imminent dangers of global climate change have garnered a significant rise in economic interest in infrastructure development in the Arctic. Specifically, there is a growing interest in the development of technology clusters and innovation ecosystems in the North and the Arctic. This article aims to answer the following research question: who are the key actors in the genesis of the Arctic innovation ecosystem? This research is crucial for optimizing the roles of the actors responsible for the genesis (birth phase) of the innovation ecosystem in the North, specifically in the Arctic regions, which are peripheral and environmentally sensitive areas. The habitable areas in the Arctic regions have low population densities, the ecosystems are fragile, and the current Ekaterina Sofroneeva, PhD Candidate, University of Vaasa, Finland; Catharina von Koskull, Associate Professor, University of Vaasa, Finland; Hannu Makkonen, Professor, University of Vaasa, Finland.
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economic activities revolve primarily around natural resource extraction. However, there is growing interest in a shift from an extraction economy toward a digital economy. The specificity of the Arctic regions and their environmental and economic sensibility disallow the adoption of general approaches to infrastructure development and fundamental business strategies. The specificity of the Arctic regions requires the formulation of a unique approach that involves local Indigenous communities as the key actors in the process of infrastructure development from its earliest stages, combined with the development of sustainable technologies and effective collaboration. The ecosystems approach opens new perspectives to supporting sustainable infrastructure and building innovation ecosystems in the Arctic regions. This study adopts the qualitative method, with in-depth interviews of 16 experts, including the leaders, directors, and CEOs of the organizations involved in the genesis of the innovation ecosystem, from businesses, the government, universities, and financial institutions in the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia). These include the Yakutia technology park; Venture Company Yakutia; the Innovation Development Fund; IT Association of the Sakha Republic; Yakutia Development Corporation; the Ministry of Innovations, Digital Development and Infocommunication Technologies of the Republic of Sakha; MIT Regional Entrepreneurship Acceleration Program (REAP) Team Yakutia; Arctic Innovation Center; North-Eastern Federal University (NEFU) Research and Innovation (R&I); Acceleration B8; the NEFU student business incubator, OREH; the ride-hailing company, inDriver; AI Ayana; and several MedTech and EdTech startups.
Theoretical background on innovation ecosystems The innovation ecosystem is defined as “the collaborative effort of a diverse set of actors toward innovation, as suppliers deliver key components and technologies, various organizations provide complementary products and services, and customers build demand and capabilities.” (Moore, 1996, as cited in Dedehayir et al, 2018, p.18) The innovation ecosystems refer to heterogeneous constellations of organizations that co-evolve capabilities in the co-creation of value (Moore, 1993; Adner and Kapoor, 2010; Autio & Thomas, 2014). Categories of entities that constitute an innovation ecosystem include producers, suppliers, distributors, finance and research institutions, makers of complementary technologies, and regulatory bodies (Mäkinen & Dedehayir, 2013). Innovation ecosystems are distinct from similar constructs in organizational networks, such as clusters and value networks (Porter, 1998). Clusters refer to “critical masses—in one place—of unusual competitive success in particular fields” (Porter, 1998: 78). Innovation ecosystems can be viewed as “being centered about a platform that brings providers of products and services into exchange with the users of these products and services” (Gawer, 2014; Thomas and Autio, 2013, as cited in Dedehayir et al, 2018, p.19). Building on innovation ecosystems literature, Adner (2012) introduces methods for designing the ecosystem’s value blueprint (locations and links between ecosystem actors); envisaging risks to value creation; determining the value of leadership and followership roles in the ecosystem; timing the introduction of innovations; and projecting the dynamic reconfiguration of the ecosystem over time. Autio and Thomas (2014) provide a literature review on the boundaries, structure, and management of innovation ecosystems, while Gawer and Cusumano (2014) put forward a conceptualization of platforms, that distinguishes between internal platforms (comprised of a firm and its sub-units), supply-chain platforms (comprised of assemblers and suppliers), and industry platforms (comprised of a platform leader and its complementors) which underpin innovation ecosystems. Building a High-Performing Collaborative Innovation Ecosystem in the Arctic
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Thomas and Autio (2013; 2014) examine the emergence of six digital service platform ecosystems. Their research findings highlight the cruciality of four activities to the emergence of an ecosystem: resource activities, which involve the acquisition and management of resources by a hub firm; technological activities, which include the design and provision of technologies; institutional activities, which revolve around the establishment and implementation of rules of engagement; and context activities (regulatory activities). The process of emergence has three phases: initiation, momentum, and optimization, which closely align with the birth, expansion, and leadership phases described by Moore (1993). According to Tsujimoto et al. (2018), the ecosystem concept analyzes organic networks based on their positive, negative, and competitive aspects, such as ecosystemlevel competition, predation, parasitism, and destruction of the entire system. Each actor in the ecosystem has different attributes, principles, and purposes, and these differences impact outcomes at the ecosystem level. The analytical border of the ecosystem is the product/service system, which is not limited by national borders, regional clusters, or contract relations. Furthermore, Tsujimoto et al. (2018) defined a multi-actor network perspective (MNP), which includes various actors and analyzes the dynamic networks among actors with attributes that are different from those of private firms. Tsujimoto et al. (2018) described four major research streams: the industrial ecology perspective, the business ecosystem perspective, platform management within the business ecosystem perspective, and the MNP. Engagement and roles of actors in the innovation ecosystem genesis Dedehayir et al. (2018) define several key roles, which are categorized into four groups: leadership roles, direct value creation roles, value creation support roles, and entrepreneurial ecosystem roles. Their study focuses primarily on the genesis of innovation ecosystems, such as the birth or pioneering phase of the innovation ecosystem lifecycle according to Moore’s (1993; 1996) fourphased description of an innovation ecosystem. Scholars have also broadly highlighted central roles in innovation ecosystems, such as the ecosystem leader, which is analogous to Moore’s (1993) platform leader (Cusumano & Gawer, 2002). Dedehayir et al. (2018) categorized the main activities, identifying the ecosystem leader with four sets of higher-level activities: ecosystem governance, forging partnerships, platform management, and value management. The ecosystem leader and the complementor roles are two quintessential roles unique to the innovation ecosystems literature. According to Dedehayir et al. (2018), the ecosystem leader actor first engages in governance-related actions—which include designing the roles of other actors and coordinating the interactions between the actors—during the birth phase of the ecosystem. Platform management activities include designing and building the platform, with the ecosystem leader aiming to generate value from the participation of a host of actors, including a user community and the producers, which necessitates having different actors join the platform by exchanging ideas, engaging in transactions, and collaborating. The traditional value chain roles defined by Dedehayir et al. (2018) as “direct value creating roles” are the suppliers, assemblers, users, and complementors. Value creation supporting roles are described by Dedehayir et al. (2018) as additional roles that interact with two different partners: experts and champions. According to the literature, the role of experts is associated with actors such as universities and research organizations, which generate knowledge, inventions, and discoveries (Clarysse et al., 2014). The entrepreneurial ecosystem roles identified by Dedehayir et al. (2018) include entrepreneur, sponsor, and regulator. The entrepreneur also intermediates
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between actors conducting research (e.g., universities) and those aiming to commercialize technologies. The engagement of the actors is defined by Storbacka (2019) as “an actor’s (human or machine) or a group of actors’ (collectives or organizations) exchange-based and non-exchange-based resource contributions, which are facilitated by dispositions and formed partly by actor specific characteristics and partly by the institutional and organizational arrangements prevalent in the context in which the resource contributions occur” (Storbacka, 2019: 4). The literature on actor engagement highlights various perspectives, and the most recent studies reveal a focus on a generic view of actor engagement. Storbacka and Cornell (2016) argue that “an actor-to-actor perspective” with the strict roles of producer vs. consumer or seller vs. buyer are useless, as actors can have different roles and comparable processes of engagement; hence, there is a need for a generic view of actor engagement. Kleinaltenkamp et al. (2019) argue for the need to understand the collective engagement of multiple (individual) actors. They define collective engagement as “multiple actors’ shared cognitive, emotional, and behavioral dispositions, as manifested in their interactive efforts toward a focal object” (Kleinaltenkamp et al., 2019). Collective engagement has similarities to the discussion on multi-actor engagement (Li et al., 2017). The most vital role in market-shaping activities is attributed to actors’ engagement strategies. According to Storbacka (2019), with market-shaping strategies, actor engagement leads to market innovations, which lead to value creation in a market. Storbacka and Nenonen (2011) suggest that the performative power of any market actor depends on its network position and its business model. They highlighted that actors’ networks within a service ecosystem can drive innovation, with those actors shaping the markets, as markets are not fixed in time, and are in the process of constant development (Storbacka & Nenonen, 2011). According to Storbacka (2019), this mechanism is considered the foundation for economies of actor engagement which is reaped when focal actors achieve increasing returns by mobilizing actor engagement. Based on this, some scholars argue that actor engagement is essential for market-shaping strategies aimed at market innovation. Furthermore, current shifts in the operating environment are elevating the role of actor engagement, making the management of actor engagement a strategic priority.
Methodology The qualitative method brings in-depth focus to some phenomena, particularly when the boundaries between the phenomena and its context are vague or not clearly evident (Patton 1990: 13–14.) According to Robson (2011:136), the case study is “a strategy for doing research that involves an empirical investigation of a particular contemporary phenomenon within its real-life context using multiple sources of evidence.” A case study can be seen as an applicable empirical method of inquiry that investigates contemporary phenomena in depth and in a real-life context (Yin, 2009: 18). This qualitative study applies theoretical triangulation to establish the credibility of the research. By using several theories in the conceptual framework, such as the theories of Dedehayir et al. (2018) and Tsujimoto et al. (2018), this study attempts to optimize the roles of the actors in the genesis of the innovation ecosystem in the Arctic regions based on a case study of the Yakutia innovation ecosystem. For transferability, the research context and assumptions are described to make the research consistent in terms of general understanding. The collected data consists of 16
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in-depth interviews in keeping with the general objectivity and confirmability of qualitative research. Data collection Qualitative samples should be selected purposefully to choose information-rich cases for in-depth study (Patton, 2002). Qualitative data collection was used to define the roles of actors based on a case study of the Yakutia innovation ecosystem with in-depth interviews of 16 interviewees, including directors and CEOs. The case study is based on empirical data gathering conducted by one of the authors in Yakutsk, Russia in 2021. The data was gathered via in-depth interviews with a duration of approximately 40 minutes to two hours. The interviews were recorded using a Zoom recorder. The audio of the interviews was transcribed and translated. The information was filtered to increase the reliability of the study. The interviewees were 16 representatives of various organizations, including the directors and CEOs of the key organizations that constitute the innovation ecosystem: Yakutia technology park, Venture Company Yakutia, the Innovation Development Fund, IT Association of the Sakha Republic, Yakutia Development Corporation, MIT REAP Team Yakutia, the Ministry of Innovations, Digital Development and Infocommunication Technologies, Arctic Innovation Center, NEFU R&I, Acceleration B8, OREH, inDriver, AI Ayana, and several MedTech and EdTech startups. The companies were systematically selected based on the Yakutia MIT REAP model and were classified according to the Tsujimoto et al. (2018) model. Data analysis Analysis of the research data proceeded in two phases. First, the case description of the innovation ecosystem was given, and the interviews were classified into clusters according to the original MIT REAP model and the Tsujimoto et al. (2018) MNP model. The MNP model was applied to analyze dynamic networks among the actors and define their roles and dispositions. Tsujimoto et al. (2018) defined four perspectives: the industrial ecology perspective, the business ecosystem perspective, platform management within the business ecosystem perspective, and MNP. The 16 interviews were classified according to the Tsujimoto et al. (2018) MNP model, and the MIT REAP model was applied for clustering into groups: government, universities, risk capital, entrepreneurs (startups), and platform management (Tsujimoto, 2018). The interviews in each cluster were grouped and analyzed to present the view of each cluster, such as a governmental view, platform management view, risk capital view, startup view, university/ institutional view, and entrepreneurial view. Secondly, each cluster has been discussed further based on the Dedehayir et al. (2018) model of the actors’ roles in innovation ecosystem genesis. Clusters are linked to the roles that actors play in the innovation ecosystem: leadership roles, direct value creation roles, value creation support roles, and entrepreneurial ecosystem roles. Clustering based on the MNP and the innovation ecosystem genesis actor’s roles defines and facilitates a deeper understanding of the actors’ roles, their disposition, and their perspectives on the Yakutia innovation ecosystem. This analysis attempts to illustrate the applicability of the proposed frameworks to the development of the Arctic innovation ecosystem.
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Figure 1. Clustering of the 16 interviews (based on Tsujimoto et al., 2018)
Results and discussion Yakutia innovation ecosystem case study The Republic of Sakha (Yakutia) is an IT services leader in Far East Russia and plans to create innovation ecosystem expertise in other northern regions. With a population of 934,330, Yakutia currently holds the leading position in the IT sphere of Far East Russia, accounting for 85% of the region’s IT services exports in the first quarter of 2020 and 82% in 2019. Yakutia develops the northernmost innovation ecosystem, with the IT Park Yakutsk platform as its base, in collaboration with different actors from government, universities, the startup community, venture capital firms, and other financial institutions. The first in Far East Russia and the northernmost high-tech park, IT Park Yakutsk is a platform for accumulating IT expertise through multiple projects and provides 150 residents with services, integrating them into the national and international innovation ecosystem. The primary areas of activity of the IT Park Yakutsk residents are computational linguistics and AI, industrial integration systems, mobile applications and game development, augmented and virtual reality, bioinformatics, and the Internet of things (IoT). An important aspect of the work done by the IT park is the Acceleration B8 program, with participants receiving all the necessary resources and services for developing a minimum viable product (MVP).
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Figure 2. Yakutia Innovation Ecosystem (updated based on the original MIT REAP Yakutia model)
Yakutia innovation ecosystem: Key actors and their roles This section presents a discussion of the analyzed interviews and a summary of the discussed issues. The Yakutia innovation ecosystem comprises different actors, including governmental organizations, financial institutions, educational institutions, and startups. The idea for the Yakutia innovation ecosystem concept was initially formed in 2018 by regional representatives on the MIT REAP Team Yakutia. After graduation from MIT REAP, they set out to establish the innovation ecosystem in Yakutia, in keeping with the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia) government’s strategy of focusing on the digital transformation of the economy. The interviews in the case study on the Yakutia innovation ecosystem reveal that most of the interviewees were familiar with the concept of ecosystems, with only a few of the startup CEOs (Person M and Person O) asking for an explanation of the concept. All 16 interviewees described the following as the key actors: the entrepreneurial community (comprising startups, as distinguished from large companies); governmental structures, including platforms and financial institutions; educational institutions (universities and university acceleration programs); and corporations, which were mentioned by 14 interviewees as the key actors. Several perspectives were presented in the interviews: governmental, large private companies, startups, and educational institutions. The only limitation—in the form of restricted access to data—was encountered with corporations by virtue of their internal privacy policies. Therefore, the interviews were clustered according to the Dedehayir et al. (2018) model. All the interviewees highlighted the importance of collaboration, but the motivations attached were different, e.g., low population density and networking perspectives (mentioned by eight interviewees), common goal (by twelve interviewees), and new market opportunities (by 14 interviewees). For example, a former Yakutia Deputy Minister of Investment and Enterprise and MIT REAP Team Yakutia leader said that:
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the most important thing in order to build one ecosystem is that the system of interaction, the structure of subjects must be stable, the connections between actors in the ecosystem must be very strong, when everyone has a common understanding of how it all looks, then everything happens much easier and faster (Person C, MIT REAP Yakutia Team leader). By discussing the key network dimensions, the key actors mostly identified their personal relations and networks as the foundation for building supplier networks. However, they also mentioned the role of governmental platforms as intermediaries (mentioned by 14 interviewees), as noted by the CEO of a startup: The Arctic is small, Yakutia is smaller, there are not many people, even if you drive around Russia, there will be about 500 professional developers and programmers. We build networks through social media and networking events. Whereas in Silicon Valley, the startup networking takes place over coffee, in Russia it happens on semi-state platforms like Skolkovo, the Startup Village, and others (Person N, CEO, Medical startup). Based on the interview material, the 16 interviewees discussed global market orientation and export and did not focus only on the domestic market. Most respondents (15 of the interviewees) highlighted that the domestic market for services is small and mentioned Yakutia’s export-oriented strategy. It is much easier for us to integrate into international clusters than into clusters in Moscow. This is the main difference from other Russian ecosystems (Person N, CEO, Medical startup). However, some respondents highlighted that there is an issue keeping socially oriented impact startups from going global, as their primary focus is the republic and its domestic market: In the republic, there is an emphasis on global market scaling. The companies with prospects of going beyond the region are supported the most. However, most companies work within the region, especially socially oriented companies. If only large companies or corporations could support and sponsor research in the area of socially oriented startups, that would be great (Person G, Director of the OREH Student Business Incubator).
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Different perspectives on the key actors and their roles
Figure 3. Roles of actors in the Yakutia innovation ecosystem (based on the 2018 Dedehayir et al. model)
Leadership roles: Governmental view According to Dedehayir et al. (2018), the main leadership roles are the following: ecosystem governance, forging partnerships, platform management, value management, and dominator. The leader’s role in the genesis of the innovation ecosystem is usually played by the government. The role of ecosystem governance is to decipher roles, coordinate interactions, and orchestrate resource flows. Based on the interviews in the case study, a strategy launched in 2018 by the government of the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia) with a focus on the digital transformation of the economy and the initiative to build the IT park and establish the MIT REAP group was the beginning of the innovation ecosystem genesis. The governmental cluster interviewees described the governmental structures as the key players and holders of the leadership roles in the Russian Arctic. However, the governmental cluster respondents also described the importance of the business community in the development of startups into large firms. The main subject of the innovation ecosystem is the entrepreneurial community. Even when everything else is built, including the infrastructure and the support system, and money is allocated, if there is no entrepreneurial community, it is all empty and everything would literally die. The active entrepreneurial community in Yakutia is at the core of the ecosystem (Person C, MIT REAP Team Yakutia leader, former Deputy Minister of Investment and Enterprise of Yakutia). The business community, which includes SMEs and large companies, creates a supporting environment for startups, and sometimes large firms can create their own ecosystem that could even compete with governmental support programs. The interviewees also mentioned the Sofroneeva, von Koskull & Makkonen
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acceleration programs initiated by Sinet Group (inDriver) and the MyTona companies (SmartIT with MyTona Company, Yakutia2World Acceleration program, and the Aurora Tech Award for women tech entrepreneurship) to support startups in the region. Leadership roles: Platform management view In studies on ecosystems, there is a research stream that is focused on platform-based ecosystems, with the research spotlight on the activities of the platform leader (Cusumano & Gawer, 2002). Platform management activities include designing and building the platform, with the ecosystem leader aiming to generate value from the participation of the key actors, including a user community and the producers. The platform creates an environment for engagement in transactions and knowledge exchange and orchestrates the processes via which all actors interact and cocreate. The platform management view is represented by the Yakutia information technology park (IT Park). The interviewees of the platform management cluster define their role as that of the key actor in the Yakutia innovation ecosystem. They provide educational and consulting support services for over 150 startup residents and build innovation-oriented platforms in collaboration with 50 IT schools and business centers in the remote regions of Yakutia, including the Arctic regions: We provide property support, promotion, project packaging, business plan, we are looking for investors, and we also provide equipment. Large companies and corporations outsource their problematic tasks to us, and our residents solve them (Person D, Director of Yakutia Information Technology Park). Forging partnerships: corporations The governmental cluster interviewees highlighted the role of corporations as one of the key players: a lot depends on the path that the main corporations of a region or country take, both in politics and in the economy (Person C, MIT REAP Team Yakutia leader). The role of corporations is defined as a large platform for the implementation of technological solutions, for conducting various experimental design implementations and undertaking the technical and scientific aspects of production. Corporations are considered the primary customers and consumers of the results of innovative solutions. Governmental structures pay special attention to large corporations, and large companies play the role of the key actors and customers of the IT industry’s services and products. In Yakutia, the main resource mining corporations are considered innovation ecosystem actors, based on the MIT REAP model, including corporations such as Alrosa, a partially state-owned Russian diamond mining company; Surgutneftegaz, a public joint stock oil company; and Kolmar LLC, a coal mining and processing company. For example, the Startup Expedition program was a 2020 collaborative joint project of the IT park and the Innovations Development Fund, along with Alrosa IT, executed as part of Alrosa’s corporate digital transformation via innovative solutions provided by IT park residents. Direct value creation roles: Risk capital view The traditional value chain roles defined by Dedehayir et al. (2018) are the supplier, assembler, user, and complementor. The interviewees in the risk capital cluster are financial institutions and
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venture funds. The interviewees from risk capital organizations identified their role as value creation, as they provide knowledge, acceleration programs, networking, and financial support. Venture Company Yakutia focuses on pre-seed and seed investments, networking and education for startups, and connection to investors and business angels. Venture Company Yakutia invests in startups via auction contracts and does not immediately take up shares of the companies. This is in keeping with the rule of the valley of death in the startup financing cycle, as 90% of startups typically fail at inception. However, startups typically acquire skills and competencies for further development. Therefore, Venture Company Yakutia organizes educational courses, startup expeditions, and programs to facilitate this growth. In addition to funds from venture capital firms and the Ministry of Innovations and Technopark, there are successful entrepreneurs who help develop innovation ecosystems, who have managed to create international businesses: companies like inDriver, MyTona, and Fantastic. Thanks to these companies who have set an example, we have more and more innovation-oriented companies (Person K, Venture Company Yakutia). Direct value creation roles: entrepreneurs/startups view Startups as users contribute value to the ecosystem by defining a problem or need, which is the prime trigger and the starting point for the innovation ecosystem genesis. Furthermore, startups as users can be the source of innovative ideas around which ecosystems are created. Startups as users of innovation ecosystems hold a direct value creation role. By defining the dispositions, the startups shared their position that the government needs to create a platform but should not control the ecosystem and its actors. The task of the state is to create the infrastructure, build the IT park, give permission to build a cluster, finance the construction, establish the fast Internet, but not to interfere with the work of startups (Person N, CEO, Medical startup). Startups emphasize that the role of the state is needed only at the initial stage, and the task of the state is to build infrastructure, platforms, and sites. Subsequently, the state can only hinder the development of innovation through excessive control, reports, and bureaucracy. The startup interviewees noted that the private sector and government agencies have different perspectives and interests in the development of innovation. Yakutian startups are focused primarily on the global market but are not looking to merge with the central Russian ecosystems. Rather, the goal is to enter the international markets of Europe, Asia, and America. Value creation support roles: university/ institutional view Dedehayir et al. (2018) highlight the roles of the “expert” and “champion” as additional roles, which create value as supporting roles by interacting with different partners. According to the literature, the role of the “expert” is associated with actors such as universities and research organizations, which generate knowledge, inventions, and discoveries (Clarysse et al., 2014). The university cluster, represented by the NEFU, Arctic Innovation Center, and the NEFU student business incubator, OREH, defined their role as a supporting role for creating students’ startups and university-based R&I products/services in the pre-seed/seed phase.
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The university accelerator is a seed/pre-seed level testing platform for students who have just started creating MVPs. When they start scaling, they move to the Technopark residence (Person G, Director of the OREH Student Business Incubator). The role of the university is to transfer knowledge and competencies to young entrepreneurs to help them to proceed from an MVP to acceleration programs and larger ecosystems such as the IT park, Sinet Acceleration, Skolkovo, or Silicon Valley. The NEFU is the largest scientific center in the republic. More than 60% of the scientific articles from the republic are published by our employees, and we hold the 15th place in Russia for patenting and support of intellectual property (Person I, Deputy Director of R&I, NEFU). Entrepreneurial ecosystem roles: Entrepreneurial view The entrepreneurial ecosystem roles were identified by Dedehayir et al. (2018) as entrepreneur, sponsor, and regulator (the entrepreneur also intermediates between actors conducting research, such as universities, and those aiming to commercialize technologies). Based on the view of the interviewees, one of the key roles in the innovation ecosystem is played by the Yakutia-born global company, inDriver, which was valued at $1.23 billion (2021) in Silicon Valley and has created acceleration programs to support the northern IT industry. inDriver can serve as an example of a company performing the role of the market-shaping actor, offering a new market proposition in the context of the Yakutia innovation ecosystem. inDriver is a ride-hailing company founded in 2012, which is now represented in 34 countries of the world. The company has recently become a “unicorn.” Sinet Group launched Begin IT, Spark, and Yakutia2World to support the development of the IT community (Person L, inDriver). BeginIT is a social and educational project designed to provide career guidance in the field of new technologies to children from orphanages, boarding schools, and rural schools around the globe. SinetSpark, a high-tech development project of Yakutia founded in 2020, is currently testing dome technologies in cold climates and supporting impact projects. Yakutia2World is a development program for technology projects, with an eye to scale these projects internationally. Summary Based on this qualitative study, the actors in the Yakutia innovation ecosystem pursue the common goal of shifting from an extraction economy toward a digital economy and the creation of a new jobs market. The interviewees described specificities of the Yakutia innovation ecosystem: risk tolerance, which is shaped by extreme physical conditions; and a relatively small internal market and export-oriented IT products and services. Regarding the main barriers and challenges to the export-orientation of the IT industry, the experts highlighted bureaucracy and language barriers (interviewees G, H, M, and N). The specific interests of Yakutian startups are socially oriented. Local startups are mostly embedded in social entrepreneurship projects and impact projects related to ecology, the health of
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local peoples, wellbeing, educational technologies, and digitization of native indigenous languages. However, the startups admit that the internal market is small and they need to switch to exportoriented business strategies and pursue larger markets (interviewees M, N, O, and P, startups). The startup interviewees expressed their interest in the Arctic perspective: networking and exploring business opportunities with other Arctic regions and countries and international support for socially oriented projects (interviewees M, N, O, and P, startups). The startups also shared their vision on test sites, which are needed in the North. The extreme physical conditions of Yakutia can serve as a platform for testing cryotechnologies and technologies related to adaptation in the Arctic. The goals of the ecosystem and the goals of its actors are aligned, but there are certain conflicting interests between the different perspectives represented by the corporations, the government, and startups. Governmental entities are forging partnerships with corporations and are interested in corporations as the key customers of IT products and services. The corporations are looking for solutions and services for the development of their business ecosystems in central hubs such as Skolkovo, or R&I of the foremost universities in Moscow and St. Petersburg. The startups are willing to wield less control over the ecosystem in exchange for governmental structures, more financial support, and less bureaucracy for small startups. The classification of the roles of the actors by Dedehayir et al. (2018) is relevant in the context of the genesis of the emerging innovation ecosystems in the Arctic. The case study on the Yakutia innovation ecosystem shows that the leadership roles in the genesis process are played by the government and platform management and by forging partnerships with corporations in the Russian Arctic. The direct value creation roles of venture funds, the value supporting roles of universities, and the entrepreneurial ecosystem roles played by the actors building the ecosystem are currently in the pre-seed/seed and MVP phase. In general, the experts find that startup support tools and priority development areas in the Arctic should be unique, considering the specific conditions of the Arctic and the local peoples building the Arctic innovation ecosystems.
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Figure 4 Roles and activities across the genesis of the Yakutia innovation ecosystems (based on the 2018 Dedehayir et al. study)
Indigenous actors’ role in the Arctic innovation ecosystem The key organizations in the Yakutia innovation ecosystem are Indigenous led, and the experts and all the interviewees are of Indigenous Sakha and Evenki origins. The specificity of the Arctic regions requires the formulation of a special approach that involves the local Indigenous communities as the key actors in the development of infrastructure from inception. The case of the Yakutia innovation ecosystem can serve as an example of such collaboration in the Arctic. The interviewees highlighted the importance of cultural codes as Indigenous knowledge that could be introduced into the innovation ecosystem genesis in the Arctic. The main cultural code is the freedom of the Arctic peoples, which may form the essence of the entrepreneurial spirit, creative freedom, risk tolerance, and fast adaptation to changing environments. The interviewees discussed the extreme conditions and their unique survival experiences as drivers of their entrepreneurial motivation. However, the interviewees also mentioned “northern closeness” as a mental factor that is beneficial for the development of IT skills and competencies but is also limiting with respect to networking opportunities. By discussing the impact of innovation ecosystems on Indigenous communities, the CEO of AI Ayana, who is of Evenki origin, mentioned that: the peoples will disappear, but the culture in the digital format will remain forever. IT allows culture to be preserved literally across the globe… digitalization is a part of our life, and it is also a basic demand like warmth and light (Person P, CEO, AI startup). Most of the interviewees agreed that technologies will bring more positive impact than negative impacts, especially in the North. A negative impact that was mentioned was the youth being distracted away from the traditional way of living. However, a CEO of Sakha origin stated: traditional culture is not interesting for young people because technologically innovative methods are not used in transfer of knowledge (Person N, CEO, Medical startup). The primary factors for engendering highly effective collaboration toward building a highperforming innovation ecosystem in the Arctic were defined by the experts as the mission, goals and values, team spirit, and trust between the actors. The republic plans to grow the share of the gross regional product contributed by the creative industry, developing the movie industry and AI, GameDev, healthtech, and impact startups, thus increasing the number of jobs in the creative industries. Yakutia is relying on innovation and technological development to transition from an extraction economy to a digital economy.
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Figure 5. Arctic innovation ecosystem genesis (updated figure based on the 2018 Dedehayir et al. study)
Conclusion and future research The Arctic innovation ecosystem The Russian Arctic case study on the Yakutia innovation ecosystem contributes to the discussion on the Arctic innovation ecosystem concept. By engendering highly effective collaboration via platforms built by intergovernmental and international organizations—such as the Northern Forum, the Arctic Council, and research platform centers like the Snowflake International Arctic Station—Arctic countries and their regions could benefit immensely from collaboration in the fields of innovation and technology. The Arctic innovation ecosystem could benefit from research on the roles of its actor, actor engagement, and strategies related to engendering effective collaboration using the ecosystem approach. The analytical border of an ecosystem is the product/service system, which is not limited by national borders, regional clusters, or contract relations (Tsujimoto et al., 2018). Therefore, engendering highly effective collaboration toward building a high-performing innovation ecosystem using the Arctic perspective could be beneficial not only for business, research, and policy actualization, but also for the local peoples and indigenous communities. The Arctic innovation ecosystem perspective holds great significance and potential for application toward benefiting the Arctic communities and their economies, and for the transition from an extraction economy to a digital economy. As expressed by one of the interviewees: It is necessary to take into account the common problems of the Arctic and exchange experiences. Technology is the best tool for collaboration. The Internet Sofroneeva, von Koskull & Makkonen
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shortens distance. Common Arctic problems are the factor for collaboration (Person P, AI startup). By elucidating the Arctic perspective and through the case study, this research argues that building high-performing innovation ecosystems may lead to digital and economic transformations that produce more sustainable and resilient societies in the Arctic. The goal of this study is to provide an answer to its research question and achieve the aim stated in the introduction. Regarding the research question: who are the key actors in the genesis of the Arctic innovation ecosystem? The research clarifies the roles of the actors in the genesis (birth phase) of the innovation ecosystem in the Arctic regions based on a case study on the Yakutia innovation ecosystem and a theoretical background on the ecosystems approach, multi-actor networks, and the role of the actors in innovation ecosystems. The study attempts to frame the role of the key actors and their dispositions during the genesis of the Arctic innovation ecosystem (Figure 5). In the context of ecosystems research, the key debates are on the issues of building innovation ecosystems, value creation and co-creation for the actors in the innovation ecosystems, and building platforms for these organizational networks. Future research could examine emerging themes in ecosystems research such as actor engagement, human-machine interaction as an independent actor, multi-actor networks, digital platform development, platform ecosystems research, and the integration of the ecosystem perspective into research areas such as environmental sustainability and circular economy—specifically in the context of the Arctic.
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Gawer, A. and Cusumano, M.A. (2014). Industry Platforms and Ecosystem Innovation, Journal of Product Innovation Management, 31,(3) Kleinaltenkamp, M., Karpen, I., Plewa, C., Jaakkola, E., & Conduit, J. (2019). Collective engagement in organizational settings. Industrial Marketing Management, 80:11-23 Li, L. P., Juric, B., & Brodie, R. J. (2017). Dynamic multi-actor engagement in networks: The case of united breaks guitars. Journal of Service Theory and Practice, 27(4), 761–777. Makinen, Saku & Dedehayir, Ozgur (2013). Business ecosystems' evolution - An ecosystem clockspeed perspective. In Adner, R, Oxley, J E, & Silverman, B S (Eds.) Collaboration and competition in business ecosystems [Advances in Strategic Management, Volume 30]. Emerald Group Publishing Limited, United Kingdom, 99-125. Markham, S.K., Ward, S.J., Aiman-Smith, L., & Kingon, A.I. (2010). The Valley of Death as Context for Role Theory in Product Innovation Journal of Product Innovation Management, 27, 402–417 Moore, J.F. (1993). Predators and Prey A New Ecology of Competition. Harvard Business Review, 71, 75-86. Moore, James F. (1996). The Death of Competition: Leadership & Strategy in the Age of Business Ecosystems. New York: Harper Business Nenonen, S., Storbacka, K., & Windahl C. (2019). Capabilities for market-shaping: triggering and facilitating increased value creation, Journal of the Academy of Marketing Science 47: 617–63. Patton, M. (2002). Qualitative Research and Evaluation Methods, 3rd edn. Thousand Oaks, Sage. Patton, M. (1990). Qualitative evaluation and research methods (2nd ed.). Sage Publications. Porter, Michael E. (1998). Clusters and the new economics of competition, Harvard Business Review, 76(6), 77-90 Robson, C., (2011). Real world research: a resource for users of social science research methods in applied settings. John Wiley. Storbacka, K., Brodie, R. J., Böhmann, T., Maglio, P. P., & Nenonen, S. (2016). Actor engagement as a microfoundation for value co-creation. Journal of Business Research, 69(8), 3008–3017. Storbacka, Kaj (2019). Actor engagement, value creation and market innovation, Industrial Marketing Management 80, 4–10 Storbacka, K., & Nenonen, S. (2011). Markets as configurations, European Journal of Marketing, 45(1/2), 241-258 Storbacka, K., & Nenonen, S. (2011). Scripting markets: From value propositions to market propositions Industrial Marketing Management, 40, 255–266 Tsujimoto Masaharu & Kajikawa, Yuya & Tomita, Junichi & Matsumoto, Yoichi (2018). A review of the ecosystem concept — Towards coherent ecosystem design. Technological Forecasting and Social Change, 136(1), 49-58 Vargo, S.L., & Lusch, R.F. (2011). It’s all B2B...and beyond: Toward a systems perspective of the market, Industrial Marketing Management, 40, 181–187 Sofroneeva, von Koskull & Makkonen
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Appendix 1 Questions 1) What is your organization’s role in the development of the innovation ecosystem in Yakutia? 2) Who are the key actors in the Yakutia innovation ecosystem? 3) Please define and draw the key actors, key actors’ groups and their relationships within innovation ecosystem? 4) How do the roles of companies/organizations differ in the innovation ecosystem? 5) How do you collaborate with other actors in the innovation ecosystem? 6) What do you think helps to achieve effective collaboration? 7) How do you define your own goals regarding the ecosystem? 8) How are the ecosystem goals defined? 9) Are the ecosystem goals and actor goals aligned, conflicts? 10) Do you use informal personal networks? 11) What is your experience with the indigenous heritage projects? 12) What indigenous knowledge would you incorporate into the innovation ecosystem genesis in the Arctic? 13) How does the Yakutia innovation ecosystem differ from other ecosystems and networks? What is unique to the innovation ecosystem in Yakutia? 14) What do you find unique about building innovation ecosystems in the Arctic? 15) What factors, in your opinion, help to engender highly effective collaboration toward building a high-performing innovation ecosystem in the Arctic? 16) What are the main barriers and challenges to building the innovation ecosystem? 17) Why are companies/organizations struggling to innovate effectively? 18) What are the key benefits that innovation ecosystems can offer? 19) What positive social impact could come from the innovation ecosystems in the Arctic? 20) How will the development of robotics, AI, and IoT affect companies, societies, and local communities in the Arctic?
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Geopolitical and Geoeconomic Articulations of the Arctic: Towards Multidimensional Spatiality? Vesa Väätänen & Kaj Zimmerbauer
In this article we discuss how the Arctic is defined as a geopolitical and geoeconomic space through an analysis of Arctic strategy documents of Sweden and Norway. By positioning our analysis in relation to research that has discussed the relations between geopolitics, geoeconomics and geoeconomization, we approach geopolitics and geoeconomics as distinct, yet intertwined geostrategic discourses that emphasize political relations and (national) security, and economic relations and economic growth, respectively. We argue that the Arctic region is defined – or articulated – through these discourses in spatially distinctive ways: the geopolitical discourse emphasizes territorial and bounded character of space, while the relational and networked “soft” spatial vocabulary is emphasized in the geoeconomic discourse. However, we also show that this distinction is not always so clear-cut, and these discourses can draw on multidimensional spatial vocabularies that constitute the Arctic as a geopolitical and geoeconomic space. We further assess the relations between the geopolitical and geoeconomic articulations of the Arctic, and argue that there has been a shift in which geoeconomization – the increasing prevalence of economic hopefulness – has been partially replaced by a renewed emphasis on geopolitical fears that are attached to transforming global security dynamics. The analysis of geopolitical and geoeconomic articulations of the Arctic can help us understand how these articulations not only reflect, but also constitute the Arctic as a political and economic space, which enables the foregrounding of the repercussions this has for political and economic practices associated with the region.
Introduction During the past two decades it has become commonplace to start academic articles on the Arctic by iterating the now familiar narrative on climate change, its effects on the Arctic environment, and the challenges and opportunities this change brings. In social science literature the changes in the Arctic have been approached through interpretations of the economic opportunities and geopolitical challenges they generate, or vice versa (see Dittmer, Moisio, Ingram & Dodds, 2011). Of course, these acts of defining the Arctic are not limited to the work of scientists, but different journalists, pundits, activists and politicians continuously interpret the changing Arctic from the perspective of its political and economic effects. Analytically speaking, the “speech acts” through Vesa Väätänen and Kaj Zimmerbauer are affiliated with the Geography Research Unit, University of Oulu.
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which the Arctic region is being defined are relevant especially if one adopts the position that regional definitions are not comprehensive and accurate representations of reality but contribute to its making. This is to say that regional definitions have effects and that these effects extend beyond the mere sphere of imagination. This is why studying the definitions of the Arctic is also important: definitions make, reflect and solidify power relations. They are manifestations of different political practices as well as the outcomes of discourses that constitute the interpretative lenses through which we make the Arctic region knowable. Thus, the ways in which the Arctic is being defined as a political and/or economic space has practical consequences as well. The relationship between political and economic definitions of the Arctic is interesting, because it resonates with literature in political geography and International Relations (IR) that has focused on the concepts of geopolitics, geoeconomics and geoeconomization. These concepts have been distinguished from each other in multiple ways, simultaneously as the distinction itself has been brought under question from different angles. In other words, the contested interplay of geopolitics and geoeconomics has been recently widely studied (Agnew, 2020; Cowen & Smith, 2009; Moisio, 2019; Moisio & Paasi, 2013; Sparke, 2018; Sum, 2019; Vihma, 2018). In this article we position our approach in relation to this literature and distinguish geopolitics and geoeconomics as distinct discourses that frame the world through different vocabularies (Sparke, 2007). Further, we take geoeconomization as a contextually manifesting, and reversable, process in which the vocabulary of economics becomes dominant. By drawing on this approach we illustrate how an analysis on these discourses can help us understand various definitions of Arctic that have been produced recently by different actors. We call these definitions articulations of the Arctic. Thus, our key aim is to interpret how the Arctic is articulated through these discourses as a political and economic space. Our approach is connected to existing research on the Arctic in multiple ways. First, the political importance of the processes through which the Arctic region is defined has been of key concern to scholars. This has been analyzed especially in the context of the Arctic Council and the wider Arctic cooperation (Dodds, 2013; Exner-Pirot, 2020; Keskitalo, 2004; Pincus & Ali, 2016; Väätänen & Zimmerbauer, 2020). Simultaneously, the political implications of the ways in which the Arctic has been seen and defined in specific national (Bennett, 2015, 2018; Khrushcheva & Poberezhskaya, 2016; Smith, 2010) and subnational (Landriault, Payette & Roussel, 2021; Väätänen, 2019) contexts has also been analyzed. Even as the political aspects of Arctic definitions have been of focal interest to scholars, the connections between economic modes of thinking and Arctic policies and cooperation have attained some interest as well (Nicol, 2018; Väätänen, 2021). There is thus a diverse body of research that focuses on the ways the Arctic is articulated as a political and economic space. In order to contribute to this work, we utilize the concepts of geopolitics and geoeconomics to discuss very specific kinds of articulations of the Arctic region, that is, its spatial articulations. Spatial articulations are important not least because they reflect in quite a profound manner what we understand ‘the region’ to be. This connects our approach to theoretical work in human geography that has focused on the question as to “what are regions”, and more precisely to the work that has considered this question from the perspective of their spatiality (see Varró & Lagendijk, 2013). Some have highlighted the territorial and bounded character of regions (e.g. Jones, 2009) while others have argued that they should be approached from a relational spatial
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perspective that highlights their networked aspects and connections that cross any regional boundaries (Amin, 2004; Massey, 2005). Simultaneously, approaches have been developed that have highlighted the complementary nature of the territorial and relational character of regions (Painter, 2010; Zimmerbauer, 2014). Fundamentally, by focusing on the spatial articulations of the Arctic we are interested in how different actors define the Arctic region as a relatively closed and bounded space or as an open space that is connected to relations that cross its boundaries. Additionally, existing work that has approached geopolitics and geoeconomics as distinct discourses has explicitly highlighted the spatial imaginaries and vocabularies inherent in them (Sparke, 2007). This common ground between regional theory and theorizations of geopolitics and geoeconomics acts as the starting point for our analysis. This article proceeds as follows. First, we provide a short overview of the literature on geopolitics and geoeconomics, which also positions our analysis in relation to existing approaches. We then proceed to discuss the spatial vocabularies that have been attached to geopolitical and geoeconomic discourses. Through this discussion, we construct our hypothesis that we put to test in our empirical analysis. The hypothesis is that geopolitical discourse draws on territorial spatial vocabulary, while geoeconomic discourse accentuates the relational spatiality of networks and flows. The following section focuses on our empirical analysis in which we discuss – by taking a look at the first and latest Arctic strategy documents of Sweden and Norway – how the Arctic is spatially defined through the geopolitical and geoeconomic discourses. The selection of Sweden and Norway provides us with an opportunity to construct a comparative framework for our analysis that includes two neighboring Nordic states. Concurrently, the selection of the first and latest strategy documents enables a temporal perspective on how the relation between geoeconomic and geopolitical discourses has transformed. In the final section, we draw our results together and reflect on the importance of analyzing spatial definitions of regions generally, but especially in the Arctic context from the perspective of geopolitics and geoeconomics.
Geopolitics, geoeconomics and geoeconomization Geopolitics, geoeconomics and geoeconomization are concepts which have attained increasing attention recently in political geographic and IR literature. The concept of geopolitics has its origins in the late 19th century, when a Swedish politician and scientist Rudolf Kjellén, inspired by Friedrich Ratzel, embraced an organic state theory and promoted the concept. The concept of geoeconomics was first developed in the work of Edward Luttwak (1990) to describe the shift that had arguably taken place in the logics and tools of interstate conflict. Reflecting the realist school of IR thinkers, Luttwak (1990) argues that an epochal shift is taking place from geopolitics to geoeconomics, in which the methods of commerce are replacing military methods as the key tools of interstate rivalry. The concept of geoeconomics gained popularity particularly in the post-Cold War geopolitical situation simultaneously with the rise of major new economic powers such as China and India. In addition to the more recent readings of geoeconomics in IR that have taken their inspiration from Luttwak’s original thesis (e.g. Vihma, 2018), geoeconomics is a term that has found its way to political geographic research in which it has attained different meanings. A key distinction in the way in which geoeconomics has been understood in political geographic literature when reflected with IR research is that in political geography of key concern has been to critically evaluate the strategic repercussions and origins of economic thinking rather than to develop tools through which economic strategies can be pursued (see Sparke, 2018).
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The 1990s saw an initial emergence of research in political geography that articulated its approach explicitly in terms of geoeconomics. This complemented the closely related work that sought to analyze the “geopolitical economy” (Agnew & Corbridge, 1995). The most prominent example of the emerging attention to geoeconomics from this period is Matthew Sparke (1998), who seeks to question the state-centric definition of geoeconomics promoted by Luttwak to underscore how cross-border regions become increasingly promotionally positioned in the context of free trade to attract investment and other economic flows. Through this perspective, geoeconomics thus denotes a historical shift from geopolitically oriented thinking towards geoeconomic modes of reasoning, and of central importance is how these modes of geoeconomic thinking permeate crossborder governance initiatives and practices. A similar shift, although from a slightly different angle, is the centerpiece of the reading of geoeconomics by Deborah Cowen and Neil Smith (2009), as they suggest that geopolitical social forms are being replaced by geoeconomic ones. Put briefly, Cowen and Smith argue that through this process “the state becomes an entrepreneur in its own right, a player in the market first and foremost rather than a regulator of the market’s ‘excesses’” (2009: 41). From the perspective of Cowen and Smith’s (2009) argument, geoeconomization can be understood as a process through which this transformation of the state into an entrepreneur occurs. A focal point of contestation has been the treatment of geopolitics and geoeconomics as distinct historical eras, as has been presumed in most of the literature discussed above (e.g. Cowen & Smith 2009; Luttwak, 1990; Sparke, 1998). This historical division is being argued against by those who underscore the impossibility of dividing politics and the economy as somehow distinct spheres of thought and action (Moisio, 2019; Sparke, 2018). Similar criticism is presented by those who provide historical analyses of the interplay between geopolitics and geoeconomics long before the division was made by scholars (e.g. Domosh, 2013). Indeed, while the utilization of the term geoeconomization risks reproducing the historical division that implies that geoeconomics somehow comes after geopolitics as a historical era, we see that by treating geopolitics and geoeconomics as distinct discourses that come together to legitimize specific policy choices, geoeconomization can be approached as a process to be analyzed contextually. In this sense, we follow the approach to geoeconomics building on critical geopolitics and crystallized by Sparke, who insists that he does not suggest that geopolitics and geoeconomics describe distinct geo-strategic periods of interstate policy that have led from nuclear stockpile competition to commercial expansion competition in a clear-cut chronological progression. Instead, I am arguing that geopolitics and geoeconomics are better understood as geostrategic discourses (2007: 340; see also Essex, 2013). As geostrategic discourses, geopolitics and geoeconomics can be seen as two sides of the same coin, meaning that the representations they draw on and (re)produce can be intertwined. These representations can incorporate projections of geopolitical fears and geoeconomic hopes, which act as justifications for specific strategic choices (Sparke, 2007). Concurrently, it is important to bear in mind that while the arguments accompanying some state strategies may transform from ones emphasizing military security, great power politics and international relations to ones accentuating economic opportunity, international competitiveness and free trade thus indicating the process of geoeconomization, this shift can also happen the other way around. The back-and-
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forth relationship between such representations highlights that geoeconomization does not necessarily refer to a historical shift per se, but rather to the shift in the relations between geopolitical and geoeconomic discourses. Put together, the approaching of geopolitics and geoeconomics as geostrategic discourses allows us to interpret the interplay between these discourses in the Arctic strategies of our selected states. Before we turn to the analysis itself it is important to discuss how the discourses of geopolitics and geoeconomics have been approached from an explicitly spatial perspective, and how the emphasis on the spatial aspects of these discourses can help us to unpack the importance of the spatial definitions of the Arctic region from the perspective of geopolitics and geoeconomics.
Spatialities of geopolitics and geoconomics: Discussing territoriality and relationality The previous section illustrated how geopolitics and geoeconomics are deeply intertwined, although according to several scholars, particularly in IR and political geography, a certain shift toward geoeconomics can be witnessed. Before discussing what this means in terms of the Arctic region and its possible change, we need to open up the spatial manifestations of geopolitics and geoeconomics, and geoeconomization in particular. This is important in order to be able to understand better the processes through which the Arctic becomes de- and re-territorialized through multiple spatial idea(l)s. These include various processes that entail vocabularies of relatively closed and open spaces, as well as bounded territories and permeable networks. These sometimes competing spatial manifestations of the interplay of geopolitics and geoeconomics have remained less studied, and even less in a supranational context. In the current neoliberal world organized through both borders and connections across them (cf. Harrison & Growe, 2014; Larner & Walters, 2002), scholars have debated for some time whether regions should be conceptualized primarily as porous, fluid and relational or as bounded, more fixed and territorial (MacLeod & Jones, 2007; Paasi, 2011). This resonates much with the idea of geoeconomization, as porosity, fluidity and relationality have been associated with fuzzily bounded regional spaces (in contrast to spaces of regionalism, see Jones & MacLeod, 2004), characterized typically as new “soft” economic spaces “prospering to reconfigure the geographical complexion of a globalizing economy” (Jones & MacLeod, 2004: 435). Following this idea, Zimmerbauer – referring to Allmendinger and Haughton (2010) and to Metzger and Schmitt (2012) – states: “The transformation from geopolitics towards geoeconomics is parallel to the shift from territorial to more relational discourse in planning. This new economization of planning vocabulary entails the idea of ‘new soft spaces of governance’ with ‘fuzzy boundaries’ where form follows function in the sense that scales are socially produced rather than pregiven, and soft spaces become constituted increasingly through networks” (2014: 2725). In short, this is to say that spatiality in geoeconomics means that regions are approached and understood as increasingly open and networked. Geoeconomization of supranational co-operation, or as Healey (2007) more generally formulates, the new geography of connectivity and relational complexity, has obviously brought large numbers of new actors with greater economic aspirations into the tables of Arctic cooperation. Perhaps what is most striking is that this has been seen in processes related to the Arctic Council and negotiations around the observer status criteria (Väätänen & Zimmerbauer, 2020). States typically not regarded as Arctic, such as France, Japan or China, have actively tried to become members of
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the Arctic community through various speech acts that emphasize connections to the Arctic, such as scientific co-operation with research stations in the far north (Bennett, 2015; Väätänen & Zimmerbauer, 2020). This policy of stretching the Arctic can be seen as one manifestation of “relationalization” of supranational space. Although not merely by economic interests, geoeconomization and especially a possible opportunity to benefit from the natural resources, planned forthcoming transportation routes etc. is one of the driving forces of such articulations of the Arctic. Generally, geoeconomization has introduced more business and trade-oriented actors – such as chamber of commerce and other trade and business organizations – to cooperation networks. The above notions point out that geoeconomization has its spatial form. It can be seen to lean on the ideology of soft, fuzzily bounded spaces that loosely “frame” networks typical for globalized economic activities. Thus, it can be argued that geoeconomization entails a vocabulary of connectivity and connections, movement, fluidity and openness. Geopolitics, on the other hand has been argued to build more on boundedness and thus on closure. Taking this idea further, it can be hypothesized that while often simultaneously present, geoeconomics stems from relational approaches on space, whereas geopolitics is based more on territorial notions on spatiality, and they thereby fundamentally utilize different spatial ontology and are thus at least partially incommensurable. This hypothesis is put to test later in this article, as we analyze how the Arctic becomes articulated and approached in the Arctic strategy documents of Sweden and Norway and how this de- and re-territorializes the Arctic. The hypothesized spatial dimensions of geopolitics and geoeconomics are presented in Table 1. It is to illustrate how spatiality, borders, aims of cooperation and typical actors differ between the two discourses based on existing literature. Table 1. Differences between geopolitical and geoeconomic discourses in selected features.
Geopolitics
Geoeconomics
Spatial form
Territorial, delineated, Relational, networked, fluid, “container-type”, hard open, soft
Boundaries
Visible, strict, determine co- Fuzzy, diminished, frame cooperation operation
Aims of co-operation
Political, reduce increase stability
tensions, Economical, competitiveness, trade
increase support
Typical actors
Nation states, governments
(central) Sub-national business and organizations
regions, trade
Related to Table 1, it needs to be emphasized that even though the shift from geopolitics to geoeconomics has increased the building of multilevel governance through networks, territoriality still plays an important part, although in new forms. In fact, some scholars have argued that despite the increasing emphasis on networks and soft spaces, borders are now “dispersed a little everywhere” (Balibar, 2004). Thus, the purpose of Table 1 is to make an analytical distinction between geopolitics and geoeconomics in terms of spatial approaches and “forms” of coGeopolitical and geoeconomic Articulations of the Arctic
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operation, at the same time acknowledging that the categories are very much intertwined in many practices and territories and networks overlap. This is to say that the de- and re-territorializing practices happen to a large extent through the interplay of geopolitics and geoeconomics, even though geoeconomics has arguably gained more weight recently. Next, we will discuss how these spatial dimensions of geopolitical and geoeconomic discourses can be seen in the context of the Arctic region through our empirical material, and whether the empirical material supports the hypothesis that geopolitical discourse draws on territorial spatial vocabulary, and geoeconomic discourses rather than from a relational one.
Territorial and relational articulations of the Arctic as a geopolitical and geoeconomic space Sweden’s Arctic strategy: from geoeconomization to geopolitization? The first Arctic strategy document of Sweden was published in 2011. This coincided with the beginning of the Swedish chairmanship of the Arctic Council, and much emphasis is placed in the document on articulating the relationship between Sweden and the Arctic. The Swedish priorities regarding the Arctic are defined as: 1) Climate and the environment; 2) Economic development; and 3) The human dimension. When it comes to the meaning attributed to the Arctic region and its spatiality, the familiar territorial definition of the Arctic as the area above the Arctic Circle is provided. However, as one digs a little deeper, it becomes apparent that the understanding of the Arctic as a changing region has been adopted in Sweden, and it is interpreted through an explicitly geoeconomic vocabulary: The Arctic region is in a process of far-reaching change. Climate change is creating new challenges, but also opportunities, on which Sweden must take a position and exert an influence. New conditions are emerging for shipping, hunting, fishing, trade and energy extraction, and alongside this, new needs are arising for an efficient infrastructure. New types of cross-border flows will develop. This will lead state and commercial actors to increase their presence, which will result in new relationships (Sweden, 2011: 4). The emphasis on new cross-border flows and new relationships between state and commercial actors illustrates the extent to which geoeconomic discourse draws on relational conceptions of spatiality. This conception also acts as the basis for anticipatory visioning related to what these economic flows and relations could offer for Sweden and the Swedish economy: Sweden’s growth and competitiveness can be promoted by means of greater free trade and proactive efforts to combat technical trade barriers in the Arctic region (Sweden, 2011: 30). The relational spatial vocabulary which highlights the importance of cross-border activities and economic flows both within, and across the borders of the Arctic region is thus a key component of the Swedish 2011 strategy document. The geoeconomic vocabulary is accompanied with assertions that downplay the perspectives that have highlighted the geopolitical challenges associated with the changing Arctic, while strongly emphasizing that it is cooperation, not conflict, that defines the region:
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It should be stressed, however, that extraction under Arctic conditions already takes place on a large scale, not least in Russia. The development alluded to here has however led to the focus shifting further and further northwards and towards the inner Arctic Ocean. The public debate some-times gives the impression that this is a kind of “gold rush”, a fight over resources that inevitably leads to a higher level of conflict in the region. This picture is incorrect. The area is characterised by a high level of cooperation and a low level of conflict. Overlapping claims must be dealt with according to international law (Sweden, 2011: 37). The document highlights that international law provides the tools to resolve the potential for disorder, which could threaten free trade and economic activities. The emphasis on territorial order based on international law speaks to how territorial idea(l)s are connected to geoeconomic thinking. The 2011 Swedish strategy document is thus a good example of the geoeconomization dynamics associated with the Arctic, because its key focus is on economic opportunity, while the central security issues that are identified are not in most part connected to geopolitical perspectives. As put in the document: “The current security policy challenges in the Arctic are not of a military nature” (Sweden, 2011: 14). In the 2020 strategy document some clear shifts are identifiable. The priorities for Swedish Arctic policy are articulated as: 1) International collaboration in the Arctic; 2) Security and stability; 3) Climate and the environment; 4) Polar research and environmental monitoring; 5) Sustainable economic development and business sector interests; and 6) Ensuring good living conditions. Notable here is that security and stability have garnered a much bigger role than in the 2011 document. As in the 2011 document security was discussed mostly through a broad conception of security and through assertions regarding the low risks in terms of military security in the Arctic, in the 2020 document military security and the associated geopolitical spatial vocabulary play a crucial role. When compared to the 2011 document, Arctic change is in the 2020 document articulated not so much through a perspective of geoeconomic promise, but through the perspective of geopolitical threats. In terms of this paper the most notable issue is, however, that the geopolitical threats feared to be manifesting in the region are seen to be coming from both inside and outside of the boundaries of the Arctic. The threats coming from inside the region are articulated in territorial terms concerning security dynamics between territorial states. There are two key threats identified in this regard: competing territorial claims in sea areas accompanied by the restriction of free movement, and “increased Russian activity and military build-up to defend Russian territory” (Sweden, 2020: 23). The second threat is then tied together with developments occurring beyond the Arctic, as it is stated that developments in the Arctic are also affected by the global security policy situation, which is characterised by instability and unpredictability. The military strategic importance of the Arctic has increased, and, as in the Cold War, the Arctic is a dividing line between western countries and Russia (Sweden, 2020: 23). This return to Cold War geopolitical imagination regarding the Arctic as a dividing line between western countries and Russia provides a stark contrast to the 2011 document, in which these divisions were projected as obsolete. This “outside-in” logic of geopolitical threats also encompasses non-Arctic states, and especially China. The notion that “China’s increased global ambitions are also expressed in the Arctic” (Sweden, 2020: 23) further highlights the intertwined Geopolitical and geoeconomic Articulations of the Arctic
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character of the global and the regional in the new geopolitical discourse on the Arctic. Put together, the way in which the Arctic is envisioned as a geopolitical space in the 2020 Swedish strategy document is summarized in the following statement: The rapid climate change has made the Arctic’s natural resources more accessible and interesting to commercial actors and has created expectations of greater navigability in marine fairways. As the region’s importance has increased, in strategic and in economic terms, for both Arctic and non-Arctic states, tensions in the region may rise. The military presence and activity in the Arctic have grown, partly as a result of deteriorating relations at global level. This also increases the risk of an arms race and incidents in the region. Strained relations at global level can have repercussions at regional level in the Arctic (Sweden, 2020: 22). Such ideas of a “global” origin of regional geopolitical threats illustrates that within Sweden’s 2020 Arctic strategy document the Arctic is envisioned as a geopolitical space through a partially relational spatial vocabulary. This challenges our original hypotheses regarding the exclusively territorial character of geopolitical spatial imagination and its articulations. Concurrently, it still needs to be noted that the 2020 Swedish document also addresses the Arctic through a geoeconomic perspective drawing on similar relational spatial vocabularies as the 2011 document. The analyzed Swedish documents still show that the relation between geoeconomic and geopolitical articulations of the Arctic have changed: the 2011 document exemplified the logics of geoeconomization by forwarding geoeconomic vocabulary while downplaying geopolitical ones, and the 2020 document characterizes the logics of what could be called geopolitization, in which the emphasis on geopolitics is greater. Norway’s northern strategy: from the High North to the Arctic Norway published its first comprehensive northern strategy in 2006 under the geographical framework of the High North. It has subsequently published multiple strategy documents focusing on first, the High North and later, the Arctic. This shift is an interesting issue in itself, as we will discuss later. The 2006 strategy document is constructed around ten parts that discuss issues from knowledge generation, competence building and the environment to petroleum activities and business development. In broad terms the document’s focus is mainly on economic development issues and on political cooperation, especially in relation to Russia. The economic prospects are articulated in terms of the national, as well as sub-national regional economies, and they reflect the long-standing importance of natural resources for the Norwegian economy. In the Norwegian strategy, the emphasis on economic development and thus the geoeconomic discourse is mainly associated with northern Norway. While there are clear examples in the Swedish documents of how northern Sweden is addressed in relation to “Arctic” economy, such as through the mining industry located there, it is evident that the Norwegian strategy focuses explicitly on the sub-national level when discussing economic issues. This emphasis on sub-state territories is accompanied by a relationally articulated depiction of how the economic flows emanating from northern Norway accentuate – together with other issues – the importance of the High North for others beyond regional and national boundaries: During the course of the past year, the High North has been placed firmly on the map of Europe. Decision makers in other countries have become aware that the
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High North has significance that extends far beyond Norway’s borders. Take, for example, the living marine resources that are provided to European consumers from a unique and vulnerable natural environment. Or global climate change, which is becoming so clearly obvious in the Arctic. The High North also has international significance because of the Norwegian and Russian petroleum resources in the Barents Sea and future opportunities for transporting energy resources. In addition, the Norwegian-Russian cooperation in the High North has developed into an important channel for European dialogue (Norway, 2006: 5). For Norway, economic opportunity in the Arctic is thus seen through an “inside-out” relational spatial logic – as an issue concerning value creation within the northern parts of the national territory, which is realized as economic growth through economic flows that radiate outwards. As a contrast, for Sweden the economic opportunity of the Arctic concerns in most parts the value chains seen to be emerging within the wider Arctic region that do not originate in Sweden itself. In this sense, the Swedish strategy is based on an “outside-in” spatial logic, in which economic actors operate beyond national boundaries in the Arctic while bringing in profits. These differences, at least to some extent, can be attributed to Norway being an Arctic Ocean coastal state, and Sweden lacking Arctic Ocean coastline. However, what the Norwegian and Swedish documents have in common is that they both draw on relational spatial vocabulary that accentuates cross-border economic flows. Concurrently, however, they treat the political-territorial order based on international law as the prerequisite for the liberation of such flows. Especially the delimitation of continental shelves is foregrounded: Agreement on a delimitation line will thus make it possible to establish the predictable framework that is necessary for economic and other actors, and also for cross-border cooperation schemes in the petroleum sector (Norway, 2006: 16– 17). Territorialization thus becomes the enabler of deterritorialization (cf. Moisio, 2019), and both of these processes become constituted through spatial vocabularies that articulate the Arctic as a territorial and relational space. The importance of territorialization is also evident in the Swedish strategy documents, as it is stated that “Sweden has no territorial claim to the Arctic Ocean but establishment of the coastal states’ continental shelves in accordance with the Convention on the Law of the Sea is very much in Sweden’s interest” (Sweden, 2011: 22). The 2021 Norwegian document follows the same principles as the 2006 document in many respects. Especially when considered from the geoeconomic perspective, the emphasis is even more clearly on northern Norway. The 2021 document also exhibits similar spatial economic thinking as the 2006 document, even though the emphasis on the knowledge-based economy is even clearer. The emphasis on knowledge as an economic factor illustrates the extent to which the spatial imaginaries associated with the knowledge-based economy have found their way to the Arctic context as well (cf. Moisio, 2019; Väätänen, 2021). It further shows how such geoeconomic thinking foregrounds the importance of sub-national regions as the engines of national economic growth. While in terms of geoeconomics, the spatial focus has remained relatively uniform in Norway’s strategy documents from 2006 to 2021, when it comes to geopolitics, the most evident
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transformation in geographical terms is the replacement of the term High North with that of the Arctic. In this respect it is noticeable that while the High North was mainly utilized as a geographical context in which Norway’s relations with Russia were focused on, the utilization of the geographical context of the Arctic in the 2021 strategy document has extended the spatial scope through which geopolitics related to the north are being discussed: The stability of the Arctic has long remained relatively unaffected by conflicts in other areas of the world. However, current global trends are leading to growing international interest in the region and a greater focus on Norway’s strategic location. The changing security policy landscape in recent years and the melting of the ice in the Arctic Ocean are also playing a part. Nor can the possibility be ruled out that increased tensions in other places will affect the situation in the Arctic (Norway, 2021: 15). The transformation in the geographical terms used reflects the spatial shift from an emphasis on the “internal” security dynamics of the region to how the “internal” and “external” dynamics have become intertwined, as was also discussed in the context of Sweden. Even as the indetermined nature of the territorial structure within the Arctic is still cast as the key “threat” for the economic development prospects of the region, the “external” aspect has grown even more prominent also in the Norwegian strategy documents. The response to this perceived challenge to Arctic security from outside the boundaries of the region has led to two kinds of responses that exhibit somewhat contradictory spatial logics. First, the participation of “non-Arctic” actors has been facilitated in negotiations over Arctic governance structures. A notable example is that China, the European Union, Japan and South Korea were signatories to the 2018 “Agreement to prevent unregulated high seas fisheries in the Central Arctic Ocean”, alongside Canada, Denmark, Iceland, Norway, Russia and the United States. The inclusion of “non-Arctic” states and actors illustrates the political dynamics through which the Arctic is simultaneously politically territorialized through such agreements, and de-territorialized through the participation of the representatives of states beyond the purported boundaries of the Arctic region in negotiations over the agreements. The second response to the perceived threat of a “spillover” of geopolitical juxtaposition from outside the region into the Arctic has been a clearer emphasis on the Arctic as a territorial and more or less bounded region. This territorial understanding of the wider Arctic region becomes evident in how the role of “non-Arctic” states is reflected upon: The Arctic is sometimes portrayed as an unregulated or even lawless region. The impacts of the melting of the Arctic ice on countries outside the region are cited by some as a reason to view developments in the Arctic as a shared global concern (‘what happens in the Arctic doesn’t stay in the Arctic’). This is being used as an argument for giving non-Arctic states a general right to participate in the management of the Arctic. The rights, interests and options available to non-Arctic states vary depending on what they are seeking to achieve in the different areas of jurisdiction. There is consensus among the members of the Arctic Council that international law applies in the Arctic (Norway, 2021: 8).
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Thus, even though the participation of “non-Arctic” states in discussions over Arctic issues is facilitated in order to construct rule-based territorial governance structures, their arguments for inclusion are simultaneously downplayed through an emphasis on their “non-Arcticness” and the boundaries of the region (cf. Väätänen & Zimmerbauer, 2020). Spaces of geopolitical and geoeconomic hopes and fears In the analysis above, we have shown how the relations between geopolitical and geoeconomic discourses on the Arctic have been articulated through the Swedish and Norwegian Arctic strategies. In broad terms it can be argued that there has been a shift in the relations between these discourses, and in how they are articulated spatially. In the first strategies of both Norway and Sweden unregulated economic activities within the Arctic region were cast as the clearest factors that can cause political instability within the region. Disorder and internal incoherence were thus cast as the biggest threats to the region. The solution to this potential instability was seen to be political territorialization within the region especially through the delimitation of continental shelves. Additionally, the “internal” political territorialization of the Arctic as a “space of states” through this delimitation process was projected as the enabler of cross-border economic flows and relations. For Sweden the liberation of these flows meant an opportunity to tap into them beyond the Swedish territory, while for Norway it meant an opportunity to be the source of these flows. In the most recent strategy documents the relationship between geopolitical and geoeconomic articulations of the Arctic has transformed and now the potential political instability outside of the Arctic region is cast as a threat to both political and economic relations within the region. This also means that even though the role of international law – and especially the Law of the Sea as the basis for territorial delimitation – is still highlighted, now the key solution to potential geopolitical instability is spatially more wide-ranging and diffuse political cooperation which enables the dissolution of the identified threats. We can thus identify an interplay between geopolitical and geoeconomic fears and hopes that exhibit distinct spatial dimensions and are summarized in Table 2. Table 2. Geopolitical and geoeconomic fears and hopes regarding the Arctic, and their spatial aspects.
Geopolitical
Geoeconomic
Fears
Political/territorial disorder and weak (leaking) boundaries both within and “at the edge” of the region
Unregulated economic activities, territorial competition for natural resources and the potential blocking of cross-border economic flows both within and crossing regional boundaries
Hopes
Political/territorial order that enables and is enabled by crossborder cooperation, clear boundaries both within and “at the edge” of the region
Territorially manifesting economic growth (either at sub-state or state level) through smooth cross-border economic flows and free trade
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Perhaps it is then misleading to talk merely about the geoeconomization of the Arctic as it would imply that economic geographical vocabulary as well as economic imperatives for cooperation would be replacing and backgrounding geopolitical ones. Indeed, we can witness a kind of “return to geopolitics” rhetoric within the most recent strategy documents analyzed here. As it has become evident through our analysis of the Arctic strategies of Sweden and Norway, and in terms of how they have transformed in a decade or so, geopolitical and geoeconomic discourses are nevertheless at least partially intertwined and their relations vary. Simultaneously, they foreground different aspects of spatiality. This becomes apparent in how the fears attached to political and territorial disorder are transformed into hopes of order that itself is seen to enable territorially manifesting economic growth – growth that still relies on cross-border economic flows within and beyond the region.
Conclusions Our analysis partially confirms the hypothesis that geopolitical discourse draws on territorial spatial vocabulary, while geoeconomic discourse accentuates relational spatiality. However, it is also apparent that territorial idea(l)s are also incorporated into geoeconomic modes of thinking, and relational spatial vocabularies have their place in geopolitical discourse. This indicates that the analytical distinction of two seemingly distant or opposite discourses deserves to be elaborated further. The key aim of this paper has been to contribute to this work. By looking at Arctic strategies on Sweden and Norway, we have outlined that the Arctic region not only is defined as a territorial, bounded space or as fluid relational space, but also as “space of territories” and “relational space constitutes by cross-border relations”. This is to say that approaching the Arctic region simply as either territorial or relational space is not enough: more refined variations need to be recognized. Accordingly, while it is completely fine to understand relational and territorial approaches on space as “two sides of the same coin” (Varró & Lagendijk, 2013), we should also acknowledge that relational and territorial vocabularies, attached to geoeconomics and geopolitics, are nevertheless partly incommensurable. Thus, although deeply intertwined in many practices, geopolitics and geoeconomics (when seen through the prism of territoriality and relationality), often exhibit distinctive spatial logics. To conclude, we argue that we need go beyond the much debated relational-territorial divide, but not in a way that dispels the divide and states simply that they are intertwined and the debate has actually been a “non-debate”. They are intertwined, but not totally and not in all practices. This is to say that the spatiality of regions, such as the Arctic, has different meanings depending on if it is articulated through a geopolitical or geoeconomic discourse. What this means in terms of our understanding of Arctic is that it appears in many spatial forms through these discourses: as a multidimensional space. It can be approached as a territorial space with relatively fixed boundaries or as an internally coherent space of territories. Furthermore, understanding the Arctic as a relational space connected to, and constituted by, relations that cross its boundaries, or as an internally fluid space of relational complexity is at times equally eligible. It is crucial to understand how these spatial dimensions are articulated by different actors and how they are connected to different definitions of the Arctic as a geopolitical and geoeconomic space. This is important because spatial articulations of the Arctic are not innocent representations of reality, but they are constituent parts of practices through which specific strategic courses of action are legitimated.
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Geopolitical and geoeconomic Articulations of the Arctic
Scenarios for Sustainable Development in the Arctic until 2050
Alexandra Middleton, Anastasia Lazariva, Frode Nilssen, Alexey Kalinin & Anastasia Belostotskaya
The Arctic region has increasingly come to be seen in a new light because of the global transformations resulting from the disruptive challenges of climate change and shifting global political, social and economic patterns. The harsh environmental conditions there have long constrained economic activity. The climate crisis, while having a negative impact on the region in some senses, opens up new prospects for development in others. The Arctic has become a geopolitical hot spot where global and regional players seek to increase their influence. On one side, the Arctic possesses vast natural resources and increasingly will be an important global source of bio-resources. The area is also one of geopolitical tension. On the other side, the Arctic represents a “temperature gauge” for distant pollution and waste in the sea. At the same time, powerful voices from supranational institutions are putting heavy pressure on preserving the Arctic as a kind of “nature protected area” with severe restrictions on economic activity and human impact. This paper draws attention to the tension between the regional interest in maintaining and developing a socially, economically and biologically sustainable area of human settlement and the more detached interest in preserving the Arctic as a nature reserve. The study approaches Arctic development from a social, ecological and environmental point of view, mapping key development drivers and the changing geopolitical context. The research utilizes scenario methodology and qualitative expert interviews combined with comprehensive literature studies. Four scenarios illustrate how the Arctic might look in 2050 and what the implications might be for the sustainable development of the region from the economic, social and environmental perspectives.
Introduction The Arctic has attracted a lot of research and media attention trying to shed light on the present and future state of the region as it is the one most affected by climate change and is of interest for resource extraction by the Arctic countries and international players. The Arctic region has become intensely geopolitical, affected by global interests and the narratives of business, national and regional governmental actors (Dodds & Woon 2020). Exploring history to produce narratives about the future of the Arctic, the researchers agree that melting ice will lead to an increase in shipping and resource extraction (Wood-Donnelly, 2018). Scenarios for the future of the Arctic range from short to long time-horizons and portray an array of Arctic futures from the most pessimistic to the most optimistic (Arbo et al., 2012; Erokhin & Corresponding Author: Alexandra Middleton is an Assistant Professor at the Oulu Business School University of Oulu.
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Rovenskaya, 2020). Analysis of the media discourse demonstrates that whereas environmental organizations advocate better protection of the vulnerable Arctic, government actors stress the advantages of the new Arctic economy. Environmental sustainability and scientific knowledge are the most central justifications and are used by all actor types (academia, government, business). Ecological justifications, on the other hand, frequently conflict with market justifications (Kukkonen et al., 2020). Often the interests of different Arctic stakeholders are presented as being at odds with each other. The purpose of this study is to construct scenarios for the future of the Arctic region until 2050 by identifying the driving forces and critical uncertainties of Arctic development. The time horizon of 2050 is a challenging one because the Arctic will be halfway through a transition from current structures to something different, approaching a tipping point. It will almost certainly contain elements of both the old and the new Arctic. The study involves multi-stakeholder dialogue and contributes to the previous literature by using the concept of the Triple Bottom Line whereby economic, social and environmental performance are equally important (Norman & MacDonald, 2004) and by applying the Oxford Scenario Planning Approach (Ramirez & Wilkinson, 2016). With our scenarios, we try to answer these questions: can Arctic development be both economically viable, socially and environmentally responsible and, if so, what is needed for that? Scenarios are aimed at showcasing a range of possible futures for the Arctic region, which provides a point of departure for leadership discussions. The article proceeds as follows. Section 1 reviews previous research on the Arctic using scenario methodology. Section 2 discusses methodological choices and data. Section 3 presents development drivers and section 4 comments on critical uncertainties. These scenarios are elaborated on in Section 5. Finally, Section 6 presents the Conclusion.
Review of the Arctic studies using scenario methodology The Arctic region has been a fertile field for researchers wanting to apply scenarios and future studies methods. A changing environment due to climatic warming, increased international political and business interest, and shifting geopolitics all offer a range of uncertainties for future Arctic trajectories. In the review article by Arbo et al. (2012), 50 studies concerning the future of the Arctic were analyzed in order to identify basic assumptions, analytical approaches, and future images that characterize current thinking about the Arctic. Major topics recurring in the studies include climate change and its social impacts, natural resources, economic activity (oil and gas, mining, shipping, fisheries) and changing Arctic governance (Arbo et al., 2012). The future of the Arctic is linked to the accessibility of the Arctic Ocean. In the report Maritime Futures 2035, the Arctic Region drivers such as geopolitical stability, global demand for Arctic resources and economic trends with the most influence and highest uncertainty are selected for twelve possible scenarios (Blair & Muller-Stoffels, 2018). A recent review of scenario studies by concepts used and methodologies applied can be found in Erokhin and Rovenskaya (2020). Regional studies Tsukerman & Ivanov (2013) discuss two scenarios of livelihood systems in the Arctic Zone of Russia. The first “innovation scenario” uses technology and scientific advances for the development of natural resources in the Russian part of the Arctic. The second “inertial scenario” provides a conservative view with minimal projected growth in key socio-economic indicators of the Arctic
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zone. Regional studies applying scenario methodology for the Norwegian Arctic are to be found in studies by Blakkisrud (2008) and Olsen and Iversen (2009). Russian Arctic development to 2030 in three scenarios addressing the role of market forces and democracy can be found in Myllyllä et al. (2016). Zaikov et al. (2019) looked at ways in which the Russian Federation’s Arctic region might develop until 2035, including physical and geographical features, the world economy, and demand for hydrocarbon resources. They outlined three distinct but overlapping scenarios: an optimistic one, a negative one, and a moderate one. Comprehensive long-range horizon studies Some studies like “The New North: The World in 2050” by Smith (2011) take global warming, resource scarcity and population expansion as the major drivers for global development. In the new world, Arctic countries – Canada, Greenland, Norway, Sweden, Iceland, Finland and the northern regions of Russia and the United States – will become zones of rapid economic growth and increasing strategic importance. Population movements and increased urbanization already influence the pace of development in the area. In the context of global megatrends, Rasmussen (2011) sees the Arctic as a part of global society and often at the centre of global attention. Brigham (2007) presents four broad scenarios for the future of the entire Arctic until 2040. In these scenarios, global climate change results in significant regional warming. Other drivers include changing transportation systems, especially increases in marine and air access, resource development in oil and gas, minerals, fisheries, freshwater, and forestry. Moreover, it includes overall geopolitical issues, environmental degradation, Arctic Council cooperative arrangements and the role of Indigenous peoples. In the Globalized Frontier scenario, the Arctic in 2040 has become an integral component of the global economic system, in the Adaptive Frontier the Arctic in 2040 is being drawn into the globalization era much more slowly. In the third, the Fortress Frontier Scenario, the Arctic is viewed as a storehouse of natural riches that are being guarded and developed by a handful of wealthy circumpolar nations. In the fourth scenario Equitable Frontier the Arctic is integrated with the global economic system in 2040 with an evolving international sustainability paradigm that has been implemented for Arctic development. Socio-economic scenarios for the Eurasian Arctic by 2040 are discussed in the report by Haavisto et al. (2016). The study takes a long-range horizon (to 2040) and builds up scenarios on three dichotomous axes (open – closed; public – private; and dirty – clean) to explain the political, economic, social, technological, and environmental characteristics of many futures. Altogether, six socioeconomic possibilities for the Eurasian Arctic, named Wild West, Silicon Valley, Exploited Colony, Shangri-La, Conflict Zone, and the Antarctic, are presented as a framework for discussing the development of the maritime, resource extraction, and tourism industries. The Arctic Marine Shipping Assessment Report (AMSA) by the Arctic Council (2009) presented four scenarios for Arctic marine navigation until 2050. In the Arctic race, high demand and unstable governance set the stage for an economic rush for Arctic wealth and resources. In the Polar Lows, low demand and unstable governance bring a murky and underdeveloped future for the Arctic. In Polar preserve, demand is low and governance is stable. Arctic development should be slowed while establishing a vast eco-reserve with strict “no shipping zones”. The Arctic Saga scenario features a healthy rate of development involving the conservation of Arctic ecosystems and cultures, leading to strong demand and stable governance.
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Participatory More and more scenarios are now being created with a participatory methodology for new developments in the Arctic. They have the potential to contribute to several Arctic research priorities, including integrating Indigenous and local knowledge into futures studies. Participatory approaches provide a platform for the local population to participate in identifying Arctic-relevant drivers and indicators for sustainable development (Cost & Lovecraft, 2019). For instance, in Arctic Futures Makers (AFM) a two-day workshop was organized bringing together 22 Alaska Indigenous high school students to discuss the resilience of the Northwest Arctic Borough’s communities in the face of climate and development change. The scenarios workshop’s objective was to identify factors that students believed were critical to the future of healthy and sustainable communities (Cost & Lovecraft, 2019). Following the participatory approach, Falardeau et al. (2018) present four scenarios in the Canadian Arctic mobilizing Indigenous and local knowledge in scenarios constructing positive futures. The reviewed studies demonstrate that the future of the Arctic has been and is becoming even more prominent on the wider research agenda. Studies vary by scope, by time-horizon and with the involvement of stakeholders in the futures scenario building process, while not being mutually exclusive. Our study contributes to the literature using a triple-bottom line approach, using a longrange horizon until 2050 and building scenarios for the entire Arctic region.
Methodology and data Our study uses a scenario methodology (Schoemaker, 1991; Schoemaker, 1993; Ramirez & Wilkinson, 2016) that involves identifying uncertainties and building plausible future paths. Scenario methodology allows for questioning the prevailing mindset to consider shifting away from status quo positions and policies (Schoemaker, 1991). In our study we use the Oxford Scenario Planning Approach (OSPA) methodology (Ramirez & Wilkinson, 2016), which has been applied to an examination of the future of global shipping (Wärtsilä, 2010) and the future role of the European Patent Office (Elahi & Ramirez, 2016). The OSPA procedures focus on understanding conceivable rather than probable scenarios. Unlike probabilistic (making percentage predictions or best-case/worst-case scenarios) or normative (imagining a future) approach, Oxford scenario planning is based on plausibility. The goal is to generate new knowledge and insights iteratively and interactively, because assigning probability to probable situations is impossible in turbulent and uncertain environments. The Oxford scenario planning approach focuses on identifying and designing scenarios that the group considers realistic, challenging, and beneficial. Each scenario tells a story about a probable shift in the wider context within which the change is happening. The scenarios were built as part of the cooperation of the Arctic 2050 initiative, between Nord University and Skolkovo Moscow School of Management, studying possible futures of the Arctic Development until 2050. The team leading the project consisted of diverse Arctic experts that identified the scope of the research. Figure 1 summarizes stages of the scenario building process, consisting of four blocks (identifying development drivers, identifying critical uncertainties, building scenarios and discussing their implications).
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Figure 1. Scenario process
The Arctic 2050 Scenario planning process began with the identification of Arctic development drivers. Researchers working on methodology, data collection, analysis and scenario building were from Nord University, Skolkovo Moscow School of Management and the University of Oulu. The core research team established ongoing meetings between active participants. Additionally, there were several meetings with a larger group of participants and stakeholders, including EY and the World Energy Council, that contributed their unique expertise in scenario building. The large group meetings included members of the small group as well as senior-level staff to assist at critical decision points, such as ranking development drivers and identifying the most significant uncertainties affecting the scenario matrix design. Mutual understanding is a primary goal of scenario planning, so as part of refining scenarios we included a multi-stakeholder process. As a result, stakeholders retained both their voice and their anonymity throughout. We also ensured that the data collection process was secure. Interview participants felt comfortable sharing their views since no direct and attributable quotations were ever used. Generalized data from the interviews were used for prioritizing uncertainties. Data Data for the scenario building process included published data from the previous Arctic scenario building studies reviewed. Furthermore, the data were collected via 22 interviews with a diverse base of Arctic stakeholders including NGOs, financial institutions, business, non-Arctic actors, academia, Indigenous peoples, government representatives and the media (see breakdown of interview respondents in Figure 2). Figure 2. Interview respondents by stakeholder type.
We used an open-ended questionnaire that included questions on the Arctic’s historic development and the most important indicators of change on the Arctic agenda currently. For the future, Middleton, Lazariva, Nilssen, Kalinin & Belostotskaya
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questions also concerned Arctic-related technological innovations, key stakeholders and uncertainties for Arctic development.
Identifying and mapping development drivers In choosing development drivers, we used both previous scenario studies and data gathered through interviews. Altogether, seven drivers were identified: the climate crisis, social development, demographic changes, the economic value of the Arctic region, technologies and innovations, the institutional landscape and the enabling environment Pace of climate change The climate crisis is reflected in the increased pace of change in the Arctic. Warming is occurring three times faster than anywhere else in the world (AMAP, 2021). Its effects are being felt locally, with the melting of ice and permafrost, and throughout the world with global warming. Researchers previously predicted that the Arctic Ocean could be completely ice free by the year 2100, but more recent estimates suggest that might happen in 20 to 30 years’ time (Guarino et al., 2019). Key factors to watch: rising sea levels, melting ice and permafrost, infrastructure degradation, transformation of the natural environment, physical accessibility of resources and routes. Social development Social development is connected to the Arctic region’s overall economic well-being. It will depend on future solutions that enable Arctic people to break free from the “Arctic paradox”, in which local and Indigenous people are left behind because of their lack of benefits from economic development (Nymand Larsen et al., 2013). While GDP per capita is at a high level in the Arctic, disposable income per capita is significantly lower and poverty rates are far higher than national averages. Projections indicate that, at most, a 1% population increase will take place in the Arctic until 2055 (Heleniak, 2020). However, significant regional differences are expected to persist, with some experiencing positive, and others negative, trends. There will be more urbanization and multiculturalism in the Arctic in the future. Arctic cities are at risk from climate change, and need to adopt climate change adaptation policies. The Arctic is becoming more multicultural, so cities will need policies that integrate Indigenous, local and migrant populations. Key factors to watch: population dynamic and outmigration, changing labor migration pattern, Indigenous peoples urbanization, increasing social disparities (“Arctic paradox”). Economic development Although the Arctic is remote, it is a crucial part of the global economy. Arctic regions with only 0.1% of the world population produced 0.5% of global GDP (ECONOR, 2015). Over 70% of the Arctic economy was attributable to the Russian Gross Regional Product (GPR). Currently, the Arctic economy is dominated by industrial activities such as fishing, mining and quarrying, manufacturing, electricity, gas, heat and air-conditioning distribution, water distribution, sewage, waste management and remediation, and construction. The second-largest sector comprises public sector activities (which include public administration and defence, education, human health, social work, and so on) and services, which include wholesale and retail. (Nordregio, 2019). Key factors to watch: level of knowledge generation, intensifying race for Arctic resources, pace of economic diversification, and freight traffic activities.
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Pace of technological development and innovation Several facets of technology and innovation development particularly relate to the Arctic: transportation technologies and infrastructure, connectivity, space technologies, renewable energy, and climateresistant technologies. However, the level of innovation and R&D, and the integration of innovations with Indigenous knowledge varies across the Arctic and will require investment in the future. Key factors to watch: pace of digitization and connectivity of Arctic, energy transition in Arctic, commercialization of sustainable shipping technologies, advancement in extraction technologies, and the cost of doing business in Arctic. Governance of geopolitics and international consensus For decades, the geopolitical situation in the Arctic region was characterized by a degree of stability and peace due to a common interest in economic growth and a drop in military tensions following the Cold War. Key factors to watch: Arctic stability, pace of militarization, and the pace of Arctic globalization. Quality of institutional environment The institutionalization of Arctic cooperation was marked by the formation of the Arctic Council (AC) in 1996 with a focus on climate change, the environment, and sustainable development. Associated with this was the Arctic Economic Council (AEC) which was formed to encourage sustainable business development. While the Arctic remains one of the world’s most stable regions, the revival of great power competition has affected the geopolitical environment. With the increased pace of change in the Arctic, the limits of the cooperation through the AC and AEC are highlighted by the need to create “the rules of the game” to provide standards for sustainable business development in the Arctic, transport, R&D and other economic activities. Key factors to watch: environmental policies and regulations, effectiveness of disaster response, demographic and social policies, financial and non-financial incentives, public acceptance of business in the Arctic, international consensus and governance. Any initiatives for the development of the Arctic, including shipping, require paying special attention to public acceptance, both in the Arctic itself and in the world as a whole. Public opinion is becoming a key factor in the development of the regulatory framework, as well in as corporate strategies and the policies of local administrations. Next, we mapped all key factors by the uncertainty and impact (see Figure 3). The Impact/Uncertainty Grid is a two-dimensional matrix with an x-axis for uncertainty and a y-axis for potential impact (on future performance). Critical uncertainties are those that will have a significant impact on the future development of the Arctic. They are marked on Graph 2 by an ellipse. For mapping, we used data collected during interviews with different stakeholders. We developed a special interview protocol to reveal key developments factors for the region and their uncertain pace and impact using the Oxford Scenario Planning Approach (OSPA) methodology (Ramirez & Wilkinson, 2016).
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Figure 3 Mapping Arctic development drivers (Source: Belostotskaya et al. (2021:44))
Identifying critical uncertainties A critical step in the scenario planning process was to identify the two or three drivers with the greatest impact and uncertainty on the Arctic’s likely future development from among the criticallyranked factors. After many meetings and rounds of deliberation with stakeholders and interview respondents, a consensus was reached on the two most significant and uncertain scenario drivers. Based on a two-by-two impact vs. uncertainty matrix (see Figure 3) two uncertainties stood out as having the greatest magnitude and impact. Table 1 presents these two: (1) the quality of the institutional environment pertaining to the Arctic; and (2) the rate of technological development and innovation. The quality of the institutional environment will be critical in defining economic and social development and determining the effectiveness of mitigation and adaptation measures in the face of accelerating climate change. The rate of technological development and innovation will be critical in achieving economic intensification while remaining environmentally sustainable and socially just. Table 1 Critical uncertainties (Source: Arctic 2050 report (2020). (Source: Belostotskaya et al. (2021:44))
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Quality of institutional environment The Arctic region requires a comprehensive and coordinated enabling environment – a suite of laws, regulations, policies, international trade agreements, and other elements of soft infrastructure, such as public awareness and acceptance – that will facilitate progressive but sustainable development in the Arctic region. However, looking ahead to 2050, it is unclear how adequate and balanced these institutions will be. Will stakeholders agree? Will a collaborative Arctic investment platform be established? What if one of the most powerful Arctic states were to abandon economic activity in the Arctic due to environmental and social concerns? What if, over the next 30 years, Russia, for example, ceased exploitative activities in the Arctic? Environmental policies and regulations, disaster response effectiveness, demographic and social policies, financial and non-financial incentives, public acceptance of business in the Arctic, international consensus and governance are all critical factors to monitor. Pace of technology development and innovation In the Arctic, extreme weather conditions necessitate the development of specialized technologies for each industry and sector. Social and environmental considerations place additional demands on new technologies. Those required for Arctic development will need significant funding, political will, and acceptance of entrepreneurial risk to implement. Will innovation in the Arctic catalyze economic development? Or will innovation be stagnant, impeding progress? The pace of digitization and connectivity, the energy transition, the commercialization of sustainable shipping technologies, the advancement of extraction technologies, and the cost of doing business in the Arctic are all critical factors to monitor. Apart from the two critical uncertainties, the dynamics of geopolitics and international consensus have been raised by the experts as an important factor. Arctic stability is defined by shifting geopolitics, which will remain a critical uncertainty in the region’s development. Geopolitical intensification, fueled by the Arctic states’ national interests as well as those of non-regional actors, has the potential to transform current models of cooperation. It is unknown whether the quality of consensus will improve or deteriorate, and how this will affect the regional landscape in terms of political cooperation and economic development. What will be the nature of international cooperation in the Arctic? Will geopolitical competition make economic development and trade in the Arctic easier or more difficult? Will stakeholder tensions over resource capture result in (hybrid) armed conflict? The Arctic’s stability, rate of militarization, and the pace of globalization are all critical factors to monitor.
Results and discussion Based on these critical uncertainties influencing how the Arctic region could evolve up to 2050, four scenarios were constructed. Each one reflects the strength or weakness of the quality of the institutional environment, and the pace of technological development and innovation (see Figure 4). Figure 4 illustrates the scenarios followed by details of how the region might evolve to 2050. From multiple futures that can be created in an interplay of critical uncertainties, we selected four mutually exclusive and collectively exhaustive (MECE) scenarios (Minto, 1985, Chevallier, 2016) to explore. These plausible futures help create a safe space for strategic leadership dialogue and Middleton, Lazariva, Nilssen, Kalinin & Belostotskaya
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could drive joint action. The Oxford Scenario Planning Approach is particularly suitable for building scenarios during periods of turbulence, unpredictability, innovation and ambiguity. Figure 4. Scenario matrix
Dark ages The slow pace of change and the lack of coordinated national and international structures and governance, plus the absence of new technological development and deployment, all combine to halt the development of the Arctic. For a decade, the Arctic region remains stagnant, before rapidly deteriorating. In the Dark Ages scenario, the only driver of economic growth is exploitation of natural resources. This is conducted irresponsibly, which in turn has severe climatic consequences and results in the overall degradation of the Arctic ecosystem, making it uninhabitable. The Arctic becomes depopulated and devastated by the merciless exploitation of the environment. National states and corporations, whether state- or privately-owned, continue to dominate the Arctic economy. In this scenario, the GDP grows for about 10-15 years (until 2030-2035), driven by accelerated exploitation of natural resources. Then it declines sharply so that by 2050 it is half of what it was in 2020. The reason is that the environmental degradation in the Arctic makes it impossible to continue exploitation projects. They are therefore abandoned, which not only slows GDP growth, but ultimately halts the Arctic economy. The extractive sectors prevail, avoiding diversification and new market development opportunities. That reduces global Arctic GDP by half from its current volume to near $220 billion. Economic activity and rapid climate change continue to harm the natural ecosystem. Melting permafrost causes natural and technological disasters, destroying biodiversity and Indigenous peoples’ traditional ways of life. These people either integrate or migrate. By 2050, the population will have decreased by 60%. Most of those remaining will be shift workers from the world’s southern areas. In this scenario all dimensions of sustainability (social, environmental and economic) perform badly. The Age of Discovery Competition for the Arctic’s resources, fueled by state-funded innovation, results in exploration of the Arctic’s riches, boosting the economy and attracting opportunity seekers to the region. Both
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environmental regulation and disaster response are fragmented and inadequate, failing to halt the deterioration of the ecosystem. Indigenous people’s natural habitats and livelihoods deteriorate as the climate crisis intensifies. In the Age of Discovery scenario, we are mostly referring to the disproportionate prioritization of economic dimension over the environmental and, especially, the social ones in the Triple Bottom Line concept. The Arctic states are unable to agree on how to protect the region, which has developed into a global battleground for superpowers. Global competition is perpetually on the verge of escalating into confrontation. The region’s increasing militarization is a new reality. Without effective governance and without platforms for dialogue, the situation becomes increasingly precarious. Some have referred to the Arctic as the ‘new Middle East’, meaning that any spark could cause an explosion. The race for Arctic dominance motivates governments to invest in research and development. Rapid technological advancement and the increasing availability of diverse, innovative solutions improve access to Arctic resources and thus create new business opportunities. This boost to innovation drives modern economic activity. In 2050 the Arctic is becoming increasingly profitable and appealing to private investors. Massive government guarantees insure against all risks. While the Arctic economy remains largely resource-based, it has become as hi-tech and digitally loaded as possible. Economic considerations take precedence over environmental concerns, with the result that extractive practices continue to be detrimental to the Arctic ecosystem. Natural disasters occur more frequently, but the ongoing global climate crisis compels regional actors to consider whether they cause the Arctic’s deterioration or whether the Arctic is merely one component of a much more general deterioration. Arctic society is fragmented to the extent that urban communities and job seekers prosper, while Indigenous peoples suffer. Social and environmental organizations continue to raise concerns on global platforms, but their voices are ignored. Greenwashing and “bribing” the local people to keep silent in exchange for short-term economic gains are tactics which are tacitly accepted by the region’s major actors. Bribery implies the irresponsible short-term practice of giving back in an unsustainable way, like offering financial or other material support for the local communities without making sure that these have a positive long-term impact. Hence business practices in the Arctic are not ESG1 compliant and businesses do not have a proper engagement with the local population. Global public acceptance of Arctic exploitation is at an all-time low, and many consumer and financial brands not only avoid doing business with companies engaged in Arctic-related activities but also support a growing global consumer/citizen activist movement. The emphasis on the economic dimension means that ESG practices are ignored, which eventually leads to the shrinking of the companies’ access to markets and capital. Specifically, we are talking about the most 'reputation obsessed' category, consumer brands, which reacts first to any interruption in the supply chain. In this scenario, the economic dimension is emphasized at the expense of the social and environmental ones. Romanticism The Arctic becomes a showcase for all things beneficial to the ecosystem – only sustainable energy and transportation, no mining or extraction, and the reintroduction of natural processes. Money is Middleton, Lazariva, Nilssen, Kalinin & Belostotskaya
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withdrawn from the Arctic. What was once a global magnet for business has developed into something akin to a film set for the National Geographic. The Paris Agreement, followed by the New Green Deal, established a strong precedent for prioritizing long-term environmental benefits over immediate economic gains. Global agreement on preserving the Arctic’s unique ecosystem has resulted in the development of what are possibly the world’s strictest environmental regulatory framework and enforcement mechanisms. Social and environmental non-governmental organizations collaborate with academia to advance our understanding of the Arctic ecosystem and to develop guidelines for all human activity in the region. Climate change is being closely monitored to mitigate potential risks to the natural environment. The Arctic Council has developed into one of the most powerful supranational organizations in the region, with full legislative and regulatory authority. In the Arctic, economic activity has been restricted to sustainable fishing and herding, Indigenous crafts, and sustainable tourism. Indigenous peoples keep their traditional ways of life and receive government assistance. All extraction activity has ceased, and Arctic GDP has fallen by 80 per cent from its 2020 level to around $88 billion. The primary driver of innovation has been the tightening of sustainability standards. This has been heavily subsidized by governments and international development agencies. The Northern Sea Route is operated exclusively by green fuel-powered vessels. Local energy needs are met entirely through CO2-free technologies. Global public support is strong, as other countries regard the Arctic as the world’s largest national park. While it benefits the natural environment and Indigenous peoples, the Arctic cities have been abandoned, and local infrastructure has deteriorated. Because no major companies operate in the Arctic anymore, all social and infrastructure responsibilities have been transferred to governments, which are struggling to justify ever-increasing expenditure. Economic stagnation and deteriorating living standards have accelerated the outmigration of professionals and the urban population. Apart from scientists and environmentalists who work in shifts, the region attracts no talent. The Indigenous peoples’ natural decline has slowed but not ceased so that, by 2050, the Arctic population is less than 20% of what it was in 2020. In this scenario, the environmental dimension of sustainability displaces the social and economic ones. Renaissance Nations agree to make Arctic exploration a symbol of international cooperation and humanity’s eternal striving for progress and invention. Many governments agree on standards for doing business in the Arctic, hoping to encourage the use of the most up-to-date and innovative technologies. Arctic business development has been enabled by a worldwide consensus on the importance of economic prosperity and environmental sustainability. Previously inaccessible Arctic resources have now become both physically and institutionally available. As one element of a business development strategy, governments help businesses make long-term investments in R&D to produce an Arctic technological platform that is unique, like the Arctic ecosystem. Due to advances in technology and new industry creation, businesses have established advanced extraction and construction techniques, sustainable energy, shipping and digital technologies, and other new industries in the Arctic. These advances reinforce economic growth and allow businesses to
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mitigate many of the impacts of climate change. The Arctic is becoming an example of economic growth with a decreasing environmental footprint. Even the Arctic cannot escape global warming, but some measures have helped slow this process down, giving habitats time to adapt to the new circumstances. Using a framework of regulations, behavioral changes, and cutting-edge technologies, the environment has been restored. Increases in public acceptance of economic activity in the Arctic have been observed. As demand for creative and innovative products increases in the Arctic, people move there to meet these needs. Sustainable construction, energy, transport and community areas all contribute to Arctic cities’ growing prosperity. People throughout the area not only preserve their traditional ways of life and native languages, they also take part in civic life and decision-making processes. In this scenario, all social, economic and environmental dimensions of sustainability perform equally well. These four scenarios share similarities with previous work. For instance, the Dark Ages shares the most pessimistic Arctic futures as in Polar Lows (AMSA 2009) and in Exploited Colony by Haavisto et al. (2016). What sets our scenarios apart from previous ones is the consideration of the social, economic and environmental dimensions of sustainable development and our focus on the institutional environment and on technology and innovation. In the most favourable scenario Renaissance, all social, economic and environmental aspects are equally important and supported by a strong institutional environment with agreed standards for doing business in the Arctic in the most responsible manner. Moreover, sustainable development in Renaissance relies on technologies and innovations targeted to specific Arctic needs.
Conclusions Simulations of the global Arctic predict what will happen by mid-century. The Arctic will be much different, Arctic ecosystems will be hard to recognise, with less snow and sea ice, greater warming, more vegetation, and an average temperature increase of 4 °C. Future Arctic changes could have even more far-reaching impacts elsewhere through the release of greenhouse gases from the tundra and changes in both oceanic and atmospheric circulation (Overland et al., 2019). While scientists have clear projections of the impacts of climate change in the Arctic, the future for economic and social development is less certain. In this work, we present four scenarios of Arctic development until 2050 that are built on assessments of how uncertainties such as the quality of the institutional environment and the pace of technology and innovation might to play out. Our study takes into consideration changing geopolitics, turbulence, unpredictability, innovation and ambiguity in the future of Arctic development. The study contributes to a plethora of future studies on the Arctic (Arbo et al., 2012; ASMA, 2009; Birgham, 2007) by using the Oxford Scenario Approach and focusing on three pillars of sustainability (economic, environmental and social). Our scenarios are not predictions; rather, they are tools for imagining the future and detecting key turning points, emerging opportunities, and potential threats. Scenarios developed as part of the Arctic 2050 initiative provide a starting point for discussion. While it is important to develop scenarios in a participatory manner, including Arctic stakeholders, it is equally important to engage in dialogue with policymakers, NGOs, and the local Arctic population in the post-scenario development period if we are to create realistic awareness and facilitate the design of the currently missing elements that will be needed for sustainable Arctic development. Middleton, Lazariva, Nilssen, Kalinin & Belostotskaya
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Notes 1. Sustainable finance refers to the process of taking environmental, social and governance (ESG) considerations into account when making investment decisions in the financial sector, leading to more long-term investments in sustainable economic activities and projects. (Source: European Commission)
References AMAP (2021). Arctic Climate Change Update 2021: Key Trends and Impacts. Summary for Policy-makers. Arctic Monitoring and Assessment Programme (AMAP), Oslo, Norway. Arbo, P., Iversen, A., Knol, M., Ringholm, T., & Sander, G. (2013). Arctic futures: Conceptualizations and images of a changing Arctic. Polar Geography, 36(3), 163– 182. https://doi.org/10.1080/1088937X.2012.724462 Arctic Marine Shipping Assessment 2009 Report. (2009). Authors, C., Brigham, L., Mccalla, R., Cunningham, E., Barr, W., Vanderzaag, D., Santos-Pedro, V., MacDonald, R., Harder, S., Ellis, B., Snyder, J., Huntington, H., Skjoldal, H. R., Gold, M., Williams, M., Wojhan, T., Falkingham, J., Authors, C., & Zolotaryov, V. (2009). Belostotskaya, A., Lazariva A., Kalinin A., Middleton A, Nilssen F. Arctic 2050: Mapping the Future of the Arctic. (2021). Arctic 2050: Mapping the Future of the Arctic. SKOLKOVO Institute for Emerging Market Studies. Blair, B., & Muller-Stoffels, M. (2019). Maritime Futures 2035: The Arctic Region : Workshop Report & Technical Documentation (p. ). SALIENSEAS (Enhancing the Saliency of climate services for marine mobility Sectors in European Arctic Seas). Brigham (2007). Thinking about the Arctic’s Future: Scenarios for 2040. Retrieved May 15, 2021, The Futurist, 41(5): 27–34. Available from https://lisd.princeton.edu/sites/lisd2017/files/brigham_sept2007.pdf Chevallier A. (2016). Strategic Thinking in Complex Problem Solving. Oxford University Press, Print ISBN-13: 9780190463908, DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780190463908.001.0001 Dodds, K., & Woon, C. Y. (2020). A “reliably frozen region”? Imagining and materialising Arctic regionalism 1. In The Multidimensionality of Regions in World Politics (pp. 153171). Routledge. https://doi.org/10.4324/9780429319853-12 Elahi, S., & Ramirez, R. (2016). Appendix E. The European Patent Office case study. Strategic reframing. The Oxford scenario planning approach. Oxford University Press, Oxford. Erokhin, D. & Rovenskaya, E (2020) Regional scenarios of the Arctic futures: A review. IIASA, WP-20-013 http://pure.iiasa.ac.at/id/eprint/16648/1/WP-20-013%20a.pdf
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Falardeau, M., Raudsepp-Hearne, C., & Bennett, E. M. (2019). A novel approach for coproducing positive scenarios that explore agency: Case study from the Canadian Arctic. Sustainability Science, 14(1), 205–220. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11625018-0620-z Flynn, M., Ford, J. D., Pearce, T., & Harper, S. L. (2018). Participatory scenario planning and climate change impacts, adaptation and vulnerability research in the Arctic. Environmental Science & Policy, 79, 45–53. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.envsci.2017.10.012 Grunwald, A. (2011). Energy futures: Diversity and the need for assessment. Futures, 43(8), 820– 830. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.futures.2011.05.024 Haavisto, R., Pilli-Sihvola, K., Harjanne, A., & Perrels, A. (2016). Socio-economic scenarios for the Eurasian Arctic by 2040. Haavisto, R., Pilli-Sihvola, K., Harjanne, A., & Perrels, A. (2016). Socio-economic scenarios for the Eurasian arctic by 2040. Available at: https://core.ac.uk/display/33740057?source=2 Hafezi, R., Akhavan, A., Pakseresht, S., & Wood, D. A. (2019). A Layered Uncertainties Scenario Synthesizing (LUSS) model applied to evaluate multiple potential long-run outcomes for Iran’s natural gas exports. Energy, 169, 646–659. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.energy.2018.12.093 Heleniak, T. (2020). Polar Peoples in the future: Projections of the Arctic Populations. Nordregio. Working paper. Available at: Available at: https://nordregio.org/publications/ Kukkonen, A., Stoddart, M. C., & Ylä-Anttila, T. (2021). Actors and justifications in media debates on Arctic climate change in Finland and Canada: A network approach. Acta Sociologica, 64(1), 103–117. https://doi.org/10.1177/0001699319890902 Minto B. (1985). The Pyramid Principle: Logic in Writing and Thinking. Prentice Hall, ISBN13: 978-0273710516 Myllylä, Y., Kaivo-oja, J., & Juga, J. (2016). Strong prospective trends in the Arctic and future opportunities in logistics. Polar Geography, 39(3), 145-164. Nilsson, A. E., Carson, M., Cost, D. S., Forbes, B. C., Haavisto, R., Karlsdottir, A., Larsen, J. N., Paasche, Ø., Sarkki, S., Larsen, S. V., & Pelyasov, A. (2019). Towards improved participatory scenario methodologies in the Arctic. Polar Geography), 1–15. https://doi.org/10.1080/1088937X.2019.1648583 Nordregio (2019). Gross Value Added in the Arctic. Available at: https://nordregio.org/maps/ polar-peoples-in-the-future-projections-of-the-arctic-populations//Accessed 30 May 2021 Norman, W., & MacDonald, C. (2004). Getting to the bottom of “triple bottom line”. Business ethics quarterly, 243-262.
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Nymand Larsen, J., Schweitzer, P., & Petrov, A. (2013). Arctic Social Indicators. ASI-II. Available at: https://oaarchive.arctic-council.org/handle/11374/48 /Accessed 4 June 2021 Overland, J., Dunlea, E., Box, J. E., Corell, R., Forsius, M., Kattsov, V., Olsen, M. S., Pawlak, J., Reiersen, L.-O., & Wang, M. (2019). The urgency of Arctic change. Polar Science, 21, 6–13. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.polar.2018.11.008 Ramirez, R., & Wilkinson, A. (2016). Strategic reframing: The Oxford scenario planning approach. Oxford University Press. Rasmussen, R.O. , 011, Megatrends. TemaNord 2011:527 (Copenhagen: Nordic Council of Ministers). Schoemaker, P. J. H. (1991). When and how to use scenario planning: A heuristic approach with illustration. Journal of Forecasting, 10(6), 549–564. https://doi.org/10.1002/for.3980100602 Schoemaker, P. J. H. (1993). Multiple scenario development: Its conceptual and behavioural foundation. Strategic Management Journal, 14(3), 193–213. https://doi.org/10.1002/smj.4250140304 Sea-ice-free Arctic during the Last Interglacial supports fast future loss | Nature Climate Change. (n.d.). Retrieved June 3, 2021, from Smith, L. (2011). The new north: The world in 2050. Profile Books. Tsukerman, V. A., & Ivanov, S. V. (2016). Scenarios for the Development and Improvement of the Life Support Systems of the Arctic Zone of Russia. In A. Kvithyld, C. Meskers, R. Kirchain, G. Krumdick, B. Mishra, M. Reuter, C. Wang, M. Schlesinger, G. Gaustad, D. Lados, & J. Spangenberger (Eds.), REWAS 2013: Enabling Materials Resource Sustainability (pp. 404–410). Springer International Publishing. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-48763-2_44 Wormbs, N. (2018). Introduction: Back to the Futures of an Uncertain Arctic. In N. Wormbs (Ed.), Competing Arctic Futures: Historical and Contemporary Perspectives (pp. 1–18). Springer International Publishing. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-31991617-0_1 Wormbs, N., Wormbs, & Beck. (2018). Competing Arctic futures: Historical and Contemporary Perspectives. Palgrave Macmillan. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-91617-0 Wood-Donnelly, C. (2018). Performing Arctic Sovereignty: Policy and Visual Narratives. Routledge. Wärtsilä (2010). Shipping Scenarios 2030. https://www.wartsila.com/media/news/08-09-2010wartsila-publishes-shipping-scenarios-2030 Zaikov, K., Kondratov, N., Kudryashova, E., Lipina, S., &, Chistobaev, A., (2019). Scenarios for the development of the Arctic region (2020–2035). Arctic and North, 35, 5–24. https://doi.org/10.17238/issn2221-2698.2019.35.5
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Section V: Identity & Geography
‘Three Hundred Years Hence’: Colonialism, Indigeneity, Modernism and Nationalism in the Interpretative Repertoires of the Greenland Hans Egede Statue Debate
Robert C. Thomsen1
Introduction In 1931, Augo Lynge’s Ukiut 300-ngornerat (in English: Three Hundred Years Hence) became the second novel ever published in Kalaallisut (West-Greenlandic). Looking three centuries ahead from the arrival of the missionary Hans Egede and the beginning of Danish colonisation of the island in 1721,2 this piece of speculative fiction provides an optimistic modernistic view of future Greenland as a thriving, technologically advanced society. Clearly moulded in the image of the former coloniser, Greenland of 2021 as described in the novel is a Danish county, with an ethnically mixed, Greenland-Danish population. While modernisation has been fully embraced, in Lynge’s Greenland, traditional culture is barely surviving, and the county is largely bilingual (Kalaallisut-Danish). The Greenland population are confidently settled in their collective identity in a comfortable, integrated relationship with Denmark (Lynge, 1931/1989). Some might well consider Lynge’s 2021 version of Greenland a dystopia, rather than the ideal society he probably envisaged, and it is easy to imagine the alternatives that later generations might propose. The diametrically opposite society, for instance, would be a 2021 Greenland entirely populated by Greenlandic-speaking Inuit, with the ties to Denmark long and fully severed, the Nordic version of modernity replaced by one in which Indigenous values and traditions play a much larger role. As we compare the fiction with Greenland of today, on a number of counts Lynge was not too far off the mark. On certain others, however, realities today are very different. By Lynge’s standards, Greenland can be said to be less economically prosperous than he foresaw. Also, the confidently Robert C. Thomsen is a Researcher with CIRCLA, Department of Culture and Learning at Aalborg University, Denmark.
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modernist purpose of Greenlanders, including a shared vision for a ‘Nordic’ kind of future, is much less prevalent, and the relationship between Greenland and Denmark/Greenlanders and Danes is more complex, to put it mildly. In Arctic human science research it is not uncommon to make clear distinctions between Indigenous and non-Indigenous cultures and communities (see, e.g., McElroy, 2008; Dingman, 2013; Fondahl et al., 2015; Vowel, 2016), and between traditional knowledge, like Inuit Qaujimajatunqangiit, and ‘Western’ epistemology (see, e.g., Karetak et al., 2017). The recent ICASS X conference that attracted researchers from across the world, for example, had numerous sessions dedicated to issues specified as ‘Indigenous’, such as: ‘Arctic Policy and Indigenous Peoples in Russia’, and ‘The Power of Indigenous Arts and Crafts’ (ICASS, 2021). There are very good reasons for that, including the importance of recognising past wrongs and continuing inequalities, and supporting decolonisation processes and the development of systems of governance that involve communities and addresses societal needs in manners that respect and include Indigenous ways and values. It is tempting also to ‘read’ Greenland into a similar dichotomous narrative, placing on one side the Inuit Indigenous identity of the colonised, and the Western-Danish identity of the colonisers on the other. Greenland of 2021, however, is a culturally hybrid, socially, economically and politically composite country that does not easily fit into such a categorical framework. While Inuit cultural elements manifest themselves, they appear in numerous multi-faceted identity discourses that compete for hegemony and are constantly (re-)negotiated. In recent years, the Black Lives Matter movement and related calls for social justice have once again pushed to the fore questions of inequality in the wake of colonisation. At the level of principles, fewer seem to oppose the view that past wrongs must be righted, and that those historically subjugated by practices and discourses of colonialism be provided with the voice and power of self-determination. The specific unfolding of such principles is not straightforward, however, and the practical form that the re-assertion of rights and identity ought to take is not necessarily agreed. Also in the case of Greenland, identity discourses are competing and the visions for the future not always neatly aligned. Much useful research has been carried out on the topic of the nature of Greenland national (postcolonial) identity and the implications regarding optimal forms of governance (see e.g. Dahl, 2010; Shadian, 2010; Thisted, 2011; Strandsbjerg 2014; Sejersen, 2015; Gad, 2016; Markussen, 2017; Nuttal, 2018), and most scholars recognise the existence of different discourses in this regard. Klaus Georg Hansen, for example, detects four dominant discourses about Greenlandic society through its colonial history. Two that he describes as ‘western’ and two ‘Inuit’ (Hansen, 2017: 77). Engaged in the debate about Greenlandic decolonisation, Birgit Kleist Pedersen suggests it is high time Greenlanders free themselves of the partly self-imposed victim-position of a colonised people, and suggests that younger generations are already busy doing that (Pedersen, 2014: 307). Regardless if one agrees with Kleist’s main argument, it is certain that her main premise holds: that as regards the “highly disputed question about what it means to be a Greenlander” (Ibid.: 304), there is a “diversity of discourses” (Ibid.: 307). The negotiation of such discourses is not entirely an academic endeavour, but one with very reallife consequences. As Ulrik Pram Gad puts it, “the future course of Greenland is determined by a political negotiation of ‘who we are’ and how to realize that ideal” (Gad, 2017: 105). This explains, Thomsen
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perhaps, the insistence by some political actors to keep having that debate. This is evidenced, for example, by Pele Broberg’s (of the political party Naleraq, currently Nalaakkersuisoq/Minister in the Greenland government) proposal for a parliamentary query debate on the topic: ‘Who is a Greenlander? – What do we understand by Greenland identity?’ (Sermitsiaq, 2020a). Greenland is a small country of only 56,000 inhabitants (plus approximately 20,000 expatriate Greenlanders living primarily in Denmark) but it is a society characterised by much social, economic and cultural diversity, nevertheless. Hence, it is hardly surprising that Greenlanders cherish and regret different historical memories, nor that they have diverse visions for the future of their country. The heated debate in the summer of 2020 about the Hans Egede statue in Nuuk’s Colonial Harbour testifies to this. In 2020, during the night before Greenland’s National Day, 21 June, the Hans Egede statue was provided with a whip, covered in red paint, and symbols resembling Tunniit (traditional, PaleoInuit) tattoo patterns and the word ‘DECOLONIZE’ were spray-painted on its plinth. During that summer, statues around the world were defaced in the name of decolonisation, were removed by official order, or ceremoniously sunk to the bottom of rivers and canals by activists. In the wake has followed debates about the extent to which such assaults on public memorials should be accepted as the last resort and only means of attaining a voice for those suppressed, or condemned as a perversion of the democratic conversation that forces less radical voices into the background. In either case, the interesting fact remains that in a municipally organised petition on the future of the Hans Egede statue, the inhabitants of Sermersooq/Nuuk eventually voted against the removal of it (Sermersooq, 2020). In various Greenlandic and Danish media the discussion that followed the refiguring has been described in simple terms as one between a ‘woke’ young generation, and a conservative older generation (see e.g., KNR, 2021a). The situation, this article argues, is much more intricate and complex than that, and the statue debate provides an excellent ‘prism’ through which to observe it. It tells a story about ‘interpretative repertoires’ (Wetherell & Potter, 1988) within Greenland, as regards both interpretations of Greenland’s history and its present, visions for its future, and ‘what it means to be a Greenlander’.
Methodology To contextualize and provide a solid basis for further analysis, the article will first provide a brief introduction to Hans Egede and the statue at the centre of the debacle. It then provides an analysis of dominant collective social identity discourses and identity politics in Greenland in the past hundred years. In the next part of the article, an analysis of the Hans Egede statue debate observes positions and manifestations and assembles them into coherent ‘interpretative repertoires’ drawn upon by debaters. Data for this analysis were collected from three sources primarily: visual manifestations of activism and artistic expression as reported in the news media and posted in various social media fora; individuals’ commentary on online news items and to social media postings (predominantly Facebook); and comments posted in connection with the official (municipal) petition on the future of the statue. The story was massively covered by Greenland media (Sermitsiaq, Nuuk Ugeavis, Kalaallit Nunaata Radioa (KNR; the Greenland Broadcasting Corporation)) as well as a number of Danish and international media, and many readers took the opportunity to comment on articles in the ‘Comments’ sections of these media. Those comments, in both Danish and Kalaallisut, provide
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for rich empirical data for evidence of discourses engaged by those who actively partook in the debate. Approximately two thirds of the comments were made in Danish, one third in Kalaallisut, very few in English. Comments in all three languages have been included in the data set and the analysis. The emphasis on social media as a source of data is warranted by the fact that Greenlanders are particularly active in regards to commenting on postings on Facebook – in fact the most active population in the world (Greenlandtoday.com, 2018). When we add to that the fact that an estimated 40,000 Greenlanders, the equivalent of 86% of the population aged 13 or older, have a profile on that particular social media platform (Hootsuite/We are Social, 2019), this makes it particularly relevant for such data collection. In addition, the referendum organised by Kommuneqarfik Sermersooq (the municipal authorities) allowed not just for the submission of a vote but also for voters to leave a comment to explain their view/vote. Such comments are obviously relevant to the analysis also.3 All empirical data has been subject to qualitative content analysis. Initial coding was inspired by Turnowski (2020), and Andersen & Krebs (2020), followed by rounds of re-coding and theming to qualify an understanding of which themes connected how, and which ‘interpretative repertoires’ manifested themselves in the debate. Confronted with the complexity of voices, and not least their simultaneous positioning within apparently competing discourses, it becomes clear that, in this case also, ascribing fixed positions to individuals or groups of people makes little analytical or practical sense. Although sharp points and ‘bastions’ of opinion exist in this debate, the picture seems to be one of discursive ‘spheres’, that sometimes merge, and that individuals enter or exit, even as they engage in specific discussion. This kind of porousness of social identity discourses is well theorised in social psychology by Wetherell and Potter (e.g. 1988). Wetherell summarises their points: “Some order can be placed on […] various positions by noting that they fit within several recognizable broader interpretative repertoires available to the [users]. An interpretative repertoire is a culturally familiar and habitual line of argument comprised of recognizable themes, common places and tropes” (Wetherell, 1998: 400). The usefulness of interpretative reservoirs, also in this analysis, lies in their ability to encompass discursive ‘variability’ (a key concept to Wetherell and Potter) to reflect how individuals “draw […] on different, often inconsistent resources, as they seem appropriate” (Wetherell & Potter, 1988: 176). In the analysis of the Hans Egede statue debate, this allows us to move beyond the placement of individual statements in narrowly defined categories of ‘opinion’ or ‘attitude’, to a discussion of the discursive repertoires from which debaters draw.
Hans Egede and the statue To set the scene of the current debate, first let us revisit the events that the statue commemorates, and the history of the statue itself. Godthåb (present-day Nuuk) was founded by the DanishNorwegian priest and missionary Hans Povelsen Egede in 1728. He had arrived to Greenland in 1721 with the purpose of converting heathens (initially expected to be Roman Catholic descendants of the Norse) to the proper Lutheran Christian faith (Gulløv, 2021; Fægteborg, 2009: 42). Thus, the 2020 debate about the statue of Hans Egede, and his legacy in Greenland society, just precedes the 300th anniversary of the Danish mission to and colonisation of Greenland.
Thomsen
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Egede was sponsored by the Bergen Company, which invested in the project with the purpose of establishing a profitable trading colony (Danmarkshistorien.dk, 2021). After several set-backs, the mission and trading activities expanded during the 18th Century, and Danish religious, economic, political and social influence expanded with it, as Greenland was effectively colonised, with a heavy emphasis on the first two of the three ‘M’s’ of imperialism: “Merchants, missionaries, and the military” (Schoppa quoted in Dunch, 2002: 308). Depressed by numerous tragedies in his own life and that of the mission, Egede left Greenland permanently in 1736 to live the rest of his life in Denmark. The mission was continued by others, most notably his son, Povl. Hans Egede was ordained Bishop of Greenland and became known in his own days as the ‘Apostle to Greenland’ (Gulløv, 2021). Kathrine Kjærgaard (2010) has convincingly described Egede’s legacy as a central motif in 19thcentury Greenland nation-building, and how a “Christian-patriotic cult” commemorated his arrival and work, allowing Egede to “work […] his way into the collective Greenlandic consciousness” (382). A testament to his importance in that period are the popular watercolours by Aron of Kangeq (1822-1869) depicting the deliverance of the Greenlanders from barbarism and superstition, as well as remnant references to Egede in much of contemporary Greenland. In Nuuk, this includes a street, a hotel and a church named after him, as well as the tapestries by Hans Lynge (1906-1988) in the town hall council chambers. Today, 95% of Greenlanders are members of the People’s Church of Greenland (Kristeligt Dagblad, 2017), and there is a rich catalogue of hymns in Kalaallisut and religious art which places local Lutheran Protestantism as a central element in some Greenland national identity discourses. Significantly, this national-religious symbiosis is seen also in political procedure, such as the Siumut party opening its general meeting with a sermon (Sermitsiaq, 2020b), or at the official opening of each session of the local assembly, the Inatsisartut. On this occasion, all MLAs ceremoniously dress up in Kalaallisuut, the national costume, to march in procession from Hans Egede’s House to attend mass at the Church of Our Saviour, before continuing on en bloc through Nuuk to the Inatsisartut. Majestically placed on a hilltop overlooking the Church of Our Saviour and the Colonial Harbour, today stands a monument to commemorate the part of Greenland history described above (Fig. 1). Mounted on a solid, 2-metre masonry pedestal is a bronze statue of a natural-sized, wig-wearing Egede, dressed from ruff to foot in his cassock. He is leaning on a simple pastoral staff, and a bible is clinched in his left hand, pressed towards his chest. Chiselled into the plinth, below one foot peeking out from under his robe, appears his name: ‘HANS EGEDE’. Erected in 1922 on Kirkebjerget (Church Hill) in Godthaab, the statue is a replica of Danish sculptor August Saabye’s 1913 statue, which still stands in front of Frederik’s (the Marble) Church in Copenhagen (Thomsen & Vester, 2016; Dansk biografisk, 2021). The Greenland version was funded by private collection among Greenlanders, initiated by the secular and religious authorities, and by donations from Danish churchgoers (Volquardsen, 2020; Andersen & Krebs, 2020). It was erected in 1922 to commemorate the 200th anniversary of the arrival of Egede to Greenland, an event also marked in 1921 by celebrations organised by the colonial administration, including the first visit by a Danish monarch, Christian X, to Greenland.
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Figure 4. Hans Egede statue in Nuuk’s Colonial Harbour
In tune with the Greenland cultural and political revival since the 1960s, the historical role of Hans Egede and his legacy as missionary and coloniser have been critically analysed and publicly debated. In Kjærgaard’s words “the legacy of Hans Egede has been incessantly renegotiated” (2010: 377). In literary works, Aqqaluk Lynge’s Ode til Danaiderne (1970) and recently Kim Leine’s popular novels The Prophets of Eternal Fjord (2015), and Rød mand/Sort mand [Red Man/Black Man] (2018) provide a highly sceptical analysis of this part of Greenland history and its socio-cultural consequences. Aviaq Fleischer recently illustrated how, in Greenland popular media and music, the past fifty years have seen a paradigm shift in the representation of Hans Egede, from a reverent to a critical-satirical stance (Fleischer, 2021). Since the 1970s, the Egede statue in Nuuk has been the object of vandalism/activism (depending on the eye of the beholder): it was first covered in red paint in 1973, a plaque left by the perpetrators asking, rhetorically: “Was it not he who killed our souls? Should we continue to honour him?” (Gulløv & Kapel, 1979: quoted in Kjærgaard, 2010: 393). The statue was doused in paint again in 1977, in 2012 and in 2015. The apparent message on these occasions varied but common to them all has been a theme of opposition to oppression (colonial, Christian, male) (Sermitsiaq, 2012a; 2012b, 2015). The statue has also been the object of satire in the works of, among others, cartoonists Robert Holmene and Kunuk Platou.
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Collective social identity discourses and identity politics in Greenland Since Danish colonisation of Greenland, initiated with the arrival of Hans Egede in 1721, Greenland’s formal position within the Danish state has gradually developed from colony over county (1953) towards emancipation as a partly autonomous entity within the Unity of the Realm: Home Rule in 1979 and Self-Government in 2009. With increased autonomy, Greenland has patriated decision-making in a number of policy areas,4 a national flag (Erfalasorput) has been adopted, and Danish place names have been replaced by toponyms in Kalaallisut, which has also gained official status as the sole official language. Furthermore, the 2009 Act of Greenland SelfGovernment recognizes the Greenlanders as a people, and confirms the right of that people to decide whether Greenland should become independent (Act of Greenland Self-Government, 2009: preamble, section 21). These gains have not come about unprompted but are the results of a five-decade long struggle, which has seen growing demands for self-determination and fate control. A natural part of this process has been negotiations of the identity and destination of the Greenland nation/people (Thisted, 2013; Rud, 2017; Gad, 2017) -- illustrated, for example, by the title of the 1973 landmark album ‘Sumut’ (‘Where to?’) by the rock band Sumé. Today, the end goal (and thus the impetus and purpose of most contemporary policy-making) of full economic and political independence of Greenland has almost become a given, underlying premise in all politics and public debate. All political parties -- expect two minor ones with little political influence -- presently support future economic and political independence for Greenland, and Naalakkersuisut’s (the Greenland government) political programmes in the form of coalition agreements have often taken that vista for granted. The 2016-2018 government coalition agreement between Siumut, Inuit Ataqatigiit and Partii Naleraq, for example, opened with the following statement: “Greenland is irrevocably on the path to independence, and this process requires not only political stability but also national unity” (Naalakkersuisut, 2016: 2; emphasis added). Politicians are on fairly safe ground in assuming popular backing for this vision; polls have shown increasing and consistent support throughout Greenland for the notion of a future fully sovereign country (see e.g. High North News, 2016 and Sermitsiaq, 2016).5 The exact identity and form of this future nation-state, however, was always under negotiation, and recent years’ debates suggest that visions and discourses are still far from neatly aligned. As Kirsten Thisted notes, “The new Arctic is framed by a new context where people are digitally fluent and active members of the global community in a way that makes the future development completely different from previous ages – and thus also completely unpredictable” (Thisted, 2015: 37). As early as the mid-19th Century, Greenlanders were engaged in a kind of ethnic nation-building that in many ways resembled the Danish equivalent, based as it was on romantic notions of deep relations between “the land, the people, the language and the territory” (Thisted, 2015: 26). Although it incorporated aspects of Indigenous culture, it was, in essence ‘European’ in form (Langgaard, 2011: 126). Langgaard describes a kind of nationalist mimicry in the early 20th Century which resulted in the Greenlandic appropriation of a Danish nation-building tradition, albeit one with a particular Greenland hue: the Greenland national anthem Nunarput from 1912 is written in Kalaallisut, and the “sophisticated negotiation” (Ibid.: 128) that was part of the kalaaliussuseq debate
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in literature and news media about the nature of Greenland national identity was also conducted in Kalaallisut. Consequently, Langgaard argues that ‘mimicry’ should not in this context be translated as ‘unreflecting imitation’ but rather as ‘thoughtful appropriation’ (Ibid.: 127). The references to nature and popular culture (like kayaking and hunting) are dominant, but in contrast to Danish and other European romantic nationalisms, there are remarkably few references to historical heroes. The rationale was that the pagans of yore where not converted to Christianity and civilisation until after 1721, and thus not ideal for nation-building purposes (Ibid.: 130-1). Unmistakably ethno-national in outlook, however, Greenland nation-builders made efforts -- as seen, e.g., in Augo Lynges novel, 300 Years Hence, and Mathias Storch’s novel Sinnattugaq (The Dream) – to imagine a distinctly Greenlandic community in the image of, and therefore equal to, Denmark (Rud, 2017: 121). The romantic-modernist version of Greenland nation-building, however, was to be fundamentally altered from the 1960s by the dawning anti-/postcolonialist movement, which articulated the Greenland nation through an Indigenous, Kalaallit identity, and in opposition to the DanishGreenland modernisation and welfare projects of the 1950s and 1960s. Through the political mobilisation of Greenland nationalism, a well-articulated, well-educated elite cadre of young Greenlanders insisted on civil rights and a less Danish-designed future through Indigenousnational self-determination (Ibid.: 123-25). Eventually, in 1979 they succeeded in securing Home Rule for Greenland. For most of them, however, the Inuit culture and identity they championed was not pan-Inuit in nature, but ethno-national. Their vision was for Greenland post-colonial selfdetermination, primarily. Consequently, Greenland identity discourse came to “combine […] elements of traditional Inuit culture and elements of colonial modernity” (Gad, 2009: 136). As Greenland “dichotomised back” (Ibid.) the country achieved increased self-determination by the devolution of political and decision-making powers to Home Rule and Self-Government. In some periods of this process there has been a tendency to downplay the Indigenous elements to allow for a discourse of a Greenland nation commes les autres – on equal terms with other nations of the world (see e.g. Thisted, 2020: 352), while other periods have witnessed an insistence on national distinction via Indigeneity. An interesting mixture of influences are thus present in modern Greenland national identity-building. The romantic ethno-national idea of the nation is joined by visions of an Indigenous nation, along with another important element: Greenland-Christian national culture keeps insisting on its presence also. The national discourses obviously clash in public debate and elsewhere, but on certain occasions there is a happy marriage of Indigenous, ethno-national and religious heritage. This is seen, for instance, in the Greenland Day celebrations, organised every year since 1985 by the municipalities. They include church services, coffee-miks (social get-togethers), the ceremonial hoisting of the national flag (Erfalasorput) to choir singing of ‘Nunarput Erfalasorlu’, its hymn, and -- equally ceremonially -- seal hunting competitions and traditional Inuit games. In recent years, yet other discursive voices have entered the national identity negotiations. The initial 1960s-1970s national-Indigenous discourse that was used actively as a vehicle in postcolonial endeavours has increasingly been challenged by new generations who see it as an obstacle to proper decolonisation, and therefore in need of reinvention. The critique of it suggests that its once politically useful romantic myth of the ‘noble savage’ (Langgaard, 2011: 143), with its references to an authentic culture-nature relationship, has become a mental straitjacket to presentThomsen
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day Greenlanders (Thisted, 2015: 25-26). Its limitations are seen to lie in its connotations of a position of victimhood and, as argued by Thisted, under-development and anti-modernity (Thisted, 2017: 234). With increasing legal self-determination and state-building since 1979, the collective social identity discourse about Greenland Indigeneity thus requires, this discourse proposes, more agency to articulate a position of Inuit-in-power. This is a discourse that, to a larger extent than before, draws in a Greenland context on what can be termed a shared pan-Arctic and pan-Inuit repertoire (see e.g. Thomsen et al., 2018). Körber and Volquardsen speak of a “revitalization of Indigenous knowledge and socio-cultural aspects of life, the most visual of which certainly being the recent revival of traditional facial tattooing” with the “potential to bring about epistemological and institutional change [which] allows for global Indigenous solidarization and, in turn, a strengthening of decolonization efforts” (Körber and Volquardsen, 2014: v). As if the imagined identity battleground was not crowded already, yet another Greenland national discourse can be detected. The Danish-inspired, ethno-national Kalaallit discourse that developed in the late 19th century is still powerful, perhaps even with a prominent position in Greenland collective social identity-building, and although challenged by the bilingual, ethnically diverse national visions of early 20th century literati, it is within the past few decades that ethnic nationalism has been seriously challenged by a civic opponent. The focus of this article does not allow for an extensive elaboration of the nature of ethnic and civic forms of nationalism. Basically, however, we find at one end of the continuum ‘ethnic’ nationalism, an exclusivist form, which considers membership of the nation to be based on common descent or kinship, shared cultural heritage and language – thus, national unity by ascription. At the other end of the continuum we find ‘civic’ or ‘liberal’ nationalism, an inclusivist form, which considers membership of the nation to be determined by adherence to shared values, such as democratic citizenship, individual rights, diversity – thus national unity by consent (Tamir, 1993; Smith, 2009; see also Kohn, 1994; Greenfield, 1992; Brubaker, 1992). What is essential to acknowledge, though, is that such ‘ethnic’ and ‘civic’ elements necessarily exist in every type of nationalism – only with different emphases. The idea of an ‘ethnic-less’ nationalism makes little sense. If the perception of being a distinct ethnic group (a people) does not exist, there can be no idea of the nation (Thomsen, 2010: 19). As argued by Thisted, historical intermingling means that in Greenland “it no longer makes sense to talk about Inuit/Greenland or Danish/European as two distinct cultures, which meet in Greenland. Scandinavia and Europe have long since become part of the present Greenlanders’ own heritage” (Thisted, 2015: 26). In addition, immigrants from other parts of the world are arriving to Greenland in tune with Greenland’s increased embrace of international trade and communication, while a cosmopolitian, globally educated, bi- or multilingual elite find a civic national discourse increasingly appealing. The Greenlandic terms Kalaallit (Greenlanders) and Kalaallit Nunaat (Greenland) are argued to be capable of holding both the ethno-Inuit elements and the civic ones. An example of Greenland civic nation-building is the Sermersooq Business Council campaign Colourful Nuuk (2015-), which portrays Greenland as a post-modern (traditionmeets-cool modernity), innovative, multicultural and inclusive society (Colourful Nuuk, 2021). An example of both discursive positions held by politicians is provided in a 2017 KNR televised debate between MLA Aleqa Hammond and MLA Jens B. Frederiksen on the topic ‘Kalaaleq qanaq ittuua? (‘What does it mean to be Greenlandic’?). In her opening remarks, Hammond argues that a “real Greenlander” is someone who respects and appreciates Greenlandic cultural heritage, food,
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language and identity (and later stresses that proficiency in the Greenlandic language must be considered a minimum requirement). Frederiksen counters that anyone who chooses to work and live in Greenland ought to be considered Greenlandic, regardless of their language proficiency (KNR 2017; 1:10-3:10). A very recent example is provided by the political crisis that arose after Naalakkersuisoq Pele Broberg proposed that non-Inuit Greenlanders ought not to get a vote in a future referendum on Greenland independence (Berlingske, 2021). Premier Múte B. Egede felt compelled to publicly denounce his minister’s views, and later strip Broberg of two of his portfolios (foreign affairs and climate) (KNR, 2021b). As elsewhere in the world, the issue of national language as a ‘gatekeeper’ or access-provider is essential in the ethnic-civic discussion about what kind of nation Greenland is or should be (see Gad, 2017), and here we see continuous negotiation between ethnic and civic national discourses. Similar negotiation is prevalent in official documents: according to the terms of reference of the Constitutional Commission that was set up in 2017 by the Inatsisartut, the constitution of the future independent country must be “based on […] the culture, language and identity of […] the Indigenous Greenland people” (Ibid.). The constitution must, however, fully acknowledge that “in present-day Greenland there are many citizens from a different background” (Naalakkersuisut, 2017: 1; author’s translation). In summary, in the discussion about Greenland’s present and future place in the world, and the discursive negotiations that constitute contemporary Greenland national identity-building, we find a series of closely inter-related themes: Kalaallit Indigenous nationalism vis-à-vis pan-Inuit Indigenism; (post-)colonialism vis-à-vis decolonisation; (post-)modernism vis-à-vis traditionalism; ethnic vis-à-vis civic nationalism. With this complex, but hopefully informative picture of Greenland collective social identity discourses in mind, let us proceed to the second and final part of the analysis.
Interpretative repertoires in the Hans Egede Statue debate This part of the article will investigate a series of interpretative repertoires in the Hans Egede Statue debate. It is important to emphasize in advance, though, that whereas such description must necessarily, for analytical purposes, be somewhat categorical, the essential idea of interpretative repertoires is that in practical use they overlap, supplement, co-exist (and sometimes internally contradict). 1. Mental decolonisation: Beginning our analysis at the end of the scale most critical to Hans Egede and what the statue represents, we find a repertoire which holds that moving or destroying the statue would be part of a process of mental decolonisation. Here, the essence of the debate is that symbolism matters, and this particular symbol is one of cultural colonisation and oppression. Consequently, its prominent presence, elevated at the centre of Greenland’s capital, reinforces a sense of inferiority, which remains an obstacle to Greenlanders’ self-determination. This repertoire draws on the Black Lives Matter movement and other social justice movements as moral repositories. It proposes the (dramatic) denouncement of the iconographies and symbols that keep telling Greenlanders that their ways and values are worthless, and that the best/only way forward is through reproduction of Danish values and systems. Here, Greenlanders and Greenland culture remain ethnically unspecified or referred to in generic national terms.
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The repertoire can be illustrated with this statement by Aqqalu Berthelsen/Uyarakq, speaking on behalf of those claiming responsibility for the 2020 ‘re-materializing’ of the statue: “It is about time that we stop celebrating colonisers and that we start taking back what is rightfully ours. It’s time to decolonise our minds and our country. No coloniser deserves to be on top of a mountain like that. We need to learn the truth of our history” (kunstkritikk.com, 22 June 2020) – and by his meme of a beheaded Hans Egede statue posted on his Facebook profile (Berthelsen, 2020) (Fig. 2).
Figure 5. Beheaded Hans Egede statue posted on Aqqalu Berthelsen/Uyarakq’s Facebook profile
Similarly, the ‘prominent’ featuring of the statue in the very popular video for the anti-danification rap: ‘Tupilak’, by Josef Tarrak-Petrussen (Tarrak, 2017), and graffiti by street artist ‘Nuumigoq’ incorporating Hans Egede’s portrait in red spray-paint along with the word ‘UNDSKYLD’ (‘SORRY’) (Kjærgaard, 2010: 394), presumably illustrate the discursive contents of this interpretative repertoire. 2. Mental decolonisation: The second repertoire has much in common with the first one. Here also, the primary focus is on mental decolonisation but Greenlanders and Greenland culture are specified as Indigenous and Inuit. Merging Christian and Danish influence, the repertoire sees both as the violator of Inuit traditional beliefs, and argues that original Inuit culture and values remain threatened by the dominance of culture and values fundamentally alien to Greenlanders. The repertoire can be illustrated by this statement by filmmaker Aka Hansen: “The statue of Hans Egede symbolises […] suppression, Christian shaming and racism. And we’re supposed to
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‘celebrate’ that next year? […] [P]erhaps we should just throw it into the ocean on the 300th anniversary of Hans Egede’s arrival to Greenland. That would be a nice resurrection of our society” (Nuuk Ugeavis, 27 June 2020; author’s translation). In this repertoire we also find references to contrasting, traditional Inuit cosmology and mythological symbolism in the form, for instance, of Christian Rosing’s ‘Sassuma Arnaa’ (Mother of the Sea) sculpture that sits next to the Egede statue in Nuuk’s Colonial Harbour. The semiotic drawing upon Inuit tattoo patterns in the spray-painting of the pedestal of the statue in 2020 presumably reflect this type of reference also.6 Aviaq Fleischer’s analysis of reactions to the cancellation of the marking of the 300th anniversary of the arrival of Hans Egede includes proposals to replace the statue with proper Greenlandic iconography, such as a statue of a sled dog or a hunter (Fleischer, 2021: 414). This idea has been given visual form by the artist Lili Chemnitz who in one of her productions places a monument to the Greenland kayaker on Church Hill, and removes the Hans Egede statue to a park in Copenhagen, next to homeless people (presumably Greenlanders). 3. Heritage interpretation as nation-building: What characterises the third repertoire is the view that a people’s past and symbols of that past are essential to ‘who we are’ – but that heritage interpretation must necessarily recognise both positive and negative aspects in identity formation processes. The Hans Egede memorial is seen to represent Greenlanders’ past, including a history of colonisation, but also the ongoing re-appropriation of that past for nation-building purposes. Since the statue obviously offend fellow Greenlanders, this repertoire holds, it should be considered moving it to a more appropriate or relevant place. Alternatively, if left in the current spot, provided with para-textual interpretation that explains various positions in relation to the memorial. A quote by Daniel Thorleifsen, Director of the Greenland National Museum illustrates this repertoire: “Hans Egede’s statue is placed very visibly on the top of a hill, and it’s impossible not to notice it when arriving to Nuuk. Many people find it provocative that a missionary, considered the representative of colonial power is so dominantly placed in the townscape […]. Perhaps it would be more acceptable if the statue were to be placed in a more appropriate place, either next to Hans Egede’s House or the Hans Egede Church?” (Sermitsiaq, 2020c; author’s translation). Other locations proposed in the debate include the Church of Our Saviour just below Church Hill, and the Greenland National Museum, also located in the Colonial Harbour. 4. Heritage as collective social identity: As we near the end of the scale most positive to Hans Egede and the purpose of the monument, a repertoire focuses on the statue as an historical symbol of Greenland national as well as Nuuk local identity. It is seen as a representation of the collective contemporary ‘us’ and of the ancestors who funded and placed it there; ancestors whose values, it is argued, must be respected. Emphasis in this repertoire is on commemoration and national/local heritage. Consequently, defacing the memorial is considered vandalism and seen as disrespectful to past and present Greenlanders. Associated with this repertoire is also the argument that Egede’s mission, unlike most other missions in the world at the time, insisted on teaching the Gospel in the mother tongue, and thus preserved the essential national trait Kalaallisut as a living language. The repertoire can be illustrated by these words by Orla Dalager, who represents the Nuuk Local History Association (which staged its own ‘remain’ petition prior to the municipal petition): “The statue is a landmark of the town, and many citizens of the country were engaged in establishing the project […]. My own great-grandfather, a trading manager out in Kangeq, was one of those Thomsen
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who came to Nuuk and joined in carrying it up the hill […]. Bad things happened in the 18th century but what use do we have of that today. Not all things were bad. Today, we are baptised, confirmed, married and buried, surely we can’t do without that” (Sermitsiaq, 2020d; author’s translation). 5. Christian heritage as collective social identity: The fifth interpretative repertoire is similar to the repertoire above in many ways, except it has a much larger emphasis on Christian heritage and values. The statue is here considered a religious symbol of the Christian virtues on which contemporary Greenland culture and society are built. This repertoire extends into procolonisation argumentation, suggesting that the arrival of Egede, and with him Christianity, spelled the arrival of civilisation to Greenland. Accordingly, the statue must remain where it is because it is a daily reminder of what Egede brought as a gift to generations of Greenlanders. The veneration expressed in this repertoire is illustrated, for example, by the sermon and the laying of a wreath to mark the 250 years since the death of the ‘Apostle to Greenland’ in 2008 (Sermitsiaq, 2008) (Fig. 3).
Figure 6. Wreath laying ceremony in 2008
6. Forget symbolic struggles, focus on what matters: The analysis of interpretative repertoires so far has provided an account of discourses that all relate to and feed into debates about the Hans Egede statue. A final repertoire stands out in this regard. In it, the sharply formulated argument is that symbolic struggles are a luxury Greenland cannot afford. They divide the population, the argument goes, and remove focus from the real – social and economic – problems that Greenland faces. Reference is made within this repertoire to social problems of substance abuse, homelessness, housing problems, and public deficits, and the recommendation is that Greenlanders take responsibility for solving those problems instead of dwelling in and on the past. This repertoire is potently illustrated by the absence of votes in the municipal petition: altogether, 23,000 inhabitants of Kommuneqarfik Sermersoq were eligible to vote; only 1,500 did (the equivalent of 6.6%) (Andersen & Krebs, 2020).
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Conclusion One-and-a-half centuries of national identity negotiation has left its legacy in Greenland society. The analysis above illustrates the criss-crossing, intricate nature of the discursive struggle that is Greenland collective social identity-building, and it is tempting to conclude by trying to align national discourses neatly with specific interpretative repertoires in an all-explaining grid of sorts. Analytical insistence on simple connections would be problematic, however. In the interpretative repertoires we do indeed recognise remnants of the dominant collective identity discourses from different periods of Greenland nation-building. For example, Augo Lynge’s modernistic ‘Danish’, civic (ethnically diverse, bilingual) national vision for Greenland would sit well with many of the arguments characteristic of repertoires 6 (‘Forget symbolic struggles’) and 3 (‘Heritage as collective social identity’). Yet, its civic nature and visions for a distinct, confident Greenland governed by Greenlanders also brings it close to the essence of interpretative repertoire 1 (‘Mental Decolonisation I’). Similarly, it is easy to connect the dots between the most recent wave of Greenlandic de-colonialist nationalism and interpretative repertoire 2 (‘Mental Decolonisation II’), with its emphasis on Inuit culture and values. However, its focus on tradition and ethnicity would also appear to resonate well with repertoires like 3 (‘Heritage interpretation as nation-building’) and 4 (‘Heritage as collective social identity’). An emphasis on arguments that rhyme with ethno-cultural nation-building – Indigeneity or (Christian) Greenlandicness – can be detected in repertoires 2, 3, 4 and 5, primarily, whereas there is an absence of distinctly ethno-cultural arguments in 1 and 6 (more than an explicit commitment to civic nation-building). An indication, perhaps, that the repertoires that would immediately seem to ‘clash’ most in fact draw upon some common understandings. Another finding that needs mentioning is that the comments posted in Kalaallisut in connection with the municipal vote tend to place themselves within repertoires 4 and 5 (‘(Christian) Heritage as collective social identity’). The sample is too small and the statistical representativeness insufficient to make any strong conclusions based on this. It might well indicate, however, that proficiency in Kalaallisut does not correspond to subscription to ‘Mental Decolonisation’ repertoires -- once again suggesting that the debate cannot meaningfully be reduced to one between ‘Danish’ and ‘Greenlandic’ positions. Ebbe Volquardsen has argued that as regards the value of monuments, “[t]he decisive question regarding the removal or retainment of memorials is not about the past but about whether they still play a useful role as carriers of identity, and whether they still succeed in representing a narrative that contributes positively to the community […] whether [they] still contribute to the narrative of a common ‘we’” (Volquardsen, 2020). There is wisdom in those words, and in the Greenland of 2021 that Augo Lynge envisaged, characterised by common shared values and an agreed clear (modernistic) vision for Greenland, that piece of advice could be followed. Then again, the 2020 statue debate probably would not have taken place in Lynge’s futuristic version of Greenland. A history of colonisation and a tumultuous past century-and-a-half, characterised by nationbuilding in various forms, including ethnic, civic, Danish, Christian, Inuit, traditionalist and modernist elements, has left Greenland with more competing collective social identity discourses than most societies. The way the Hans Egede statue debate unfolded in real-life 2020 Greenland,
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with the range of interpretative reservoirs detected here, suggests multiple answers to the question of whether the statue still represents a narrative that ‘contributes positively to the community’, and to ‘the narrative of a common “we”’. What is clear from the analysis is that simple dichotomies (such as young-old, modern-traditional, Indigenous-non-Indigenous, Greenlandic-Danish), although popular and excessively used by politicians and mass media, offer little in academic analysis in regards to the deep understanding of contemporary Greenland national identitybuilding processes.
Notes 1. I wish to acknowledge the very helpful comments and suggestions I received on drafts of this article from fellow members of the CIRCLA research group at Aalborg University, and Ulrik Pram Gad from the Danish Institute for International Studies. Competent translation from Greenlandic was provided by Kîsta Bianco Kjær. The study also gratefully acknowledges the useful collaboration with Kommuneqarfik Sermersooq and the International Arctic Hub in Nuuk, which have kindly assisted by commenting on the relevance of the study/approach and providing access to key data. Also, the insightful, constructive comments provided by two anonymous reviewers have added significantly to the coherence and quality of the article. 2. Whether Greenland was colonised in a ‘benign’ manner that was significantly different from the ways other Inuit and Indigenous societies were colonised is still being debated (see, e.g., Lynge, 2006; Fægteborg, 2009: 63). It remains, though, that colonial violence in various forms -- some of it ‘subjective’/physical, most of it ‘systemic’ or ‘symbolic’ (Žižek, 2008) -- was exercised at different points in the history of Danish-Greenland relations. 3. The study of identity discourse expressed in the midst of a heated debate is potentially a delicate endeavour, and discretion must be exercised with regard to the use of such publicpersonal data. The paper, however, does not seek to detect individual positions but is entirely interested in repertoires that can be characterised as collectively applied/available in Greenland society. Therefore, statements will be anonymized, except those made publically by politicians, pundits and others with a reasonable expectation to be quoted. 4. All areas excluding foreign and security policy, citizenship, monetary policies (all nonpatriable), policing, the courts, and work environment policies (all patriable). 5. A 2016 poll carried out by HS Analyse for the major Greenlandic newspaper Sermitsiaq asked voters how important it is that Greenland become an independent state. 64% of respondents answered ‘very important’ or ‘somewhat important’; 24% responded that it was unimportant to some degree. A further break-down reveals that support for independence was highest among elderly Greenlanders: those aged 60-69 were most enthusiastic with 70% in favour, while 56% of those aged 18-29 found independence to be important (29% declared themselves undecided on the matter). 6. Maya Sialuk, one of the foremost contemporary Inuit tattoo artists and researcher, has on several occasions distanced herself from the use of traditional Inuit tattoos as political ‘Three Hundred Years Hence’
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symbols, and also pointed to the fact that the tattoo patterns on the pedestal were in fact upside-down.
References Act of Greenland Self-Government (2009). [www.retsinformation.dk/eli/lta/2009/473]. Andersen, A. N. & Krebs, M.L. (2020). Activists demand mental decolonization of Greenland, Justiceinfo.net, 31 Aug. 2020. www.justiceinfo.net/en/justiceinfo-comment-anddebate/opinion/45190-activists-demand-mental-decolonization-in-greenland.html Berthelsen,
A. (2020). Meme: Hans Egede statue beheaded. www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10160588688033868&set=pb.771723867.2207520000..&type=3
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Gad, U.P. (2016). National Identity Politics and Postcolonial Sovereignty Games: Greenland, Denmark, and the European Union. Monographs on Greenland 354. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum. Gad, U.P. (2017). What kind of nation state will Greenland be? Securitization theory as a strategy for analyzing identity politics, Politik 20:3, 104-120. Greenfield, L. (1992). Nationalism. Five Roads to Modernity. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Greenlandtoday (2018). Grønland nummer 1 på Facebook, http://greenlandtoday.com/groenland-nummer-1-paa-facebook/
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Hansen, K.G. (2017). Fra passiv iagttager til aktiv deltager. INUSSUK – Arktisk forskningsjournal 1. Aarhus: Atuagkat. High North News (2016). Solid majority favours Greenland independence, 7 Dec. 2016. www.highnorthnews.com/en/solid-majority-favours-greenland-independence Hootsuite/We are Social (2019). Digital 2019 Greenland. www.slideshare.net/DataReportal/digital-2019-greenland-january-2019-v01 ICASS (2021). International Congress of Arctic Social Sciences, Arkhangelsk, 15-20 June 2021. https://eventmobi.com/icass/ Karetak, J., Tester, F., Tagalik, S. (eds., 2017). Inuit Qaujimajatuqangit: What Inuit Have Always Known to Be True. Halifax: Fernwood. KNR (2017). Kalaaleq qanaq ittuua? / ‘What does it mean to be Greenlandic’?, 20 April 2017. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SHUGM7jizJ8 KNR (2021a). Hans Egede-markering aflyst: Dumt, siger den gamle. God idé, siger den unge, 27 Jan. 2021. https://knr.gl/da/nyheder/hans-egede-markering-aflyst-dumt-sigerden-gamle-god-id%C3%A9-siger-den-unge KNR (2021b). Pele Broberg er ikke længere naalakkersuisoq for udenrigsanliggender, 27 Sept. 2021. https://knr.gl/da/nyheder/pele-broberg-er-ikke-l%C3%A6ngerenaalakkersuisoq-udenrigsanliggender Kjærgaard, K. (2010). Mirroring the Centuries: 300 Years of Perceiving Hans Egede, the Apostle of Greenland, in Cultural and Social Research in Greenland: Selected Essays 1992-2010. Nuuk: Atuagkat, 375-400. Kohn, H. (1994). Western and Eastern Nationalism, in Hutchinson & Smith (eds.) Nationalism. Oxford: Oxford UP, 162–65.
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Kristeligt Dagblad (2017). Grønlænderne er et af de mest troende folk i verden, 8 Nov. 2017. www.kristeligt-dagblad.dk/kirke-tro/groenlaenderne-er-et-af-de-mest-troendefolk-i-verden Kunstkritikk.com (2020). No coloniser deserves to be on top of a mountain, kunstkritikk.com, 22 June 2020. https://kunstkritikk.com/archive/aqqalu Körber, L. and Volquardsen, E. (2020). The Postcolonial North Atlantic: An Introduction, in Körber, L. & Volquardsen, E. (eds.): The Postcolonial North Atlantic: Iceland, Greenland and the Faroe Islands (2nd ed.). Berlin: Nordeuropa-Institut. Langgaard, K. (2011). Greenlandic Literature from Colonial Times to Self-Government, in Langgaard, K. & Thisted, K. (eds.) From Oral Tradition to Rap: Literatures of the Polar North. Thisted: Atuagkat. Leine, K. (2015). The Prophets of Eternal Fjord. London: Atlantic Books. Leine, K. (2018). Rød mand/Sort mand. Copenhagen: Gyldendal. Lynge, Augo (1931/1989). Ukiut 300-ngornerat / Trehundrede år efter / Three Hundred Years Hence; translated to Danish by Trine Graversen and Kirsten Thisted. Nuuk: Atuakkiorfik. Lynge, Aviaaja E. (2006). The Best Colony in the World. Conference Rethinking Nordic Colonialism. http://rethinking-nordiccolonialism.org/files/pdf/ACT2/ESSAYS/Lynge.pdf Lynge, Aqqaluk (1970). Ode til danaiderne. www.his2rie.dk/kildetekster/det-moderne-groenlandfra-koloni-til-selvstyre/tekst-34a/ Markussen, U. (2017). Towards an Arctic Awakening: Neocolonalism, Sustainable Development, Emancipatory Research, Collective Action, and Arctic Regional Policymaking, in Latola, K. and Savela, H. (eds.): The Interconnected Arctic. UArctic Congress: Springer, 305–311. McElroy, A. (2008). Nunavut Generations: Change and Continuity in Canadian Inuit Communities. Long Grove, Illinois: Waveland. Naalakkersuisut (2016). Koalitionsaftale 2016-2018. https://Naalakkersuisut.gl Naalakkersuisut (2017). Kommissorium for Grønlands Forfatningskommission. https://naalakkersuisut.gl/da/Naalakkersuisut/Departementer/Finans/Forfatning skommision/komissorium. Nuttall, M. (2018). Self-determination and indigenous governance in the Arctic, in Nuttall et al (eds.), The Routledge Handbook of the Polar Regions. London: Routledge, 67-80. Nuuk Ugeavis (2020) Aka Hansen: Hans Egede bør kastes i havet, 27 June 2020. https://sermitsiaq.ag/node/222568 Pedersen, B.K. (2014). Greenlandic Images and the Post-colonial: Is it such a Big Deal after all?, in Körber, L. and Volquardsen, E. (eds.): The Postcolonial North Atlantic: Iceland, Greenland and the Faroe Islands (2nd ed.) Berlin: Nordeuropa-Institut.
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Rud, S. (2017). Colonialism in Greenland. Tradition, Governance and Legacy. Cambridge Imperial and Post-Colonial Studies Series. Cham: Palgrave Macmillan. Sejersen, F. (2015). Rethinking Greenland and the Arctic in the Era of Climate Change: New Northern Horizons. London & New York: Routledge. Sermersooq,
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Thisted, K. (2013). Discourses of Indigeneity. Branding Greenland in the Age of Self-Government and Climate Change, in Sverker Sörlin (ed.): Science, Geopolitics and Culture in the Polar region – Norden beyond Borders. Ashgate: Farnham and Burlington. Thisted, K. (2015). Pioneering Nation: New Narratives About Greenland and Greenlanders Launched Through Arts and Branding, in Birgitta Evengård, Joan Nymand Larsen, Øyvind Paasche (eds.): The New Arctic. Cham: Springer, 23-38. Thisted, K.(2017). The Greenlandic Reconciliation Commission: Ethnonationalism, Arctic Resources, and Post-Colonial Identity, in Lill-Ann Körber, Scott MacKenzie & Anna Stenport Westerstahl (eds.): Arctic Environmental Modernities From the Age of Polar Exploration to the Era of the Anthropocene. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 231-246. Thomsen, R.C. (2010). Nationalism in Stateless Nations: Selves and Others in Scotland and Newfoundland. Edinburgh: John Donald. Thomsen, R.C. and Vester, S.P. (2016). Towards a Semiotics-Based Typology of Authenticities in Heritage Tourism: Authenticities at Nottingham Castle, UK, and Nuuk Colonial Harbour, Greenland, Scandinavian Journal of Hospitality and Tourism 16:3, 254-273. Thomsen, R.C., Ren, C and Mahadevan, R. (2018). ‘We are the Arctic’: Identities at the Arctic Winter Games 2016’, Arctic Anthropology 55:1, 105-118. Turnowski, W. (2020). Lidt maling har sat en vigtig debat igang, 23 June http://walter.gl/?p=52. Volquardsen, E. (2020). Sådan bør vi afgøre, om statuer er bevaringsværdige, Altinget.dk, 4 Aug. 2020. www.altinget.dk/arktis/artikel/lektor-statuer-skal-bidrage-til-den-positivefortaelling-om-et-faelles-vi#.XwRWjb9-270.email Vowel, C. (2016). Indigenous Writes: a Guide to First Nations, Métis and Inuit Issues in Canada. Winnipeg: Highwater. Wetherell, M. (1998). Positioning and Interpretative Repertoires: Conversation Analysis and PostStructuralism in Dialogue, Discourse & Society 9:3, 387-412. Wetherell, M. and Potter, J. (1988). Discourse Analysis and the Identification of Interpretative Repertoires, in Antaki, C. (ed.) Analysing Everyday Explanation: A Casebook of Methods. London: Sage, 168-83. Žižek, S. (2008). Violence: Six Sideways Reflections. New York: Picador.
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The Continuing Effects of Colonisation in Avanersuaq Martin Binachon
This paper questions the structure behind the substantial difficulties confronting the Inughuit, an Indigenous people from Avanersuaq (Northwest Greenland). By studying the colonial history of Avanersuaq, it identifies a specific ethnologic discourse which has systematically described the Inughuit as ‘primitive’ Kalaallit (West Greenlanders) since European explorers first encountered the Inughuit. It then assesses how this discourse has justified the gradual exclusion of the Inughuit from policymaking and their assimilation into the West Greenlandic society. This dynamic, initiated by the establishment of a Trading Station in Avanersuaq in 1910, has been maintained by the Danish and Greenlandic authorities since then. This assessment then allows a greater reflection on the economic and cultural instabilities the Inughuit continue to face. Indeed, this paper demonstrates that these adversities are inextricably linked to the authorities’ assumption that the Inughuit are ‘primitive’ later ‘underdeveloped’ - Kalaallit and to the subsequent dispossession of the Inughuit of their political agency. In light of this analysis, this study concludes that colonisation has continuing effects in Avanersuaq today, which should be comprehensively addressed by the competent authorities to ensure the resiliency of the Inughuit as a distinct community.
Introduction In 1996, the association ‘Hingitaq 53’ (which translates in English as ‘The Expelled of 1953’, Spiermann, 2004: 572) decided to sue the Danish Prime Minister’s Office regarding the expulsion and expropriation of several families following the establishment of an American Air Base in northwest Greenland. In doing so, the association made known to the outer world the Inughuit, a small Indigenous people from Avanersuaq (northwest Greenland), which it sought to represent in Court (Hingitaq 53 v. Denmark, 2006). Hingitaq 53 argued that the Inughuit (singular: Inughuaq) were a self-identifying Indigenous people, distinct from the Kalaallit (South and West Greenlanders), and entitled to specific rights. The case went to the Danish Supreme Court, which recognised that Inughuit had been forcibly relocated from their territory. However, the Court also ruled that the Inughuit were not an Indigenous people distinct from the Kalaallit (Hingitaq 53 v. Denmark, 2006). This ruling has often been accused of endangering the livelihood of the Inughuit as a distinct community. Indeed, the then president of the Inuit Circumpolar Council, Aqqaluk Lynge, warned that the current political and legal dynamics may lead the Inughuit to “join other
Martin Binachon is a graduate student from the University of Akureyri, Iceland.
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Indigenous peoples globally whose language, culture and presence are no longer with us” (Lynge, 2002: 10). Nineteen years later, while the Inughuit still maintain their distinct culture and traditions (Drieux, 2019), the worrying dynamics Lynge had denounced similarly seem to be persisting. Indeed, Inughuit and scholars have both highlighted that their existence as a distinct people fundamentally remains threatened, as they today look to be confronted with increasing political, economic, social, cultural and climatic difficulties (Ngiviu, 2014). The welfare services provided in Avanersuaq seem either defective or absent (Ngiviu, 2014) and this precariousness has led to the closure of many settlements in Avanersuaq, with the majority of the population now concentrated in Qaanaaq (Drieux, 2019). On the other hand, the non-recognition of the Inughuit has been condemned on the international scene. For instance, the Human Rights Committee, in 2008, noted “with concern that […] the Supreme Court did not recognise the Thule Tribe of Greenland as a separate group capable of vindicating its traditional rights, despite the tribe’s perception to the contrary” (para. 13). The Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination and the Committee on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights have raised similar concerns (CERD, 2002, 2010; CESCR 2019). The Inuit Circumpolar Council further condemned the Danish and Greenlandic authorities, contending that “the existence of an Indigenous community is a question of fact, and not an instrument of domestic law” (Inuit Circumpolar Council, 2011: para. 16). Additionally, several scholars and politicians have supported and developed this argumentation since then (Ngiviu, 2014; Lynge, 2002; Wulff, 2005; Gismondi, 2017). These contentions are based on the fact that the Inughuit have self-identified as a distinct Indigenous people, a criterion which is “fundamental” according to the Convention of the International Labour Organisation concerning Indigenous and Tribal Peoples (ILO C169, art. 1.2), but also with the idea that the Inughuit still retain their own social, linguistic and cultural traits today (Ngiviu, 2014; Lynge, 2002).1 In light of the present state of affairs and consideration of the aforementioned argumentations, this article reflects on the non-recognition of the Inughuit as a distinct Indigenous people and the concerns deriving from it. In that perspective, the article will attempt to identify the systemic dynamics behind these issues by interrogating Avanersuaq’s colonial past.2 In doing so, it will reconsider the prevailing official narrative and question the existence of structuring dynamics that could be behind the Inughuit’s contemporary precarious situation. This paper will first analyse the colonial ethnologic discourse made regarding the Inughuit and its influence on the exclusion of the Inughuit from decision-making. Secondly, it will reflect on the dispossession of the Inughuit from their political agency as a means to understand the difficulties their community must face today. (The discourse studied hereinafter is full of racial aspersions, some of which are particularly violent and may be hurtful to some readers. Their presence in this article does not reflect my acceptance of them.)
Part 1: A history of political exclusion Antony Anghie has bluntly summarised that Western colonisers have systematically tried to “define, subordinate and exclude the native” (Anghie, 2004: 38). By applying this reasoning to
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Avanersuaq’s history, this section will question the identification of the Inughuit as ‘primitive’ Kalaallit, and reflect on their subsequent exclusion from policy-making. 1.1 The construction of an ethnologic discourse An ethnologic discourse built by explorers The political rejection of the Inughuit appears to be a long process, originating in the Inughuit’s encounter with white explorers and still ongoing today. Indeed, while the colonisation of South and West Greenland was initiated in 1721 by Hans Egede (Rud, 2017), the Inughuit were not known to Europeans until Scottish polar explorer John Ross encountered them while searching for the Northwest Passage in 1818 (Ross, 1819). His encounter was to be rapidly repeated by other European and American explorers. Interestingly, the explorers’ discourses regarding the Inughuit are quite similar, as they directly and systematically identified the Inughuit as ‘authentic’ and ‘primitive’ Greenlanders, in comparison with the already-colonised Kalaallit. For instance, Ross wrote that when his translator, Sacheuse, saw them, he exclaimed: “These are right Eskimaux, these are our fathers!” (1819: 169) This idea, which would have been expressed by the expedition’s Greenlandic translator was soon confirmed by Ross himself, as the explorer claimed that “the similarity of the language proves that they are the same people” (even though, a few pages earlier, Ross claimed the Inughuit were “unintelligible to Sacheuse” (1819: 164, 169)). In 1854, Elisha Kane, after overwintering in Avanersuaq, incited the Inughuit to move south, where they would join other “tribes” (1879: 208). Kane, genuinely confident that the Inughuit were isolated Kalaallit, thought it would be more suitable for them to join their kin in the Danish colonies of Greenland. In 1858, M’Clintock reiterated Kane’s proposal. The rapid assessment made by M’Clintock is that the Inughuit were uncivilised, “filthy”, “wretched”, “repulsive” (1869: 114). Therefore, M’Clintock was confident that these “degraded” West Greenlanders left out from colonisation would be better off in South Greenland (1869: 114). The explorers’ discourse, relayed south, influenced the Western scientific world. In 1866, the English geographer Clements Markham thus remarked that the Inughuit represented a “small remnant of [the] ancient wanderers” who populated the whole island of Greenland (1866: 136). By describing the Inughuit as the fathers of the westernised Kalaallit, Markham not only reduced the Inughuit to a notion of primitivity but also fixed the Inughuit to the past, effectively essentialising them as remnants of another era. At the end of the 20th century, Robert Bartlett furthered this reasoning as he argued that before the arrival of white men, the Inughuit “lived literally in a stone age” (1928: 324). Robert Peary’s attitude towards the Inughuit between 1891 and 1909 confirmed the dialectic presenting the Inughuit as authentic, uncivilised Kalaallit. Indeed, Peary obviously saw the Inughuit as ‘primitives’, as he described them as “a race of children” (1914: 492). On the other hand, Peary praised this deemed primitivity in some of his texts, only to uphold the idea that the Inughuit were original Greenlanders. Peary indeed assured that the Inughuit ought to stay “uncontaminated, pure-blooded” and avoid the fate of their kin in South Greenland, whom he identified as “halfbreed human products, inferior to either original stock” (1914: 508). From a Danish perspective, it appears that the Inughuit’s primitivity was romanticised. For instance, the journalist Mylius-Erichsen, who went to Avanersuaq in the 1902-1904 Danish Literary Expedition used his experience with the Inughuit to denounce the colonial project in South and The Continuing Effects of Colonisation in Avanersuaq
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West Greenland (Rud, 2017: 25-26). Mylius-Erichsen distinguished three different groups of Greenlanders depending on their level of interaction with Western culture, thereby designating the Inughuit as the most authentic Greenlanders (Rud, 2017: 26). Knud Rasmussen, who also went to Avanersuaq with the Danish Literary Expedition, came back with a similar discourse. Rasmussen effectively argued that the Inughuit had been slowly emerging “from the palaeolithic conditions under which they had hitherto been accustomed to live” (1915: 285). Convinced that the Inughuit’s perceived childish culture should be “gently” brought to maturity (Rasmussen, 1999: xx), and concerned by Peary’s recent departure from Avanersuaq (who left the Inughuit in a state of dependence regarding Western products), Knud Rasmussen tried to make Denmark extend its colony to Avanersuaq (Gilberg, 1988: 48). Since Denmark refused, Rasmussen decided to conduct this project himself and established the Thule Trading Station in Uummannaq (the Inughuit’s biggest settlement) in 1910. Rasmussen explained that he created the station to secure the Greenlandic land north of the Danish colony, (Brøsted, 1988) a crucial endeavour since the Inughuit were viewed as the fathers of the West Greenlanders. Confirmed by the Danish and Greenlandic authorities ever since Because Denmark did not see a potential colony in Avanersuaq as economically profitable at first (Drieux, 2019), and because Knud Rasmussen was already securing the land for Denmark without upsetting other Western nations (Brøsted, 1988), Avanersuaq was not incorporated into the Danish colonial area until 1921 (Hingitaq 53 v. Denmark, 2006) and the Thule trading station remained private property until 1937 (Brøsted, 1988). However, multiple examples demonstrate that the Danish administration systematically identified the Inughuit as authentic, primitive, West Greenlanders long before these dates. Indeed, since the Inughuit were described as merely uncolonised Kalaallit, the Danish authorities have early on regarded them as Danish subjects. In 1858, the Inspector of North Greenland thus asked explorer Francis M’Clintock “to convey from their isolated locality these arctic highlanders […] to the Danish settlements in Greenland” (M’Clintock, 1869: 115). This was not an isolated event, as the Danish administration further expressed the idea that it had authority for Avanersuaq in 1907 (Harper, 2017) and 1916 (Cession of the Danish West Indies, United-States - Denmark). In 1920, the Danish Ministry of Foreign Affairs even argued that “[w]hen it was found that Eskimos were also living outside the districts hitherto subject to the Danish administration […] Denmark extended her missionary enterprise and commercial activities to those regions” (Denmark v. Norway, 1933: para. 357). This dialectic, underpins, again, the idea that the Inughuit were simply uncolonised West Greenlanders whom Denmark had always considered to be under its jurisdiction, and that it was mere logic to extend the Danish presence to the area. The idea that the Inughuit are authentic Greenlanders was still upheld by ethnologists in the middle of the 20th century. For instance, the French scientist Jean Malaurie, reiterated previous explorers’ arguments as he described the Kalaallit as “mixed-race” or “half-blood”, in contrast with the Inughuit “whose nature, it was told, was exceptionally intact” (2016: 15, 22, 27). The scientist, unmistakably influenced by the explorers’ discourse, even used Bartlett’s “stone age” analogy (2016: 39). On another note, Malaurie’s overwinter came right before two significant shifts. First, in 1953, Greenland was integrated into the Danish Realm and thus officially decolonised according to the
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Danish state. This process was furthered in 1979 when Denmark initiated a devolution of its political powers to the Greenlandic authorities. Second, it can be observed that after World War II, “[p]rimitive peoples were made into Indigenous peoples with specific rights” (Sowa, 2013: 190). However, while these shifts represent important developments for the Greenlandic nation, they did not alter the structural discourse observed hitherto. On one hand, the wording in the 1979 and 2009 Home Rule and Self-Government Acts reinforced the idea that Greenland is a single unit with a singular people. On the other hand, the Danish and Greenlandic authorities underpinned the colonial discourse by officially declaring on signing ILO Convention 169: “[t]here is only one Indigenous people in Denmark […] namely the original population of Greenland, the Inuit” (ILO Governing Body, 2001: para. 20). In spite of this, the Inughuit officially countered this dialectic when they sued Denmark in 1996, demanding to be recognised as a distinct Indigenous people and asking for the right to return to their territory (Hingitaq 53 v. Denmark, 2006). Their argumentation was based on both objective and subjective criteria such as historical continuity, colonial domination, cultural distinctiveness and self-identification (Hingitaq 53 v. Denmark, 2006). The Danish government’s answer to the Inughuit’s claim appeared to be a mere summary of the discourse that had prevailed heretofore: the Inughuit are authentic Kalaallit. Denmark specifically asserted that the Inughuit are “of the same origin as the rest of the population in Greenland” (ILO Governing Body, 2001: para 20), even though recent archaeological studies suggest they had had absolutely no contact with the Kalaallit before their encounter with white men (Ngiviu, 2014). It further argued that all “native Greenlanders (Kalaallit) speak the same language”, (ILO Governing Body, 2001: para 20) even though the Inughuit and the Kalaallit languages are still mutually unintelligible (Ngiviu, 2014). This reductive argumentation is a common colonial dialectic. Colonisers have often homogenised different native groups to create a dichotomy between the Westerners and the “Others” (Staszak, 2009). Therefore, because distinguishing Inughuit and Kalaallit languages can be difficult for foreigners, and because distinguishing the Inughuit from the Westerners was effortless, the Inughuit were simply essentialised as primitive West Greenlanders, just like Native Americans were reduced to “Indians”, and enslaved Africans were homogenised as “Black” (Mignolo, 2008: xiv). While the Naalakkersuisut (Greenlandic government) tried to support the Inughuit claim at first, it was “hamstrung to act decisively” (Lynge, 2002: 25). The Supreme Court thus ruled in 2004 that the Inughuit were not a distinct Indigenous people. Even if the reached conclusion was not influenced by the colonial dialectic (which is debatable), the decision, in any case, reaffirmed it: the Inughuit are Kalaallit who simply experienced belated colonisation. Today, while Greenland becomes more and more autonomous, structural mechanisms and entrenched representations still preclude the Greenlandic authorities from supporting the Inughuit. Today, despite the Inughuit still self-identifying as distinct from the Kalaallit, the idea that they are authentic Kalaallit, ‘real’ Greenlanders appears to be deeply rooted in the Greenlandic imaginary (Graugaard, 2009: 149). Furthermore, the Naalakkersuisut has upheld the opinion that there exists only one Indigenous people in Greenland as it contended that “the Inughuit do not constitute a tribal people or a particular Indigenous people within, or coexisting with, the Greenlandic people as a whole” (Naalakkersuisut, 2013: 27).
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1.2 The gradual exclusion of the Inughuit from decision-making Knud Rasmussen, the Thule trading station, and the expression of colonial power In academic literature, Knud Rasmussen is usually described as a warm-hearted man who disinterestedly wanted to protect the Inughuit and help them develop into a ‘modern’ society while maintaining their identity (Birket-Smith, 1933; Gilberg, 1988; Malaurie, 2016; Drieux, 2019). While the private colony established by Knud Rasmussen between 1910 and 1933 had its advantages (e.g. regarding healthcare and food security (Hastrup, 2019)), the colonial project led by Knud Rasmussen nonetheless excluded the Inughuit from decision-making. For instance, one must acknowledge that Knud Rasmussen “had the overall responsibility for the entire Station’s finances” (Harhoff, 2000: 158). It is therefore noteworthy that the Inughuit were paid by Rasmussen around a tenth of the selling price of the furs, the rest of the profit thereby going to his Station (Drieux, 2019). Rasmussen justified this policy by arguing that the Inughuit were not ready to take care of such important amounts of money and that it was better to “slowly develop their society”, and “only if they requested so” (Malaurie, 2016: 626). However, “it is quite obvious that the [Inughuit] were not then in a position to be consulted” (Malaurie, 2016: 626). A second illustration of the colonial mechanisms of Rasmussen’s station can be found in the Hunters’ Council. The Council, established on Rasmussen’s initiative in 1927, has often been described as an innovative tool that “encouraged the Inughuit to have influence on their development” (Gilberg, 1988: 5). However, the Hunters’ Council’s structure looks to be very similar to the Guardians’ Councils’ established in Danish Greenland between 1856 and 1911 (Sørensen, 2006: 15). Indeed, both boards were manned by three Danes (whose seats were permanent) and three elected local hunters (Rud, 2017: 38). Rud (2014) has compellingly argued that these local boards were Foucauldian tools established by the Danish administration to reinvigorate the Kalaallit’s hunting industriousness and ensure economic profitability. In that perspective, the Hunters’ Council appears to have been an additional means for Rasmussen to direct the Inughuit where he deemed best. Rasmussen’s willingness to empower the Inughuit and protect their traditions can indeed be questioned. For instance, Rasmussen wanted to protect and value the lucrative traditional hunting activity but concomitantly made sure all Inughuit were Christianised during his dominion (Drieux, 2019). Besides, one must note that “Knud Rasmussen had reserved a right of revision for himself”, thereby confirming his desire to control Avanersuaq’s development (Brøsted, 1988: 261). The essence of Rasmussen’s project was therefore inherently colonial: because the Inughuit were deemed childlike, primitive Kalaallit, Rasmussen decided “with disinterest and obstinacy to integrate progressively into the Greenlandic community, later Danish, this isolated group” (Malaurie, 2016: 577). In such a project, the Inughuit were not the main decision-makers. The persisting dispossession of the Inughuit’s political agency under Danish dominion After Rasmussen died in 1933, the station was transferred to Denmark in 1937 through an agreement with the Hunters’ Council (Brøsted, 1988). The Hunters’ Council, recognised as the main decision-making body for the region, agreed to the transfer as long as Avanersuaq was to be administered as a district distinct from the rest of Greenland (Brøsted, 1988). Despite this
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agreement, it appears that the Inughuit have only been further excluded from decision-making and assimilated into the West Greenlandic polity since then. The pursuance of the structural exclusion of the Inughuit from decision-making is especially evident regarding the establishment of the Thule Air Base. In 1951, the United States signed a new Defence Agreement with Denmark, in which the construction of an American Airforce Base right next to Uummannaq was planned. The local Inughuit population living in Uummannaq was not consulted in this process (Hingitaq 53 v. Denmark, 2006). In 1953, as the United States decided to expand the Base, the Danish authorities realised the Inughuit had to be expelled from Uummannaq (Wulff, 2005). To prepare this relocation, the Danish administration only summoned the Danes living in Avanersuaq to Copenhagen (Lynge, 2002), evidently bypassing the Inughuit. In other colonial contexts, Anghie has argued that many Indigenous peoples were excluded from such decisions because they were deemed “too primitive to understand the concept of sovereignty” (Anghie, 2004: 91). In light of the aforementioned colonial discourse, it can be argued the Danes held the same reasoning towards the Inughuit. On the Danes’ return, the Inughuit were asked to relocate further north, to Qaanaaq, which had only been a temporary hunting camp until then (Hastrup, 2017: 154). As the revised Danish constitution, granting Greenlanders constitutional rights as full citizens would come into force only five days later, the Inughuit were given four days to leave their village (Johnstone, 2020). The Danish administration then pursued the exclusion of the Inughuit by completely ignoring the Hunters’ Council grievance in regard to this relocation (it declared it “lost”, although the complaint was found in its “systemic place” in 2000 (Wulff, 2005: 68)). Besides, the feeble responsibility given to the population through the Council was abolished in 1963 when the authorities decided to extend the communal law to Avanersuaq. With this legal change, not only were the Inughuit’s potentially troublemaking complaints silenced, the Council’s demand that Avanersuaq should be administered as a distinct district was also eroded, bringing the Inughuit yet again closer to the Kalaallit. The furtherance of the excluding dynamics since 1979 Finally, it can be remarked that while the Inughuit, as part of the Greenlandic nation, have been empowered by the 1979 and 2009 reforms, they have been, as a distinct Indigenous people, further disempowered by the semi-autonomous authorities. On that note, it is important to acknowledge that the Naalakkersuisut is acting within a system built during the Danish colonial dominion and still very much dependent on imported Danish skilled labour (Grydehøj, 2020). On the national level, the Inughuit were further excluded and assimilated in 1998, when the independent constituency for their district was abolished (Gad, 2017). This meant that the Inughuit were no longer guaranteed a seat at the Inatsisartut (Parliament). On the local level, Avanersuup Kommunia’s merging with other West Greenlandic municipalities moved Avanersuaq’s administrative centre 1,080 kilometres away from Qaanaaq and left the Inughuit with only one seat out of seventeen on the Municipal Council, thus reinforcing this structural exclusion (Landstingslov nr. 15 af 5. December 2008). On the international level, the Naalakkersuisut has used the Pituffik Air Base to serve its agenda while ignoring the Inughuit’s concerns. For instance, in 2002, the US asked to upgrade the missile defence system of the Base (Ackrén, 2019). The Inughuit strongly disapproved of the plan (Lynge,
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2002), but the Naalakkersuisut dismissed their demands, as it used this occasion to increase its prerogatives in foreign policy (Kristensen, 2004). The empowerment of the Greenlandic authorities is a positive development yet it has been enabled by ignoring the Inughuit demands who consider this land theirs. While it could be argued that the inclusion of the Greenlandic authorities guarantees the inclusion of the Inughuit (a reasoning upheld by the predominant ethnologic discourse), the political agency of the Inughuit has been constantly hampered, questioning the actual representivity of the Greenlandic authorities. Overall, this exclusion and gradual assimilation cannot be understood without taking into account the systemic discourse made towards the Inughuit. Throughout the 20th and early 21st centuries, the aforementioned colonial discourse and political dynamics interplayed and reinforced each other, making the exclusion of the Inughuit structural reasoning. It can then be concluded that the Inughuit are facing a systemic, historically-built, dynamic which has continuously tried to dispossess them of their political agency.
Part 2: Systemically dispossessed of their political agency, the Inughuit have to face economic and cultural instabilities Today, the Inughuit are facing substantial economic and cultural predicaments, reinforced by anthropogenic climate change (Lynge, 2002; Ngiviu, 2014; Drieux, 2019). It is here argued that these problems can only be comprehended and relevantly addressed by understanding the structural dynamics which have progressively excluded the Inughuit from decision-making. 2.1 Economic difficulties in Avanersuaq An economic development planned from outside and imposed upon the Inughuit Firstly, it appears that two conclusions can be drawn from Rasmussen’s endeavour to develop the economy of Avanersuaq. On one hand, it should be noted that the Inughuit cash economy became “almost exclusively dependent” on the polar fox (Malaurie, 2016: 102). On the other hand, because the Station was by essence meant to be lucrative, it should be recognised that it established a structure in which the Inughuit were meant to be ‘productive’ (for instance by forbidding hunters to settle in one place for too long (Hastrup, 2017), it can be argued that Rasmussen tried to maximise the hunting ground covered by the hunters and thereby, maximise profitability (Rud, 2017)). While this worked well during Ramussen’s dominion, the issue is that to access the western goods they were increasingly contingent on, the Inughuit were encouraged to sell their catches to a trading post, where the prices were set according to market fluctuations. Therefore, the Inughuit were left in a structural dynamic in which profitability was key but over which they were dependent and lacked control. This dynamic therefore became a substantial issue after the Second World War, as Denmark decided to abandon the isolation policy it had applied to Greenland hitherto and initiated a rapid modernisation of the country (Hansen, 2008). Throughout this process, instigated by two policy reports (the G-50 and the G-60), economic rationalism was key (Andersen, Jensen & HvenegårdLassen, 2016). The two reports created a dynamic in which Greenland had to become developed and productive according to Danish standards, thereby greatly disturbing the economic situation in Avanersuaq.
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Although the economic productivity of the Inughuit encouraged by Rasmussen was somewhat appreciated by the G-50 (Grønlandskommissionen, 1950), the general pattern of development in Greenland sapped hunting activities. Indeed the G-50 and the G-60, in their endeavour to substitute hunting with commercial fishing, under-payed the hunters and encouraged them to become industrial workers (Malaurie, 2016). The concomitant collapse of the fox fur market and the loss of the Inughuit’s best hunting grounds induced by the 1953 relocation only strengthened the force of these economic policies (Flora et al, 2018; Malaurie, 2016). During the period when it was decided to optimise the productivity of the Greenlanders, what had been a lucrative business in Avanersuaq thus became a backwards and unprofitable activity in the eyes of the authorities. The Inughuit did adapt their activities to cope with these new developments while maintaining their hunting traditions, yet Avanersuaq rapidly became an unprofitable region according to Western standards (Malaurie, 2016; Drieux, 2019). The devolution of some political prerogatives to the Home-Rule and later Self-Rule governments does not appear to have changed the general economic dynamic. Indeed, the entrenchment of Greenland’s economic dependency on Denmark, combined with the growing unprofitability of the Inughuit has led the Naalakkersuisut to continue the dynamics initiated under the Danish dominion. In that perspective, it has been summarised that the “Naalakkersuisut is more interested in reducing spending and finding ways to increase the country’s revenue than increasing its expenditures on projects that are not ‘absolutely necessary’”(Hansen, 2020). While these policies are usually not specifically aimed towards Avanersuaq, the Inughuit are especially vulnerable to these since the economic dynamics imposed over Greenland deem hunting, the Inughuit’s main activity hitherto, as a backwards practice to be replaced by industrial, productive activities. An economic vulnerability amplified by decisions unadapted to the specificities of Avanersuaq The issue, then, is that the imposition of a western economic system seeking constant profitability over Avanersuaq by the competent, yet external, authorities has often led to choices unadapted to the specificities of the region, effectively jeopardising the resiliency of the Inughuit. First, one can remark that the Inughuit’s daily lives are extremely challenged by the high retail prices in Avanersuaq. Indeed, since the uniform price system in retail, where a given product costs the same everywhere in the country, was abolished in 1994 (to cut public spending (Hendriksen, 2014)), life in Avanersuaq is very costly compared to southern towns. For instance, heating the houses (built on Kalaallit/Danish standards) in Avanersuaq is extremely expensive for the Inughuit, as “they must pay double price for fuel to warm their cold houses, compared with towns further south, where temperatures are much higher”. The problem is such that during winter “some people are more or less hibernating in just one room, saving on both electricity and heat” (Hastrup, 2019: 16). Second, the neoliberal management of the public services, based on Danish standards and constantly seeking to optimise spending, has created deficient public services in Avanersuaq. For example, Qaanaaq’s hospital is unable to function as planned: the lack of midwives means that women must go to Nuuk to give birth, and the continuity of the aftercare provided to the patients is challenged by a high staff turnover (Witting & Lind Krebs, 2018; Ngiviu, 2014). The optimisation of the economy has led to a division, by sectors, of the state-owned companies providing essential services to the Greenlanders (water, transport, retail, electricity), leaving rural communities in difficult positions (Hendriksen & Hoffmann 2016). Indeed, these newly created The Continuing Effects of Colonisation in Avanersuaq
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sectoral companies were asked to abandon what could be seen as superfluous functions, only to maintain those strictly necessary. However, in remote settlements like Qaanaaq, these functions were not replaced by private companies, for the market is simply not profitable enough, thereby leaving the community with uncoordinated and ill-functioning services (see e.g., Hendriksen & Hoffmann, 2018). Third, the westernisation and industrialisation of the economy in Greenland has ensured a gradual decrease of the hunting revenues and a progressive closure of the services provided by the State in the smaller settlements. Closing small settlements is economically attractive for the Naalakkersuisut because it enables the authorities to shut down costly services and infrastructures and to cut the allowances it pays to its isolated citizens (Drieux, 2019). Thus, most inhabitants from Avanersuaq’s villages have decided to relocate to other, bigger settlements where they would find better economic opportunities and welfare services (Drieux, 2019; Ngiviu, 2014). This dynamic is easily observable: in 1977, 20% of the Inughuit lived in settlements which have now been abandoned (Statistics Greenland, 2021a) and so today, only three (out of 11 in 1950) settlements outside of Qaanaaq remain inhabited (Drieux, 2019). In that perspective, Putdlaq Uvdloriaq, an Inughuit hunter has argued that “people from the North are never heard. The government wants to close the small settlements without worrying about the opinion of the hunters” (Drieux, 2019: 46). Figure 1. Number of inhabitants in Avanersuaq’s settlements, from 1977 to 2021
These developments have created a very precarious economic situation in Avanersuaq: the unemployment rate is high (Statistics Greenland, 2021b; Niras Greenland/AS, 2020) and 22% of the adults in Qaanaaq are thought to be homeless (Hendrisken & Hoffmann, 2016). Underprivileged groups such as young women and people with disabilities are especially impacted by these dynamics (Statistics Greenland, 2021b; Kristiansen, 2021). The Inughuit are thus facing undeniable pressures inciting them to leave the small settlements and to move to bigger towns in Binachon
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the south, where they would find better economic opportunities and welfare services. Although this worrying state of affairs is partly counterbalanced by several endeavours which could galvanise Avanersuaq’s economy (Drieux, 2019), it can only be truly altered if Greenland stops developing its economy on Danish standards and allows rural areas (not least Avanersuaq) to develop themselves according to their own needs and standards. Finally, it is important to note that the dynamics overviewed above do not concern only Avanersuaq. Indeed, rural communities in Greenland usually face the same economic difficulties as the Inughuit, and feel a similar pressure to relocate to bigger towns (Hendriksen, 2014). However, while “[t]he threat of relocation looms over many settlements along the entirety of the Greenlandic west coast, [...] at least those other communities count as Kalaallit” (Ngiviu, 2014: 149). In fact, a relocation of the Inughuit south would mean further assimilation of their community into the Kalaallit society. It is in that perspective that unrecognised and disempowered minorities such as the Inughuit, but also the Iivit in East Greenland, look to be especially vulnerable to these dynamics. 2.2 A worrying cultural discrimination A linguistic prejudice tending towards assimilation Finally, Inughuit culture and Indigenous knowledge have historically been disregarded, leading to discriminatory situations today which endanger the livelihood of the community. First, it appears that the language of the Inughuit, Inuktun, still used by most Inughuit in their everyday lives, is strongly discriminated against. Inuktun is a spoken language closer to some Inuit languages from the Canadian Arctic than Kalaallisut (West Greenlandic) (Fortescue, 1991). Thus, in spite of a century of colonisation, Danification and assimilation which undoubtedly influenced Inuktun, (Fortescue, 1991) Inuktun and Kalaallisut are still mutually unintelligible (Ngiviu, 2014). The Inuit Circumpolar Council has thus contended that “[t]he Inughuit are speaking their own language”, (2011: para. 22) yet the official discourse argues that Inuktun is simply a regional “dialect” and that “Greenlandic” is the official language of the country (Inatsisartutlov nr. 7 af 19. maj 2010 om sprogpolitik, 2010: para. 3). In practice, “Greenlandic” actually means Kalaallisut and Inuktun is never used by the authorities (Mortensen & Barten, 2016). Although this official discourse was only transcribed into law in 2010, this dialectic has been upheld since European and American explorers encountered the Inughuit (Ross, 1819; Rasmussen, 1908) despite the fact that Kalaallit missionaries were unable to communicate with the Inughuit when they first arrived in Avanersuaq (Ross, 1819; Harper, 2017). Therefore, although it has been argued that Inuktun’s grammar does not match Kalaallisut’s since then (Ngiviu, 2014), the Danish administration has officially endorsed the explorers’ dialectic since 1908 (Harper, 2017) and has defended the simplistic assertion that Inuktun “does not deviate fundamentally” from Kalaallisut, but that it simply “sounds very different” (Holtved, 1952: 21; ILO Governing Body, 2001). On account of this, Inuktun is today not protected from outside influences but on the contrary, it is pushed into the background. For instance, only Kalaallisut has an official standardised written form in Greenland today and this form does not match with Inuktun’s singular phonology (Leonard, 2014). Thereby, Inuktun’s “very special sounds and pronunciations are endangered and disappearing” (Ngiviu, 2014: 154).
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Furthermore, since Inuktun is not recognised as a language and since there are too few Inughuit teachers to instruct the upper grades, the Inughuit pupils are not taught their native language in school and have to learn their lessons in foreign languages, an exhausting exercise which leads to deschooling both in primary and upper secondary school (Pluym, 1999; Leonard, 2015; Niras Greenland A/S, 2020). The schooling system thus represents a structural vicious circle in which the Inughuit and their language are continually discriminated against. Indeed, the Danish- and Kalaallisut-speaking teachers make it more difficult for pupils to follow their classes, which only reinforces the strong incentives to drop out of upper secondary education, which increases the lack of Inughuit skilled labour in Avanersuaq and the importation of non-Inughuit teachers and so forth. Notwithstanding these difficulties, the Inughuit are attached to their language, which bears with it an invaluable culture, world-view and knowledge (Drieux, 2019; Schweitzer, Sköld & Ulturgasheva, 2014). Inuktun is thus perpetuated, albeit in different forms influenced by globalisation and Kalaallisut (Drieux, 2019; Leonard, 2015). Although this is a hopeful dynamic, the structural pressure against Inuktun is very concerning. Indeed, the necessity to communicate in Kalaallisut or Danish outside of the private sphere contributes to the assimilation of the Inughuit into the Greenlandic society and erodes the invaluable culture of this Indigenous people. For instance, having sufficient proficiency in Kalaallisut and/or Danish looks to be an absolute necessity today in Avanersuaq to access non-traditional jobs and services (Pluym, 1999). It is important to recognise that the small number of Inuktun speakers makes it particularly difficult for the Greenlandic government to provide the same services in Inuktun and Kalaallisut, yet recognising Inuktun as a language seems necessary, for the present dynamic unmistakably infringes on the Inughuit’s cultural rights (Chuffart, 2018). In fact, these circumstances have led the UNESCO to designate Inuktun as a “definitely endangered” language (UNESCO, 2021). Political and legal threats to the Inughuit hunting culture Today, around 130 Inughuit hunters (or 28% of the adult population) continue to provide their community with traditional food (which still represents 60% of the community’s food supplies) and clothing and perpetuate the Inughuit’s ancient culture (Statistics Greenland, 2021c; Drieux, 2019). Avanersuaq is one of the only places in Greenland where qajaq and dog sledges are not just used in sports but still utilised by the hunters in their activity (Drieux, 2019). However, hunting is becoming increasingly difficult in Avanersuaq for environmental, economic and legal reasons. Today, it is impossible to subsist solely from hunting, and the activity must be combined with other revenues (Drieux, 2019). In that perspective, the degradation of hunting conditions is not only economically worrying for the Inughuit, it is also a threat to their cultural well-being and their existence as a distinct community. Indeed, hunting must be understood as both a cultural and economic activity and the cornerstone of the Inughuit identity which qualifies as a cultural right to be protected under international law (Human Rights Committee, 1994). While climate change undeniably challenges hunting in Avanersuaq (Hastrup, 2018), it appears that this activity is also deeply impacted by political and legal developments. First, geopolitical developments have substantially restricted the Inughuit’s access to their hunting grounds. The loss of hunting grounds deriving from the establishment of the Pituffik Air Base has been mentioned already, but it is not the only territory the Inughuit cannot access anymore. Indeed, Binachon
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the Inughuit have traditionally hunted around the North-Water Polynya (Pikialasorsuaq), an area of year-round open water between Avanersuaq and Ellesmere Island (Umimmat Nunaat) closed by an ice-bridge in the north. However, since 1919, the Inughuit’s presence in Umimmat Nunaat has been perceived as a threat to Canadian sovereignty by the Canadian authorities (Barr, 2004). Therefore, the Canadian administration has taken several actions aimed at forbidding the Inughuit to hunt in their traditional territories, by first sending the Royal Canadian Mounted Police there (Schledermann, 2003), later by forcibly sending Inuit families to Ausuittuq (McGrath, 2009), and then by reinforcing border-crossing requirements in 1999 and 2001. Since then, Umimmat Nunaat is therefore inaccessible to the Inughuit (Drieux, 2019). The Inughuit, who still regard Umimmat Nunaat as part of their traditional hunting grounds, have strongly voiced their discontent at the impossibility to hunt much-needed game and visit their relatives living in Canada (Lyberth & Egede, 2013). The Inuit Circumpolar Council has thus launched the “Pikialasorsuaq Commission” in 2013, a project which seeks to establish a co-management system for the region and re-empower the Inuit living around the polynya (Pikialasorsuaq Commission, 2017), yet the support of the Canadian, Danish and Greenlandic governments, is still needed to implement that system. Figure 2: Map of the Pikialasorsuaq and evolution of the size of the Inughuit’s hunting grounds in Umimmat Nunaat
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On the other hand, the Inughuit hunting culture is also threatened at the national level by the establishment of hunting quotas. These quotas, first instigated in 2004, are paradigmatic of the assimilation of the Inughuit into the Greenlandic centralised polity, but also of the postcolonial dynamics pressurising the Naalakkersuisut into adopting Western conservationist methods (Ngiviu, 2014; Drieux, 2019). Today, these constraints completely disregard the Inughuit hunters’ traditional knowledge and jeopardise the financial livelihood of the Inughuit hunters (last year, the financial situation of some young hunters was so challenging that some had to rely on their relatives to get necessities such as food (Mølgaard, 2020)). Moreover, they forcibly modify the traditional interactions of the Inughuit with the surrounding ecosystem and effectively endanger an essential part of the Inughuit culture (Andersen, Heide-Jørgensen & Flora, 2018). The quota system is strongly disapproved by the hunters (Sermitsiaq, 2019) who often view it as a humiliating, disrespectful endeavour: “We have our own rules because we know the animals and the region. The government comes in and dictates other rules without knowing our culture” (Drieux, 2019: 442). Nonetheless, the authorities so far have not taken into account the hunters’ complaints. The Inughuit are not passive, subjected victims in these developments, and they continuously adapt to these situations to maintain their traditions (Drieux, 2019), yet to ensure their resiliency in the long term and end this systemic discrimination, the different calls to modify the quota system and to re-open access to Umimmat Nunaat (Pikialasorsuaq Commission, 2017; Nykjær Olsen, 2020) must be answered by the authorities.
Conclusion In sum, the legal and political history in Avanersuaq is marked by colonial endeavours which defined the Inughuit through an external gaze and excluded them. These historical constructs, maintained, if not furthered, by the Greenlandic and Danish authorities, partly explain the difficulties the Inughuit must face today. The present, discriminative, system, built under Danish dominion, thus has continuing effects in Avanersuaq and Greenland. To protect the rights of the Inughuit and ensure the resiliency of their community, this system must then be questioned comprehensively and the perceptions of the Inughuit, most assuredly, revalued.
Notes 1. Even though the Inughuit are an Indigenous People, it should be understood that they have strong “ties with the larger group of Inuit living in the Arctic regions” (Lynge, 2002: 9). Indeed, the Inughuit can also feel Inuit, Greenlandic, or both. Recognising this distinctiveness is thus a way of enabling better protection of the Inughuit’s unique culture, to ensure its livelihood; not a means to create further divisions and tensions within the Greenlandic society. 2. It must, however be recognised that colonisation involves two parties, and the colonised subject is never completely passive. Indeed, the colonial encounter should be understood “as an interactive, dialogic, two-way process rather than a simple active-passive one; as a process involving complex negotiation and exchange” (Gandhi, 2018: 15).
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References Ackrén, M. (2019). From bilateral to trilateral agreement: The case of Thule Air Base. Arctic Yearbook 2019, 1–11. Andersen, A., Jensen, L., & Hvenegård-Lassen, K. (2016). Qullissat: Historicising and Localising the Danish Scramble for the Arctic. In L. Jensen & G. Huggan (Eds.), Postcolonial perspectives on the European high north: Unscrambling the Arctic (pp. 93–116). Palgrave Macmillan. Andersen, A. O., Heide-Jørgensen, M. P., & Flora, J. (2018). Is sustainable resource utilisation a relevant concept in Avanersuaq? The walrus case. Ambio, 47(S2), 265–280. doi.org/10.1007/s13280-018-1032-0 Anghie, A. (2004). Imperialism, Sovereignty and the Making of International Law. Columbia University Press. Barr, W. (2004). Red serge and polar bear pants: The biography of Harry Stallworthy, RCMP (1st ed). University of Alberta Press. Bartlett, R. (1928). The Log of Bob Bartlett. The True Story of Forty Years of Seafaring and Exploration. GP Putnam!s Sons. Birket-Smith, K. (1933). Knud Rasmussen. Journal de La Société Des Américanistes, 25(2), 371–374. Brøsted, J. (1988). Danish Accession to the Thule District, 1937. Nordic Journal of International Law, 57, 259–265. Cession of the Danish West Indies, Denmark - United States. (August 4 1916). 39 Stat 1706 USTS no 629 Chuffart, R. (2018). Speaking of Rights: Indigenous Linguistic Rights in the Arctic. The Yearbook of Polar Law, 9, 4–23. Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination (2002). Report of the Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination, Sixtieth Session (4-22 March 2002) and Sixty-First Session (523 August 2002), A/57/18, available at undocs.org/A/57/18(SUPP) Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination (2010). Consideration of Reports Submitted by States Parties under Article 9 of the Convention - Concluding Observations of the Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination - Denmark, CERD/C/DNK/CO/18-19, available at undocs.org/CERD/C/DNK/CO/18-19 Committee on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (2019). Concluding observations on sixth periodic report of Denmark, E/C.12/DNK/CO/6, available at undocs.org/E/C.12/DNK/CO/6 Drieux, C. (2019). Les Inughuit, chasseurs de narvals. Évolution et adaptations des savoirs et savoir-faire dans un environnement en changement. Université de recherche Paris Sciences et Lettres. Flora, J., Johansen, K. L., Grønnow, B., Andersen, A. O., & Mosbech, A. (2018). Present and past dynamics of Inughuit resource spaces. Ambio, 47(S2), 244–264. doi.org/10.1007/s13280-018-1039-6
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Fortescue, M. D. (1991). Inuktun: An introduction to the language of Qaanaaq, Thule. Inuktun: en introduktion til Thulesproget. Institut for Eskimologi, Københavns Universitet. Gad, U. P. (2017). Pituffik i Praksis: Nationale reskaleringer i Avanersuaq. Groenland (Charlottenlund), 65(2), 149–167. Gandhi, L. (2018). Postcolonial Theory: A Critical Introduction (Second Edition). Columbia University Press. Gilberg, R. (1988). Inughuit, Knud Rasmussen, and Thule: The Work of Knud Rasmussen among the Polar-Eskimos in North Greenland. Études/Inuit/Studies, 12(1/2), 45–55. Gismondi, G. (2016). Denial of Justice: The Latest Indigenous Land Disputes Before the European Court of Human Rights and the Need for an Expansive Interpretation of Protocol 1. Yale Human Rights and Development Law Journal, 18(1), 1–58. Graugaard, N. D. (2009). National Identity in Greenland in the Age of Self-Government. Centre for the Critical Study of Global Power and Politics, 1–70. Grønlandskommissionen. (1950). Grønlandskommissionens Betænkning. Sundhedsvæsenet, Boligbyggeriet Og Sociale Forhold (Vol. 4). Grydehøj, A. (2020). Government, Policies, and Priorities in Kalaallit Nunaat (Greenland): Roads to Independence. In K. S. Coates & C. Holroyd (Eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of Arctic Policy and Politics (pp. 217–232). Palgrave Macmillan. Hansen, K. G. (2008). Modernisation of Greenland. In L. Jensen & R. S. Patke (Eds.), A Historical Companion to Postcolonial Literatures—Continental Europe and its Empires (pp. 84–86). Edinburgh University Press. Hansen, N. (May 7 2020). Vittus: Hvor Er Pengene? Sermitsiaq. sermitsiaq.ag/node/221435 Harhoff, F. (2000). Enevælden i Thule—Om Knud Rasmussens lovgivende, udøvende og dømmende magt i Thule-loven af 7. Juni 1929. Tidsskriftet Grønland, 18(5), 153–160. Harper, K. (2017). Minik: The New York Eskimo: An Arctic Explorer, a Museum, and the Betrayal of the Inuit People. Steerforth. Hastrup, K. (2017). The Viability of a High Arctic Hunting Community: A Historical Perspective. In M. Brightman & J. Lewis (Eds.), The Anthropology of Sustainability (pp. 145– 164). Palgrave Macmillan US. Hastrup, K. (2018). A history of climate change: Inughuit responses to changing ice conditions in North-West Greenland. Climatic Change, 151(1), 67–78. doi.org/10.1007/s10584-0161628-y Hastrup, K. (2019). The Historicity of Health: Environmental Hazards and Epidemics in Northwest Greenland. Cross-Cultural Research, 53(3), 291–311. doi.org/10.1177/1069397118806823 Hendriksen, K. (2014). Driving Forces in the Greenlandic Urbanization. Proceedings of Artek Event 2014.
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Hendriksen, K., & Hoffmann, B. (2016). Qaanaaq Distrikt – infrastruktur og erhvervsgrundlag: Sammenfatning af pilotprojekt om lokal baseret erhvervsudvikling. Center for Arktisk Teknologi. Hendriksen, K., & Hoffmann, B. (2018). Greenlandic water and sanitation—A context oriented analysis of system challenges towards local sustainable development. Environmental Science and Pollution Research, 25(33), 33014–33024. doi.org/10.1007/s11356-017-9862-z Hingitaq 53 v Denmark, App no 18584/04 (European Courts of Human Rights, 12 January 2006) Holtved, E. (1952). Remarks on the Polar Eskimo Dialect. International Journal of American Linguistics, 18(1), 20–24. Human Rights Committee (April 8 1994). CCPR General Comment No. 23: Article 27 (Rights of Minorities), CCPR/C/21/Rev.1/Add.5, available at undocs.org/CCPR/C/21/Rev.1/Add.5 Human Rights Committee (2008). Consideration of Reports Submitted by State Parties under Article 40 of the Covenant - Concluding Observations of the Human Rights Committee - Denmark, CCPR/C/DNK/CO/5, available at undocs.org/CCPR/C/DNK/CO/5 ILO Governing Body (2001). Report of the Committee Set up to Examine the Representation Alleging Non-Observance by Denmark of the Indigenous and Tribal Peoples Convention, 1989 (No. 169), Made under Article 24 of the ILO Constitution by the National Confederation of Trade Unions of Greenland (Sulinermik Inuussutissarsiuteqartut Kattuffiat-SIK) (SIK) (ILO Doc. GB.280/18/5; 280th Sess. Agenda Item 18). Landstingslov nr. 15 af 5. December 2008. Inatsisartutlov nr. 7 af 19. Maj 2010 om sprogpolitik 2010. Convention concerning Indigenous and Tribal Peoples in Independent Countries, (1991). Inuit Circumpolar Council, The Association Hingitaq 53, and Katuffik Ataata. (2011). Universal Periodic Review—Denmark 2011 Joint Submission—Greenland NGOs (p. 11). Inuit Circumpolar Council. Johnstone, R. L. (2020). The impact of international law on natural resource governance in Greenland. Polar Record, 56, e21. doi.org/10.1017/S0032247419000287 Kane, E. K. (1879). The Far North: Explorations in the Arctic Regions. William P Nimmo & Co. Kristensen, K. S. (2004). Greenland, Denmark and the debate on missile defense: A window of opportunity for increased autonomy. Danish Institute for International Studies. Kristiansen, K. (2020, September 21). Tilioq: Kommune Sagsbehandler På Gaden. Sermitsiaq. sermitsiaq.ag/tilioqkommune-sagsbehandler-gaden Legal Status of Eastern Greenland (Denmark v Norway), Rep Series A/B No 53 (Permanent Court of International Justice 1933) Leonard, S. P. (2014). The Polar North: Ways of Speaking, Ways of Belonging. Francis Boutle Publishers.
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Leonard, S. P. (2015). Some Ethnolinguistic Notes on Polar Eskimo. Peter Lang UK. Lyberth, B., & Egede, P. (2013). Pikialasorsuaq "#$Bridging the Bay Workshop". Inuit Circumpolar Council. Lynge, A. (2002). The Right to Return: Fifty Years of Struggle by Relocated Inughuit in Greenland: Complete with an English Translation of Denmark!s Eastern High Court Ruling. Forlaget Atuagkat. Malaurie, J. (2016). Les derniers rois de Thulé. Avec les Esquimaux polaires, face à leur destin. Pocket. Markham, C. R. (1866). The Arctic Highlanders. Transactions of the Ethnological Society of London, 4, 125–137. McGrath, M. (2009). The Long Exile: A Tale of Inuit Betrayal and Survival in the High Arctic. Vintage Books. M!Clintock, F. (1869). Fate Of Sir John Franklin: The Voyage Of The %Fox#!In The Arctic Seas In Search Of Franklin And His Companions. John Murray. Mignolo, W. D. (2008). Preface. In L. Jensen, P. Poddar, & R. S. Patke (Eds.), A Historical Companion to Postcolonial Literatures—Continental Europe and Its Empires (pp. xiv–xvi). Edinburgh University Press. Mølgaard, A. (2020, December 18). Fangererhvervet i Dyb Krise i Qaanaaq. Sermitsiaq, 4. Mortensen, B. O. G., & Barten, U. (2016). The Greenland Self-Government Act: The Pitfall for the Inuit in Greenland to Remain an Indigenous People? The Yearbook of Polar Law, 8, 103– 128. Naalakkersuisut (2013). Udenrigspolitisk Redegørelse 2013 (No. 1257771). Ngiviu, T. (2014). The Inughuit of Northwest Greenland: An Unacknowledged Indigenous People. The Yearbook of Polar Law, 6, 142–161. Niras Greenland A/S (2020). Social Impact Assessment—Ilmenite Project at Moriusaq Exploration Licence 2015/08. Nykjær Olsen, T. (2020, December 18). Igen Svigtes Fangerkulturen. Sermitsiaq, 32. Peary, R. (1914). Northward over the %Great Ice! (Vol. 1). Frederick A Stockes Company. Pikialasorsuaq Commission (2017). People of the Ice Bridge: The Future of the Pikialasorsuaq. Pluym, R. (1999). Schooling in Qaanaaq!. In C. Remie (Ed.), Facing the future: Inughuit youth of Qaanaaq. Nijmegen University Press. Rasmussen, K. (1908). The People of the Polar North: A Record. Kegan Paul, Trench, Trübner & Co Ltd. Rasmussen, K. (1915). The Arctic Station at Thule, North Star Bay, N. Greenland. Meddelelser Om Grønland, 51, 285–286. Rasmussen, K. (1999). Across Arctic America: Narrative of the Fifth Thule Expedition. University of Alaska Press. Binachon
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Ross, J. (1819). A Voyage of Discovery, Made under the Orders of the Admiralty in His Majesty!s Ships Isabelle and Alexander, for the Purpose of Exploring Baffin!s Bay and Enquiring into the Probability of a North-West Passage (Vol. 1). Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown. Rud, S. (2017). Colonialism in Greenland: Tradition, governance and legacy. Springer Berlin Heidelberg. Schledermann, P. (2003). The Muskox Patrol: High Arctic Sovereignty Revisited. ARCTIC, 56(1), 101–106. doi.org/10.14430/arctic606 Schweitzer, P., Sköld, P., & Ulturgasheva, O. (2014). Culture and Identities. In J. Nymand Larsen & G. Fondahl (Eds.), Arctic Human Development Report. Regional Processes and Global Linkages. Nordic Council of Ministers. Sermitsiaq (August 20 2019). Fangere i Qaanaaq Demonstrerer Efter Narhvalsstop. Sermitsiaq. sermitsiaq.ag/node/215514 Sørensen, A. K. (2006). Denmark-Greenland in the twentieth century. Danish Polar Center. Sowa, F. (2013). Relations of Power and Domination in a World Polity: The Politics of Indigeneity and National Identity in Greenland. Arctic Yearbook, 13, 184–198. Spiermann, O. (2004). Hingitaq 53, Qajutaq Petersen, and Others v. Prime Minister!s Office (Qaanaaq Municipality and Greenland Home Rule Government Intervening in Support of the Appellants). The American Journal of International Law, 98(3), 572–578. Staszak, J. (2009). Other/Otherness. In Kitchin & Thrift (Ed.), International encyclopedia of human geography: A 12-volume set, (vol. 8, pp 43-47), Elsevier. Statistics Greenland (a). Population in Localities January 1st by place of birth, gender, age, locality and time. Retrieved 10 March 2021, from bank.stat.gl/pxweb/kl/Greenland/ Statistics Greenland (b). Unemployment rate among permanent residents aged 18-65 years by quarter, district, place of residence, gender, time and age. Retrieved 2 March 2021, from bank.stat.gl/pxweb/kl/Greenland/ Statistics Greenland (c). Catches licences by districts, type and time. Retrieved 5 March 2021, from bank.stat.gl/pxweb/kl/Greenland/ UNESCO. UNESCO Interactive Atlas of the World!s Languages in Danger. Retrieved 2 March 2021, from unesco.org/languages-atlas/index.php?hl=en&page=atlasmap Witting, K., & Lind Krebs, M. (2018, September 14). Naalakkersuisoq for sundhed: Der bør være jordemødre i alle byer. Kalaallit Nunaata Radioa. knr.gl/da/nyheder/der-bør-værejordemødre-i-alle-byer Wulff, S. (2005). The Legal Bases for the Inughuit Claim to
The Continuing Effects of Colonisation in Avanersuaq
Sense of Place through Human-Animal Interactions in the Russian Arctic: Internalisation of the Landscape by Non-Indigenous Migrants Nadia French
The Russian Arctic is largely made up of non-Indigenous first-generation immigrants. Where people come from in the context of renewed development of the Russian Arctic is important since little or no lateral migration is taking place, and the Arctic nature would clash with the ‘primal landscape’ of most. While there are works exploring ‘temporary mentality’ of migrants onto their attitudes towards their temporary second home, little is known of how these newcomers internalise the Arctic environment, how they use it, and how they interact with its wildlife. Building on the field work research conducted in Salekhard and Mys Kamenny, Yamal district, Yamal-Nenets-Autonomous Okrug in 2017, the paper is exploring human-animal interactions among settled non-Indigenous residents as well as shift workers. Understanding how people explain and internalise the Arctic provides insight into preparedness of the newcomers for the Arctic, environmental awareness (lay ecological knowledge based on observation, experience and sharing) and shifting perceptions of the Arctic from ‘exotic’ to familiar. The research found that while settled migrants demonstrate more concern over their natural surroundings than shift workers, both groups are likely to lack environmental knowledge and empowerment to act upon negative ecological dynamics in the area. Responsibility for the environment was ascribed to government and corporations, while individual sense of place was selectively built on particular attributes of the environment.
Introduction The Russian Arctic represents one sixth of the global Arctic in geographic terms, yet it provides a far less extensive data and internationally citable scientific output on its segment (Aksnes et al., 2016). It is acknowledged by Russian academic opinion leaders that consolidation and development of scientific research in the region has not been relevant for many years and its capacity is inadequate in the face of the recent natural resource extraction boom (Leksin and Porfiryev, 2015: 556). This is especially poignant for the environmental research in areas of restricted access1, including permanent and temporary settlements within the border zone, licence plots, construction and military sites. With the ongoing industrial colonisation of Yamal, Gydan, Taymyr peninsulas, Chukotka and other greenfield projects in the Russian Arctic, restructuring and repopulating military bases on the Arctic isles (Novaya Zemlya, Alexandra’s Land, Kotelny island, Wrangel Nadia French is with the School of Geography, Earth and Environmental Sciences, University of Birmingham.
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island) and the effects of climate change, human-animal conflicts are likely to increase. And while anthropogenic pollution transfer, land use change and accelerated warming of the Arctic have been known to affect its fauna indirectly2,3, population influx from non-Arctic regions is generally not factored in by environmental and socioecological researchers as an important emerging vector of human-nature dynamic. The Arctic region bears a long history of human-animal relations with extensive harvesting of bioresources (whaling, polar bear and seal hunting) by foreigners to the region4 further emphasising the urgency of socioecological inquiry into the effects of migration from the south onto the present human-animal interactions. At the same time, emergent uses of the natural environment by nonIndigenous residents are poorly understood and little is known of values and relations of such immigrants with the landscape and its fauna in the Russian Arctic, which is in the focus of this paper. Human-animal relations in modern societies have been framed and interpreted through various prisms which would predefine the types of relations as well as species in question: •
colonial/postcolonial (animals as victims of imperialism/ domesticated and consumed species) (e.g. Armstrong, 2002; Hovorka, 2017);
•
Indigenous (a society-building role/ consumed and totemic species) (e.g. Gotfredsen et al., 2018; Beach and Stammler, 2006);
•
postmodernist/ constructivist (as a mirror, ‘autobiography’ of humanity/ symbolic and culturally important species) (e.g. Urbanik, 2012; Whatmore and Thorne, 1998);
•
geographies of coexistence (space-bound species, e.g. urban wildlife) (e.g. Bull et al., 2017; Haraway, 2008; Buller, 2014).
This study follows the latter view of space-animal-human dynamics (Bull et al., 2017) and nonhegemonic understanding of relations between humans and animals. The animals of the Yamal peninsula are seen as materially present while human-animal spatialities emerge through interactions of non-Indigenous people with the Arctic landscape. While there has been no research on immigrants’ interaction with the Arctic wildlife across space and time, some scientists based in the Arctic have picked up on the cultural clash of urban citizens’ or newcomers’ attitude towards Arctic animals (e.g. polar bears compared to a Russian cartoon character ‘Umka’, approached and hand-fed)5. Such anecdotal evidence suggests that human behaviour, lifestyle and background can inform of multiplied effects of demographic changes onto the environment and should not be ignored. The scope of this research is twofold: (1) to understand how the influx of migrants from the south is likely to affect their socioecological interactions and (2) to address the extent to which place internalisation is conducive to environmental awareness and safeguarding behaviour. This was achieved through mapping out human-animal interactions in Yamal derived from interviews and publicly sourced data and analysis of the bidirectional impact of human-animal relations in the parts of the Arctic undergoing rapid industrialization, using the conceptual construct of a sense of place. The paper is based on the research conducted for a doctoral thesis in the Yamal-Nenets Autonomous Okrug (YNAO) in 2017. Semi-structured interviews were carried out in Salekhard, the capital of Yamal-Nenets Autonomous Okrug and Mys Kamenny, village of the Mys
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Kamenskoye municipality of the Yamal district with federal, regional and local officials employed in environmental protection, oversight and licensing (n=7) as well as with non-Indigenous residents of Salekhard (n=7) and Mys Kamenny (n=4). Data on fly-in/fly-out workers has been inferred from self-reported social media and public sources. The Yamal district was chosen as a case study mainly due to its recent and rapid economic development and surge in migrant population. YamalNenets Autonomous Okrug is a well-established extracting province with Nadym-Taz-Pur district holding the position of Russia’s gas centre, while the Yamal peninsula (Yamal district) remained poorly developed until recently. With 26 newly discovered fields within the Yamal peninsula, its share in Russian gas extraction is predicted to increase from 0 to 23-24% by 2030.6 Yamal peninsula’s importance was first outlined in the 2009 Energy Strategy7 and its focal role in gas exports was reiterated in the most recent 2020 Energy Strategy.8 Yamal district is the fastest growing gas province with major infrastructural and industrial projects recently completed or in progress, including a railway, international airport, deep sea water port, oil loading terminal, a four train-strong LNG plant and more.
The Russian Arctic: Who goes there With the exception of the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia) and Chukotka Autonomous Okrug, the ethnic composition of the Arctic provinces in Russia is characterised by a non-Arctic majority, among which first and second-generation migrants constitute the largest cohort. The renewed interest in northern development saw a significant increase in work migration in almost all Russian Arctic provinces and particularly affected the Yamal-Nenets Autonomous Okrug (YNAO), which in 2014 attracted 50% of all work migrants to the Russian Arctic (Kharlampieva, 2017). The main historical factor of the population growth in YNAO was migration, which amounted to 1.5 million people (gross migration) between the 1960s and 1980s. Two thirds of the migrants were from other regions of the USSR and the rest were from the Tyumen oblast (Kornilov, 2014). The region experienced a 10-fold rise in population on account of migration with some effects of natural increase over the past 50 years.9 This demographic shift and other political events of the twentieth century led to urban development in the Arctic region, and the settlement and breakup of traditional nomadism for the majority of the Indigenous population (Tishkov, 2015). While, like in the rest of the Russian Arctic, outmigration has dominated the population dynamic since the 1990s, YNAO has been losing fewer residents since 2013.10 The number of shift workers in YNAO doubled between 2010 and 2018 (Silin, 2019) and, according to the YNAO Department of Work, it reached 126,000 in 2021 (around 30% of the region’s active workforce).11 Such a labour structure corresponds with a high level of population turnover and a young demographic.12 Yamal district, the newest hotspot of hydrocarbon development, covers 19.2% of the Okrug but includes only 3.1% of YNAO residents (excluding shift workers); 75% of its population are of Indigenous descent. The regional census has no information on numbers of shift workers, which can significantly skew these numbers. For instance, the Yamal district temporary workforce may be as much as twice the registered population of the district, e.g. 20,000 in Sabetta, 5,500 in Kharasavey, 2,500 for the Northern Latitude Railway-2 vs. c. 16,700 residents of Yamal district (Solodovnikov, 2018).
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As to where the shift workers are commuting from is less clear, the region attracted more foreign migrants than Russia on average (Kharlampieva, 2017): for instance, residents from 48 countries worked on the Yamal LNG project (Loginov et al., 2020) with the Russian majority. The low level of environmental culture in Russia in general has been recognised by the government in the Strategy of Ecological Security through to 2025 in 201713 and confirmed by a WCIOM poll of 2011 on ecological consciousness, that found that the main characteristic of environmental consciousness of Russians is ‘ecological parasitism’ and personal distancing from ecological problems14 resulting from poor ecological education and awareness. A 2014 Levada-Centre poll similarly showed that people’s preoccupation with the natural environment was pragmatic (e.g. health, recreational zones) and locational, correlating with low concern for preservation of biodiversity and rare species and demonstrating little to no concern for areas outside of their place of residence, which would not apply to most immigrants to the Arctic due to placeholder mentality and lack of exposure (see also Haliy, 2015).15 Ecological education in Russian schools was taken out of the federal secondary school curriculum in 1998, which some link to the general attenuation of political and civil attention to ecological issues (Ivanova, 2017). This measure would have affected the most active workforce in their late 20s to early 40s. Alternative sources of environmental education such as mass media and family have been deemed ineffective due to the fact that these sources themselves lack relevant knowledge and skills (e.g. Novoselova, 2017). The highly mobile demographics in Yamal indicate that imaginaries of nature and environmental values/educatedness are likely to be imported from the non-Arctic mainland and reflect common misconceptions, lack of knowledge and concern captured by national survey results on ecological and Arctic development issues.16 With no wider societal exposure to the Russian Arctic, migrants to the North would be faced with a drastically different landscape to interpret and internalise against the dominant political and corporate notions of the Arctic as Russia’s resource base. If a process of appropriation17 of the environment “typically results in a sense of responsibility” (Benages-Albert et al., 2015: 1), understanding how human-animal interactions contribute to environmental sense-making in the Arctic can reveal the emergence of such responsibility.
Out in the cold: Settled immigrants and Arctic fauna Throughout desk study and field research in Yamal certain human-animal relations emerged; they could be arbitrarily described as direct or indirect, that is unmediated or mediated through infrastructure and other means. Direct would include: legal and illegal hunting and fishing, encounters with wild animals, observation of animals. Indirect would include: subsidised predators; improper food waste management; and pollution. Hunting Recreational hunting is generally reserved for Indigenous people and local residents. There are 25 hunters in Mys Kamenny, where the field research took place, referred to as “the last of the Mohicans” 18 by the Senior Specialist of the State Public Institution ‘Service for protection, control and regulation of the use of bioresources YNAO, Yamal territorial branch’. He mentioned the number of hunters has fallen significantly compared to the 1990s, as young people are not interested and shift workers would not be able to hunt in view of corporate policy restrictions (they said that if you were found with a gun on Gazprom premises, “you’d rather shoot yourself”). Sense of Place Through Human-Animal Interactions in the Russian Arctic
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During the 1990s, hunting was providing gastronomic assistance to local families but now it is a matter of habit and pleasure for the remaining old-time residents. In 2017 the spring season hunting licence cost 650 rubles (c.£7), it covered a period of 10 days defined by the regional authority and allowed to harvest 10 geese and 30 ducks. In the autumn season they would hunt partridge, and in the winter Arctic hare. The catch would not be sold but given as a gift to friends, family or others on special occasions, used as payment for a favour, exchanged for a fish (“a goose for a muksun”19) or consumed by hunters themselves. The Service comprised of two people - a senior and a leading specialist, neither of whom had a specialist education at the time but were completing a distance degree in biology and hunting science from Irkutsk University. The Service is responsible for conducting raids and poaching prevention and outreach activities, as among locals so among the nomadic Nenets. They said that all the people were known to them, that they would go around hunters’ huts within 50km to the north from the municipality before and after the season making sure that there were no firearms. As there are Red Book [protected] species nesting amongst hunted birds on Yamal peninsula, the hunters should be able to differentiate between them. The specialists of the Service were confident that the few remaining local hunters were very experienced. Studies (Newth et al., 2019) from the Nenets Autonomous Okrug (as well as public sources, e.g. hunters’ forums) suggest that accidental shooting at protected species does take place. The most vulnerable species are Bewick’s swan, lesser white-fronted goose and red-breasted goose. The official information for hunters on the YNAO website also indicates that in dim light or with bad optics it is very hard to differentiate between them even for a specialist, particularly if the birds fly in a mixed flock.20 During the interview the specialists mentioned that in other areas of the Yamal district (Seyaha, south of Sabetta, an Indigenous majority village), residents hunt aquatic birds in earnest, implying larger quantities. Indigenous people do not require a hunting licence and may not have a licence for a gun (which, for instance, could have been inherited from parents or grandparents and have no serial number). But nomadic Nenets are, according to them, rather opportunistic hunters as they have no time to spare from moving the herd and the camp. The specialists accumulated some valuable environmental knowledge about the state of local fauna: they observed smaller quantities of geese year on year suggesting that the birds do not come back from overwintering areas, that the heavy traffic of construction vehicles by the lake adjacent to the municipality deterred many birds from the habitual nesting spots. They said that the Arctic fox had increased in numbers explaining it to an extent by a decline in fur crafts among the Nenets. They also noticed larger numbers of ptarmigan, which might also relate to the Arctic fox boom. The attunement of the specialists and presumably other hunters with local wildlife, the developed ability to notice animal presence and absence, demonstrate the immigrants’ emplacement in the landscape. While such a disposition may not lead to place attachment or environmental responsibility, it is likely to be determinative for their sense of place. While the impact of hunting on the Yamal peninsula has a certain degree of uncertainty, due to lack of research and data, it seems the dynamic and scale of recreational and subsistence hunting would be diminishing, partly due to reliability of food supply and income, partly due to corporate policies preventing shift workers from taking up this activity. At the same time, hunting and its oversight plays an important role as a source of environmental knowledge and emplacement for
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the immigrants (directly and through dissipation in the community), thus dwindling interest in hunting is likely to affect environmental assimilation. Fishing Fishing has been a traditional source of subsistence and wealth for local communities. But since 2000s the whitefish and sturgeon declined significantly. The Ob population of Siberian sturgeon had been affected by the industrial development and damming upstream the Ob river and was included in the Russian Red Book in 1997 (EN IUCN). But unlike sturgeon, muksun population decline has, on the one hand, been associated with the hydrocarbon development in the Ob delta and on the other, with local fishing and poaching. The difference in opinions can be generally traced to pro- or anti-extractive narratives with the latter being voiced by scientists as well as locals personally affected by the loss. The ‘disappearance’ of muksun and other species of fish from the Ob estuary have been reported by the locals of Indigenous and non-Indigenous descent as well as visiting scientists.21 The regional authorities went as far as placing a moratorium on muksun fishing by anyone from the Ob estuary in 2014 (leaving catchment from other areas in commercial circulation). Some even guess that the overwintering areas for the fish (Corregonidae and Acipenseridae) will be compromised to such an extent that it will further undermine the fish population already in decline.22 While the scale and impact of construction works and compensatory release of fry are not fully understood, they might have an indirect effect by raising the price and boosting the demand. The value of whitefish as an exchange item as well as a delicacy may further promote illegal fishing and distribution.23 One of the old-time residents of Mys Kamenny mentioned that in the 1990s you could exchange muksun tail for almost anything. Fishing behaviour of non-Indigenous locals of YNAO has been compared to ‘hogging’. Regardless of whether they were raised in YNAO or not, the attitude towards free recreational fishing is to grab as much as you can and to fill up fridge-freezers, or as one person commented, take as much fish so that grandchildren and the boss and everyone they’d give it to would never be hungry again.24 In Mys Kamenny, one of the respondents said in the 1990s the fishing was done “by helicopters”, alluding to the large amount that was taken out. In 2018, to address the problem of unregulated catchment volume, a daily allowance was set to 5kg for Russia overall with some regional exceptions, one of which is Yamal-Nenets Autonomous Okrug, where the total daily allowance was not to exceed 20kg for all permitted species of fish per person.25 One caveat of such a measure would be the case when the less valuable fish is discarded if a bigger fish is caught later. Another is the existing problem of enforcement in remote areas. While enforcement measures have become more effective compared to the 1990s, the illegal means of fishing are abundant and can be easily accessed while catching a poacher in the act remains problematic due to low population density and territorial vastness. While the import of synthetic nets that have been associated with poaching and fish population decline as a result of their accumulation in waterbodies across all of Russia, were officially banned in 200826, they have been widely available as the import of materials that they are made of remained legal and many are found in the Ob estuary by the fishing inspectors. To avoid a fine, poachers tend to ditch them in the river or on the shore, where ghost nets continue to have a negative impact on local fauna. It is difficult to assess such impact on the Ob estuary as there are no state-wide, regional or local studies
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on the issue.27 In 2019 some recreational fishermen addressed the government with the request to delegalise the import and distribution of nets.28 Ironically, in 2020 the use of such nets became illegal in all regions of Russia save the Yamal-Nenets Autonomous Okrug, Khanty-Mansi Autonomous Okrug and Sverdlovsk regions. There is no single data source regarding illegal fishing in YNAO, some cases made it to the media and notably a few of them were related to Mys Kamenny where allegedly there is a good fishing spot for muksun. One of the reports dated February 2019 referred to illegal activities (fish salting and smoking) taking place in the garage belonging to the administration of Mys Kamenny, of which the local mayor denied all the knowledge. According to the YNAO government, the number of criminal cases initiated in the first 5 months of 2019 were twice as much as in the whole of 2018.29 Detrimental impacts of unregulated recreational fishing and poaching are not confined to means and amounts of fish caught, but are also caused by driving and parking on ice or in the close vicinity to the water bodies, cooking and littering, spillage of fuel and other chemicals, etc. The influx of human population on the peninsula would also mean an increase in food demand, whether purchased directly from Indigenous or non-Indigenous locals or via a network of distributors. The area of impact of whitefish decline has spread beyond Yamal and is already noticeable among the Indigenous groups of Khanty and Mansi upstream the river. These ethnic groups traditionally used muksun as a form of currency but as of the past three years (2016-2019) they have reported that ‘muksun disappeared’ and the rumour goes that the fish was “poisoned up above” (in Yamal) by the oil and gas industry (Pivneva, 2019: 89). There is a subverted media conflict between the oil and gas companies of the region who have been trying to divert the blame for the fish disappearance onto the greed of locals and the locals who blame the industry. And while there is no data on the fish catchment and unbiased ecosystembased studies on the state of ichtiofauna of the Ob estuary, the moratorium may not be effective and the negative trend is likely to remain unchanged. Waste Waste is a growing problem in the developing Arctic region, as a local municipal capacity issue as well as a result of physical limitations of the remote location and its seasonality. Accumulated historical waste poses additional difficulties to effective waste management in the settlements that, like Mys Kamenny, are in the catchment area of oil and gas companies’ demographic impact and social responsibility programmes. According to Grebenets et al. (2019), there are three types of impacts of waste onto the Arctic landscapes: mechanical (change of relief), chemo-physical (leeching of pollutants into soils and groundwater), and thermal (thermoerosion of permafrost). Solid domestic and construction waste, being common amongst all settlements, can pose all three risks to the dumping grounds in the permafrost area. Additionally, ruination of residential buildings and construction of new ones has created more issues related to the disposal of construction and demolition debris. During the interview, the Mys Kamenny official in charge of waste management lamented that removing waste from the municipality, which takes a large part of the settlement stretching along the river bank as well as other landfill sites, is uneconomic and has to be subsidised, yet the municipality has been solely responsible for this task. The jetty, she said, was 34km from the settlement, so transportation would first be required, then loading machinery, then a barge to French
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Tyumen, unloading and disposal. Waste operators are discouraged to sign a contract due to high costs associated with rubbish handling, shipment and processing. The only way for the municipality to afford to dispose of waste is gratuitous service agreements (e.g. valuable waste such as metal scrap, gas pipe cuttings). Before industry returned to the area, the problem of domestic waste was not significant, as its proportion to other sources of solid waste was low, even though there was plenty of metal and abandoned machinery. And while Gazprom (and its subsidiaries), similar to Novatek, supposedly have strict regimes on their licence territories, the Head of the Sector of Property Relations, Housing and Utility Infrastructure, and Housing Policies of Mys Kamenny said that ‘there were no problems with household solid waste before Gazprom’.30 Two Russian-made incinerators were, in fact, installed in Mys Kamenny in 2018. These are large installations that can burn 4-8 tons of waste at a time or up to 24 tons a day each, that have been adapted for use in the Arctic. Waste incineration has been considered a controversial method of solid waste management due to emissions of black carbon and other toxic pollutants as well as heat, which is especially relevant in the Arctic; and while the manufacturer claims that the product passed state ecological expertise, is compliant with EU legislation and ISO certified for cleaner emissions, its effects onto the municipal waste dynamic and the local environment may vary throughout its service life. For instance, the shift in consumer goods supply since around 2012 from the ‘northern delivery’ (severny zavoz) to private small-scale helicopter shipments affected the composition of domestic waste with the growing amount of plastic packaging (every item in the local shops would be put in an individual plastic bag free of charge) and food waste (especially for products with a short shelf life such as dairy and meat). The increase in domestic and construction waste in Mys Kamenny reflects the Russian trend of the past decade.31 And while there has been a positive change towards recycling in the country on average, availability of incinerators would undoubtedly discourage it.
Domestic waste, May 2017, Mys Kamenny.
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While waste management is affected by a combination of socioeconomic and technological factors, the effects of population growth and a changing supply of goods and products in the context of the remote locale underlain with permafrost onto the environment needs further understanding. The incinerators may have a positive effect on the landscape (instant disposal of many years’ of waste accumulation) but also create a market to meet the capacity of the equipment from the nearby area (the YNAO Regional Town-Planning Standards set a norm of solid domestic waste generation per person at 550kg/annum which if multiplied by the number of residents of Mys Kamenny would only require around 30 days/year of one incinerator’s operation at full load). Sewage Sewage effluents also pose a significant problem for the municipality, since ‘everything flows into the water’, said the official, and nobody knows how to control it. There is no water treatment plant in the municipality, but a cesspool which is emptied by a cistern truck and then discharged onto the relief outside the municipal area. The companies that operate in the area do not discuss anything relating to water intake or sewage with the municipality, hence the local officials have no data relating to water management within the industrial sites and shift-worker camps. The growth of the population within the municipality on account of subcontractors’ employees has increased the load on local services; further development of hydrocarbon fields in the vicinity of the settlement is likely to affect the amount of water intake and discharge. While it is clear that the renewed development has had some effect onto the municipal services, the process of rebuilding seems to have a cyclical pattern while waste management strategy is reliant upon good will of local oil and gas operators. Mys Kamenny is an individual case, but similar effects of recolonisation are noticeable in Novy Port, Seyakha (south of Sabetta), while Kharasavey and Sabetta have been cleared of the legacy waste by Novatek and Gazprom respectively before new construction began. The impact of poorly managed domestic waste and affluent discharge in the conditions of the Arctic onto its fauna, while unmeasured, can be observed through a sustained feral dog population as well as mechanical and chemical changes to the biological food base of the primary consumers. Plastic waste accumulated on peninsula shores is likely to end up in the Ob estuary and enter the Kara Sea due to wind transport and snow melt. The cold temperatures render plastic more brittle and easily breakable into microplastics; at present there is a gap in understanding the effect of plastics onto the Arctic terrestrial and freshwater systems (Halsband & Herzke, 2019), yet the contamination is likely to have negative mechanical and ecotoxicological effects on the biota. In addition, food waste may attract polar bears and Arctic foxes into the settlements. Predators A particular issue that Mys Kamenny and other northern settlements share is the proliferation of subsidised predators, particularly stray or semi-feral dogs that are being left behind during the summer period or abandoned by their owners. According to Mys Kamenny official, there is no legal way of dealing with them. And their environmental impacts, e.g. predation on bird nests; reindeer and other animals; and other wildlife—dog interactions, including transmission of rabies, have not been studied. There is a consensus that dogs can significantly disrupt ecosystems (Young et al., 2011). As Dorothee Ehrich, UIT, who did her fieldwork in Yamal, explained: “Dogs roam in the tundra, and as there are no trees there, all birds nest on the ground. Nests are easily accessible
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and dogs actively ravage birds’ nests around the settlements”.32 Some people bring their own dogs to protect themselves against stray dogs that form packs and often act aggressively or defensively towards people, which might propel the issue of strays in the long-run. Nenets reported cases of their reindeers being attacked and mauled by dogs in the vicinity of Mys Kamenny.33 A similar issue has been brought to light in the Canadian Arctic34 where lethal attacks had been reported. The solution adopted there was to sterilise dogs using volunteer labour. Zelenaya Arktika, an environmental organisation based in Salekhard, put the emphasis in their dog-related campaigns in major cities into educating people, as according to them this problem is primarily a result of irresponsible attitudes towards pets. There is no evidence or data on other subsidised predators, such as grey crows (one crow sighted in Mys Kamenny), rats and cats in this settlement, but it is possible that these animals, too, survive in the wild.
Polar bears meet gas workers There have been no studies done assessing environmental awareness amongst shift workers or their impact on the environment, apart from isolated statements that anthropogenic load of shifttype exploration is less compared to setting up villages or towns. Yet there may be incidents of ‘barbarian’ environmental behaviour associated with the placeholder (vremenschik) mentality (e.g. Sorokin et al., 2017; Silin, 2015). In terms of migrants’ behaviour and direct ecological impact, one study mentioned ‘environmental laxness’ (‘экологическая распущенность’) of ‘wild’, i.e. those hired without specifying terms of relocation and living conditions, as opposed to ‘organised’ shift workers (Silin, 2017). While currently it is hard to measure the level of environmental awareness amongst shift workers from the ‘south’, to an extent it can be drawn out circumstantially. On the one hand, operating companies’ report their ecological initiatives directed onto cleaning up the
Snapshots of videos taken in Sabetta and Kharasavey showing human-animal encounters, 2012-2019
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rubbish and planting trees35 in the towns near their operation. Novatek distributes leaflets on precautions of polar bear and Arctic fox encounters, as well as rules of behaviour around marine mammals.36 Gazprom, too, lists increasing competence on matters related to environmental protection and engaging all its employees in environmental activities as part of their environmental policy.37 Despite corporate efforts, there has been an increasing number of inappropriate and sometimes dangerous behaviour during wildlife encounters reported by media and posted online by shift workers. There have been several anonymous reports of polar bear sightings and plenty of amateur videos on social media sites such as YouTube, Vkontakte, etc. in Kharasavey, Bovanenkovo and Sabetta uploaded by shift workers (non-Indigenous locals within licence sites), some depicting feeding (biscuits, eggs, candies, bread and sausage), harassing polar bears and their cubs or talking about cases when a polar bear was shot.38 In the book dedicated to the 20th anniversary of the icebreaker Vaygach (Suslikov, 2009), on landing in Kharasavey in 2007 local workers compared polar bears to stray dogs, showed a relaxed attitude to polar bear presence in the settlement which would indicate habitual visitation of the predator and lack of informed advice. A new national standard on managing conflicts when encountering polar bears might get issued in the nearest future39 but at the moment shift workers’ actions are ‘regulated’ by the employer’s health and safety policy and, using the words of Anatoliy Kochnev, the Russian Academy scientist, the polar bear imaginary as if it were a Russian kids’ cartoon character Umka.40 In 2018 WWF Russia issued its own rules on avoiding conflict situations between man and polar bear in the Arctic (WWF, 2018). For working settlements in the Arctic these rules recommended a 3m fence around the perimeter of the whole facility or cooking stations and outdoor recreational areas; it also stated that special safety instructions should be issued to personnel limiting their movement outside of fenced off zones. These measures have not been put in place, and it is possible that people would continue to engage in such behaviour (as some these videos show the disregard for corporate health and safety rules, for which a person could be dismissed). The sightings of polar bears increased not only at the companies’ sites but also further south and inland than would be typical for Yamal peninsula. For instance, in 2019 a polar bear was spotted in Yar-Sale, the district’ capital. Scientists explain such behaviour as a result of climate change, but it is possible that recolonisation (e.g. increase in food waste and feeding) may be causing such visits; more data would be required to corroborate this. Similarly, construction sites (e.g. Sabetta) attracted Arctic foxes; several hundred dens have been discovered in the vicinity of Yamal LNG in 2014.41 There have also been news reporting rabies contracted by shift workers from Arctic foxes in the Yamal district.42 In October 2019, around 1000 Atlantic walruses beached on the West coast of Yamal peninsula in the vicinity of Kharasavey, a hydrocarbon field undergoing development; this behaviour is unusual and so far there is no explanation for it. The frequency of encounters between shift workers and walruses can also ensue. The video (clip image above), for instance, showed how several shift workers surrounded the hole in the ice and attempted to touch the walrus preventing it from getting on the ice.
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Muksun’s tail and immigrants’ sense of the Arctic While ‘sense of place’ is represented in the scientific literature as a social construct, physical attributes of a place and human uses of the environment have also been acknowledged to affect a person’s attachment to it and the constructed meaning of such a place (e.g. Stedman, 2003; Masterson et al., 2017). Here sense of place is understood as a result of “dynamic interaction between people (including their senses) and their environment” (Horlings, 2018: 313). The interviewees’ experiences of the natural environment of Mys Kamenny were varied, yet a certain pattern could be discerned. The interviews in Mys Kamenny showed that duration of stay correlated with a growing sense of place while emotional attitudes ranged from love to hate regardless of the time spent there but rather depended on something else. That is, people that stayed longer felt comfortable outdoors and interacted with nature more (fishing, hunting, berry and mushroom picking, barbecues, snowmobile and boat rides…), yet some openly expressed their desire to leave. Yet, the reason these interviewees gave was surprising: the whitefish (C. muksun) disappeared from the Ob estuary which affected their attachment and made it intolerable for those who lived through the 1990s. According to the residents, a formative role for the old-time immigrants was the 1990s transition when food supply became short and everyone would heavily rely on natural bioresources for subsistence and trade. Head of the Sector of Property Relations spoke of those who ‘survived’ the 1990s, they have all the equipment and knowledge (a safe, a gun, etc.), that they would go fishing and hand out their catch to village residents: “Иначе никак не выжить, ели рыбу вместо колбасы и всего на свете. Денег нет…” (trans. “You couldn’t survive otherwise, they ate fish instead of sausage and everything else. There was no money…”). So ultimately, the 1990s were a school of nature harvesting for the non-Indigenous locals and a focal point for creating a sense of place albeit associated with trauma. And while subsistence harvesting was important for the place attachment, it also possibly generated a sense of entitlement for those bioresouces. And when in 2014 the regional government placed a moratorium on C. muksun, fishing carried on with many reports of poaching coming from the municipality area or in relation to municipality residents. According to the interviewees, since 2012 several shops in Mys Kamenny started selling a variety of fruits and vegetables, dairy products, meat, chocolate and sweets, and other items available elsewhere in the country without interruption of supply, in contrast to a shipment every three months as was done previously. They could also place an order for delivery with the next shipment. This allows newcomers to retain their food habits, while reducing some gastronomic pressure off the local bioresources. The hunters, too, confirmed that hunting became a recreational activity rather than a source of subsistence. The newcomers (less than a year) when asked about the reason behind their move to Mys Kamenny all mentioned a higher salary, but were not keen on outdoor activities, and were not motivated to hunt or venture out. The Service regulating hunting also reported that there were no new signees in many years, the most recent one was a son of one of the hunters, which would reflect the lack of continuity and structure of the population with few young people staying or returning. While exposure to nature and its observation increased environmental awareness of the long time immigrants (easy orientation, weather interpretation, observation of local changes, e.g. increase in number of polar foxes or decrease in nests on the nearby lake was observed by the officials), the duration of stay was not a guarantor of accurate environmental knowledge - one hunter, for Sense of Place Through Human-Animal Interactions in the Russian Arctic
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instance, built and put up a bird box on a light post, but as there are no trees in the tundra birds nest on the ground. While there are certain events and place associations that can be formative for immigrants’ sense of place and attachment, what counteracts or buffers the response of non-Indigenous locals to change will likely include other socioeconomic factors and opportunities that will determine whether they stay or leave the Arctic, sustaining or breaking the continuity of passed on environmental experience.
Conclusion In terms of the Russian Arctic generally and the Yamal peninsula specifically, the Indigenous population is considerable. Some settlements (e.g. Mys Kamenny, Sabetta) are made up of nonIndigenous residents from Russia or post-Soviet countries as well as expats from Europe and beyond. The majority of work migrants come from other climatic zones and it is safe to presume that they have a limited practical and theoretical knowledge of the Arctic and subarctic tundra. While YNAO government and major hydrocarbon companies organise events to promote environmental enculturation amongst the settled migrants and the employees, as it generally implies picking up rubbish and planting trees43, it may not necessarily engage the newcomers with the nature in a way that would promote understanding and safeguarding. While settled immigrants would have more freedom to experience and observe the tundra compared to shift workers that live on the corporate premises and are not allowed to fish, hunt or gather berries and mushrooms, what separates these two groups of residents from the Indigenous population of Yamal is that most of them have a family and a home somewhere else and an intention to return there. That, together with a fairly low level of environmental awareness, could be two major factors affecting how these non-Indigenous communities interact with their adopted, temporary surroundings. Notwithstanding, Mys Kamenny old time residents exhibited a strong emotional reaction to the decline in whitefish, whilst assuming no responsibility over ecological deterioration. While other studies found environmental internalisation to be conducive to a sense of responsibility (e.g. Benages-Albert et al., 2015: 1), in the case of Mys Kamenny, the only environmental action accessible to the ‘placeholder’ immigrants was voting with their feet. If we assume that sense of place forms through experience and emerges from human interactions with the biophysical environment (Masterson et al., 2018), then limiting such interactions (e.g. in shift work camps) would have a negative effect on immigrants’ environmental emplacement but how it would affect immigrants’ environmental attitudes is unclear. The issues that stem from the interactions of immigrants with nature unfamiliar, alien or ‘meaningless’ relative to their ‘prime landscape’, and the relations that arise between the native fauna and immigrants as the numbers of the latter scale up can pose a few socioecological issues: •
•
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Dogs and other subsidised predators brought/abandoned by migrants as companies increasingly prefer FIFO over settled workforce could serve as disease vectors and are likely to have other unknown effects on local wildlife and domestic reindeer; Ecological knowledge production (e.g. My Kamenny hunters) may be squeezed out by the unopposed corporate ecological surveys (even though the former has no means of feeding back to regional and federal regulation at present, it would still be valuable for the community);
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Increased incidence of unmonitored conflicts between shift workers and Arctic mammals; Insensitivity to the Arctic environment as a corporate culture; Invisibility of the Arctic animals to the rest of the country’s population as a result of corporate secrecy, limited scale and reach of scientific research and media coverage.
Environmental responsibility and ecological awareness at the edge of industrial expansion in the Arctic has never been as prominent an issue, yet the solution is unlikely to be reductionist but rather, as this small study suggests, should be found in the sense-making and extending our understanding of human-nature coexistence (e.g. Morton, 2018).
Notes 1. Russian Arctic coastline is considered a border zone and requires a special permit for entry from the Federal Security Bureau, some areas within it are sectioned off by the private and state-owned oil and gas operators, including industrial and construction sites entry to which necessitate clearance and authorisation from the companies. Moreover, access to Yamal, Gydan and Taymyr, among others, is restricted through absence of permanent roads and through helicopter route map, not to mention harsh weather conditions and polar night. 2. See e.g. Obrist, D., Agnan, Y., Jiskra, M., Olson, C. L., Colegrove, D. P., Hueber, J., ... & Helmig, D. (2017). Tundra uptake of atmospheric elemental mercury drives Arctic mercury pollution. Nature, 547(7662), 201-204. Fyfe, J. C., Von Salzen, K., Gillett, N. P., Arora, V. K., Flato, G. M., & McConnell, J. R. (2013). One hundred years of Arctic surface temperature variation due to anthropogenic influence. Scientific Reports, 3(1), 1-7. Duarte, C. M., Lenton, T. M., Wadhams, P., & Wassmann, P. (2012). Abrupt climate change in the Arctic. Nature Climate Change, 2(2), 60-62. Van Hemert, C., Flint, P. L., Udevitz, M. S., Koch, J. C., Atwood, T. C., Oakley, K. L., & Pearce, J. M. (2015). Forecasting wildlife response to rapid warming in the Alaskan Arctic. BioScience, 65(7), 718-728. Heino, J., Culp, J. M., Erkinaro, J., Goedkoop, W., Lento, J., Rühland, K. M., & Smol, J. P. (2020). Abruptly and irreversibly changing Arctic freshwaters urgently require standardized monitoring. Journal of Applied Ecology, 57(7), 1192-1198. Walker, D. A., Forbes, B. C., Leibman, M. O., Epstein, H. E., Bhatt, U. S., Comiso, J. C., ... & Yu, Q. (2010). Cumulative effects of rapid landcover and land-use changes on the Yamal Peninsula, Russia. In Eurasian Arctic land cover and land use in a changing climate (pp. 207-236). Springer, Dordrecht. 3. Also referred to as ‘foreign’ and ‘native’, e.g. native whaling and foreign or specifically European whaling (see e.g. Arctic Whaling: Proceedings of the International Symposium. (1984). University of Groningen, Netherlands.). 4. Egorova, N. (2018, February 2). Ucheny rasskazal ob ugroze populyatsii belyh medvedey (Scientist spoke of the threat to polar bear population). RIA Novosti. https://ria.ru/20180227/1515334106.html (in Russian). 5. Pravitelstvo Rossiyskoy Federatsii. (2009). Energeticheskaya strategiya Rossiyskoy Federatsii do 2030 goda (Energy Strategy of the Russian Federation through to 2030). [online] https://minenergo.gov.ru/node/1026 Accessed: 29 September 2021 (in Russian). 6. Ibid. 7. Pravitelstvo Rossiyskoy Federatsii. (2020). Energeticheskaya strategiya Rossiyskoy Federatsii do 2035 goda (Energy Strategy of the Russian Federation through to 2035). [online] https://minenergo.gov.ru/node/1026 Accessed: 29 September 2021 (in Russian). Sense of Place Through Human-Animal Interactions in the Russian Arctic
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9. e.g. Federal Service of the State Statistics of the Russian Federation. (2019, June 18). Migratsionny prirost naseleniya po rayonam Kraynego Severa i mestnostyam, priravnennym k nim (Net migration rate in the districts of the Far North and areas equated to it). [online] https://rosstat.gov.ru/folder/12781 Accessed: 29 September 2021. 10. TASS. (2021, September 13). Chislo vahtovyh vakansiy na Yamale vyroslo na 82% po sravneniyu s proshlym godom (Number of shift work vacancies on Yamal up by 82% compared to last year). [online] https://tass.ru/obschestvo/12370895 11. YNAO migration turnover, according to official sources, exceeded 700,000 people from 2011 to 2020 with an average residence in the region estimated at only 9 years and only 27% of people being born in the region (Government of YNAO. (2021, March 2). Proyekt strategii sotsialno-ekonomicheskogo razvitiya Yamalo-Nenetskogo Okruga do 2035 goda (Draft of the social-economic development strategy of the Yamal-Nenets Autonomous Okrug through to 2035). [online] https://www.economy.gov.ru/material/file/54b0ca97c75f0c789e733191c545aaf5/PRO EKT_STRATEGII.pdf p. 38. Accessed: 29 September 2021). 12. President of the Russian Federation. (2017, 19 April). Decree No. 176 on Environmental Security of the Russian Federation through to 2025. http://kremlin.ru/acts/bank/41879/print (in Russian) 13. WCIOM. (2011, January 20). Ekologicheskaya kultura rossiyan (Ecological culture of Russians). https://wciom.ru/index.php?id=236&uid=1763 (in Russian) 14. Poll results: Levada-centre. (2014, July 10). Ekologicheskiye problemy i bezopasnost (Ecological problems and security). http://www.levada.ru/10-07-2014/ekologicheskie-problemy-ibezopasnost (in Russian) 15. The national poll ‘Meaning and value of the Arctic’ conducted in 2015 by FOM (lit. Fund of Public Opinion) found low awareness of the Russian Arctic development but positive appraisal of the Arctic extractive development. The poll showed that respondents knew little of the region’s ecological problems and only 37% of them expressed an interest of visiting the region, pointing at cognitive distancing as from the region’s politics so from its physical environment (FOM. (2015, July 1). Smysl i tsennost Arktiki (Meaning and value of the Arctic). [online] https://fom.ru/Mir/12216). 16. Appropriation here is used not as Marxist critic but rather as a process of affiliation with the place through one’s senses, as in literally ‘making one’s own’. Benages-Albert et al. (2015) use the term ‘appropriation of space’ to mean emergence of people-place bonds that evolve over time. 17. Alluding to J.F. Cooper’s 1757 historical novel, included in the Soviet/Russian secondary school curriculum. 18. Coregonus muksun is a freshwater whitefish native to the Siberian Arctic. 19. Service for protection, control and management of bioresources of YNAO. (n.d.). Vnimaniye! Krasnoknizhnye vidy guseobraznyh ptits Rossii! (Attention! Red Book species of anseriformes of Russia!). [online] http://www.obr-yanao.ru/assets/files/informaciyapo-krasnoknizhnym-vidam-guseebraznyh.pdf Accessed: 29 September 2021. 20. e.g. Antropov and Nabiullina, 2018; Bogdanov and Melnichenko, 2016; Forbes et al., 2009. 21. Povarnitsyna, M., Muratov, I., Dadyko, V. and Sivkov, V. (2019, May 25). Demograficheskaya yama dlya muksuna - ob osobennostyah kvesta ‘Nerest’ v Yugre French
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(Demographic pit for muksun - on the particularities of the ‘Nerest’ quest in Jugra). [online] https://ugratv.ru/news/society/demograficheskaya_yama_dlya_muksuna_ob_osobennostyakh_kvest a_nerest_v_yugre/ 22. Egorov, V. (2016, July 5). Na Yamale protsvetayet cherny rynok beloy ryby (Black market of whitefish flourishing in Yamal). [online] https://ura.news/articles/1036268319 23. YamalPro. (2019, April 25). Rosrybolovstvo: zapasov sterlyadi i muksuna v Obi ostalos okolo 7.5 tonn (Rosrybolovstvo: around 7.5 tons of sturgeon and muksun stocks letf in Obe). [online] http://www.yamalpro.ru/2019/04/25/rosryibolovstvo-zapasov-sterlyadi-imuksuna-v-obi-ostalos-okolo-7-5-tonn/ 24. Government of the Russian Federation. (2018, December 25). Federally zakon o lyubitelskom rybolovstve i o venison izmeneniy v otdelnye zakonodatelnye akty Rossiyskoy Federatsii, N 475-FZ (Federal law on recreational fishing and revision of certain legal acts of the Russian Federation, N 475FZ). [online] http://www.consultant.ru/document/cons_doc_LAW_314261/ Accessed: 29 September 2021. (in Russian) Government of YNAO. (2021, August 4). Svobodno i besplatno: na Yamale 1 sentyabrya 2021 goda vstupyat v silu novye pravila rybalki (Free and gratis: new fishing rules will come into force in Yamal 1 September 2021). [press release] https://www.yanao.ru/presscenter/news/74776/ Accessed: 29 September 2021. (in Russian) 25. State Duma of the Russian Federation. (2004). Federal Law on Fishing and Protection of Aquatic Biological Resources. [online] http://docs.cntd.ru/document/901918398 Accessed: 29 September 2021. 26. In 2021 the Baikal without Fishnets foundation has secured the sponsorship to investigate the distribution of ghost nets in lake Baikal (see https://baikalfoundation.ru/en/). 27. Gaiva, E. (2019, July 7). Rybaki potrebovali zapretit prodazhu kitayskih setey (Fishermen demanded a ban on Chinese fishnets sales). [online] https://rg.ru/2019/07/07/rybakipotrebovali-zapretit-prodazhu-kitajskih-setej.html 28. Government of YNAO. (2019, June 19). Na strazhe sigovyh. Gubernator Yamala provel mezhvedmostvennoye soveschaniye po ohrane tsennyh porod yamalskoy ryby (On whitefish guard duty. Yamal governor held an intradepartmental meeting on protection of valuable Yamal fish breeds ). [press release] https://www.yanao.ru/presscenter/news/11732/ 29. Gazpromneft, subsidiary of Gazprom, began construction works of the oil loading terminal Arctic Gates near Mys Kamenny in 2013. Arctic Gates has been in operation since 2016. 30. Volkova, A.V. (2018). Rynok utilizatsii orhodov (Waste utilisation https://roscongress.org/materials/rynok-utilizatsii-otkhodov-2018-god-/
market).
31. Vesti Yamal. (2014, July 21). Strannye pestsy i ‘plodorodny god’. Uchenye izuchili ekologiu tundry v rayone Sabetty (Strange arctic foxes and a ‘fruitful year’. Scientists studied ecology of tundra in the vicinity of Sabetta). https://vestiyamal.ru/ru/vjesti_jamal/strannyie_pestsyi_i_plodorodnyiy_god_uchenyie_izuchili_ekol ogiyu_tundryi_v_rayone_sabettyi142158 32. Znak. (2018, February 12). Tundroviki YNAO zhaluyutsa na nashestviye sobak kotorye ubivayut ih oleney (Tundra nomads of YNAO complain about the invasion of dogs that kill their reindeer). https://www.znak.com/2018-0212/tundroviki_yanao_zhaluyutsya_na_nashestvie_brodyachih_sobak_kotorye_ubivayut_i h_oleney
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33. Montgomery, M. (2014, October 17). Struggle to control dangerous stray dogs across northern Canada. https://www.rcinet.ca/eye-on-the-arctic/2014/10/17/struggle-to-controldangerous-stray-dogs-across-northern-canada/ 34. Gazprom. (2017). Ekologicheskiy otchet PAO Gazprom za 2017 god (Ecological report of Gazprom PLC for the year of 2017). https://www.gazprom.ru/f/posts/85/227737/gazpromenvironmental-report-2017-rus.pdf (in Russian) Accessed on 28 September 2021. 35. Novatek. (2020). Sustainability report 2020. https://www.novatek.ru/common/upload/doc/NOVATEK_SR_2020_ENG.pdf Accessed on 28 September 2021. 36. Gazprom. (2015, May 25). Ekologicheskaya politika OAO Gazprom (Ecological policy of PJSC Gazprom). https://www.gazprom.ru/f/posts/73/278066/environmental_policy.pdf 37. Ivanov. S. (2014, March 6). Kharasaveyskiye medvedi 2013g. (Kharasavey bears 2013). YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rPpInT-dM6I Accessed: 29 Septmeber 2021. 38. The draft of this standard was published online in 2020 (http://docs.cntd.ru/document/437259669) with a disclaimer that it is “not subject to adoption and is for information only”. 39. Egorova, N. (2018, February 2). Ucheny rasskazal ob ugroze populyatsii belyh medvedey (Scientist spoke of the threat to polar bear population). RIA Novosti. https://ria.ru/20180227/1515334106.html (in Russian) 40. Sever Press. (2018, November 7). Pesets. Dikiye zhivotnye etoy osenyu teryayut adekvatnost (Arctic fox. Wild animals lose it this autumn) [video]. YouTube. https://youtu.be/F4_VDcu0LMo 41. Vesti. (2014, January 29). Beshenye pestsy atakuyut vahtavikov na Yamale (Rabid arctic foxes attack shift workers in Yamal). https://www.vesti.ru/article/1794488 (in Russian) 42. Government of YNAO. (2019, June 5). Ekologicheskoye blagopoluchiye v chisle nashih glavnyh prioritetov. 5 iunya - den ekologa (Ecological wellbeing is among our main priorities. June 5 - Day of Ecologist) [Press release]. https://www.yanao.ru/presscenter/news/11248/)
References Antropov, D.A. & Nabiullina, F.Z. (2018). Issledovaniye prichin snizheniya chislennosti sigovyh ryb na Yamale. In Technokongress, pp. 3-7. (in Russian) Aksnes, D., Osipov, I., Moskaleva, O., & Kullerud, L. (2016). Arctic research publication trends: A pilot study. Armstrong, P. (2002). The postcolonial animal. Society and Animals, 10(4), 413-420. Beach, H., & Stammler, F. (2006). Human–animal relations in pastoralism. Nomadic peoples, 10(2), 6-30. Benages-Albert, M., Di Masso, A., Porcel, S., Pol, E., & Vall-Casas, P. (2015). Revisiting the appropriation of space in metropolitan river corridors. Journal of Environmental Psychology, 42, 1-15.
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Bogdanov, V.D. & Melnichenko, I.P. (2016). Kharakteristika ikhtiofauny poluostrova Yamal (Yamalo-Nenetskiy avtonomny Okrug). Fauna Urala i Sibiri, 1. (in Russian) Bull, J., Holmberg, T., & Åsberg, C. (Eds.). (2017). Animal Places: Lively Cartographies of HumanAnimal Relations. Routledge. Buller, H. (2014). Animal geographies I. Progress in Human Geography, 38(2), 308-318. Egorova, N. (2018, February 2). Ucheny rasskazal ob ugroze populyatsii belyh medvedey (Scientist spoke of the threat to polar bear population). RIA Novosti. https://ria.ru/20180227/1515334106.html (in Russian) Forbes, B. C., Stammler, F., Kumpula, T., Meschtyb, N., Pajunen, A., and Kaarlejärvi, E. (2009). High resilience in the Yamal-Nenets social–ecological system, west Siberian Arctic, Russia. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 106(52), pp. 22041-22048. Gotfredsen, A. B., Appelt, M., & Hastrup, K. (2018). Walrus history around the North Water: Human–animal relations in a long-term perspective. Ambio, 47(2), 193-212. Haliy, I.A. (2015). Ekologicheskoye soznaniye naseleniya sovremennoy Rossii. Istoriya i sovremennost, 1 (21). (in Russian) Halsband, C., & Herzke, D. (2019). Plastic litter in the European Arctic: what do we know?. Emerging Contaminants, 5, 308-318. Haraway, D. (2008). When Species Meet. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Horlings, L.G. (2018). ‘Politics of connectivity: the relevance of place-based approaches to support sustainable development and the governance of nature and landscape’, in Marsden, T. (Ed.). (2018). The Sage Handbook of Nature. SAGE. Hovorka, A. J. (2017). Animal geographies I: Globalizing and decolonizing. Progress in Human Geography, 41(3), 382-394. Ivanova, L. Y. (2017). Ekologicheskoye obrazovaniye i obrazovaniye dlya ustoychevogo razvitiya v rossiyskoy shkole: nastoyascheye i buduscheye (Ecological education and education for sustainable development in the Russian school: present and future). Vestnik Instituta Sotsiologii, 4 (8). Available at: https://www.vestnik-isras.ru/files/File/Vestnik_2017_23/Ivanova.pdf Kharlampieva, N.K. ed. (2017). Etnonatsionalnye protsessy v Arktike: tendentsii, problemy i perspektivy (Ethnonational processes in the Arctic: trends, problems and prospects). Available at: https://narfu.ru/university/library/books/3214.pdf (in Russian) Kornilov, G. (2014). Naseleniye Yamala v XX v.: protsess formirovaniya (Yamal population in the 20th century: process of evolution). Uralskiy istoricheskiy vestnik. (2), pp. 136-142. Loginov, V.G., Ignatyeva, M.N., Yurak, V.V., Drozdova, I.V. (2020). Vahtoviy metod privlecheniya rabotnikov k osvoyeniyu neftegazovyh resursov arkticheskih territoriy. Izvestiya vysshikh uchebnykh zavedenii. Gornyi zhurnal, 5. Masterson, V. A., Enqvist, J. P., Stedman, R. C., & Tengö, M. (2019). Sense of place in social– ecological systems: From theory to empirics. Sustainability Science, 14(3), pp. 555-564. Morton, T. (2018). Being ecological. Mit Press.
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Novoselova, E.N. (2017). Rol semeynogo vospitaniya v formirovanii ekologicheskoy kultury individa. Vestnik Mosk. un-ta. Ser. 18. Sotsiologiya i politologiya, 23(4). Pivneva, E.A. (2019). «Skolko vesit rybiy hvost?»: etnichnost i byurokratiya v traditsionnom rybolovstve na Obskom Severe. Herald of Anthropology, 86. Available at: http://static.iea.ras.ru/news/Vestnikk46.pdf#page=87 (in Russian) Pravitelstvo Rossiyskoy Federatsii. (2009). Energeticheskaya strategiya Rossiyskoy Federatsii do 2030 goda (Energy Strategy of the Russian Federation through to 2030). [online] Available at: https://minenergo.gov.ru/node/1026 In Russian Silin, A.N. (2015). Sotsiologicheskiye aspekty vahtovogo truda na territoriyah severa Zapadnoy Sibiri. Ekonomicheskiye i sotsialnye peremeny: fakty, tendentsii, prognoz, 4(40), pp. 109-123. Available at: http://esc.vscc.ac.ru/article/683/full (in Russian) Silin, A.N. (2017). Sotsialnaya transformatsiya vahtovogo truda v Arkticheskom regione. In A.N. Silin, Dinamika sotsialnoy transformatsii rossiyskogo obschestva: regionalnye aspekty: materialy Tyumenskogo mezhdunarodnogo sotsiologicheskogo foruma, 5-6 October 2017. Available at: https://elib.utmn.ru/jspui/bitstream/ru-tsu/17085/1/Silin_319_Sbornik_2017.pdf (in Russian) Silin, A.N. (2019). Tyumen region as placdarm of social-spatial transformation of Russian Arctic. In Tyumenskaya oblast: istoricheskaya retrospektiva, realii nastoyaschego, kontury buduschego, pp. 49-54. (in Russian) Stedman, R. C. (2003). Is it really just a social construction?: The contribution of the physical environment to sense of place. Society and Natural Resources, 16(8), pp. 671-685. Tishkov, V.A. (2015). Korennye narody Arktiki: istoriya sovremenny status, perspektivy (Native Arctic peoples: history, current status and prospects). Vestnik Rossiyskoy akademii nauk, 5, pp. 491-500. (in Russian) Williams, D. (2018). Spacing Conservation Practice: Place-making, social learning, and adaptive landscape governance in natural resource management. In Terry Marsden (Ed.), The SAGE Handbook of Nature. Suslikov, A. (2009). Atomny ledokol “Vaygach” 20 let v stroyu (Nuclear icebreaker Vaygach 20 years in the ranks) Murmansk. (in Russian) Urbanik, J. (2012). Placing animals: An introduction to the geography of human-animal relations. Rowman & Littlefield. Whatmore, S., & Thorne, L. (1998). Wild (er) ness: Reconfiguring the geographies of wildlife. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, 23(4), 435-454. Young, J. K., Olson, K. A., Reading, R. P., Amgalanbaatar, S., & Berger, J. (2011). Is wildlife going to the dogs? Impacts of feral and free-roaming dogs on wildlife populations. BioScience, 61(2), 125-132.
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Perceptions of Wildfire Risk and Responsibility in Management: A Comparative Analysis of Fairbanks, Alaska and Los Angeles, California Jacob Graham & Charlene Burns
An important consideration for government and wildfire management officials is understanding the factors that influence individuals’ perceptions of risk and risk management responsibility and their risk mitigation behaviors. An understudied factor is that of the social, cultural, and political environments in which individuals live. This study explores how the unique social, cultural, and political environments in the Alaskan Arctic influence individuals’ perceptions of risk and mitigation behaviors. The research was conducted through a comparative survey of residents of Fairbanks, Alaska and Los Angeles, California to investigate how perceptions of wildfire risk and individual/governmental responsibility varied between the American Arctic and continental U.S. The results of this study found that differences between Fairbanks and L.A. residents were apparent across how they perceived responsibility in their risk mitigation behaviors.
Introduction In 2019, record high temperatures in Alaska set the stage for a particularly devastating wildfire season during which 719 fires burned nearly 2.6 million acres of land (Alaska Department of Natural Resources, 2019). While this falls short of the 2015 wildfire season when 5.1 million acres burned, experts are confident that Alaska’s wildfire seasons are getting worse, and that climate change is to blame. Not only have recent years’ fires been more frequent and more severe, but the wildfire season is getting longer, stretching into late August (Law, 2019). Clearly, learning to manage these fires and mitigate risk will be an existential challenge for emergency managers and public officials in the state in future years. Understanding public perceptions of risk and responsibility will be a critical part of the success of these efforts. Does the public perceive the risk of wildfires to be high or low? Is the government perceived as responsible for wildfire management and mitigation or do individuals accept responsibility? And where do these perceptions come from? Answers to these questions can heavily influence the success of wildfire mitigation programs and should be thoroughly studied (Agrawal, 2018).
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The main goal of this paper is to explore Alaskan perceptions of wildfire risk and of responsibility in management and how they impact individual behaviors. We are especially interested in how these Alaskan Arctic1 perceptions and behaviors may differ from those in “the lower 48.” We begin with a brief synthesis of relevant literature on risk and perceptions before introducing our framework of analysis. We then present our methods, a comparative survey of two cities, Fairbanks, Alaska and Los Angeles (L.A.), California. Finally, we turn to the analysis and discussion of our survey results and conclude with further research questions.
Literature Review Literature on disaster risk has explored the relationship between perceived risk and mitigation behaviors at the wildland-urban interface. Much of this literature is focused on how risk perception influences individual mitigation behaviors (e.g., removing vegetative fuel around the home or using heat-resistant construction) rather than government-level wildfire mitigation efforts. Some of these studies have found a connection between perceptions and behavior (Whitehead et al., 2001; Baker et al., 2009; McFarlane et al., 2011; Dupey & Smith, 2018; Warziniack et al., 2019). For example, Winter and Fried (2000) determined that if homeowners view wildfires as uncontrollable and random, they are unlikely to safeguard their properties. Martin et al. (2009) surveyed how a number of perceptions concerning risk affect the actions individuals take to address natural hazards. Their survey of western U.S. residents found that perceived self-efficacy, or the belief that one can effectively mitigate risk, positively influences risk reduction behaviors. McCaffrey (2002) found that homeowners with high risk perceptions were more likely to take risk mitigation measures such as reducing fuels on their property. A study of the wildland-urban interface (WUI) in California found a number of factors influenced homeowners’ likelihood of adopting wildfire risk mitigation actions, including past experience, home attachment, and risk perception (Ghasemi et al., 2020). However, the connection between risk perception and individual risk mitigation behavior is not conclusive. Several studies suggest there are no connections between risk perceptions and behavior (Lindell & Perry, 2000). Hall and Slothower (2009) aimed to model the connections between perceptions of risk and homeowners’ attitudes towards implementing defensible space, but ultimately found that there was too much variation to make such connections. Sims and Baumann (1983) conducted a literature review, finding that “available evidence is weak on the relationship between awareness or knowledge and the consequent adoption of damage mitigation measures.” Meldrum et al. (2015) found that although there is a risk perception gap between wildfire professionals and the public in the U.S., the factors contributing to these perceptions were uncertain. The inconclusivity of studies on the connections between risk perception and risk mitigation behavior leads to the question of what factors do affect risk mitigation behavior? An understudied factor is perceptions of responsibility, also known as locus of responsibility (Martin et al. 2009). If individuals perceive the responsibility of mitigating risk to be that of the government, they may exhibit less individual risk mitigation behaviors. A literature review conducted on fire management articles found that most research shows higher trust in wildfire management institutions increased individuals’ support for government-level wildfire management (McCaffrey et al. 2012). On the other hand, if people view risk mitigation as an individual responsibility, they may exhibit more risk mitigation behaviors. For example, individuals who are more resistant to government actions may be less open to government mitigation efforts on their property and take more individual
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ownership for risk reduction (Mileti & Sorensen 1987). Similarly, Ghasemi et al. (2020) found that factors that increase homeowners’ trust in wildfire agencies and institutions will subsequently affect their perceptions of wildfire risk and management. As the previous section demonstrates, perceptions of risk and responsibility are often tied to behavioral outcomes. Less commonly considered are the sources of individuals’ perceptions. Tierney (1999) writes, “such perceptions might more usefully be studied as dependent variables, that is, by focusing on where ideas about risk come from in the first place.” Tierney continues, “the public’s judgments about risk and safety do not develop in a vacuum; rather, the public is influenced by organizational strategies that seek to frame risks in ways that benefit corporate and institutional actors.” The “organizational strategies” Tierney refers to are the social, political, and cultural environments that influence individuals’ perceptions. In other words, individuals’ perceptions of risk and perceptions of responsibility for managing risk are necessarily products of their social, political, and cultural environments. A number of empirical studies of risk and responsibility perceptions fit within this understanding of risk. Gierlach et. al (2010) document the cross-cultural risk perceptions of disasters in Japan, Argentina, and North America, finding “a significant difference among cultures in levels of perceived risk.” Oven and Bankoff (2020) unpack the political and cultural Soviet legacy in rural Kazakhstan, exploring implications for responsibility in earthquake disaster risk reduction. These studies, and others, provide strong evidence supporting an understanding of perceptions of risk and responsibility as dependent on the social, cultural, and political environments of individuals (Bankoff and Hilhorst, 2009; Park and Reisinger, 2010; Agrawal, 2018). Overall, the literature offers evidence of a relationship between an individual’s social, cultural, and political environments and their perceptions; there are also tentative relationships between perceptions of risk and responsibility and individual behaviors. The next section will synthesize these findings into our framework of analysis.
Framework of Analysis Understanding the relationship between social, cultural, and political environments, perceptions of risk and responsibility, and risk mitigation and preparedness behaviors requires a framework that accounts for each factor. One commonly used approach is the mediation model, developed by Baron and Kenny (1986). In their model, they test how a variable M (the mediating variable) affects the relationship between the independent variables X and the dependent variables Y. Many studies on wildfire risk have used the mediation model (Dickinson et al., 2015; Vaske et al., 2007). Martin et al. (2009) adapt this model to measure how risk perceptions (M) influence the relationship between explanatory factors like subjective knowledge, locus of responsibility, self-efficacy, fulltime/seasonal status, and fire experience (X) and risk reduction behaviors (Y). Our study reconsiders this analysis of perceptions of risk as a mediating variable in a new context with social, cultural, and political environments positioned as the explanatory factor. As discussed in the literature review above, studies have found that social, cultural, and political environments influence how individuals perceive risk, how individuals determine responsibilities for managing and mitigating those risks, and how those individuals act to mitigate or prepare for those risks. Therefore, using the mediation model, we will explore whether the X variable (social, cultural, and political environments) equally influences the M variable (perceptions of risk and responsibility)
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and the Y variable (behaviors) or whether perceptions of risk and responsibility act as a mediating variable. The aim of this study is to understand not how perceptions of risks and responsibilities mediate the relationship between social, cultural, and political environments and behaviors, but, instead, how perceptions of risk and responsibility are actually one step in the linear relationship from the environments to the behaviors. To understand perceptions of risk and responsibility as a consequence of individuals’ environments, we developed a model that demonstrates our expectations for how social, cultural, and political environments influence public perceptions and how those perceptions, in turn, influence behaviors (Figure 1). Because this model is more linear, rather than describing these components as variables, they are described as “steps,” demonstrating how one leads to the next.
Figure 1: Adapted Model of Perception Development
Based on this model, our primary hypothesis is that the unique social, cultural, and political environments of the Alaskan Arctic develop distinct perceptions of wildfire risk and responsibility and influence mitigation behaviors. Key elements of the Alaskan social, cultural, and political environments are well established in literature. Hogan and Pursell (2008) discuss the “cultural symbol” of the “real Alaskan.” The imagined “real Alaskan” is a masculinist figure rooted in the “pioneer spirit” and predicated on the dominance of man over nature (Hogan & Pursell, 2008). This idealized “real Alaskan” is celebrated as “tough, rugged, and outdoorsy” and informs Alaskan identities. Graham (2020) investigates the continued tradition of the Iditarod dog sled race as an artifact of this cultural phenomenon and documents its influence on Alaskan perceptions of wildfire risk and responsibility and individual mitigation behaviors. The Iditarod celebrates endurance, self-reliance, and brute strength. Graham (2020) argues that these characteristics, dominant in Alaskan culture, may lead Alaskans to perceive themselves as more responsible and capable in individual mitigation. In addition to the Alaskan social and cultural environments, the Alaskan political environment is also influential. Hébert and Mincyte (2014) reveal how the gradual development of neoliberal policies of deregulation and government de-intervention in Alaska has created communities that value self-determination, or as Hebert and Mincyte coin it, “self-exploitation,” and dismiss government intervention. Graham (2020) traces this neoliberal political tradition in fire management practices in Fairbanks, finding that the area’s fire management efforts center
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individual preparedness and mitigation initiatives and do little to address structural issues that create risk. Given these social, cultural, and political environments in Alaska and our belief that these environments impact residents’ perceptions of wildfire and their mitigation behaviors, we developed the following research questions: 1. How do the social, cultural, and political environments in Alaska impact residents’ perceptions of wildfire risk and responsibility in management? 2. How do predominant perceptions of wildfire risk and responsibility impact individual mitigation behaviors? 3. How do U.S. Arctic perceptions and behaviors differ from continental U.S. perceptions?
Methods To address these research questions, we employed a comparative and qualitative survey of perceptions and behaviors in Fairbanks, Alaska and Los Angeles (L.A.), California. While a solitary survey of Alaskan residents might provide insight into perceptions and behaviors there, comparison with the continental U.S. is necessary to understand how perceptions and behaviors vary in different social, cultural, and political environments. As Bartlett and Vavrus (2017) contend, there is “much we might achieve through comparison.” In this case, the comparison allows us to isolate the social, cultural, and political environments of Alaska as independent variables. This facilitates an analysis of how Alaskan environments may differently affect perceptions and behaviors from non-Alaskan environments. Metropolitan Fairbanks and L.A. were chosen as our subject cities. While there are certainly many differences between the cities—population size, to name one—they are comparable as urban centers threatened by wildfires with distinct social, cultural, and political environments. Our survey design was guided by the steps represented in our model of perceptions (Figure 1). As such, the survey has two primary sections: the first is composed of questions asking how respondents perceive wildfire risk and responsibility (step II) and the second asks about individual mitigation behaviors (step III). Questions 1-3 ask the participant to consider their personal perception of the level of wildfire risk. Questions 4a-4e ask the participant to consider their perceptions of responsibility in managing wildfire risk. The second section of the survey includes two open-ended questions intended to capture individual behaviors. The survey concludes with a series of demographic and screening questions which ensure that respondents meet the requirements to complete the survey (that they have lived in either city for a year or longer and are aged 18+) and to ensure that the sample groups are representative of their populations. The demographic questions cover age, race and ethnicity, gender identity, annual income as an indicator for socioeconomic status, and property ownership status. The survey was developed in Google Forms and distributed to residents of Fairbanks and L.A. through a number of means, including digital outreach to local groups and direct contacts in the two cities. The survey was randomly distributed in large, interest-based Facebook groups and sampling snowballed as group members shared the survey with their own “friends.” Direct contacts in both cities distributed the survey link within local groups. The researchers had no pre-existing relationship with the respondents. The survey was actively distributed for two months. The full survey can be found in appendix A. Perceptions of Wildfire Risk and Responsibility in Management
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Finally, analysis of the survey data was conducted based on our model (Figure 1). With an understanding of the social, cultural, and political environments of Alaska as distinct from the continental U.S., we looked for variations in survey responses from Fairbanks and L.A. First, we analyzed the relationship between the social, cultural, and political environments and the perceptions of risks and responsibilities reported by respondents and considered if there was any correlation. Next, we analyzed the relationship between the perceptions of risks and responsibilities and the reported wildfire risk mitigation and preparedness behaviors exhibited. Here we considered whether those actions could be explained by predominant perceptions and if those perceptions could be tied to the Alaskan social, cultural, and political environments. In the event of no evident correlation between the Alaskan environments and perceptions, we reclassified those unexplained perceptions as mediating variables and considered whether they may be better explained by variables outside of the unique Alaskan environments.
Results and Discussion The survey received 65 responses, 34 from Fairbanks and 31 from L.A. Discussed below are the notable findings from the survey. Responses were analyzed in Excel. The results and discussions are divided by the sections of our model described above: step II perceptions, and step III, behaviors. Overall, the survey results indicate mixed results. Perceptions of individual responsibility in risk management can be clearly tied back to Alaskan social, cultural, and political environments and forward to individual mitigation and preparedness behaviors. However, perceptions of risk were nearly identical between the two cities and could not be linked to the Alaskan social, cultural, and political environments. Further, consideration of risk perceptions as a mediating variable demonstrated that they are not predictive of any particular behavior. Step II: Perceptions The survey questions regarding perceptions were divided in two to explore the respondents’ perceptions of risk and their perceptions of responsibility. Questions on risk perception delved into level or risk and the view of wildfires as “natural.” Questions on perception of responsibility asked respondents’ expectations of the government and themselves in addressing wildfire risk.
Perceptions of Risk Average level of risk Fairbanks Los Angeles
Yes, I am comfortable
No, I am not comfortable
5.23
65%
35%
5
61%
39%
Table 1: On a scale of 1-10, how do you view the severity of direct or indirect threat of wildfire to your household? Are you comfortable with this level of risk?
As the model suggests, given the unique social, cultural, and political environments in Fairbanks described above, we expected there may be different perceptions of risk levels in the two cities. However, the results revealed that there are no significant differences between L.A. and Fairbanks in terms of how individuals perceive risk levels. The average level of risk was around 5 for both cities, and most respondents were comfortable with this level of risk.
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Strongly Agree Fairbanks Los Angeles
Agree
Neutral
Disagree
Strongly Disagree
26%
41%
15%
15%
3%
3%
39%
35%
23%
0%
Table 2: To what extent do you agree or disagree with the following statement: “Wildfires are natural and inevitable.”
The term disaster appears almost exclusively with the qualifier natural. Disaster researchers have argued that the term “natural disaster” obscures the social, political, and economic root causes of disaster, instead centering a fatalistic view of nature. As Chmutina and Meding (2019) argue, the phrase natural disaster “reinforces the status quo, avoiding responsibility for failures of development by ‘blaming nature.’” In the case of wildfires, interpreting the hazard as “natural” shifts responsibility away from policy failures (e.g., development into high-risk areas or poor mitigation planning) to an unaccountable nature. This can generate fatalistic perceptions of hazards and discourage individual mitigation behavior amongst the public (Winter & Fried, 2000). This survey question is intended to further explore perceptions of risk under part II of the model--do residents of one city embrace a more fatalistic perception of wildfire risk? The results are striking. Nearly 70% of surveyed Fairbanks residents agree or strongly agree that wildfires are natural and inevitable whereas only approximately 42% of respondents from L.A. agree or strongly agree.
Perceptions of Responsibility
While the questions above explored perceptions of risk, these three questions focus on perceptions of responsibility. Specifically, these survey questions help determine whether the respondents are more likely to place wildfire risk reduction and mitigation responsibilities on the government or
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themselves. Across all three questions, the self-reliance of Fairbanks residents was apparent in contrast to the higher expectations L.A. residents had for government intervention. In response to the first question, around 75% of L.A. residents agreed or strongly agreed that the government should do more to mitigate wildfire risk, whereas only 47% of Fairbanks residents agreed or strongly agreed and 23% disagreed or strongly disagreed. Similarly, in the second question, L.A. residents demonstrated a higher level of confidence in the government’s wildfire mitigation capacities—94% agreed/strongly agreed—while Fairbanks residents showed more uncertainty— 32% felt neutral or disagreed. Finally, Fairbanks residents were more inclined to take on primary responsibility for protecting themself and their households from wildfire risk (62% agree or strongly agree) while L.A. residents leaned in the opposite direction (74% disagree or strongly disagree.)
Discussion The first section of our survey asks participants about their perceptions of wildfire risk and responsibility with the goal of identifying any relationships between the unique social, cultural, and political environments in Alaska (part I of the model) and Fairbanks residents’ perceptions (part II of the model). In the case of perceptions of risk (level of risk and the view of wildfires as “natural”), the results were contradictory. Perspectives of the level of risk were almost identical in Fairbanks and L.A. residents. Contrastingly, residents of Fairbanks were much more likely to view wildfires as “natural and inevitable” than L.A. residents. This suggests that while Fairbanks residents’ perceptions of the level of risk are not linked to uniquely Alaskan social, cultural, and political factors, the perceptions of wildfires as “natural” may be. The results on the perceptions of responsibility more concretely reflect the social, cultural, and political uniqueness of Fairbanks and Alaska at-large. Fairbanks respondents were overwhelmingly more likely to perceive themselves as responsible for wildfire management. This reflects the Alaskan emphasis on self-reliance and distaste for government intervention. The latter finding confirms our assumptions on the influence of social, cultural, and environmental environments as a determining factor in individuals’ perceptions of responsibility. However, the finding that perceptions of risk were not impacted by the difference in environments between the Alaskan Arctic and continental U.S. suggests that other factors may be influencing individuals’ perceptions of risk. Consequently, in our following analysis of behaviors, we evaluated perceptions of risk as a mediating variable to determine whether it impacted the linear relationship from social, cultural, and political environments to behaviors. Step III: Behaviors Two open-ended questions in the survey were intended to capture respondents’ behaviors in response to their perceptions of wildfire risk and responsibility. The responses indicate that Fairbanks residents are more likely to engage in individual wildfire mitigation behaviors whereas L.A. residents depend more on government-led initiatives. What steps do you take to prepare yourself and your household for potential wildfire threat? This question is designed to solicit participants’ behaviors in response to perceptions of wildfire risk and responsibility in wildfire management. Nearly every survey participant from Fairbanks (28 of 34 respondents) reported individual risk mitigation behaviors. The most prevalent behavior was creating a “defensible space” around one’s home by trimming back or thinning out trees, brushes, Burns & Graham
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and other fuels on one’s property. Additionally, eight respondents reported retrofitting their homes (installing non-combustible exterior siding and fire-resistant roofing). Outside of individual mitigation efforts, many residents reported individual and/or family preparedness efforts. Approximately half of Fairbanks participants reported a heightened sense of awareness/caution and report making an evacuation plan and having supplies ready to go in the case of an emergency. Responses from L.A. were notably different. Only two respondents reported individual mitigation behaviors: one reported clearing a defensible space around their property and another reported filling their gutters with water. Conversely, nearly every participant from L.A. (23 out of 25 respondents) reported personal and/or family preparedness efforts. These behaviors included making an evacuation plan, storing food, water, and other emergency supplies, creating “go bags” that can be taken during an evacuation, and putting all important documents in one place. Overall, the survey responses indicate that Fairbanks residents are more likely to undertake personal wildfire mitigation efforts than their Californian counterparts. On the other hand, L.A. residents are somewhat more likely to exhibit preparedness behaviors. Do you have any ideas on how wildfires could be managed better/more effectively in your city? This question is designed to solicit participants’ perspectives on ideal wildfire management behaviors. While the previous question asked about actually existing behaviors, this question asks participants to think hypothetically and, considering their perceptions of wildfire risk/responsibility, propose their own wildfire management strategies. One of the most significant findings from this survey question is that Fairbanks residents are much more likely to have an opinion on how wildfires could be managed more effectively. Only half of L.A. respondents (16 of 31) identified an area for improvement; in Fairbanks, a large majority (27 of 34) provided a recommendation. This suggests that Fairbanks residents are more willing to be involved in the wildfire management process whereas L.A. residents have more faith in government institutions to manage wildfires effectively. All of the responses to this survey question from L.A. recommended some form of government intervention. These interventions include more regular brush-clearing, prescribed fires, fire breaks, and zoning restrictions to stop development in high-risk areas. In Fairbanks, respondents suggested both government-led and individual initiatives. Notably, of the government-led initiatives recommended by Fairbanks residents, many of them were focused on influencing individual behavior, such as directing individuals to clear debris from their land. Fairbanks residents mentioned the same government-led initiatives as L.A. residents and clearing a defensible space as an additional individual mitigation behavior. As with the previous survey question, the responses to this question indicate that Fairbanks residents exhibit more individual mitigation behaviors and L.A. residents place more trust in government-led wildfire management and mitigation. Interestingly, 10 respondents in Fairbanks mentioned developing a community-wide plan to address climate change whereas no respondents from L.A. mentioned climate change as a factor in wildfires.
Perception of Risk as a Mediating Factor In consideration of whether perception of risk was a mediating variable influencing behaviors, we analyzed the differences between high risk (those who rated their level of risk as a 5 and above) and low risk (those who rated their level their level of risk as 4 and below). There were 35 high risk
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respondents and 30 low risk respondents. With these two differentiated groups, we analyzed their responses to the two behavioral questions. Of those who responded to the first behavioral question, 58% of high risk respondents and 56% of low risk respondents described individual risk mitigation behaviors such as creating a defensible space and clearing the land around their homes. Of those who responded to the second behavioral question, 30% of high risk respondents and 37% of low risk respondents either did not have a recommendation for how to address wildfire management or were content with the current state of wildfire management in their area.
Discussion The second section of our survey concerns part III of our model: behaviors. Results from this section indicate that Fairbanks residents are much more likely to exhibit individual mitigation behaviors than their counterparts in L.A. This can be linked directly to the perceptions of responsibility unpacked in step II. Because Fairbanks residents are more likely to perceive themselves as responsible for wildfire management than L.A. residents, they are more likely to exhibit individual mitigation behaviors. In this case, our model clearly depicts the development of uniquely Alaskan social, cultural, and political environments into distinct perceptions, and eventually, behaviors (Figure 2). The Alaskan emphasis on self-reliance (step I) encourages public perceptions of individual responsibility in wildfire management (step II) which in turn leads to more individual wildfire mitigation behaviors (step III). In the case of perceptions of risk level, our model demonstrates that some perceptions and behaviors cannot be linked to the Alaskan environment (Figure 2). Because there was no difference in the perceived level of risk by participants from Fairbanks and L.A., it is unlikely that the distinctively Arctic social, cultural, and political environments determine perceptions of risk. Consequently, we considered whether perception of risk acted as a mediating variable in the relationship between social, cultural, and political environments and behaviors. Based on the results discussed above, the level of risk perceived by individuals did not seem to affect how they conducted risk mitigation behavior. Given this, we proceeded with exploring the linear model without perceptions of risk. In the case of perceptions of wildfire disasters as “natural”, our model is less conclusive (Figure 2). Our results found a strong relationship between the social, cultural, and political environments in Fairbanks (part I) and perceptions of wildfires as “natural” (part II). However, the relationship between this perception and behaviors (part III) is unclear. Previous studies suggest that fatalistic perceptions of hazards would lead to less individual management efforts. However, our results indicate that Fairbanks residents exhibit more individual mitigation efforts. One possible explanation for this is Fairbanks residents’ interest in addressing climate change. It is possible that while Fairbanks residents perceive wildfires as natural, they also perceive them to be affected by climate change. In this case, fatalistic views of wildfires as “natural” could be pushed aside by beliefs that an effective climate change plan could address the increasing risk of wildfires. Still, more research is necessary to understand how residents’ perceptions of climate change and its relationship with wildfires impacts their behaviors.
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Figure 2: Modeled Results. The color-coded arrows between steps I and II and II and III represent the identified relationship between the steps. Green arrows represent an identified link (e.g. our research finds a link between the social, cultural, and political environments in Fairbanks and perceptions of individual responsibility). Yellow arrows represent a possible link that requires further research. Red arrows represent no identified relationship between steps (our research does not find a relationship between social, cultural, political environments in Fairbanks, perceptions of moderate risk level, and individual mitigation/preparedness behaviors).
Limitations There are a few limitations to our study worth noting. Firstly, the sample sizes from Fairbanks and L.A. (34 and 31, respectively) are very small. While the detail provided in the survey responses allowed us to come to meaningful conclusions, there is the possibility that further studies with larger sample sizes could render conflicting results. The demographic make-up of our two sample populations is also worth considering. The age distribution of the two sample populations varies significantly. Fairbanks participants were significantly older than L.A. participants—approximately 90% of L.A. participants reported ages between 18 and 49 as compared to 65% in the same age bracket in Fairbanks. The distribution of property owners and renters in the two cities also varies significantly. In Fairbanks, approximately two-thirds of respondents were property owners; in L.A. approximately two-thirds of respondents were renters. Both of these variables, age and property ownership status, could impact a person’s perceptions of wildfires and their behaviors. While we are confident that perceptions of responsibility in wildfire management significantly impact individual behaviors, more research is needed to determine relatively what impact other variables such as age and property ownership status have.
Conclusion Studies on the variables that influence risk mitigation behaviors often focus on individual factors such as knowledge and exposure to risk, risk tolerance, and perceptions of risk. However, these studies rarely connect these factors back to the social, cultural, and political environments that may influence them. This study aimed to define the relationship between both the perceptions people hold of risks and the behaviors they take to mitigate or prepare for them in relation to the communities and environments they come from.
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The results of the survey conducted of Fairbanks and L.A. residents explored whether the unique cultural and political environments in the Alaskan Arctic would cause residents to differ from residents in the continental U.S. in their perceptions and actions in response to wildfires. Ultimately, the findings supported the conclusion that these social, cultural, and political differences are significant and impact how individuals perceive and respond to wildfires. The implications of this are great, as how individuals view wildfire risk and management likely impact how emergency managers and public officials address these issues. For instance, in the Alaskan Arctic where residents are more likely to take on individual responsibility in responding to wildfire risks, residents place less pressure on government agencies to improve wildfire mitigation practices or increase funding towards wildfire risk reduction agencies. On the other hand, residents of cities such as L.A. are more likely to expect their government to be primarily responsible for addressing wildfires. Therefore, if disaster occurs following wildfires, L.A. residents may demand improvements to government-led management practices. In Fairbanks, a similar disaster might lead to greater pressure on individuals to mitigate risk. Consequently, this leads to the question of whether the risk mitigation behaviors individuals conduct influence the social, cultural, and political environments as it pertains to wildfire management. Would the model of perceptions presented here be better represented as a cycle with behaviors reinforcing the social, cultural, and political environments? And if so, what interventions in the cycle could lead to significant changes?
Acknowledgements This research was funded in part by National Science Foundation Award #1545913, PIRE: Promoting Urban Sustainability in the Arctic.
Notes 1. This study adopts the definition of Arctic employed by Schaffner (2020). Noting that “there are numerous definitions of the term ‘Arctic’ based on a combination of geographical and climatic factors,” Schaffner defines the Arctic as “the largest possible area encompassed by this agglomeration of Arctic research organization borders.” Nearly the entire state of Alaska falls within this area, including Fairbanks.
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Law, T. (2019). ‘About 2.5 Million Acres in Alaska Have Burned. The State’s Wildfire Seasons Are Getting Worse, Experts Say,’ TIME Magazine, August 20. Available at: https://time.com/5657188/alaska-fires-long-climate-change/. Lindell, M.K. and Perry, R.W. (2000). Household Adjustment to Earthquake Hazard: A Review of Research. Environment and Behavior. doi:10.1177/00139160021972621. Martin W.E., Martin, I.M., and Kent B. (2009). The Role of Risk Perceptions in the Risk Mitigation Process: The Case of Wildfire in High Risk Communities. Journal of Environmental Management, 91(2), 489-498. doi:10.1016/j.jenvman.2009.09.007. McCaffrey S.M. (2002). For Want of Defensible Space a Forest is Lost: Homeowners and the Wildfire Hazard and Mitigation in Residential Wildland Intermix at Incline Village, Nebraska. PhD dissertation, University of California – Berkeley. McCaffrey S., Toman E., Stidham M., and Schindler B. (2012). Social Science Research Related to Wildfire Management: An Overview of Recent Findings and Future Research Needs. International Journal of Wildland Fire. doi:10.1071/WF111115. McFarlane B.L., McGee T.K., and Faulkner H. (2011). Complexity of homeowner wildfire risk mitigation: an integration of hazard theories. International Journal of Wildland Fire, 20, 921– 931. doi:10.1071/WF10096. Meldrum J.R., Champ P.A., Brenkert-Smith, H., Warziniack T., Barth C.M., Falk L.C. (2015). Understanding Gaps Between the Risk Perceptions of Wildland-Urban Interface (WUI) Residents and Wildfire Professionals. Risk Analysis. doi: 10.1111/risa.12370. Mileti, D.S., and Sorensen J.H. (1987). Natural Hazards and Precautionary Behavior. Taking Care: Understanding and Encouraging Self-Protective Behavior, 189-207. doi:10.1017/CB09780511527760.012. Nelson, K.C. and Monroe, M. (2005). The Look of the Land: Homeowner Landscape Management and Wildfire Preparedness in Minnesota and Florida. Society and Natural Resources, 18(4), 321-336. doi:10.1080/08941920590915233. Nelson, K. C., M. C. Monroe, J. Fingerman Johnson, and A. Brower. (2005). Living with Fire: Homeowner Assessment of Landscape Values and Defensible Space in Minnesota and Florida, U.S.A. International of Journal Wildland Fire, 13(4), 413-425. doi:10.1071/WF03067. Oven, K. and Bankoff, G. (2020). The neglected country(side): Earthquake risk perceptions and disaster risk reduction in post-Societ rural Kazakhstan. Journal of Rural Studies, 80, 171-184. doi: https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jrurstud.2020.08.048. Park, K. and Reisinger, Y. (2010). Differences in the Perceived Influence of Natural Disasters and Travel Risk on International Travel. Tourism Geographies, 12(1), 1-24. doi: 10.1080/14616680903493621. Sapiains R., Ugarte A.M., Aldunce P., Marchant G., Romero J.A., Gonzalez M.E., and InostrozaLazo V. (2020). Sustainability, 12(10), 4298. doi:10.3390/su12104298. Schaffner, C. (2020). ‘Arctic Cities.’ In: Orttung, R., (ed.), Urban Sustainability in the Arctic: Measuring Progress in Circumpolar Cities. New York: Berghahn, pp.22-46.
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Sims, J. H. and Baumann D.D. (1983). Educational Programs and Human Response to Natural Hazards. Environment and Behavior, 15, 165-189. doi:10.1177/0013916583152003. Tierney, K.J. (1999). Toward a Critical Sociology of Risk. Sociological Forum, 14(2), 215-242. Available at: https://www.jstor.org/stable/684794. Vaske J.J., Absher J.D., Bright A.D. (2007). Salient Value Similarity, Social Trust and Attitudes toward Wildland Fire Management Strategies. Human Ecology Review, 14, 223-232. Warziniack T., Champ P., Meldrum J., Brenkert-Smith H., Barth C.M., Falk L.C. (2019). Responding to Risky Neighbors: Testing for Spatial Spillover Effects for Defensible Space in a Fire-Prone WUI Community. Environmental & Resource Economics, 73, 10231047. doi: 10.1007/s10640-018-0286-0. Whitehead J.C., Edwards B., Van Willigen M., Maiolo J.R., Wilson K., and Smith K.T. (2001). Heading for Higher Ground: Factors Affecting Real and Hypothetical Hurricane Evacuation Behavior. Environmental Hazards, 2(4), 133–142. doi:10.3763/EHAZ.2000.0219. Winter G. and Fried J.S. (2000). Homeowner Perspectives on Fire Hazard, Responsibility, and Management Strategies at the Wildland–Urban Interface. Society & Natural Resources, 13, 33–49. doi:10.1080/ 089419200279225. Appendix A: Survey Part 1 1. On a scale of 1-10, how do you view the severity of the direct or indirect threat of wildfire to your household? (With 1 being little to no threat and 10 being an imminent threat?) 2. Are you comfortable with this level of risk? 3. How often do you think about wildfires or the threat of wildfires? 4. To what extent do you agree or disagree with the following statement: a. “The government should do more to prevent wildfires and protect citizens.” b. “It is primarily my responsibility to protect myself and my household from wildfires.” c. “Wildfires are natural and inevitable.” d. “The government can reduce risk and prevent damage from wildfires.” e. “Communities can take steps to reduce risk and prevent damage from wildfires.” 5. What steps do you take to prepare yourself and your household for potential wildfire threat? 6. Do you have any ideas on how wildfires could be managed better/more effectively in your city? Part 2 1. What is your age? 2. Which best describes your gender identity? 3. Which best describes your race/ethnicity? 4. Do you own or rent property in Fairbanks, Alaska or Los Angeles, California? 5. What is your annual pre-tax income?
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Arcticness and the Urbanism of the North
Peter Hemmersam
Arcticness (or Northernness) has been expressed in the planning and design of Arctic cities over the past century. This paper explores how the imaginary conveyed in this notion has influenced the urbanism and architecture of northern communities in different ways. It traces the convergence of national urbanisms of the North towards an architectural idea of an ‘Arctic city’ during the latter half of the twentieth century. The exceptionalism expressed as Arcticness became central to the architectural discourse on urban liveability across the circumpolar region during the 1970s and 1980s. However, concerns over Arcticness obscured the presence of urbanity in urban planning and development in the North. The paper concludes with a discussion of the contemporary use and relevance of Arcticness in developing new architectural identities in northern cities. Such identities are cultivated as a component of city branding for tourists, investors and ‘creative’ knowledge workers. Today, cities promote Arcticness in their aspiration to become a ‘Capital of the Arctic’.
Introduction While there have been settlements in the form of hamlets, encampments, trade posts and missions in various Arctic territories for centuries, the history of city planning in the Arctic spans only a little over a hundred years. Cities were planned and built across the region by corporations and states for a variety of reasons, and today, the population of the Arctic is highly urbanised (Heleniak, 2020; Larsen & Fondahl, 2014; Rasmussen, 2011). Some settlements have a distinct Arctic character and express an architectural Arctiness, while others replicate southern styles of urbanism. Despite the centrality of cities and urbanisation to the modern development history of the Arctic region, urbanism has been a peripheral perspective in the main scope of Arctic studies. It is easy to overlook the agency of the built environment in the vast landscapes of the polar regions. There is, however, a body of literature on urbanism in the region. Starting in the 1960s, researchers in the Soviet Union explored the engineering challenges and psychological and physiological dimensions of northern urbanism (Kalemeneva, 2018, 2019; Krupitsa & Murav’ev, 1966; Murav’ev & Rimskaya-Korsakova, 1963). In other parts of the Arctic, new urban communities were critically examined within ‘acculturation studies’ that problematised the urbanisation of Indigenous societies (Dybbroe, 2008; Ervin, 1968; Sejersen, 2010; Sørensen & Forchhammer, 2014). In Greenland, Peter Hemmersam is Professor in Urban Design at the Institute of Urbanism and Landscape, Oslo School of Architecture and Design.
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architects criticised the modernist architecture of the 1960s and 1970s for being culturally maladapted and unresponsive to local needs (Langkilde, 1986; Petersen, 1986; Skriver, 1970). In recent decades, research has engaged the contemporary urban Arctic as an everyday landscape (Nyseth & Granås, 2007; Schweitzer et al., 2017; Sheppard & White, 2017; Sørensen & Forchhammer, 2014; Tróndheim, 2013). Recent years have also seen a growing body of literature on the sustainability of Russia’s large industrial cities and other settlements in the face of climate change, deindustrialisation and economic globalisation (Orttung et al., 2020; Orttung & Laruelle, 2017). Within architecture, studies on the global hyper-modernity of the region have emerged, and others have explored the unique cultural and climatic dimensions of design and urbanism in the circumpolar territories (Sheppard & White, 2017). While urban planners published studies of USSR and other Arctic cities in the past, the contemporary urban literature has largely ignored urbanism and the role of cities in the Arctic. However, as indicated by the Tromsø-based Professor of Planning, Torill Nyseth (2017), studies of Arctic cities uncover a productive paradox within mainstream urban theory that challenges prevailing notions of urbanity. Nyseth echoes the comparative urbanism framework that proposes that the urbanity and planning cultures of cities and societies outside the West should be studied and theorised as ‘ordinary cities’, similar to cities elsewhere (Robinson, 2006; See also McFarlane, 2006; Roy, 2005). Western thinking has dominated urban theory so far, and Jennifer Robinson (2006) refers to the resulting conceptualisation of cities outside the West as a tradition of ‘imitative urbanism’. While Robinson and the comparative urbanism literature primarily reference the Global South, the parallel history of colonialism and development in the Arctic makes it valid to extend an argument for the study of urbanism in the circumpolar North. Thus, urban studies in the intuitively non-urban Arctic landscapes may provide a corrective to mainstream concepts of urbanity and help unfold a concept of Arcticness that incorporates the urban. In this article, ‘Arctic’ primarily denotes a particular architectural discourse – and is not restricted to climatographic zones or Indigenous homelands. ‘Urban’ and ‘City’ are used to denote cultural and economic processes of an urban nature and are not limited to strict definitions by size, population or morphology. Arcticness Arcticness or Northernness represents the idea that there is something unique and distinctive about the Arctic North (Medby, 2017; van Alstine & Davies, 2017). Geographers and economists have constructed categories of Northernness with implications for development policies in the region (Graham, 1990). Canadian geographer Luis Edmond Hamelin (1980) unfolded, rather famously, the concept of Nordicity as an expression of the variation between regions and settlements in the North in terms of size, culture, economy, climate and infrastructure. Building on Soviet territorial demarcations related to the economy and engineering challenges of the industrial cities in the Far North (Graham, 1990; Stammler-Gossmann, 2008), Hamelin compiled these factors into a Polar value index that expressed the unique Nordicity of any location. Hamelin suggests that such indices and approaches have been attempts to overcome the concern that “the traits of the South become the yardstick of the North” (1980: 90). Nevertheless, an effect of Hamelin’s composite index is that the Nordicity of any location changes with new developments in infrastructure, economy or even climate change. As architects Lola Sheppard and Mason White (2017) ask, does this mean that increased urbanisation and urbanity in northern settlements is antithetical to Arcticness?
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Arcticness is formed by, and directed at, an external audience (Medby, 2017). It is a label attached to the region from a southern perspective and echoes notions of exceptionalism that assume that the Arctic is fundamentally different from the rest of the world and that ordinary politics and general theoretical frameworks cannot be applied to or within the region (Bravo, 2015; Coates, 1994; Keskitalo, 2004; Wormbs, 2018). Arcticness indicates the continued construction of a marginal space where local conditions are obscured to the outsider (Jensen, 2015; Shields, 1991). However, Arcticness also has agency within the Arctic. For instance, Arcticness can add status or credibility to an actor or stakeholder who holds certain rights and responsibilities (Kelman, 2017; Medby, 2017). Moving beyond imaginaries of an exotic periphery, historian of science Michael Bravo suggests a need for decentring Western narratives of the Arctic. Like Robinson’s (and others’) proposals for post-colonial studies of ‘ordinary cities’, Bravo posits a ‘post-Arctic’ that rejects “cliched and wrongheaded polarities of traditional/modern, local/global, nature/culture, human/animal [and further,] these dichotomies grossly distort the fabric of our human and non-human ecologies” (2015: 101). Tracing Arcticness and associated terms such as Nordicity outlines an evolving but persistent cultural discourse (Chartier, 2018; Graham, 1990; Shields, 1991). Mindful of this framing of the region and leaning on the comparative urbanism argument, it becomes necessary to investigate and deconstruct the assumed truths regarding Arcticness and de-essentialise the Arctic territory and climate as foundational to the discourse on Arctic cities. Studying the evolution of Arcticness within the architecture and urban planning fields contributes to considering the concept an evolving discourse rather than as an essence of the territory. Such studies also make Arctic cities relevant beyond the Arctic. A brief history of city-building and urban design in the Arctic The first planned settlements in the Arctic were resource communities and towns constructed to house military personnel and function as administrative centres. Later in the twentieth century, planned cities and new residential and other architectures were central and active components of policies for the economic development and industrialisation of northern territories as well as the social and cultural modernisation of local communities and Indigenous peoples. The first phase of Arctic urban planning mostly followed the then-dominant City Beautiful model. The resulting urban scenery of boulevards and squares framed by a classical architectural language was familiar to the southerners who arrived to contribute to the modernisation of the region. This planning movement evolved in the late nineteenth century as an aesthetic response to the uncontrollable growth of the industrial metropolis and is often considered the first modern approach to city planning, and was applied to the planning of national capitals (Washington DC, Canberra and Moscow) and new colonial cities beyond the West (Hall, 2002).
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Alfred Råvad: ‘Erikshavn’ - a new capital of Greenland (1914c, p. 239).
The first modern urban plan for the Arctic by Danish architect Alfred Råvad (1914a, 1914b, 1914c, 1914d, 1914e, 1914f) evidences the influence of the style. Råvad worked in Chicago for Daniel Burnham on the White City at the World’s Columbian Exposition in 1893 – the first true expression of the City Beautiful ideals (Blumberg, 2014; Madsen, 1990). Råvad’s unrealised design for a colonial capital in Greenland had boulevards, parks, a palace and a monumental government district. The city was designed for European colonisers (Danes and Icelanders), and Råvad hoped it would attract tourists from the USA. In the presentation of the project, he only mentioned the local population in passing and made few design concessions to the specificities of the Arctic climate and landscape. However, Råvad did propose closed-contour blocks with sheltered courtyards – an early iteration of a model that later became a prominent architectural expression of Arcticness. The most dramatic expressions of this neo-monumental planning mode are the massive industrial cities in the Soviet Union from the 1930s and 1940s. The Soviet state carried out massive city building in the North and Far East as part of a policy for industrialising and urbanising the entire territory of the country (Asafiev, 1989; Hill & Gaddy, 2003; McCannon, 2012). The monumental city building in the Soviet Far North celebrated communism’s triumph over the adversarial Arctic nature (Bruno, 2016; Kalemeneva, 2017) and attracted young people motivated to ‘build communism’ in the North (Armstrong, 1965; Kalemeneva, 2019; McCannon, 1998). Central to these colonial urban designs was that they offered ‘islands’ of urbanity and modernity in a hostile and pre-modern territory. For instance, botanists developed schemes for Arctic urban vegetation that emulate the parks and greenery of southern metropolises (Avrorin, 1941). Over time, such designed social clusters became a central feature of architectural Arcticness.
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The neo-classical cityscape of Monchegorsk, Murmansk Oblast. Photo: P. Hemmersam.
Other parts of the Arctic have distinctive urban histories. City building in the Scandinavian Arctic was a result of colonisation, trade and the pursuit of territorial sovereignty over Indigenous homelands. Here, early settlements were trade and administrative posts in what states considered national peripheries rather than Arctic territories. Mining communities had existed in northern Sweden for centuries, but in the early twentieth century, Finland, Sweden and Norway built new northern resource towns. In contrast, Alaska’s and northern Canada’s urban histories started with the gold rush at the turn of the twentieth century. In these territories, as well as in Greenland, World War II led to infrastructure development and in turn industrialisation and the urbanization of Indigenous peoples in the decades that followed. High-modernist cities In the post-war years, states initiated urban development schemes that resulted in new cities based on modernist principles, such as the functional separation of programmes and the industrial production of architecture. The Soviet Far North was an advanced case, but governments implemented similar modernist planning and development policies in Greenland, Arctic Canada and northern Norway. The architecture of this period followed international standards and differed radically from the City Beautiful movement’s historicism. The utopian social vision of architectural modernism aligned with states’ high-modernist visions of scientific and technical progress (Liscombe, 2006; Scott, 1998). Social engineering through urbanisation also played a role in assimilating Indigenous populations into Western society. In Greenland, for instance, urbanisation and city building were vital to the Danish government’s social and economic development programme (Lyager, 2002; Skjelbo, 1995). After the abolishment of Greenland’s colonial status in 1953, the government planned and built cities according to an industrialisation-based master plan. The government policy was to replace the entire existing housing stock with modern dwellings and supply amenities that correspond with Danish architectural and urban planning standards, all within a few decades.
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High-modernist urban planning, as demonstrated by Soviet and Greenlandic examples, largely ignored local communities’ desires and the characteristics of the place in favour of universal ‘scientific’ expert designs and construction solutions (Hill & Gaddy, 2003; Lyager, 2002; Ølgaard, 1976). A motivation behind the creation of new cities in northern Canada, the Soviet Union and Greenland was the need to attract and house southern workers and experts in different fields to work in industries or partake in the administration and development of the territories in different ways (Farish & Lackenbauer, 2009; Langkilde, 1986). In the Soviet Union, the need to attract skilled workers and their families accelerated with the abolishment of the Gulag system in the late 1950s (Kalemeneva, 2019; Reisser, 2017). The shortage of workers resulted in new research on how to make northern cities attractive and comfortable – a recurring feature of architectural Arcticness. This involved the exploration of design solutions for climatic challenges and the provision of higher quality housing than elsewhere in the country (Armstrong, 1965; Asafiev, 1989; UNECE 1980). Thus, following Khrushchev’s political ‘thaw’, the northern cities not only demonstrated rushed planning and ad-hoc development but also the fragmentary results of policies to provide good public facilities and above-average-quality apartments. While state propaganda continued to promote the spirit of northern scientific exploration, and while Architects and planners developed micro-climatic design solutions, the microrayon (microdistrict) urban cluster, which was a universal feature of Soviet urban planning, continued to dominate the North (Slavin, 1972).
In the ‘Arctic capital’ of Norilsk, planners designed experimental microdistricts that provided shelter from wind and snowstorms (Slavin, 1972, p. 88)
Soviet urban designs focussing on micro-climatic mitigation are examples of a larger international modernist trend of proposing universal models for city building in the Arctic. The Swiss-Austrian architect Ernst Egli (1945, 1951) proposed a precursor to such urban design prototypes in the aftermath of World War II. This design prototype was one of several directed at various global regions and contributed to the emerging field of urban climatology.
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Ernst Egli (1951, p. 54): ‘The Unborn City’. Buildings with 16,000 inhabitants could be combined to form cities of 128,000 people. The round shapes deflected winds and minimised the structure’s surface to reduce heat loss. Egli’s modernist approach used universal design approach that reduced the Arcticness to the climatic response of the architecture.
Capsular cities Several designs for self-contained communities displaying round component forms followed Egli’s proposal and became signifiers of architectural modernity at the edge of technological performance. Architects at Soviet research institutions, such as the Leningrad Zonal Scientific Research and Planning Institute, developed and published science-fiction-like urban prototypes (Bond, 1983; Filin et al., 2018; Odnovalov & Tsimbal, 1966). In Canada, architects at the Department for Public Works designed a dome-covered new town for Frobisher Bay (Iqaluit) (Gardner & Fancott, 1958). Near Anchorage in Alaska, Adrian Wilson Associates later proposed ‘Seward’s Success’, an entirely enclosed city for 40,000 inhabitants (J. Davies, 1970). Few capsular cities have ever been realised. Beyond military installations, such as the 1953 Buckner Building (‘City under a roof’) in Whittier, Alaska, designed by Foss, Malcolm, and Olsen to house 1,000 servicemen,1 the most advanced example in existence is a microdistrict for 4,500 people in the Udachny mining community in Siberia. The main design feature of this structure from the late 1970s is a linear gallery that connects residential buildings to a community centre, schools and kindergartens (Kalemeneva, 2019; Pozdnyakov, 1978). Despite the relative failure to realise such proposals, the publication of Arctic urban projects in popular journals contributed to disseminating ideas of the unique Arcticness of northern settlements (J. Davies, 1970; Filin et al., 2018; Recently Announced’, 1962). These publications on northern cities aligned with the widespread interest in space exploration (Hemmersam, 2016) and extended a pre-existing discourse on the exotic nature and the Arctic sublime previously established in literature and mass culture (Jensen, 2016; Osherenko & Young, 2005; Ryall et al., 2010). Building Arctic architectural knowledge In the 1960s and 1970s, academic and professional books and journals on the nature of architecture and planning in the North were translated and communicated between the Arctic nations. This
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exchange included the Soviet research institutes that explored northern architecture and urbanism. For instance, the Soviet journal Problemy Severa (Problems of the North) was translated in its entirety to English by the Canadian National Research Council between 1958 and 1978. Politicians, planners and architects also travelled to other Arctic regions to learn from city-building programmes (Pedersen et al., 1978; Pedersen et al., 1980; Riley, 1959; Rosendahl, 1985; Rosendahl & Ølgaard, 1977; Slipchenko, 1972). In 1978, experts from across the Arctic met at the ‘Human Settlements, Planning and Development in the Arctic’ symposium organised by the United Nations Economic Commission for Europe (UNECE 1980) in Godthåb (Nuuk). Planners at the event described it as the start of the international sharing of knowledge on Arctic urbanism and construction (Rosendahl, 1989). The planners and architects gathered, agreed that a primary concern in Arctic planning was the uncritical import of southern architecture and building technology. Further, the report from the event outlined a consensus that urban clustering for climate protection was needed while ensuring good snow management and access to the surrounding nature. Finally, the experts agreed that it was necessary to make northern settlements attractive for skilled and educated southerners, introducing colours in the Arctic urban landscape and designing convenient indoor public spaces: “climate-controlled shopping malls which also promote contacts among inhabitants [and] relieve tensions” (UNECE, 1980: 110). Travels, literature exchange and discussions at events such as these reflect an idea that the unique challenges of the Arctic region require the development of particular related or similar policies and models of urbanism and architecture, and learning between national experts can facilitate such development. Little, however, was discussed in terms of Arcticness in the architecture and planning of settlements in the North. In 1988, a second conference was organised by the UNECE, this time in Finland (1980). This event contributed to the international prominence of the Winter Cities movement. This planning advocacy group promoted liveable urban environments and the cultural celebration of snow and darkness towards local governments primarily through the dissemination of best practice guidelines and cases in publications and conferences (Davies, 2015; Pressman, 2004; Stout et al., 2018). This group promoted Arcticness as a design parameter and an urban policy objective in order to enhance population’s attachment to, and identification with, place. Architectural Arcticness The Soviet architects’ focus on the liveability of northern settlements was mirrored by BritishSwedish architect Ralph Erskine. After developing a sub-Arctic prototype habitat in the late 1950s, he became the standard-bearer for a climate-centric Arctic urban design approach that came to dominate the international architectural community’s imagination (Birk, 2012; Jull, 2016; McGowan, 2008). Echoing modernist idioms, Erskine’s Arctic urbanism was, in his own words, the result of “forms [that] result directly from climate and function” (1961: 59). The prototype comprised a long climate wall that sheltered lower residential districts from the prevailing winds and snowdrift. For size and volume, the wall housed all the communal functions of the town and primary public (indoor) spaces. As Erskine explained, “houses and towns [should] open like flowers to the sun of spring and summer but, also like flowers, turn their backs on the shadows and the cold northern winds” (1968: 167). Erskine claimed that his climate-centric approach was authentic to the Arctic region and suggested that “only by such methods can arise a personal and Indigenous Alaskan, Canadian, Scandinavian or North Russian tradition” (1968: 167). Erskine demonstrated the modernist claim for design universality when he transplanted his Arctic urban prototype, which
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was initially developed for northern Sweden, to Arctic Canada and eventually northern England. Erskine’s works were studied and emulated across the Arctic, including the Soviet Union (Filin et al., 2018). Desnoyers and Schoenauer’s Le Mur-Écran in Fermont, Quebec, is the most elaborate version of Erskine’s urban prototype in existence (O’Mahony, 1978; Schoenauer, 1976; Simard & Brisson, 2013). Later generations of international Arctic architects followed Erskine’s example and used the region’s climate as a determining factor in architecture and urban design, exploring the expressive potential of architectural Arcticness (Jull, 2016; Mähönen, 1989; Pressman, 1989).
The 1.3 kilometre-long climate wall shelters the residential district of Fermont. Photo: P. Hemmersam.
Architectural historian Rhodri Windsor Liscombe argues that Erskine’s designs “mobilized the utopic sublimity within the ‘modern movement’ and the placeless spatiality embodied in Modernist design ideology” (2006: 78). This continuous architectural tradition based on Erskine’s work reproduced an urban model with an interior that contrasts a hostile exterior landscape, thereby perpetuating an opposition between urban space and the Arctic territory (Farish & Lackenbauer, 2009; Sheppard & White, 2017). In the 1980s, Critical Regionalism (Frampton, 1983), which promoted traditional regional expressions as a rejection of modernism, further supported the claim for a unique approach to northern architecture. Architects across the Arctic region continued to invent and propose various ‘authentic’ architectural expressions. In Inuvik and Iqaluit in Canada, churches resemble giant igloos to reference the Indigenous culture, the Sami Parliament in Karasjok resembles traditional wooden residential structures, and the images of sledge dogs decorate a research station in Kuujjuarapik, Nunavik (Zrudlo, 2001). In Greenland, architects have based the design of public buildings in Nuuk on landscape metaphors, such as the Malik (‘Wave’) swimming pool, the Aurora Borealis captured in the undulating facade of the Katuaq cultural centre or the mountain-like profile of the Ilimmarfik university complex in Nuuk (Grydehøj, 2014). Such design examples demonstrate one way in which Arcticness is expressed as cultural identity through visual iconography. Another approach in non-Indigenous contexts, has roots in modernist ideas of generally value-free design principles for generalized climatic zones. Architects have explored the expressive potential of ‘parametric’ design according to environmental conditions. Thus, the design of the visually striking university complex in Longyearbyen by the architectural office Jarmund/Vigsnæs (‘Svalbard Science Centre’, 2006) prioritises the wind-deflecting geometry over architectural adaptation to the social uses of the town centre. While visually striking, the project reproduces a conceptual framework that insists on the fundamental incompatibility of global urban design frameworks and the Arctic environment.
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The University Centre in Svalbard. Photo by Bernt Rostad, CC BY 2.0, www.flickr.com/photos/brostad/1689763976 0
Experts and designers have actively engaged in the development of architecture and urbanism in the North, and the Winter Cities movement has had some success in promoting Arcticness in urban design, also in cities beyond the Arctic. However, despite the persistence of Arcticness in the architectural discourse, a Northern vernacular has failed to emerge. As Sheppard and White (2017) have concluded concerning Canada’s Arctic, architectural models imported from other Arctic regions have proved non-viable due to cultural and economic dissimilarities. A new urban Arcticness Despite the problem with identifying and developing a particular architecture and urbanism, Arcticness still plays a role in the formulation of urban policy in the region. There is a long history of making cities attractive to outsiders in Arctic. Initially, architecture and urban design were instrumental in attracting workers and administrators to the North by reproducing ‘southern’ comforts and a familiar urban scenery. Such approaches by southern planners often meant forming an urban ‘inside’ separated from a hostile environment and has followed two interacting principles. The first is the indoor social hub that seeks to counter isolation and often becomes a striking architectural feature in a bleak landscape. The other is the climatic urban cluster that reduces infrastructure costs and shelters outdoor urban space from wind and snow. In combination, these principles found a striking architectural form in the climate wall. In recent years, however, Arcticness has become a marketable quality (Medby, 2017). This realisation has coincided with a post-industrial ‘globalisation’ wave of urbanisation in the Arctic, where certain cities have emerged as increasingly central (Laruelle, 2019). These cities are seats of increasingly empowered local administrations and have diversified economies, in contrast to the numerous smaller and rural settlements in many parts of the Arctic with stable or declining populations. In recent decades, a prominent international urban policy trend has promoted attractiveness in the increased inter-urban competition for capital investment and political centrality (Harvey, 1989). Urban economist Richard Florida (2003) and others have highlighted that cities are important sites of innovation and outlined qualitative urban criteria that attract entrepreneurs. Architecture and urban design have significant roles in the attempt to attract and retain young people, entrepreneurs and other members of the ‘creative class’ that help boost innovation and contribute to job creation. While many Arctic cities are far from achieving the agglomeration effects described by economists such as Florida, changing the framing of northern communities through ‘place reinvention’
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refocuses attention on the cultural economy and quality of place (Nyseth & Granås, 2007; see also Petrov, 2008). The 2010 strategic plan for Murmansk proposes that a “modern attractive urban environment” (Extracts, 2010: 6) in addition to good job opportunities are key to attracting and retaining a young population. In its 2016 Capital Strategy, the local government of Nuuk suggested that it could become a ‘Capital of the Arctic’ by improving its infrastructural connections and attracting international politics and business (Kommuneqarfik Sermersooq, 2016). Similarly, in 2021, Norilsk seeks to become Russia’s official Arctic capital (in competition with both Murmansk and Arkhangelsk),2 while Norwegian cities such as Kirkenes and Longyearbyen position themselves as central international political and scientific hubs (Espiritu, 2018). An example of how urban Arcticness can become economically instrumental is found in the Longyearbyen Tourist Board masterplan (Brunvoll et al., 2015). This strategy promotes the experience of the striking contrast between the ordinary everyday urban life of the town and the ‘extreme’ landscape to tourists, hoping to keep visitors in town to boost income and avoid disturbing the vulnerable Arctic landscapes of Svalbard.
Conclusion This paper has outlined how Arcticness became a central concern in twentieth-century urbanism and architectural thinking. Architects and planners exchanged ideas and solutions, and Arcticness intersected with the international discourse and literature on northern liveability problems. Climate amelioration and the creation of urban social life and an experience of urbanity have been central components of the architectural construction of Arcticness rather than local participation and agency. While Arcticness has been a main consideration of urban designers and architects, the actual construction of Arctic cities has developed in a much more ad-hoc fashion; moreover, the framework potentially still plays a role in ‘othering’ Arctic towns and settlements. In many Arctic communities, urbanity is not immediately visually evident. The sizeable post-Soviet cites are an exception as are the budding ‘Arctic capitals’. Today, Arcticness is exploited by these Arctic cities and has become valuable to urban branding and architectural identity and eventually their sustainability and growth. However, Arctic cities are widely diverse, from modernist metropolises to tiny fishing hamlets. Arctic urbanism must be able to reflect such diversity. Just as there are ‘many Norths’, Arctic urbanism must be differentiated. Furthermore, Arctic cities must be considered ‘ordinary’ and on par with cities in other parts of the world, including the urbanised West. Empirical studies and theories must extend to include such marginal locations and enable learning from southern metropolises to the north and from Arctic cities to the rest of the world.
Notes 1. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Buckner_Building 2. http://www.krskstate.ru/press/news/gubernator/0/news/100344
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Проблемы Севера, 10, 91–100. Ølgaard, H. (1976). Det tekniske miljø i Grønland [The Technical Environment in Greenland]. Tidsskriftet Grønland, 5, 145–154. O’Mahony, W. (1978). Fermont: A Design for Subarctic Living. Habitat, 21(3), 17–20. Orttung, R. W., Anisimov, O., Badina, S., Burns, C., Cho, L., DiNapoli, B., Jull, M., Shaiman, M., Shapovalova, K., Silinsky, L., Zhang, E., & Zhiltcova, Y. (2020). Measuring the sustainability of Russia’s Arctic cities. Ambio. https://doi.org/10.1007/s13280-02001395-9 Orttung, R. W., & Laruelle, M. (2017). Urban Sustainability in the Arctic: Visions, Contexts, and Challenges. The George Washington University. Osherenko, G., & Young, O. R. (2005). The age of the Arctic: Hot conflicts and cold realities. Cambridge university press. Pedersen, G. L., Rosendahl, G. P., & Ølgaard, H. (1980). Rejse til The Northwest Territories, juni 1979 og juni 1980 [Travel to the Northwest Territories, June 1979 and June 1980]. Grønlands Tekniske Organisation. Pedersen, G., Rosendahl, G., & Ølgaard, H. (1978). Rejse til Alaska [Travel to Alaska]. Grønlands Tekniske Organisation. Petersen, M.-L. D. (1986). The Impact of Public Planning on Ethnic Culture: Aspects of Danish Resettlement Policies in Greenland after World War II. Arctic Anthropology, 23(1), 271– 280. Petrov, A. N. (2008). Talent in the Cold? Creative Capital and the Economic Future of the Canadian North. Arctic, 61(2), 119–231. Pozdnyakov, P. P. (1978). Zhilishche novogo tipa dlya Severa [New type of dwelling for the North]. Stroyizdat. Pressman, N. (1989). The Search for Northern Settlement Form: Dilemmas and Directions. Habitat International, 13(2), 127–137. https://doi.org/10.1016/0197-3975(89)90077-5 Pressman, N. (2004). Shaping Cities for Winter: Climatic Comfort and Sustainable Design. Winter Cities Association. Rasmussen, R. O. (Ed.). (2011). Megatrends (Vol. 527). Nordic Council of Ministers. Råvad, A. J. (1914a). Grønlands Hovedstad: I. Indledning [The Capital of Greenland: I: Introduction]. Architekten, 16(20), 202–205. Råvad, A. J. (1914b). Grønlands Hovedstad: II. Beliggenheden [The Capital of Greenland: II: The Location]. Architekten, 16(21), 213–216. Råvad, A. J. (1914c). Grønlands Hovedstad: III. Stedet [The Capital of Greenland: III: The Place]. Architekten, 16(23), 237–243. Råvad, A. J. (1914d). Grønlands Hovedstad: IV. Den æstetiske og videnskabelige side [The Capital of Greenland: IV: The Aesthetic and Scientific Aspect]. Architekten, 16(26), 272–276. Råvad, A. J. (1914e). Grønlands Hovedstad: V. ‘All sorts and conditions of men’ [The Capital of Greenland: V: ‘All Sorts and Conditions of Men’]. Architekten, 16(28), 288–291. Råvad, A. J. (1914f). Grønlands Hovedstad: VI. Turist-værdien [The Capital of Greenland: VI: The Turist Value]. Architekten, 16(30), 309–312. Reisser, C. (2017). Russia’s Arctic Cities: Recent Evolution and Drivers of Change. In R. W. Orttung (Ed.), Sustaining Russia’s Arctic Cities: Resource Politics, Migration, and Climate Change
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Indigenizing Education: Historical Perspectives and Present Challenges in Sámi Education Pigga Keskitalo & Torjer Olsen
This chapter discusses the most important issues of educational eras in different phases conducted by the Lutheran Church and four current national states where Sámi people live: Sweden, Norway, Finland and Russia. The early phases are described by the civilization process conducted by the Church between the 1600s and the 1850s and nationalism between the 1850s and the 1950s by the national states. These actions created the Sámi’s experiences of oppression, inequality and Othering while at the same time, finding ways to empowerment. Since the 1960s, and in particular, in the last four decades, there has been a process of revitalising and recognising Sámi languages, culture and rights. An important part of this is the expansion of Sámi education with the ambition that everyone in states with Sámi population receives basic knowledge of Sámi history, culture, society and rights. This chapter is based on the first workshop in the Indigenous Pedagogy in Teacher Education (IPED) series funded by Academy of Finland NOS-HS theme to promote the Nordic network in educational fields. This article has two tasks: to present the historical background and development of Sámi education and to discuss the present challenges in Sámi education. An important and innovative perspective in the article is the cross-border dimension of looking at several aspects of Sámi concerns in education, with special focus on teacher education.
Introduction In the current state of affairs, the Sámi people operate under various circumstances as part of multicultural and changing communities. Sámi education history is currently shaped by the education practices in various contexts and forms in regions of Norway, Finland, Sweden and Russia. In turn, the education histories of these countries form part of the Sámi education history. There is also the Sámi’s own political awakening that was affected by the development of Sámi education, an interest that arose more actively in the beginning of 1900’s (Lehtola, 2012). This chapter continues the process of constructing the narrative of Sámi education by adding the value of teacher education to the discussion. Talking about four countries’ education systems, different eras and different forms of current countries is a complicated task. Although the area covered is wide and there are many nuances, attention is paid to the special needs of the Sámi education today and teacher education as a continuum of education history. We draw on our Torjer Olsen is a Professor at UiT-Arctic University of Norway and Pigga Keskitalo is a Researcher at the University of Lapland.
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current and previous research on these matters. For the historical overview, we lean also on research from other scholars. In the past 20 years, the practice of researching state-Sámi relationships and education have been followed by more critical studies, inspired by postcolonial and Indigenous studies (e.g. Hoëm, 2007; Kuokkanen, 2010; Lehtola, 2012; Minde, 2005). This chapter carries a theoretical perspective connected to decolonization, inspired from Indigenous studies. Our aim is to conceptually explain and analyse Sámi education historical frames as well as the most recent progress and challenges in teacher education and Sámi education by championing self-determination, empowerment, decolonization, and social justice (see Dorpenyo, 2020). We identify opportunities and openings for talking about Sámi education and teacher education with a task that emphasizes an approach to decolonization that highlights the character of complexity, accomplices, and hesitancy (Stein et al., 2020). An Indigenization perspective provides advice and recommendations for how educational practices can recognize and respect the intellectual and cultural traditions of Indigenous peoples (Sammel et al., 2020). The article is written from the point of view of the Indigenous Pedagogy in Teacher Education (IPED) project funded by a grant for NOS-HS workshops by the joint committee for Nordic research councils in the humanities and social sciences, administered by the Academy of Finland and led by the University of Lapland (UoL). The workshops reviewed the Sámi and Indigenous pedagogy needs in all-Sámi and Nordic teacher education contexts in an attempt to support the development of new research areas. This chapter is based on the first workshop hosted by the UiTArctic University of Norway with the theme “Indigenizing Education: Historical Perspectives and Present Challenges in Sámi Education”, which concentrated on the added value of Sámi education history. The first workshop addressed the most important issues of colonization and assimilation, such as related experiences of inequality and Othering, so that ongoing education could continue its work on its premises and starting points with keynotes and conversations to build a foundation for subsequent workshops. States globally have started to take steps towards determining what kinds of consequences have been experienced by Indigenous people and minorities, such as the Sámi in Nordic countries, through truth and reconciliation work. Examining different education policies towards the Sámi through the lens of education history offers an important perspective at a time when there is greater emphasis on the development of intercultural relations or, on the other hand, understands today’s practices as partly a result of former ideological and policy measures.
Features of Sámi education history Sámi education first began with the Lutheran Church activities from the 1600s onwards and continued with national state measures from the 1800s onwards until the development of school practices utilized today (Kortekangas et al., 2019). Although there are differences, there are several ways of dividing Sámi education history in different periods. Olsen (2019) suggests that the education history about the Sámi in Norway can be seen as going through different stages. Colonization, with the connection of schools and Christian missions in the 18th century, led to the strong decline of the Indigenous Sámi religion. Assimilation, with the Norwegianization policy that ran basically from ca. 1850 to ca. 1950, led the Sámi languages to be put under immense pressure, under which some languages and dialects disappeared. Schools were key arenas in this policy. Following the end of the official Norwegianization policy, Norwegian school policy and practice towards the Sámi was one of ignorance and absence. From the 1970s to 1987, the first proper Olsen & Keskitalo
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inclusion of Sámi knowledge, language and perspective was seen. Leading up to 1997, with the coming of the first Sámi national curriculum, we see a growing recognition, which can be seen as proof of Indigenization as shown also in the current national curricula. This is partly in line with the periodization of Lund (2014), who talks of the age of missionaries (1600-1800), the era of assimilation (1850-1970), the era of acceptance (1970-1990), and the era of revival (1990-onwards). Some of the eras are overlapping, as the era of missionaries continued with the catechesis system at the same time that national folk education and folk schools were created. This occurred because there was a place for teachers who wandered to the Sámi villages to meet the students. For example, in Finland, the catechesis teaching system was finished in the 1950’s (Lehtola, 2012). As was realized, while the aspects associated with these four periods may vary in different countries with a Sámi population, to some extent, the Sámi have experienced all of these situations. When analyzing different countries’ policies with Sámi populations between 1850 to the 1950’s, the period that may have had the greatest impact on language change among the Sámi because of the European wave of nationalism, we can identify differences in forms of how they were conducted. Although the results seem at least to some extent to be similar, namely partly lost identities and language-connections (Keskitalo, Lehtola & Paksuniemi, 2014; Keskitalo & Olsen, 2019; Kortekangas et al., 2019; Olsen, 2019). The civilizing attempts conducted through education have been special measures aimed at Indigenous and colonized populations worldwide, beginning with the Westernization of people between the 15th and 20th centuries (Burrows, 1986). In Norway, the strategy chosen was a state-written and funded process called Norwegianization (Minde, 2005). In Sweden, the chosen policy was segregation, which was conducted through the “Lapp should stay Lapp” policy with the previous outsiders’ given acronym of Sámi people (Lundmark, 2008). In Finland, based on Finland’s position under Russia and formerly under Sweden, Finland put energy towards building unity and independence according to general European waves. It resulted in measures towards citizens where no measures were realized towards minorities but the emphasis was on Finnish language and culture and the sense of unity among its citizens. Minorities were assimilated as they received very minimal support for their cultures and languages. While in wider Finnish society, there was a mode to use Finnish language and show a sense of Finnish citizenship, minorities or Sámi with their late Indigenous position were living in an atmosphere where it was socially accepted to use the Finnish language and forbidden to use minority ethnic group languages (Paksuniemi & Keskitalo, 2019). Anttonen (2010) reminds us that even though it seems like minorities have changed their identities and languages to national languages and identities, it has inevitably left marks on the representatives of those speakers and community members which may continue to affect generation after generation. In the Russian Federation, Stalin conducted great terror towards minorities in the 1930’s and 1940’s. For example, he sent 18 teachers to demolition camps and they never returned (Kotljarchuk, 2019). In many cases, the Sámi regions were the first places in their respective countries where educational measures were conducted by the Church or public school (Kortekangas et al., 2019). In 1612, the measures that were implemented through different measures to change the belief system of the Sámi were first aimed at and through Sámi boys, as seven of them were sent to Uppsala for three years to educate them on how to function as Sámi language speaking teachers or priests in order to make the Sámi become Christian. The boys also started to wear Western-style clothing and shoes. Five years later, the Piteå Lapp school was created in 1617, and six Sámi boys were sent to
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study there so that they would eventually become priests (Lindmark, 2019). To a certain extent in Norway-Denmark as well, there was a special education for Sámi teachers in the 18th and later in Norway 19th centuries, first in Trondheim in these schools: Seminarium scolasticum, Seminarium domesticum and Seminarium lapponicum. Later, Sámi was a subject at the Trondenes and Tromsø seminaries (Nilsen, 2009).
Current teacher education As schools are important arenas for the implementation of state policy, the same is the case for teacher education programs. Our historical overview has shown that there is variation across borders in Sápmi. At the same time, there are some shared tendencies. When it comes to teacher education, the development goes from Christian priests being teachers to the emergence of professional education of teachers with the responsibility to shape and make citizens. When it comes to Sámi education, it is important to remember and acknowledge the work of the Sámi political movement. Parallel to the assimilation and segregation policies of the 20th century, motions within the Sámi communities were engaged to maintain the rights of the Sámi people. The first phase of Sámi politics took place in the early 20th century, and crossed the state borders. The second phase followed with the foundation of the Nordic Sámi Council in 1956. At this stage Sámi activists began to participate in the international movement of Indigenous peoples (Indigenism) from the 1970s onwards. Norway, for instance, changed its policy towards the Sámi beginning around 1980. A policy of recognition was introduced, to a great extent as a result of the work of Sámi activists and politicians. Within the educational system, a preliminary achievement was reached with the launch of the first Sámi national curricula in 1997. Since then, the national curricula have shown official recognition of the Sámi (cf. Olsen & Andreassen, 2018). The development of the curricula has led to an extensive increase in Sámi rights to education. The teacher education, as well as the national guidelines and regulations for this, follows along the same lines. This means that in Norway, following the then new guidelines of 2013, all teacher education programs need to provide its students with knowledge about Sámi history, society, language and rights. This is directed towards the mainstream schools. In addition, there is a parallel Sámi teacher education: 2010 saw the establishment of a separate Sámi teacher education parallel to Norwegian national teacher education, first on Sámi allaskuvla and since 2017 also at UiT The Arctic University of Norway and Nord University. There are of course challenges related both to the Sámi content of the national or mainstream side of this, as well as to the Sámi programs. The mainstream programs are in need of general capacity-building related to Sámi matters, whereas the Sámi programs struggle to find teachers with the combined competence of language and pedagogy. Still, the emergence of these national demands, based on a proper recognition of Sámi rights and state responsibility, create a necessary starting point for a further building of structures and systems. In Finland, there is a project-based Sámi teacher education conducted by the University of Oulu, Giellagas Institute, called Ketterä-korkeakoulu. In Oulu, there has been Sámi language subject teacher education since the 1960s (Lehtola, 2014). University of Lapland and University of Oulu Faculties of Education share responsibility to serve education for Sámi speaking primary school teacher education (Arola, 2020). University of Lapland gives study points for every student teacher in primary school teacher education of Sámi culture. Students may choose to study contents of Sámi culture with a study course of Sámi pedagogy.
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Sweden conducts teacher education in Umeå, the so-called lecturer studies in Sámi language. No specified primary school teacher education is provided in northern universities with a Sámi profile. At the moment, there is an on-going project where Swedish Sámi school teachers or Sámi language teachers can build their competency in Norway, at Sámi allaskuvla (Sámi allaskuvla, 2018). According to Zmyvalova (forthcoming 2022), the Herzen Pedagogical University offers Sámi language and cultural studies where there is a specification aiming at qualifying Sámi language and culture teachers. Only a few people are educated every year.
Sámi school and Sámi curriculum in Norway as an example of diversity in Sámi education We aim to present more detail about Norwegian Sámi education and what it entails. As Norway conducts Sámi rights best, we will introduce the recent education practices in Norway in detail to showcase some of the solutions in Sámi education. The consequences of diversity for Sámi education should be obvious. Nonetheless, diversity seems to be a challenge in the field of Sámi education. The previously mentioned dominant discourses have in Norway aimed at developing the Sámi curriculum and addressing the representations of Sámi people and communities within educational contexts. Perhaps the most striking aspect of Sámi diversity, and one that poses a serious challenge to the curricular and rights-based representation of “the Sámi student” and “the Sámi school”, is the situation of the Lule Sámi and the South Sámi languages and communities. While the use of North Sámi language is being challenged, North Sámi language teachers and educational resources can still be found, although they are scarce. Both Lule Sámi and South Sámi are languages that are threatened to become extinct. The situation for teachers and educational resources in these two languages is strikingly different from the situation of the North Sámi (Gjerpe, 2017). It is Nord University, located in the area of both the Lule Sámi and the South Sámi, that has the national responsibility to provide language education in these languages. In addition, Nord University also has teacher education programs directed towards the Lule Sámi and the South Sámi. Because of the imminent challenges related to the small number of speakers of these two languages, the teacher education programs cannot be given fully in Sámi languages. Nonetheless, there exists both teacher education and early childhood education teacher programs with an emphasis on Lule Sámi and South Sámi language and culture.
Recent challenges Educational systems — from kindergartens to higher education institutions — are exemplary arenas for enfolding state policies, particularly when considering minorities and Indigenous peoples. In addition, schools are the state’s tools to supply its citizens with competency that is determined as the most significant. Thus, schools and education are ways for the procreation of ideology and for turning policies into reality. The reality of Indigenous peoples comprises of claims on the local and global levels. Educational systems tend to be based on the needs of majorities, that is on the needs of mainstream society. The experiences of Indigenous peoples worldwide evidently tell the story of school and education as main arenas for colonisation, assimilation and the communication of the states’ monocultural ideologies. There is a paradox of education, related to it being part of decolonisation or colonisation.
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A historical perspective is required when discussing educational systems and colonisation. As colonial states have changed, educational systems have changed, too. Even though there is still a need for decolonial criticism of contemporary educational systems, colonial states are generally in a process of making attempts to (re)build educational systems that are more culturally responsive and less oppressive than those of the past. This creates the need for greater nuance when understanding and analysing Indigenous issues in education. The educational system of Norway is an example of a system that has moved from colonisation, assimilation and marginalisation to inclusion and various expressions of Indigenization (Olsen, 2017; Olsen & Andreassen, 2018). Moreover, both in Norway/Sápmi and other states with a more or less strong Indigenous presence, the situation for the Indigenous communities is complex and diverse. A “Sámi student” is not the same, regardless of where s/he lives. The legal distinction between peoples, without deemphasising the rights dimension, does not necessarily work as a pedagogical and didactic principle for use in classrooms. Teachers in the current situation need to be aware of and be able to handle these complexities. The term “cultural interface” was coined and used by Nakata (2007) to describe the complex situation of both Indigenous individuals and Indigenous communities. Cultural interface proposes an alternative to dichotomies; it describes a space of relations that an individual person (and community) lives by and with. Within this space, numerous subject positions are available; it is multi-layered and multi-dimensional and it shapes how a person speaks of himself/herself and others. Thus, when speaking of Indigenous education, cultural interface, and the idea of numerous subject positions, it seems to be a constructive alternative to simplistic dichotomies or dichotomism. It is important to include a disclaimer: the theory of cultural interface does not imply a deemphasis of the collective rights of Indigenous peoples. Rather, when understanding Indigenous communities, the theory and premise of the cultural interface makes it possible to include the many people living in or close to the periphery of their respective communities. In many Indigenous contexts, the boundaries between who is and is not Indigenous can be blurry. We see this clearly in the different countries that the Sámi inhabit. In all countries and situations, there are discussions regarding the definitions and boundaries of Sámi identity and citizenship. So far, this has not been taken into account or dealt with within the respective educational contexts. We argue that this may be an interesting, albeit complicated, topic to include in the teaching about Sámi history and society. Furthermore, as many Indigenous children, regardless of geography, attend mainstream schools, a pure distinction between education for Indigenous peoples and education about Indigenous peoples and issues seems to be over-simplified. This is both a general statement and one that addresses the situation in the Sámi’s’ different states. Thus, it makes sense to look at and talk about Indigenous education as something that dwells and works in and through a cultural interface. It becomes a way of stating that Indigenous education, in practice, can have many variations and articulations, and that different educational systems can be located on different parts of a continuum with assimilated and marginalised Indigenous students in mainstream schools on one end of the spectrum and Indigenous students going to Indigenous/indigenized schools within their Indigenous communities on the other end. Perhaps most students, Indigenous or not, are found in between these two ends (Sollid & Olsen, 2019).
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The encounter and potential synergy of the two national curricula in the Norwegian and Sámi context can be seen in two different ways depending on one’s perspective. Having dichotomy and difference as premises is different from having the cultural interface as a premise. We argue that the latter is both more useful and more reflective of the reality of Indigenous education in schools and teaching. Students (and their families) can see themselves (be seen) as belonging to different positions between what is Norwegian/Swedish/Finnish and what is Sámi. For instance, the Sámi and the Norwegians must be seen as related to—rather than separate from—each other through colonisation. This is even more important and striking due to the process of assimilation (Norwegianization), which led many Sámi to change their ethnic identity. In many highly Norwegianized villages, the last three decades have shown a powerful revitalisation of Sámi identity and language. At the same time, the question of who is Sámi and who is not is complex and not easy to answer in these villages. In educational contexts, a more open perspective may have the potential to connect the complex personal and family stories of Norwegianization and revitalisation to larger narratives of nations and politics. To paraphrase Donald (2009) in his works on Indigenous métissage: the goal is to have an educational practice that works to interpret and integrate mixed understandings of history and communities as relational, in order to acknowledge and recognise the Sámi presence and place in history and in the community.
Conclusion Sámi education can be said to be a result of a long history and policy-making and societal development processes, which should be dealt with today. This concerns the education that is aimed at the Sámi people and reviving and taking care of their linguistic and cultural issues, but it also means that mainstream education needs to deliver knowledge about the Sámi so that teachers can do their job in a modern world based on inclusive education needs. Processes are already in place in different countries with a Sámi population to address this need. For example, in Norway it has been written into Norwegian and Sámi teacher education reforms that every preservice teacher needs to know about Indigenous Sámi people so they will have the competency to teach students based on the curriculum demands about Sámi issues. At times, hope may seem hard to find and recognise in a field where assimilation, colonisation and oppression have been dominant. Within the field of Indigenous education, suspicion and critical thinking about educational systems can be expected from the point of view of Indigenous people. At the same time, it is striking—and an expression of hope—that Smith (2017: 82) noted that education and schooling have the potential to be transformative. This is similar to how Donald (2009) talked about Indigenous métissage and the ethical space of Indigenous education. In this line of thinking and practice, discomfort may be necessary in order to ensure that critical thinking and the diversity of the cultural interface remain and/or become an integral part of Sámi education. Teacher education, in the current situation, faces a variety of challenges and possibilities. The two branches of mainstream teacher education and Sámi teacher education answer to different demands from states and the respective Sámi authorities. Both are important in the effort to provide education about, for and in Sámi communities. Still, as the boundaries between the Sámi and the majority may be blurry in some places, so may the boundaries between the two teacher education spheres. Thus, the development of a Sámi teacher education should be seen as and made connected to the Indigenization of the majority teacher education. Historical Perspectives and Present Challenges in Sámi Education
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References Anttonen, M. (2010). Menetetty koulunkäyni - Norjan valtion hyvitykset saamelaisille ja kveeneille [Lost schooling - reparations paid by the Norwegian state to Sámi and Kvens]. Migration Institute. Arola, L. (2020). Selvitys saamenkielisen opetus- ja varhaiskasvatushenkilöstön saatavuudesta ja koulutuspoluista [Report on the availability and educational paths for Sámi-speaking teachers and Sámi-speaking childhood education personnel]. Ministry of Education and Culture. Burrows, M. (1986). 'Mission civilisatrice': French cultural policy in the Middle East, 1860–1914. The Historical Journal, 29(1), 109–135. http://doi:10.1017/S0018246X00018641 Donald, D. (2009). Forts, curriculum, and Indigenous Métissage: Imagining decolonization of Aboriginal-Canadian relations in educational contexts. First Nations Perspectives, 2(1), 1–24. Dorpenyo I. K. (2020) Decolonial methodology as a framework for localization and social justice study in resource-mismanaged context. In I. K. Dorpenyo (Ed.) User localization strategies in the face of technological breakdown (pp. 53–78). Palgrave Macmillan. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-26399-7_3 Gjerpe, K. K. (2017). Samisk læreplanverk–en symbolsk forpliktelse? [Sámi curricula–a symbolic commitment]. Nordic Studies in Education, 37(3–4), 150–165. Hoëm, A. (2007). Fra noaidiens verden til forskerens: Misjon, kunnskap og modernisering i sameland 1715– 2007 [From the world of noaidi to the researcher's: Mission, knowledge and modernization in Sami land 1715–2007]. Novus. Keskitalo, P., Lehtola, V.-P., & Paksuniemi, M. (Eds.) (2014). Saamelaisten kansanopetuksen ja koulunkäynnin historia Suomessa [Sámi education history in Finland]. Migration Institute. Keskitalo, P., & Olsen, T. (2019). Historical and political perspectives on Sámi and inclusive school systems in Norway. In M. C. Beaton, D. B. Hirshberg, G. R. Maxwell, & J. Spratt (Eds.) Including the North: a comparative study of the policies on inclusion and equity in the Circumpolar North (pp. 109–123). University of Lapland Kortekangas, O., Keskitalo, P., Nyyssönen, J., Kotljarchuk, A., Sjögren, D., & Paksuniemi, M. (2019). Introduction. In O. Kortekangas, P. Keskitalo, J. Nyyssönen, A. Kotljarchuk, M. Paksuniemi, & D. Sjögren (Eds.) Sámi educational history in a comparative international perspective (pp. 1–11). Palgrave Macmillan. Kotljarchuk, A. (2019). Indigenous people, vulnerability and the security dilemma: Sámi school education in the Kola Peninsula, 1917–1991. Introduction. In O. Kortekangas, P. Keskitalo, J. Nyyssönen, A. Kotljarchuk, M. Paksuniemi, & D. Sjögren (Eds.) Sámi educational history in a comparative international perspective (pp. 63–82). Palgrave Macmillan. Kuokkanen, R. (2010). The responsibility of the academy: A call for doing homework. Journal of Curriculum Theorizing, 26(3), 61–74. Lehtola, V.-P. (2012). Saamelaiset suomalaiset: Kohtaamisia 1896–1953 [The Sámi Finnish: Encounters 1896–1953]. Suomalaisen kirjallisuuden seura.
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Lehtola, V.-P. (2014). Saamen kielen lehtoraatista Giellagas-instituutiksi [From Sámi language lecturer to Giellagas Institute]. In P. Keskitalo, V.-P. Lehtola, & M. Paksuniemi (Eds.) Saamelaisten kansanopetuksen ja koulunkäynnin historia Suomessa [Sámi education history in Finland] (pp. 315–319). Migration Institute. Lindmark, D. (2019). Sámi schools, female enrolment, and the teaching trade: Sámi women’s involvement in education in early modern Sweden. In O. Kortekangas, P. Keskitalo, J. Nyyssönen, A. Kotljarchuk, M. Paksuniemi, & D. Sjögren (Eds.) Sámi Educational History in a Comparative International Perspective (pp. 13–26). Palgrave Macmillan. Lund, S. (2014). Yksi kansa neljän koulujärjestelmän alaisuudessa [One nation under four education systems]. In P. Keskitalo, V.-P. Lehtola, & M. Paksuniemi (Eds.) Saamelaisten kansanopetuksen ja koulunkäynnin historia Suomessa [Sámi education history in Finland] (pp. 10–12). Migration Institute. Lundmark, L. (2008). Stulet land: Svensk makt på samisk mark [Stolen land: Swedish power on Sámi land]. Ordfront. Minde, H. (2005). Assimilation of the Sámi – implementation and consequences. Journal of Indigenous People’s Rights, 3. Nakata, M. N. (2007). Disciplining the savages, savaging the disciplines. Aboriginal Studies Press. Nilsen, U. (2009). Misjon og skole i Finnmark på 1700-tallet [Mission and school in Finnmark in the 18th century]. In S. Lund, E. Boine, S. Broch Johansen, & S. Rasmussen (Eds.) Samisk skolehistorie 3 [Sámi education history 3]. Davvi Girji. http://skuvla.info/skolehist/unnistor-tn.htm Olsen, T. A. (2017). Gender and/in indigenous methodologies: On trouble and harmony in indigenous studies. Ethnicities, 17(4), 509–525. Olsen, T. A. (2019). Sámi issues in Norwegian curricula: A historical overview. In O. Kortekangas, P. Keskitalo, J. Nyyssönen, A. Kotljarchuk, M. Paksuniemi, & D. Sjögren (Eds.) Sámi educational history in a comparative international perspective (pp. 125–141). Palgrave Macmillan. Olsen, T. A., & Andreassen, B.-O. (2018). ”Urfolk” og ”mangfold” i skolens læreplaner [“Indigenous peoples” and “diversity” in the school curricula]. FLEKS - Scandinavian Journal of Intercultural Theory and Practice, 5(1). https://doi.org/10.7577/fleks.2248 Paksuniemi, M., & Keskitalo, P. (2019). Christian morality and enlightenment to the natural child: Third-sector education in a children’s home in Northern Finland (1907–1947). In O. Kortekangas, P. Keskitalo, J. Nyyssönen, A. Kotljarchuk, M. Paksuniemi, & D. Sjögren (Eds.) Sámi educational history in a comparative international perspective (pp. 151–185). Palgrave Macmillan. Sámi allaskuvla. (2018). Sámi allaskuvla fállagoahtá oahpu sámi oahpaheaddjiide Ruoŧas [Sámi University of Applied Sciences starts to educate Sámi teachers in Swedish side of Sápmi]. https://samas.no/nb/node/4455 Sammel, A., Whatman, S., & Blue, L. (2020). Indigenizing education: Lessons learned, pathways forward. In A. Sammel, S. Whatman S., & L. Blue (Eds.) Indigenizing education (pp. 193–210). Springer. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-4835-2_10
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Smith, G. H. (2017). Kura Kaupapa Maori: Contesting and reclaiming education in Aotearoa. In D. Ray, & D. H. Poonwassie (Eds.) Education and Cultural Differences (pp. 89–108). Routledge. Sollid, H., & Olsen, T. (2019). Indigenising education: Scales, interfaces and acts of citizenship in Sápmi. Junctures: The Journal for Thematic Dialogue, (20), 9–42. Stein, S., Andreotti, V., Suša, R., Amsler, S., Hunt, D., Ahenakew, C., Jimmy, E., Cajkova, T., Valley, W., Cardoso, C., Siwek, D., Pitaguary, B., D’Emilia, D., Pataxó, U., Calhoun, B., & Okano, H. (2020). Gesturing towards decolonial futures: Reflections on our learnings thus far. Nordic Journal of Comparative and International Education (NJCIE), 4(1), 43–65. https://doi.org/10.7577/njcie.3518 Zmyvalova, E. (2022, forthcoming). Sámi education in Russia. IPED webpage. Faculty of Education. University of Lapland.
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The Power of Maps in Shaping Visions about the Arctic Helena Gonzales Lindberg
Maps have the ability to make abstract information visible and real to their audiences. They provide humans a way to conceptualize and understand places and issues that otherwise might seem both distant and abstract. This article argues that maps influence what issues are visible and knowable and what issues are silenced and disregarded, often giving prominence to dominant understandings. As such, maps help constitute what is considered politically possible in terms of governing problems such as climate change or pressing ahead with new policy initiatives pertaining to economic development. Specifically, this article seeks to understand the power of maps in the context of the Arctic region, where maps can be seen as central to constructing imaginaries and indirect experiences of the Arctic. I suggest that Arctic processes and possibilities are difficult to communicate to audiences, let alone imagined, without the use of maps. To illustrate the constitutive power of maps in the Arctic, I deconstruct a set of two maps depicting oil and gas potentials in the Arctic coming from a fact-sheet by the U. S. Geological Survey. The analysis focuses on the ways in which these maps enable and limit certain conceptualizations and visions of ’the Arctic’ and politics within that region. I contend that maps are powerful because they shape generally held assumptions about the Arctic, often serving already dominant interests and visions about the future.
Maps are powerful Maps provide a way for human beings to conceptualise and understand places and issues. They have the ability to make abstract information visible and real. In this way, maps influence what issues are visible and knowable to audiences and what issues are silenced or disregarded. In this way, they are sources of knowledge and shapers of assumptions about the world we live in, implicating hierarchical social relations in which human lives are situated. I argue that maps are central in creating particular points of departure from which the world and issues within it are understood and upon which political choices are made. Maps can, for example, set the conditions for how to understand seemingly far-away places such as the Arctic and how to deal with problems such as climate change. Yet, this role that maps have in setting the scene for understanding and action is rarely problematized in the study and practice of international politics or indeed in people’s everyday lives. Hence, as Boria (2015: 144) argues, a map’s ability to seemingly camouflage its political content makes it highly political, conditioning people’s thoughts and actions without being questioned. Moreover, this unquestioned position of maps can produce dominating systems of meaning from which political action is directed and legitimized (Shapiro, 1989). In this article, I Helena Gonzales Lindberg is a research administrator at the Centre of environmental and climate science at Lund University and holds a PhD in political science from the same university.
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highlight the constitutive power of maps and argue that maps can constitute political meaningmaking, thinking, and acting in various ways that are relevant to the study of power and politics. More specifically, I set out to understand the power of maps in the context of the Arctic region. According to Steinberg et al. (2015), the Arctic is an area particularly prone to be governed through imaginaries due to its remoteness and distance from the power centres of the eight Arctic states. Maps then can be seen as central to constituting imaginaries and indirect experiences of the Arctic. Furthermore, as Dodds (2010: 64) argues, maps of environmental changes, new polar shipping routes, and possible natural resource potentials contribute to enhancing a particular understanding of the Arctic as a site of intensifying geopolitical competition. For example, when justifying China’s involvement in the Arctic, the Chinese ambassador to Iceland refers to ‘The world map’: “If you look at the world map, apart from the eight Arctic countries, China is one of the countries that are closest to the Arctic Circle” (Olin, 2019, September 7). Besides arguing for a legitimate role in Arctic politics, politicians also illustrate visions of, for example, new shipping routes and natural resource potentials in the Arctic by using maps. While maps are commonly used when defining and conveying issues about the Arctic, however, less attention is paid to the framing of the Arctic and Arctic issues themselves. When maps are used to examine Arctic issues they are often regarded as tools for settling legal disputes over territory (cf. Strandsbjerg, 2012) or used to portray a nation’s identity, presence, or claim to the Arctic territory (cf. Bennett et al., 2016). In this article, I aim to advance the scholarship on the mapping of the Arctic by highlighting how maps are embedded in Arctic politics and examining maps’ constitutive role in Arctic politics. To illustrate how particular assumptions about the Arctic are being (re)produced and sustained via the use of maps, I will analyse a set of two maps showing the predicted quantities of oil and gas resources in the Arctic Ocean basin from the United States Geological Survey (USGS, 2008). I argue that due to their circulation and authority, these maps often go unquestioned in Arctic debates, reproducing dominant ideas about there being undiscovered fossil fuels at the same time as challenges coming with the rapid climate change impacts in the Arctic. Hence, I find it important to understand how maps become part of such discourses surrounding ‘challenges’ and ‘opportunities’ in the Arctic, but more importantly how they give way to particular visions and certain actors, while silencing others. I argue that instead of being neutral background information figuring in a journal article, a scientific study, or a book about the Arctic, these maps in themselves can be the subject of a study about the Arctic. Therefore, rather than centring on the power of a specific actor to propagate various political alternatives through the use of maps, this study centres on the map itself; its choice of map projection, use of symbols and colours, and its inclusions and exclusions. Theoretically, I aim to further our understanding of how maps perform the political in indirect ways, rather than falsifying it or seeking to establish direct causal links between maps and political decisions or outcomes.
The excluding power of maps - silencing alternatives To understand the constitutive power of maps I draw on the fields of critical cartography and visual politics. Compared to previous studies of the power of maps, which tend to focus on how the map-maker’s interests are implicated in the map or how well a map communicates its political message (Harley, 1988, 1989; Monmonier, 1996), I argue that unpacking cartographic truthclaiming, naturalisation, and materialisation provides a more exhaustive understanding of how maps perform the political and how the constitutive power of maps operates (Lindberg, 2019). Gonzales Lindberg
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Maps, like other visual representations, can be said to constitute and shape politics because they set “the conditions of possibility through which politics takes place” (Bleiker, 2015: 884). This is where the visual elements of the map become central and why the visual politics field needs to scrutinize maps: the truth of what is represented in the map is assisted by the map’s visual representation in which maps are perceived as mirroring the real. An example is how many world maps unproblematically represent all water bodies as blue, establishing blue as the universal representation of water and all water bodies of the world to be of the same character. With cartographic truth-claiming I mean that maps, like other representations, can be seen as products of knowledge as well as producing knowledge and truths about the world (Shapiro, 1988). Furthermore, the truth-claiming lays the foundation of how elements in the map can be naturalised as ‘facts’. Moreover, cartographic naturalisation is produced by the selection and omission of certain elements that make “a particular way of looking at the world appear to be part of the natural order, ‘just the way thing are’, and hence difficult to argue against” (Neumann & Nexon, 2006: 19). Thus, a map can help naturalise, and therefore depoliticise the political judgements inherent in a map’s selective representation (Ferguson, 1996). Moreover, to the extent that users of a map accept what the map shows and what it fails to reflect in its dominant discourses, they implicitly recognize and strengthen the status quo power relations. For example, to show a map when speaking about a country is a representational practice that is so familiar that it seems natural and not a social practice and rhetorical gesture (Shapiro, 1988: 93). This practice is also common in articles and books about the Arctic and Arctic issues, where the Arctic is represented as an (often ice free) ocean surrounded by nation states. This can, for example, contribute to strengthening the authority and legitimacy of nation states contra non-nation state groups such as Indigenous peoples. Hence, whenever something is naturalised, there is something else that is silenced – one reality is privileged over another (Harley, 1988). Another example of an often unintentional silence is how standardization in maps generates “the silences of uniformity” in which much of the character and individuality of local places become absent (Harley, 1988: 65). Hence, the power of maps lies in their exclusion of other alternative understandings. This involves making decisions as to what to include and what to exclude in a particular map representation. Such decisions render certain issues and geographical sites visible, and others invisible. Thus, it can be argued that maps limit what Bleiker calls “thinking space” (2015: 258), directing attention and resources to specific political alternatives at the expense of others. To use the previously given example, directing focus on the role of nation states over other political or cultural organisations of peoples. If the power of a map operates successfully by constituting an object or place as a true or natural domain, then it can have material effects because it is taken as “a primary given” (Butler, 1993: 10). Butler (1993) argues, that it is precisely when something appears outside power and discourse that its power is most effective, which I argue often is the case for maps. For example, in a study of how Port-au-Prince, Haiti, is represented in maps, Lemay-Hébert’s (2018) found that colour zoning on maps of so-called safe and unsafe areas affected not only how United Nation officials regulated their interventions but also how local people themselves talked about, thought about, and acted in their city. The colours of the zones on the maps – e.g., red, yellow, and green – became part of people’s self-identification and helped establish an imagined geography of insecurity in Port-auPrince. This study shows how the visuality of maps have material effects on thinking and acting in ways that people may not have intended or imagined (Lemay-Hébert, 2018). Thus, I find the The power of maps in shaping visions about the Arctic
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concept of material effects helpful in explaining maps’ constitutive power. I use the term cartographic materialisation to explain how maps not only can constitute reality today, but also can constitute what is not yet materially real: maps’ ideational power can enable particular expectations about the future, which can later materialise (Corner, 1999; Branch, 2014). Hence, what a map represents as being real in the Arctic, such as new shipping routes or occurrences of natural resources below the melting sea ice, can contribute to building certain expectations about the future, which can drive economic investments and their materialization. In order to unpack the constitutive power effects that the USGS maps harbours, I will deconstruct the USGS maps using an analytical framework discussed in the following section.
Deconstructing the maps To problematize and analyse contemporary maps as visual representations, I have developed an analytical framework based on the merging of analytical elements associated with the critical cartography and visual politics fields, coupled with elements from Bacchi’s (1999, 2009, 2012) ‘What’s the problem represented to be?’ (WPR) approach. The analytical framework is built to allow a close reading of specific maps to analyse them as if they were ‘strange’ and unfamiliar. In this way, I uncover the assumptions required in order to understand the map as well as highlight the elements that might have passed unquestioned if the analysis had only focussed on what the map-maker intended. Moreover, my aim is not to improve the design of particular maps or make them more accurate or ‘ethical’, as advocated by Harley (1991). Instead, the analysis aims to unpack the map’s constitutive power effects and to make it possible to reflect on the complex implications that maps have in shaping the conditions under which political discussions are held. As I argued above, the constitutive power of maps can be said to operate through cartographic truth-claiming, naturalisation, and materialisation. First, maps make cartographic truth-claims through their visual representation such as their use of a particular map projection, focal point, signs, and colours. For example, all map projections come with particular inclusions and exclusions since they always emphasize somewhere at the centre of the map and thereby make hierarchies in the map representation, either intentionally or unintentionally. I interpret and deconstruct these elements in the USGS maps inspired by the analysis of maps within critical cartography (see Harley, 1988, 1989; Wood & Fels, 1986, 2008; Wood, 1992, 2010). Here I consider the visual and textual content of the map itself and what it shows. This helps to illustrate how ‘facts’ are attributed to the maps by discourses and to disturb how maps are taken for granted. Second, the cartographic truth-claims are embedded in already existing dominant assumptions about the Arctic, for example, the ‘natural’ existence of petroleum resources. Thus, maps make use of cartographic naturalisation by reinforcing these assumptions as well as establishing new ones. Therefore, I continue the deconstruction of the maps by asking the following questions: What is the Arctic represented to be in the maps? What assumptions underlie this representation and what is silenced? Third, the cartographic naturalisation of a particular map representation can lead to the materialisation of the expectations about what is not yet real. Hence, to finalize the analysis, I build on the previous two steps of the analysis to uncover constitutive power effects, divided into discursive, subjectification, and lived effects following Bacchi’s (1999, 2009) WPR approach. Firstly, I look at how the map is informed by, reproduces, and naturalises assumptions and discourses about ‘the Arctic’. Secondly, I draw attention to the ways in which ‘subjects’ are constructed by the map representation and becoming specific kinds of ‘subjects’
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(Bacchi & Goodwin, 2016). Thirdly, I focus on the self-meaning-making that the maps pertain to people living in the Arctic and ask: How does a map of the Arctic and Arctic issues/problems benefit some people while potentially harm others? Together with the lived effects, I also scrutinise how map representations help materialise certain ideas and visions that get to dominate in the context of perceived Arctic futures. In what follows I present, interpret and deconstruct two USGS maps showing undiscovered oil and gas.
The USGS maps and the making of Arctic petroleum Among the many tasks of the United States Geological Survey (USGS) is the estimation of petroleum resources around the world. These estimations are often represented in maps. In 2008, the USGS presented a four-page fact sheet which, according to the USGS, was “the first publicly available petroleum resource estimate of the entire area north of the Arctic Circle”, accounting for almost 10 percent of the world’s known petroleum resources (USGS 2008, July 23, sec. 2, para.1). In this fact sheet, there are two maps showing the estimations of undiscovered oil and gas in the Arctic. The maps are based on existing geological knowledge without making any drilling tests. Hence, the maps make estimates about a ‘reality’ of petroleum resources in the Arctic and are good illustrative examples of how maps can make something ‘real’ that which is actually ‘not yet’ (Corner, 1999). This, for example, represents potential energy security stakes in the Arctic. Bennett (2016: 266) argues that the USGS’ appraisal of Arctic petroleum follows a proliferation of geological surveys in the Arctic that can be interpreted as a return to a “mapping mania” expressed in actors’ pursuit of natural resources. Maps can in turn give rise to expectations about future oil and gas discoveries in the Arctic and the economic wealth that they might bring to states, private businesses, and local inhabitants. Moreover, the USGS, and in particular the fact sheet from 2008 containing the two maps, is commonly referenced when politicians, academics, and others refer to the potentials of finding oil and gas in the Arctic region. Therefore, I analyse the USGS maps (Figures 1 and 2 below) as examples of maps that represent statistical estimations of petroleum and where they are found, naturalising and materialising the prospects of finding oil and gas which has constitutive consequences for how the future in the Arctic is thought of.
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Figure 1. The USGS map of undiscovered oil (USGS, 2008: 3)
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Figure 2. The USGS map of undiscovered gas (USGS, 2008: 2-3). Modified to fit the page by the author.
Underlying assumptions about nature and natural resources The USGS maps use a map projection centered on the Arctic Ocean and the North Pole as seemingly seen ‘from above’ without mentioning either by name. During the 1930s to 1950s, maps using polar projections became popular as the world was at on the dawn of air-age globalism (Barney, 2018), reflecting the merging (American) “airman’s view” of the world (Henrikson, 1979:
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174). Compared to maps using the common Mercator projection, where the Arctic becomes a large, stretched out area ‘on top of the world’ with the continents lined up beside each other, the polar map projection shows the close proximity between the northern parts of Europe, Canada, the USA and Russia across the North Pole. In particular, during the Cold War it pointed out the strategic position of the Arctic region and the closeness to the Soviet Union for American audiences. Thus, Boria (2015) argues that the use of polar projections has contributed to a new planetary consciousness about cartography both among scholars and the general public in America. The polar projection in the USGS maps highlights that the geopolitical interests in the Arctic region are shared among powerful states and that Arctic petroleum is a contested resource. Moreover, centered on the North Pole, the Arctic becomes connectd region and the Arctic Ocean a ‘whole ocean’ rather than an elongated, disconnected ocean. Together with the absence of other petroleum regions in the world, this contributes to emphasize the centrality of the Arctic and its petroleum potentials. Furthermore, by showing the estimated quantities of oil (green) and gas (red), the USGS maps reshape the Arctic from an unexpected place to a calculable place (Albert & Vasilache, 2018). This helps constitute Arctic petroleum as ‘real’, discoverable, and ownable (Harley, 1988). Moreover, the green and red colours only appear within the Arctic Circle, while the areas that stretch beyond the circle become grey or white. Thus, by making oil and gas ‘exclusive’ within the Arctic Circle, the USGS maps can be said to naturalise assumptions about the Arctic as a place of petroleum resources. Through the making of truth-claims about undiscovered oil and undiscovered gas, the USGS maps enable and materialise expectations about the availability of petroleum resources in the Arctic. Meanwhile, since the USGS maps represent no variations between land and sea, or in the sea and seabed, they silence any obstacles to the possible discovery of oil and gas. Similar to other USGS inventories that frequently centre on the potential availability of natural resources, nature becomes a site that may be dug up, gathered, or harvested. Although they are geological maps, which their main purpose is to show geological occurrences, the USGS unintentionally make a powerful representation of how to view the Arctic and what is important in this region. Silencing peoples and politics By not representing any human settlements and infrastructure - the peoples who live in the Arctic - the USGS maps make it possible to ignore political issues relating to large-scale oil and gas exploitation or environmental concerns, as well as local peoples’ rights to resources. By silencing nation states as well as local peoples and their concerns about resource exploration and exploitation, the USGS maps contribute to the displacement of any Arctic political authorities such as governments, both national and local, as well as any conflict over the natural resources. This also makes it possible for the USGS maps to enable thinking about the coloured green and red areas as being ‘up for grabs’, simply waiting to be discovered by aspirational actors. Furthermore, since oil and gas are non-renewable resources, their continued extraction and usage depend on the availability of more geographical areas to extract from. Hence, the USGS maps play a part in raising expectations among states, investors, and energy companies about the presumed discoverable oil and gas resources within the Arctic Circle. Moreover, the dissocialised and static representation of the undiscovered oil and gas resources in the USGS maps are in line with Harley’s (1992) argument surrounding the anticipatory use of maps. According to Harley (1992: 532), making maps that project an anticipatory territory was the first Gonzales Lindberg
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step in appropriating space from a distance and, in so doing also, choreographing colonial expansions. In the same way as the Americas had to be invented and integrated into the European consciousness through maps before they could be colonized, Arctic oil and gas are being creatively mediated as discoverable through the USGS maps, even before their proven discovery. Materialising petroleum expectations The USGS maps can contribute to raising expectations about a profitable economic development that might arise from extraction of oil and gas. These petroleum expectations can have material effects as well. For example, expectations can rise regarding foreign investments and potential workplaces when estimations are made about the potential for extracting petroleum (Weszkalnys, 2015). The significance given to the estimation of potential oil and gas findings can drive expectations about a future in which Arctic communities embark on capital-intensive petroleum developments as the preferred development path. This also raises expectations in some of the Arctic states, such as Canada and Norway, to continue the production, sale and/or consumption of oil and gas energy resources despite the dangers of climate change to human wellbeing in the region (Gjørv, 2017). Furthermore, by simply naming and mapping potential ‘Undiscovered oil’ and ‘Undiscovered gas’, these resources become extracted from their natural subsoil texture and fed into human dreams about wealth and power, with little connection to the immediate natural reality of these resources (Žižek, 2008 in Jonsson, 2014). Thus, Jönsson (2014) argues that in the context of the politics of expectations and the role of experts and expert knowledge (such as maps), any prospects and promises of future resource discoveries affect future visions and ambitions. For example, Weszkalnys’ (2015) empirical study of Sao Tomé and Príncipe, an island country in the Gulf of Guinea, shows that entire populations may be left in a state of expectation while oil is being explored at a massive expense and with uncertain results. This state of expectation may last for a long time as the extraction of petroleum depends both on the geological conditions and the price on the market. Hence, the USGS maps may materialise petroleum expectations and draw investments and resources into fulfilling this expectation, while it may never actually materialise. The USGS maps have been made to show the estimated petroleum that could be found in the Arctic. Their focus is of course therefore primarily on petroleum. It is this selection of what to include and what to exclude in the map’s representation that legitimates the need for a map (Wood, 1992). Through its selection and focus on something at the expense of something else, the map distinguishes itself from the world it represents. Thus, if a map shows everything, we would not have any use for it. However, this unavoidable need for selection and therefore exclusion does not mean that a map is always politically manipulated. Although map manipulation has and does occur, nevertheless, my focus is not on such deliberate political interventions in maps, nor on how truthful or factual a map is. Instead, my contribution lies in theorising the constitutive power of maps and the unintended effects of their usage and reproduction. While I acknowledge that some maps, such as geological or topographical maps, may be more objective than others, the theoretical argument here focuses on the deep-seated assumptions that underlie the map selection process. Such assumptions relate to, for example, what to include/exclude in a map representation according to what is found to be relevant/irrelevant or how to represent places and issues in particular colours or symbols according to a hierarchy of assumed significance. Hence, it is the visuality in the map that makes the assumptions embedded consciously or unconsciously into the map representation that contributes to maps’ constitutive effects, such as the power to shape ideas about what can be.
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Through my interpretation and deconstruction of the USGS maps I have suggested that the USGS maps materialise the construction of the Arctic as a place harbouring undiscovered oil and gas resources: the two maps highlight the availability of undiscovered oil and gas as the main features within the Arctic Circle. Overall, the USGS maps make truth-claims about estimations of the potential quantities and geographical locations of ‘yet-to-be’ discovered oil and gas resources, while at the same time encouraging the pursuit of these petroleum resources. Thus, the maps in question are good examples of how seemingly unbiased, neutral expert knowledge mediated in maps can raise expectations about the future of a particular region and limit the range of ideas and future visions of that space. Such mapping practices can impede upon alternative visions of the Arctic future by focussing mainly on the exploitation of non-renewable natural resources, rather than investing in existing or emerging social and creative resources.
Concluding remarks This study of the power of maps shows how the Arctic is constituted through discursive practices and visual representations embedded in maps. The empirical analysis has shown how the USGS maps contribute to the materialisation of oil and gas by simply visually constituting their existence, raising expectations about petroleum resources that might be discovered in the Arctic. More specifically, I offer two conclusions: 1) The USGS maps give rise to an understanding of the Arctic as a place of petroleum resources upon which the political visions about oil and gas exploitation are directed and legitimated; and 2) The Arctic and any possible oil and gas discoverable are represented in the USGS maps as seemingly ‘up for grabs’ by interested parties, including nonArctic states and businesses. Thus, the constitutive power of the USGS maps lies in its cartographic materialisation of undiscovered petroleum together with their disregard for the politics surrounding any petroleum exploration and exploitation. While this disregard is to be expected from geological maps in general, I find the visual representation in the USGS maps to shape assumptions and create particular points of departure from which the Arctic is understood and upon which political choices are made. Importantly, my critique has not been about falsifying the USGS maps or questioning the intention of the geological survey, but rather to emphasise the underlying assumptions that inform how these maps depict ‘the Arctic’. I have shown that maps tend to reinforce and reproduce prevalent dominant discourses and argue that there is a need to recognise that all maps are constituted by politics as well as having the possibility of constituting politics, including geological maps. Hence, the tendency to use maps to create allegedly objective scientific certainties needs to be constantly questioned to achieve a fuller picture of the functions and powers of maps. This is perhaps particularly important in the Arctic region where many important decisions are made by people outside the region itself. Therefore, instead of arguing for abolishing the use of maps to convey information, I advocate the making and use of various types of maps that highlight different map projections, focal points, cardinal directions, symbols, colours, and languages, as well as the issues represented. This involves calling for a wider and more diverse inclusion of maps, including those made by local and indigenous peoples, when trying to understand commonplace ideas about the Arctic, opening up the thinking space, which in turn could enable the reconceptualization of alternative futures for the Arctic.
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References Albert, M. & Vasilache, A. (2018). Governmentality of the Arctic as an international region. Cooperation and Conflict, 53 (1), 3-22 Bacchi, C. L. (1999). Women, Policy and Politics. The Construction of Policy Problems. London: Sage Bacchi, C. L. (2009). Analysing policy: What’s the problem represented to be? Frenchs Forest, NSW: Pearson Education. Bacchi, C. L. (2012). Why Study Problematizations? Making Politics Visible. Open Journal of Political Science, 2 (1), 1-8 Bacchi, C. L. & Goodwin, S. (2016). Poststructural Policy Analysis: A Guide to Practice. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan Barney, K. (2009). Laos and the making of a ‘relational’ resource frontier. The Geographical Journal, 175 (2), 146-159 Barney, T. (2018). Cartographies of war and peace. Chapter 13 in Kent, A. J. and Vujakovic, P. (Eds.), The Routledge Handbook of Mapping and Cartography (173-184).Oxon; New York: Routledge Bennett, M. M. (2016). Discursive, material, vertical, and extensive dimensions of post-Cold War Arctic resource extraction. Polar Geography, 39 (4), 258-273 Bennett, M. M., Greaves, W., Riedelsperger, R., & Botella, A. (2016). Articulating the Arctic: contrasting state and Inuit maps of the Canadian north. Polar Record, 52 (267), 630-644 Bleiker, R. (2015). Pluralist Methods for Visual Global Politics. Millennium: Journal of International Studies, 43(3), 872-890 Borgerson, S. (2008). Arctic Meltdown: The Economic and Security Implications of Global Warming. Foreign Affairs, 87(2), 63-77 Borgerson, S. (2013). The Coming Arctic Boom: As the Ice Melts, the Region Heats Up. Foreign Affairs, 92 (4), 76-89 Boria, E. (2015). Representing the Politics of Borders: Unorthodox Maps in Reclus, Mackinder and Others. Geopolitics, 20 (1), 142-170 Branch, J. (2014). The Cartographic State. Maps, Territory, and the Origins of Sovereignty. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press Butler, J. (1993). Bodies that Matter. London: Routledge Corner, J. (1999). The Agency of Mapping: Speculation, Critique and Invention. Chapter 10 in Cosgrove, D. E. (Ed.), Mappings (213-252). London: Reaction Books Crampton, J. W. (1994). Cartography's Defining Moment: The Peters Projection Controversy, 1974-1990. Cartographica, 31 (4), 16-32 Dodds, K. (2010). Flag planting and finger pointing: The Law of the Sea, the Arctic and the political geographies of the outer continental shelf. Political Geography, 29 (2), 63-73 Ferguson, K. (1996). Unmapping and remapping the world. Chapter 6 in Shapiro, M. J. & Alker, H. R. (Eds.), Challenging Boundaries (165-191). Minneapolis; London: University of Minnesota Press Gjørv, G. H. (2017). Tensions Between Environmental, Economic and Energy Security in the Arctic. Chapter 4 in Fondahl, G. & Wilson, G.N. (Eds.), Northern Sustainabilities: Understanding and Addressing Change in the Circumpolar World (35-46). Cham: Springer The power of maps in shaping visions about the Arctic
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Harley, J. B. (1988). Silences and Secrecy: The Hidden Agenda of Cartography in Early Modern Europe. Imago Mundi, 40 (1988), 57-76 Harley, J. B. (1989). Deconstructing the map. Cartographica, 26 (2), 1-20 Harley, J. B. (1991). Can there be a cartographic ethics? Commentary. Cartographic perspectives, 10 (1), 9-16 Harley, J. B. (1992). Rereading the Maps of the Columbian Encounter. Annals of the Association of American Geographers, 82 (3), 522-542 Henriksson, A. K. (1979). All the World’s a Map. The Wilson Quarterly, 3 (2), 164-177. Jönsson, E. (2014). Contested expectations: Trump International Golf Links Scotland, polarised visions, and the making of the Menie Estate landscape as resource. Geoforum, 52 (March 2014), 226-235 Lemay-Hébert, N. (2018). Living in the yellow zone: The political geography of intervention in Haiti. Political Geography, 67 (1), 88-99 Lindberg, H. G. (2019). The constitutive power of maps in the Arctic. Lund University Monmonier, M. (1996). How to Lie with Maps. Second Edition. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press Neumann, I. B., & Nexon, D. H. (2006). Introduction: Harry Potter and the Study of World Politics. In Nexon, D. H., & Neumann, I. B. (Eds.), Harry Potter and International Relations (1-23). Oxford: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers Olin, R. (Host). (2019, September 7). Maktspelet i Arktis /The power game in the Arctic [Documentary]. In Melén, J. (Producer), Konflikt. Stockholm: Sverige Radio/Swedish Public Service. Quotation from min. 25:10-25:23. Retrieved from https://sverigesradio.se/avsnitt/1354554 Shapiro, M. J. (1988). The Politics of Representation. Writing Practices in Biography, Photography, and Policy Analysis. Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press Shapiro, M. J. (1989). Textualizing Global Politics. Chapter 2 in Der Derian, J. & Shapiro, M. J. (Eds.), International/Intertextual Relations. Postmodern Readings of World Politics (11-22). Lanham, MD: Lexington Books Steinberg, P. E., Tasch, J. & Gerhardt, H. (2015). Contesting the Arctic: Politics and Imaginaries in the Circumpolar North. London: I. B. Tauris. Strandsbjerg, J. (2012). Cartopolitics, Geopolitics and Boundaries in the Arctic. Geopolitics, 17 (4), 818-842 USGS (2008). Circum-Arctic Resource Appraisal: Estimates of Undiscovered Oil and Gas North of the Arctic Circle. USGS Fact Sheet 2008-3039. By USGS Circum-Arctic Resource Appraisal (CARA) Assessment Team: Bird, K. J., Charpentier, R. R., Gautier, D. L., Houseknecht, D. W., Klett, T. R., Pitman, J. K., Moore, T. E., Schenk, C. J., Tennyson, M. E. & Wandrey, C. J. 4 pages. Retrieved from https://pubs.er.usgs.gov/publication/fs20083049 USGS (2008, July 23). 90 Billion Barrels of Oil and 1,670 Trillion Cubic Feet of Natural Gas Assessed in the Arctic [Press release]. Retrieved from https://archive.usgs.gov/archive/sites/www.usgs.gov/newsroom/article.aspID=1980.html Weszkalnys, G. (2015). Geology, potentiality, speculation: On the Indeterminacy of First Oil. Cultural Anthropology, 30 (4), 611-639 Gonzales Lindberg
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Wood, D. (1992). The Power of Maps. New York: The Guilford Press Wood, D. (2010). Rethinking the Power of Maps. With John Fels & John Krygier. New York: The Guilford Press Wood, D. & Fels, J. (1986). Designs and Signs / Myth and Meaning in Maps. Cartographica, 23 (3), 54-103 Wood, D. & Fels, J. (2008). The Natures of Maps. Cartographic Constructions in the Natural World. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press
The power of maps in shaping visions about the Arctic
Section VI: Art & Culture in Identity
Introduction to Section VI: Art & Culture Special Guest Editor Robert P. Wheelersburg
An astonishing aspect of the now blossoming interest in Arctic research is how much public attention the environmental changes associated with global warming are receiving but how little emphasis is placed on how those physical processes are influencing cultural change in the region. While Arctic politicians and mass media outlets comment on how rapidly the North is being altered physically, it is important for scholars to help people understand how much culture is evolving in the Arctic for both Indigenous and introduced (i.e., settler) residents. Toward that end, this section’s contributions use art, most produced by Arctic dwellers themselves, and analysis of traditional behaviors to examine the region’s cultural diversity and richness. As Arctic social science and humanities researchers, all of us should strive to illustrate the region’s tremendous cultural diversity, for both Indigenous and settler residents living there. That is not so easy given that both scholarly and popular writings over the past hundred years have portrayed Arctic peoples as monolithic cultures, covering large swaths of the Circumpolar region, remaining static and unchanging over time. Yet without living informants, the variation in cultural behaviors such as language for prehistoric populations cannot be determined as can living Arctic peoples today. For example, the Sámi inhabiting their homeland from Norway to Russia historically possessed ten different dialects that were mutually unintelligible, while the Inuit people stretching from Greenland to Alaska contains twelve such dialects. Today, however, Arctic scholars are challenging a theoretical framework that has lasted a century: the Culture Area Concept (Wissler 1927). While Culture Area helped early ethnologists organize an incredible number of seemingly unrelated Indigenous peoples into meaningful groupings to help understand them, the concept often put together very disparate groups. While perhaps this was a good start in the early days of ethnology, modern scholarly work in the Arctic should address cultural diversity both between pan-Arctic peoples (e.g., Eskimo-Aleut language speakers) and within specific Arctic peoples (e.g., Komi). Popular media has misrepresented Arctic peoples as uniform cultures for a long time, which may be even more damaging to the public’s perception of the region than scholarly writing because it reaches many more readers. At the beginning of the 20th century, the Arctic remained a foreboding Robert P. Wheelersburg is a two-time Fulbright Scholar at the University of Umeå, Sweden and a former National Science Foundation – Fulbright Arctic Scholar at the University of Iceland. He was Professor of Anthropology (retired) in the Social Science Department at Elizabethtown College.
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place, considered so desolate and insurmountable that Canada’s official defense policy did not believe its northern regions were subject to invasion by a foreign country from over the pole. Only one century ago the second Ziegler Polar Expedition failed, although all but one member was rescued. That result was very different than the many previous attempts to reach the North Pole by boat, dog sled, or hot air balloon where few, if any, journey members survived. Still, the adventure of conquering the pole resulted in popular writings and paintings that brought the remote region home to the southern public. The Admiral Peary expedition to the North Pole in 1909 captured the world’s attention as publications including newspapers and National Geographic printed everything they could about the journey and the Arctic. The National Geographic Society, through its flagship magazine and other publications, created a stereotype of “Eskimo” culture as uniform and static by reprinting for nearly seventy years photographs of “Polar Eskimos” (Inughuit) accompanying Peary. That stereotype permeated primary and secondary schools through the Society’s widely used Geographic School Bulletin (1919 – 1975). As teachers portrayed Inuit in their classes using the National Geographic Society representations, well into the 21st century American college students uniformly depicted specific elements of the Polar Inuit such as igloos and dog sleds when asked to draw an “Eskimo” scene (Wheelersburg 2016). Later, the National Geographic Society attempted to exhibit the diversity of Arctic indigenous cultures in the 20th century through articles and cartography, especially with its Peoples of the Arctic issue and map insert (Judge, 1983). Over a century after the Peary Expedition, the opening of the Arctic through such communication corridors as the Transpolar Route will allow mass tourism into the region. One aspect of the open Arctic that may shock visitors is the variety of peoples who live there, from Indigenous to settler, rural to urban, immigrant to founder (e.g., Muslim asylum seekers and Icelanders). Yet Arctic peoples, especially Indigenous communities, want to respond to environmental change in a dynamic fashion (as they have always done) and not be thought of as merely static entities. An example would be tourists who visit Sápmi, desiring to see people riding in reindeer sleighs (akkja) and wearing traditional clothing (gákti) rather than using helicopters and plastic lassos and wearing Fjällräven coats to herd reindeer (Figures 1 and 2). Today, Arctic residents’ dual nature as traditional and modern creates a tension in how southern dwellers view the region’s communities. As stated in 1998, We all want to keep developing in the coming century. For the people in the Arctic … the need for growing modernization has become a need that cannot be stopped or reversed. We cannot move backwards and stop using our modern technology, even though there are some romantic movements around the world that would like us to do so. [Such movements] want us to be living museums to please their bad conscience over their mistreatment of nature in their own parts of the world. -Jonathan Motzfeldt (1998) The quote above from former Greenlandic Prime Minister Motzfeldt at the Polartech Conference in Nuuk, Greenland, shows the tension between Indigenous peoples protecting their traditional way of life while at the same time wanting outsiders to regard them as modern peoples, fully capable of governing themselves, as in autonomous regions. The first step toward understanding Arctic residents, Indigenous and settler, is to record where these various groups live and the
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territories which they control through mapping that includes documenting both their traditional and modern behaviors. Using various visual art genres, Timo Jokela and his co-authors illustrate the way that humans interact with the environment in the Circumpolar region. A similar perspective is shared by Katri Konttinen. Unlike photographs and paintings from a century ago, which portrayed the desolate and empty character of the High Arctic, today’s modern artists show the vibrant and interactive nature of landscape consisting of snow/ice, wildlife, and humans. These images bring the Arctic to life and accurately reflect the interactions between humans and their environment. Dzhuliiana Semenova takes Arctic representation further to facilitate artistic expression of the region by Indigenous people themselves. For the vast majority of past studies of the Arctic, ethnographers and other scientists and explorers from the south created the portrayals of the Arctic with their bias as visitors. Portrayals produced by the residents themselves allow more precise cultural images of the Arctic from the perspective of life-long residents. Krister Stoor presents an intriguing aspect of Sámi traditional behavior when he describes the genre of a capella yoik as a form of time travel, which allows performers to experience the time when the songs were created. By performing the traditional music, descendants and others can visit their ancestors’ earlier periods to understand their shared past. Since yoik can never be taken out of its original context, contemporary Sámi learn about how their elders related to other people, animals, and places in their northern homes through its performance. Tatiana Zhigaltsova’s article uses an innovative approach to understand Arctic urban residents’ feelings about where they live by analyzing schoolchildren’s drawings. Seeking to interpret how young people view their cities on both sides of the Norwegian-Russian Border on the Kola Peninsula, the children’s artwork presents a picture of how attached people are to their homes, and how that attachment (or lack thereof) relates to their tendency to migrate out of the region or to remain where they were born. Karolina Sikora and Maria Fedina submit a piece that refines our understanding of a specific Russian Arctic people, the Izvatas, whom many consider part of the Komi. The authors maintain that the traditional festival of the Lud serves to assert the local identity of the Izvatas Indigenous community as distinct from the Komi, further supported by having their own dialect, homeland, economy, and other cultural traits. Understanding such distinctiveness is critical in establishing indigenous rights when governments combine various communities into larger categories like the Small Peoples of the North. Importantly, today’s Arctic has undergone a diaspora during the past century. Approximately a third of Greenlandic Inuit live in Denmark proper, while less than 10% of Sámi in Norway live in Sápmi and herd reindeer. Yet Arctic peoples tie themselves together by sharing traditional resources (e.g., sea mammal or reindeer meat) along family lines. They also participate in rituals and festivals to reinforce their common cultural bonds, allowing members to reestablish their kin and cultural ties to remain part of their communities; especially for those living away from the homeland in Stockholm or Ottawa. Engaging in traditional behaviors including art, music, and festivals, provides common experiences to reinforce the differences between those participating from within the community and those of other related groups who do not belong.
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The editors hope that these contributions continue the process of presenting the diversity of today’s Arctic cultures, bringing the dynamic and changing Arctic to life for the readers.
Figure 1. Tourist activity at Jokkmokk Sámi Market 1986 with Sámi in traditional clothing (gákti) driving sleds (akkja) in a reindeer caravan (Photo: Susan Wheelersburg).
Figure 2. Sámi herder wearing a baseball cap, rain jacket, and plastic lasso during the fall 1994 herd separation in Västerbotten Province, Sweden (Photo: Robert Wheelersburg).
References Judge, Joseph (1983). Peoples of the Arctic, National Geographic, 163(2), 144-149, with map supplement. Washington, D.C. Wheelersburg, Robert P. 2016. “National Geographic Magazine and the Eskimo Stereotype: A photographic analysis, 1949 – 1990.” Polar Geography, Vol. 40, No 1, pp. 35 - 58. Wissler, Clark (1927). The Culture-Area Concept in Social Anthropology. American Journal of Sociology, Volume XXXII, May 1927, Number 6, pp. 881 – 891.
Introduction to Section VI
Mapping New Genre Arctic Art
Timo Jokela, Maria Huhmarniemi, Ruth Beer & Anna Soloviova
The article presents the concept of new genre Arctic art and examples of contemporary art, performances and media productions covering Arctic themes such as resource politics, nature conservation and sustainability. Examples are selected from Norway, Finland, Canada and Russia. The term new genre Arctic art is based on concept of new genre public art introduced by the artist-writer Suzanne Lacy in 1900s to define socially engaged and socio-political public art that involved participatory aesthetics. To some extent, new genre Arctic art follows the strategies of socially and environmentally engaged art in line with international contemporary art. Anyhow, in this article we focus on explaining how new genre Arctic art promotes cultural continuity and pride and possess the agency to hold and revitalise Indigenous and northern knowledge. The selected cases show how artists can empower community members and participants of performances in participation in discussion on resource politics and nature conversation.
Introduction Curator Julie Decker (2012: 7) wrote: Twentieth century artists primarily based their interpretation of the North on the Landscape. They saw the painted landscape as viewed from one spot, presenting not just material topography but also intensively visual ideas in contrast to the art of place, which brings the viewer inside. These pieces were passive and observational, and made use of calm detachment, which is familiar in Romantic imaginary. The North and the Arctic are meanings in art that form regional and national identifications, while the diverse and complex meanings of the North — “Nordicity”, “Northerness”, and “Arcticness”— are a common concern in research on Arctic arts and design (Beaulé & Coninck, 2018; Chartier, 2007; Kalha, 2019). In contemporary art, the Arctic landscape is still essential, but today it occurs in videos and photographs, offers material for installations and environmental art and takes place in performances. Today, many contemporary artists and designers from the Arctic use and transform traditions related to Arctic landscapes with the help of modern technologies and are showing their work in international art exhibitions and design expositions, while others work with environmental and societal issues through art. In this article, we draw attention to Timo Jokela and Maria Huhmarniemi are with the University of Lapland (Finland), Ruth Beer is with Emily Carr University (Canada), and Anna Soloviova is with the Northern Arctic Federal University (Russia).
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common grounds of Indigenous and non-Indigenous art being socially and environmentally engaged and tackle a number of heated discussions, such as natural resource extraction and the identity of Arctic people. We discuss contemporary art, performances and media productions covering Arctic themes and sustainability. The concept of Arctic arts was introduced in research by the Arctic Sustainable Arts and Design (ASAD) network at the University of the Arctic (Jokela & Coutts, 2018) and clarified in discussions of the Arctic Arts Summit 2019 (Huhmarniemi & Jokela, 2020a, 2020b). In this article, we frame the concept of new genre Arctic art to define and describe contemporary artistic interventions, public art and performances that include activism and engagement with actual issues. The term has its roots in the concept of new genre public art that was coined by the artist, writer and educator Suzanne Lacy in 1995 to define a type of public art that was not a typical sculpture situated in a park or a square but a socially engaged, political and aesthetical interaction in some specific community. The definition was first used in a public performance at the San Francisco Museum of Art and later in Lacy’s (1995) book Mapping the Terrain: New Genre Public Art. Lacy defined new genre public art as being activist; it was often created outside the institutional structure that brought the artist into direct engagement with the audience and addressed social and political issues. In the 1990s in the USA, common themes included poverty, racism and equality, and later, environmental issues such as climate change. By using the concept of new genre Arctic art, we are interested in pondering how Arctic art can possess the agency to hold and revitalise Indigenous and northern knowledge, foster cultural resilience (Sakakibara, 2017) and sustainability, promote the importance of cultural politics in decision making and participate in discussion on resource politics and nature conservation. Art productions that are engaged with social, political and environmental issues in ways that connect art, land, community and tradition are selected for discussion from Canada, Finland, Norway and Russia. With this article, we continue the research on environmental and cultural politics through Arctic arts discussed earlier by, for example, Beer and Chaisson (2019), Beer and Grauer (2012) and Huhmarniemi (2016, 2019, 2021a, 2021b). In this article, we present and discuss some selected Indigenous and non-Indigenous art in the Arctic. There are over 40 different ethnic groups living in the Arctic from which this article includes First Nation art and Inuit art from Canada, Sámi art from circumpolar areas of Finland and Norway and the Nenets art from North-Western Russia. In the whole Arctic region the proportion of Indigenous people is estimated to be about 10% of the total population. For example, in Lapland in Finland, there are only a few Sámi artists living and working in the region, but about 130 non-Sámi Finnish artists. To emphasize the diversity of Arctic art practices, there are joint exhibition productions that present both Indigenous and non-Indigenous Arctic artists side by side (Huhmarniemi & Jokela, 2020a). Meanwhile, issues on Arctic sustainability, such as the climate crisis, loss of biodiversity and rich cultural heritage, affect the social life, well-being and cultures of people living in the region despite their ethnicity, and call artists awareness and reflection. This article is connected to the objectives and collaboration of the ASAD network. Besides the artistic interventions and jointly produced exhibitions, ASAD members conduct studies in which the improvement of northern and Arctic activities in the field of art and design are reviewed and critically reflected upon from theoretical perspectives (Jokela & Coutts, 2018). These processes
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also include comparative studies with the aim of clarifying the concepts used and fostering research collaboration between ASAD members. This article is one of these joint research efforts to better understand and describe the political dimension of Arctic art and describe the shift from art as objects into socially and environmentally engaged interventions.
Contemporary place-based and socially engaged art practices in Canada’s North Canada, and specifically the Canadian North, is often portrayed through a colonial lens; artist Lawren Harris (1885–1970), who was a part of Canada’s “The Group of Seven” painters, was famous for depicting the North in this way: rendering the skies as wide and clear, the foreground as a blanket of unscathed snow, the mountain ranges as triumphant and unblemished, and the landscape as generally void of human presence. Rather than Harris’ shallow depiction of place, contemporary artists in Canada’s North are being recognised nationally and internationally for their work, which is socially engaged, embedded in community, and concerned with local and global ecology. Reflecting lived experiences, many contemporary artists in the North acknowledge the need to build strong human/non-human relationships to address the effects of resource extraction and the very real threat of climate change. Responding to these issues, the artworks in the region frequently incorporate traditional practices like hunting, heritage skills such as beadwork, and community collaboration as methodologies of resilience, renewal and activism. Jeneen Frei Njootli, Maureen Gruben and the youth-empowered collective Embassy of Imagination run by artist duo PA (Alexa Hatanaka and Patrick Thompson) are examples of Canadian Arctic artists involved in artistic practices that are engaged with social, political, and environmental issues in ways that connect art, land, community and tradition. In their 2017 video work, Being Skidoo, interdisciplinary artist Jeneen Frei Njootli, from Vuntut Gwitchin First Nation, northern Yukon, responds to the current threat of colonial exploitation, particularly the proposed oil drilling that may disrupt the region’s caribou calving grounds (Figure 1). Instead of using filmic techniques that irresponsibly present the landscape as unflawed and at a distance like in Harris’s paintings, she implements drone footage, a disorienting long focal length, and an ambient soundscape of small motors while moving within the northern terrain (Willard, 2017: 23). The project also centralises traditional ski-dog blankets made with caribou hide and beadwork that were once designed and constructed by community members and passed over as gifts to elders and others. Through careful research in collaboration with cultural consultant and family member Shirlee Frost, Frei Njootli adapted several ski-dog blankets to embellish the front end of snowmobiles. As gift-giving is an honoured practice in Gwitchin culture, the skidog/skidoo blankets participate in this act of circulation, as they are made collectively through the sharing of traditional knowledge and will shared in the community (Willard, 2017).
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Figure 1. Jeneen Frei Njootli, Being Skidoo, 2017, Exhibition view, Galerie de l’UQAM, Montréal, 2019. Photo credit: Jean-Michael Seminaro© MOMENTA | Biennale de l’image and Galerie de l’UQAM.
As artists like Frei Njootli expose and negate the colonial gaze of the North, others work to heal and prosper through postcolonial (Burnham, 2018) artistic strategies. One such artist is Maureen Gruben, who lives and works in Tuktoyaktuk, Northwest Territories. Gruben’s artistic practice includes Stitching My Landscape, 2017 (Figure 2), a work of land art and corresponding film created at the Pingo Canadian National Landmark, and named after ice-cored conical hills called “pingos” (Willard, 2017).
Figure 2. Maureen Gruben, Stitching My Landscape (still), 2017, 6:10. Commissioned by Partners in Art for LandMarks2017/Repères2017.
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Inspired by a memory of her brother harvesting a seal and seeing its bright red gut laying taut across the ice, Gruben and members of the Tuktoyaktuk community, including local youth, wove 1,000 feet of scarlet-red material through 111 ice-fishing holes they drilled into the surface of the ice (Willard, 2017). The woven material formed a zig-zagged line that can be seen as an act of weaving the earth back together—collectively—on account of the shared, lived experiences of colonial extractive pursuits and related environmental impacts. Another artistic practice from northern Canada that has resulted in postcolonial activism is Embassy of Imagination (EOI), a community-engaged art project developed by youth from Kinnagait, Nunavut, and PA System (artists Alexa Hatanaka and Patrick Thompson). From 2014– 2020, the group’s intent was to provide a creative outlet for local youth and to demonstrate how these creative efforts, which arose from a devastating incident in Kinnagait, could lead to a tangible result (CBC Arts, 2017). In 2015, Peter Pitseolak High School in Nunavut burnt to the ground. EOI turned this tragedy into a positive opportunity by recovering materials like copper and aluminium from the rubble and using it to cast 3D-printed snowmobiles based on much smaller Playdoh versions. Because the youth expressed great interest in learning from their elders about hunting and survival skills in the land—traditions that are less common today—EOI sold the sculptures and used the profits to purchase snowmobiles to support the learning and teaching endeavour. This socially engaged artistic initiative is an example of how Arctic art today often pursues the reclamation of land-based traditions and responds collectively to community needs.
Enviromentally, socially and politically engaged art in North-Scandinavia Art historian Tuija Hautala-Hirvioja (2011) has studied how Finnish artists depicted Lapland as a frontier until the 1920s. She describes the 1920s, 1930s and 1940s as the Lapponism, the golden years of landscape and tourism in Lapland. Anyhow, in this period, only a few Finnish artists depicted Sámi culture because the Sámi were thought to be primitive and not included as part of Finnish culture (Hautala-Hirvioja, 2011). At the same time, making visual arts in Western sense, such as painting, was not part of the nomadic Sámi culture. Some of the first Sámi visual artists were Johan Turi, Nils Nilsson Skum and John Savio, who worked as artists between the 1910s and the early 1950s, passed traditional knowledge on to new generations and introduced Sámi life and culture to non-Sámi people (Hautala-Hirvioja, 2014a). Since that time more and more Sámi have been educated as artists within Western frameworks of art making and participate Indigenous and Western art exhibition and other art events as professionals. In Norway, Sámi University of Applied Sciences educates Sámi artists based in Sámi language and knowledge. Many Sámi artists today apply similar artistic strategies, methods and approaches as artists internationally. Activistic performances, conceptual sculpting and site-specific art productions are implemented by Sámi artists similarly to others (Hansen, 2016). Themes that Sámi artists tackle include political and polarised discussions on the mining industry, cultural appropriation in tourism, and policy and politics impacting on Sámi culture (Hautala-Hirvioja, 2014b). For example, the artists’ collective Suohpanterror promotes such issues as colonialism, the right of the Sámi to self-determination and threats involved in the mining industry. Artworks deriving from Finnish Lapland are part of socially and environmentally engaged contemporary art that is opposing a plan for an iron ore mine next to Pallas-Yllästunturi National Park. An art-based action-research strategy was used to support the community oppressed by the
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environmental conflict. An artist-run community art event, Art Äkäslompolo, takes place in a small village in Lapland next to a national park with stunning Arctic nature. The art is engaged in opposing a plan for iron ore mining according to the wishes of locals in the village. The event was organised for the first time in the summer of 2017, with a vision to continue on an annual basis. Café entrepreneur and doll artist Lea Kaulanen operates as the hostess of the event. With the village residents, artists create environmental art and temporary installations on her land in a beautiful pine woodland area. The approach is rooted in new genre public art (Lacy, 1995, 2008) and place-based strategies in public art and community art education (Jokela, 2013; Hiltunen, 2010; Jokela & Huhmarniemi, 2021). One of the event’s contributors, Timo Jokela, studied the region’s stories, place names and maps. He discovered that several place names include the Sámi based word kueri, meaning ‘sea trout’, a fish with high cultural value that has suffered due to the forest industry and is at risk of being destroyed by the proposed mining industry. Jokela made a sculptural memorial, Kueri’s Journey (Figures 3–5), as an instance of new genre public art. While building the sculpture, he invited people from the village to talk with him about the river and fishing and to share knowledge of the local ecoculture. The discussions were recorded by video documentation and presented later as a video documentary telling the story of the migratory fish, the river and locals concerned about mining plans. The Kueri’s Journey is part of a series of artworks participating in environmental discussion in the Äkäslompolo and expanding the means of Arctic art to be place-bound and participatory.
Figures 3–5: Timo Jokela, Kueri’s Journey, 2018. Wood sculpture. Äkäslompolo. Photos by Santeri Happonen (on the left) and Maria Huhmarniemi, 2018.
Many Sámi artists in Finnish Lapland demand rights to continue ecocultures, such as fishing, even when traditions conflict with the protection of nature. An example of this is a video installation by Sámi artist Matti Aiko presented in the Art Äkäslompolo event in 2018 (Figures 6–7). He documented reindeer killed by wolverines in Lapland, and the video installation may increase sympathy for reindeer herders and hate towards wolves (Figure 6–7). Another example is the art project called The Moratorium Office, launched by Sámi artists and activists Niilas Holmberg, Outi Pieski, Jenni Laiti, and the art collective Suohpanterror in collaboration with the activist group Ellos Deatnu! (Long Live Teno River), which has fought against an agreement signed in 2016 by the Norwegian and Finnish governments to regulate the right to fish in the river. Sámi artists protest against regulations that, they argue, threaten Indigenous rights and the well-being of the Sámi (Danbolt, 2020).
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Figures 6–7. Matti Aikio, installation in the Art Äkäslompolo 2018. The photo on left by Maria Huhmarniemi, on right a still image from the work Crime Scene.
Many new genre Arctic art productions and artistic performances address politics and the battle between southern interest in natural resources and concern among locals in the Arctic. The Norwegian ensemble, The Northern Assembly, consisting of musician Amund Sjølie Sveen, dancer Liv Hanne Haugen and composer Erik Stifjell, has a carnivalistic performance titled Nordting (Figures 8–9). The performance stages a confrontation between growing cities in the south and the Arctic as a land of natural resources and exploitation. Audience members at the performance are invited to participate in a series of polls that increase awareness of Arctic geography, cultures and political and economic power structures. As part of the performance, the participants vote for the independence of the North.
Figures 8–9: Nordting and audience in the Arctic Arts Summit 2019. Photo on the left by Kaisa-Reetta Seppänen, on the right by Janne Jakola, 2019.
New public art sustains authentic communities of Northwestern Russia Artistic representations reflect the key meanings of the North and the Arctic, which have developed in Russian cultural history since the 18th century. Russian art constitutes its northern space as the multilayered aesthetic experience that emerges in the national metanarrative of “going farther north”. The images of the Russian North and the Arctic constitute the reservoir of ethnic (both Indigenous and non-Indigenous), gender, professional and religious symbols that articulate the place-based and participatory practice of a local northern identification. The Russian High North did not engage artistic interest before the mid-19th century. The artists of the late 19th century revealed the charming mysteriousness and infinite beauty of the Russian High North in the expeditions sponsored by the Russian entrepreneurs who invested in the area’s industrial development. K. Korovin, V. Serov, A. Borisov, V. Pereplechikov and A. Archipov Mapping New Genre Arctic Art
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created visual images of the Russian Arctic area as a pristine environment and an exotic locale (Atroshchenko, 2013). Both the rural Russian and the Nenets tundra landscape paintings reflected the romantic mood of nostalgia for “primitive” lifestyles in harmony with severe northern nature. The 20th century realistic art represented the Russian non-Indigenous and the Nenets Indigenous cultures of the High North in relation to their natural environment and “ethnographic” premodern past. In the Soviet culture the ethnic artefacts of the northern Russian and Nenets Indigenous communities institutionalized within art museums as preindustrial “folk” heritage generally opposed to the professional art domain. In the 21st century the Arkhangelsk region demonstrates all the key features of the northern Russian cultural space: a complex of architectural monuments, the historic look of cities and villages, rural folk crafts and traditions. The local art evaluation often reflects the hierarchies of classic genres and recreates the established center/periphery opposition. However, several creative projects have promoted the Arkhangelsk region as a democratic and multidimensional art space since the late 1990s. Their sustainability is based on the creative interaction of actors from different backgrounds with the local public. The International Street Theatre Festival, annually held in Arkhangelsk and Severodvinsk since 1990, expands the traditional theatre scene for open city spaces. During the festival week, the audience is involved in mass and multifaceted presentations, including a circus show, acrobat tricks, fire shows, pyrotechnic effects, brass and folklore music, dance, puppet shows, clownery and pantomime. The projects of place-specific applied arts held at the art residences Zvozland, TAF Oshevensk and Maryin Dom involve artists and communities in multidisciplinary dialogues about their northern identity and cultural heritage. Professional artists enter the art residences’ locations as participant observers of the Other’s cultural domain and recreate the authentic symbolism to constitute the global public meanings of the North. The new public art forms an alternative perspective when it unites local communities for temporary art-inspired activities, leaving traces in hearts and minds. The goal of the new public art creators is to participate with their audience in the definition and expression of their northern experiences rooted in everyday activities and place-based life stories. The Living Currents project represents how the new public art constructs an aesthetic space for public debates about northern Russian identity. Living Currents is a performance combining features of verbatim theatre and contact improvisation dance that was produced by curator Kristina Driagina, choreographer Nikolay Shetnev and director Eva Valieva. Living Currents was developed during the three sessions of “Laboratory of border movement”, organised in 2018 by the Arctic Art Institute (curator Ekaterina Sharova). The performance premiere occurred in November 2018 at the third Arctic Art Forum in Arkhangelsk (Figures 10–13).
Figures 10–12: Living Currents—2018, Photos by Silvia Shestakova (on the right), Kristina Pivovarova.
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Figure 13: Living Currents poster (by Karen Kostaniyan).
The performance plot is based on interviews that 100 Arkhangelsk residents gave to the “Laboratory of border movement” participants. The respondents talked about their personal impressions of the North and shared their “northern” life stories and memories. The curators detected in the interviews the key northern symbols that contain the grassroot attitudes to the North rooted in everyday practices of the locals. Later, professional dancers and actors had to represent the key interview narratives in both oral and body improvisation on scene. The performance structure was crystallised in the dialogue between curators, actors, dancers, video artists (Sergey Shigaltsov) and musicians (Dmitry Shlep) about their interpretations of the interviews’ “northern narratives”. In the beginning, the performance rhythm reflects the chthonic forces of northern nature: snow, storm, frost, river, sea, forest and sky. The actors whisper the Russian words “sneg”, “veter”, “liyod” and “reka”. They make a snowstorm “sound” both orally and bodily. “Cold” materialises in the actors’ movements when they massage their arms and legs or touch an imaginary stove wall to warm themselves. The dance embodies the harsh northern living conditions to illustrate that survival is not a challenge but the virtue of northern personality. Movement is the northern worldview as it protects residents from freezing and death. The Northern Dvina River communicates the past and the future for both local communities and personal histories. White summer nights bring all the Arkhangelsk residents to the river embankment, while midnight sunshine could blur their social boundaries for freedom, warmth and commonality. The actors perform the song “White night at the polar circle and skies play jazz” to remember the jazz and the street theatres’ festivals held in Arkhangelsk each summer. Suddenly, the performance emotions shift to anxiety and even anger. The actors read the recent demographic, economic and ecological statistics with iron cold voices and declare that “The North is not for people”. The pantomime demonstrates how the majority rejects outsiders and how a community misses each northerner who migrates from the homeland. The actors ask, “How can a northern child live here if the North is not for people?” In 2018, this performance’s message resonated with the ecological protests against a garbage polygon construction in Shies (a territory on the border of the Arkhangelsk region and Komi republic). But this question contains the universal contradiction of a personal attachment to a place that frequently looks unfriendly and hostile. The dance illustrates the saying, “Do something here or go away, because the North means
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movement”. The movement brings identification with the North, as the actors declare: “I am a northern child”; “I am a compass always aimed to the North”. The Living Currents performance took place at different sites in Russia and developed its multilayered and specific audiences. Theatre stages, museum halls and open-air festival landscapes empowered the audiences with diverse means of participation and co-creation of the performance’s public meanings. The public response to Living Currents, which was expressed on social media, stressed the solidarity experience as the main performance impression. Art participation inspired a public cooperative collectivity as the northern Russian authentic community. The contemporary Nenets art represents several global trends of the Arctic Indigenous art development. The Nenets visual art develops as the combination of professional western painting techniques and the Indigenous symbolic worldview. The Nenets paintings reveal the Arctic homeland story, based on experimental knowledge. For example, the Nenets painters Tyko Vylka and Yavtysy Prokopiy got professional appraisal as they integrated the Indigenous visual optic to the 20th century artistic representations of the High North. The virtual exhibition Homecoming (curator Kristina Dryagina) started in 2020 as the part of the ongoing “66°33’ North” project of the Arctic Art Institute (Homecoming. Virtual exhibition, 2020). The exhibition presents works by seven Nenets Indigenous and Russian artists created between 1930 and 1995. The Nenets visual narrative constructs the Russian Arctic as a personalized “home” space, constantly reinventing its’ boundaries with the world “outside”. In the 21st century the Nenets crafts still manifest the sustainable connection between sacral ornamentation, natural materials and practical functions of handmade objects. But the global challenges of the climate change and the Arctic environment pollution raise the status of the Nenets crafts to an independent form of art production which generates the new meanings of the traditional nomadism, minimalism and recycling. For example, the Nenets craftsmen Martin and Anisia Taibarey presented their fur objects at the curated exhibition I Craft, I Travel Light in 2016/17 (The Norwegian Association for Arts and Crafts theme exhibition, 2016). The exhibition displayed Norwegian and Russian crafts, as well as works of Indigenous people in the northern areas at the art museums in Arkhangelsk, Murmansk, Tromsø and Karasjok. The Nenets craft objects along with the other artworks created from natural materials by the Russian, Norwegian and Sámi artists exemplified the Arctic artefacts as site-specific objects, revealing the Northern life in constant motion.
Discussion There has been an evident shift in visual art from depicting Arctic landscapes and people to new genre Arctic art, in which Arctic politics, cultural identities, traditions and global, regional and local environmental conflicts and resource extraction are tackled. At the same time, the people of the Arctic have gained the agency to make internationally recognised art themselves rather than being observed and pictured by visitors to the Arctic. Means of art-making do not follow the dualistic tradition of Western art, in which art is done for art’s sake and art, design and crafts are separated into different fields of creation and education. Rather, artists transmit the Indigenous way of combining beauty and practicality, arts and design (Hautala-Hirvioja, 2014b; Guttorm, 2015), and other northern ways of knowing into contemporary productions bound to nature and local
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ecocultures (Huhmarniemi & Jokela, 2020b). Next, we make a few key points based on the cases we presented from the circumpolar North. In new genre Arctic art, it becomes apparent that the ecological, social and cultural connections in the lives of Arctic and northern peoples are close and therefore have valuable ecocultural knowledge often beyond western culture related to the use of Arctic and northern natural ecosystems and materials in arts, crafts and spiritual culture. Ecoculture is a base for artworks such as Being Skidoo and Stitching My Landscape as well as the contemporary Sámi art presented in this article. Cultural heritage, which is bound to nature, is either carried on through the means of arts (Huhmarniemi & Jokela, 2020b) or discussed in the arts. Examples of Sámi art, such as The Moratorium Office and the video installation by Matti Aikio, highlight how artists demand the right to continue ecocultures even when the biodiversity of nature is at risk. Artists are also able to bring very difficult and complex issues into discussion and get media visibility for local conflicts. For example, tensions between governmental needs, nature protection and continuation of local ecocultures would be less known and discussed if artists did not also present their artworks in exhibitions and events at the capitals of Arctic states. In this article, we are interested in how contemporary artists use their ecocultural knowledge, often conceptualised as Indigenous knowledge (Valkonen & Valkonen, 2018), as a medium of their art. The concept of Indigenous knowledge, however, does not cover all the cultural, traditional and tacit knowledge among the whole Arctic region and its inhabitants. Huhmarniemi and Jokela (2020a, 2020b) have introduced the term “northern knowledge” to refer to interlinked ecological and cultural systems. The northern knowledge is formed in situated learning in relation to local ecocultures, traditions and diverse cultures. In the arts, the northern knowledge incorporates cultural heritages and the tacit knowledge of material culture in the making of arts, crafts and media as well as in visual symbols of arts and crafts as a language. New genre Arctic art, as a manifestation and politicization of the northern knowledge, is closely related to place-basedness (Vodden et al., 2015) and revitalisation (Cunsolo et al., 2017; Sakakibara, 2017); beside these, there is a growing interest in the material culture and hand-making skills of the Arctic in contemporary art. This paradigm shift, called new materialism, shifts the focus of art even deeper from conceptual expressions to places, everyday spaces and materiality (Fox & Alldred, 2019). At the same time, the northern knowledge, made public and recognised by means of new genre Arctic arts, shares traditions and passes on the material culture of the Arctic to new generations, even those outside the northern region. The cultural pride of Northerners and people of the Arctic is promoted in a visible way in performances such as Nordting and Living Currents. Discussion of Arctic sovereignty is topical when the political control over northern regions by the southern capitals is also directly and indirectly criticised in new genre Arctic arts. The artworks discussed in this article enhance place-bound cultural identity and cultural pride, which is expected to enhance resilience; abilities to adapt to change. On the other hand, some artists collectives demand rights to stick on tradition and thus may be interpreted as opposed to adaptation. Anyhow, new genre Arctic arts reform our views of concepts such as “Nordicity”, “Northerness”, and “Arcticness” (Beaulé & Coninck, 2018; Chartier, 2007; Kalha, 2019) by highlighting northern knowledge and cultural richness and make the discussion of these issues more evocative even outside the northern region.
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Art has been on the margins of discussions on the current situation and future of the Arctic region. When art has been discussed in development strategies of the Arctic, art is commonly associated with Indigenous cultures and their traditions. Lempinen (2019) states that in national strategies in Arctic countries, art is referred to mainly in the context of regional Indigenous populations. At the same time, the art of Indigenous cultures in the Arctic is studied and exhibited widely. For example, Alaska’s Anchorage Museum’s interest in Yupi’ik material culture (Fienup-Riordan et al., 2007) and the Smithsonian Institution’s long-term research (Cronwell, 2010) are great examples of explorations of Indigenous people’s culture in Alaska. Sámi art from Norway was presented in the documenta 14 in Kassel in 2017. In Venice Biennale in 2019, Sámi artist Outi Pieski represented Finland, and Inuit video producer Isuma represented Canada. Research on Sámi art has also been published (Aamold et al., 2017; Hautala-Hirvioja, 2017). What is less presented in international art institutions is the Indigenous art and culture in Siberia, Russia. Many new genre Arctic art productions have websites and social media accounts. For example, the collaborative Shifting Ground project team developed the interactive “Mapping Change” page (Mapping Change, 2021). Use of social media is another aspect of new genre Arctic art as it promotes communication and platforms for exchange and engagement, for collaboration and new genre projects. Anyhow, in social media, such as Twitter and Instagram, new genre Arctic art includes polarized expression, increasing awareness of colonialization and environmental risks to Arctic nature but also division of Arctic societies. For example, visual artworks referring to violence may be accompanied by hashtags such as #fuckYouColonizer, #thislandismyland and #landBack (e.g. Valkeapää 2021; suohpanterror, 2021). In the current environmental and cultural situations, there is a need for new genre Arctic art that promotes dialogues, encounters, collaborations and mutual understanding between Indigenous and non-Indigenous artists and policy makers. In addition, there is need for research that creates mutual understanding about art in the Arctic for Indigenous and non-Indigenous researchers.
Conclusion The concept of new genre Arctic art and the cases introduced from Norway, Finland, Canada and Russia refer to ways of seeing art, design and craft as intertwined and integrated into ecoculture; it allows them to be seen as empowering the people of the Arctic, enhancing cultural pride and participating in environmental and cultural politics through art. The cases show how new genre Arctic art can possess the agency to hold and revitalise ecocultural knowledge, both as Indigenous knowledge and northern knowledge and promote the importance of cultural politics in decision making and participate in discussion on resource politics and nature conversation. Through new genre Arctic art, artists inform and educate their global audiences, share traditions and pass on the material culture of the Arctic to new generations inside and outside the Arctic. Cultural resilience is enhanced by cultural empowerment, cultural pride and strong regional identity. This resilience supports individuals and communities in facing rapid changes in the Arctic by helping them to transform their traditions into a contemporary culture and in response to contemporary needs. Building on existing ecocultures in Arctic cultures, towns and villages, the skills and strengths of locals, and contemporary art and international collaboration, new genre Arctic art represents a viable alternative to top-down and nationally curated and coordinated art and cultural projects. The research presented in this article has its limitation in the narrow sample of artworks selected for the presentation and discussion. In order to better understand the current means of Jokela, Huhmarniemi, Beer & Soloviova
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expressions, shifts of paradigms and artists´ ways to impact on policies, protection of cultural heritage, environmental conflicts and global awareness of current issues in the Arctic, further research in new genre Arctic arts is needed along with further clarifications of concepts used to describe some of the common grounds interests of Indigenous and non-indigenous artists in the Arctic.
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Vodden, K., Gibson, R. & Baldacchino, G. (Eds.) (2015). Place peripheral: Place-based development in rural, island, and remote regions. ISER Books Willard, T. (2017). Stitching my landscape: Maureen Gruben. LandMarks2017: Art + Places + Perspectives. Partners in Art.
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Through an Applied Visual Art Lens: Mapping the Arctic through Art and Design-based Actions of Place Mapping and a Multisensory Approach Katri Sofia Konttinen
Place is an intriguing concept. It is often at the core of applied visual art actions, which can be related, for example, to environmental and community arts and design. Applied visual art can also support sustainable development by increasing the awareness of environments (Huhmarniemi, 2012). At the core of this is collaboration and communication between people and the environments. The Arctic spreads geographically across eight northern countries including Finland. The Arctic is researched and discussed from various perspectives in arts and design in northern Finland. The Lapland University Consortium (LUC) has been profiled as a leader in Arctic research and competence focusing on global Arctic responsibility, sustainable tourism, future services and reachability. Arctic art and design intertwine in studies at the University of Lapland. Rovaniemi is well known for Arctic design and different events such as Arctic Design Week (Rytilahti, 2020). However, there is need for better discussion about the Arctic. This chapter approaches this discussion by observing how art and design-based actions with a placespecific approach could contribute to the discussion of increasing awareness and knowledge on the Arctic. What could be achieved through methods that aim towards deepening our understanding of places and environments? The chapter observes the topic through art and design-based actions, which have taken place between 2012-2020. The examples present actions combined through utilizing a place-specific and multisensory approach to environments with methods rising from community art, environmental art, and design – all these meeting under the label of applied visual arts and aim for creating connections and enabling dialogue towards increasing knowledge and awareness of places.
Introduction The Arctic is a wide and multidimensional area with approximately four million people living within eight countries. It is characterized by rough, yet beautiful nature with changing seasons and fauna adapted to the cold climate and short summers that bursts with light (Arctic Centre, n.d.). The Arctic is about people, cultures, places and environments. Personally, and professionally, it has given me the opportunity to plan, organize and facilitate applied visual art workshops in the North within ten years of living in Rovaniemi. Applied visual art can be seen as a field where art and design come together. Collaboration between art and design methods opens spaces for creativity and our senses to the environments. This chapter was born from curiosity towards art and design-
Katri Sofia Konttinen is a researcher (SEEYouth-project) at the Faculty of Art & Design, University of Lapland.
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based actions and will to observe how these could be utilized in the future in promoting discussion about places and areas such as the Arctic. I first came into contact with the concepts of place and the Arctic as part of my master studies in applied visual arts, a piloting master’s degree programme at the University of Lapland (2011-2014). I found the concepts of place and the Arctic, in relation to art-based activities, fascinating and wished to dive deeper. During my studies, place was approached through the concepts of art and design, where I saw the possibility for the two fields coming together under the label of applied visual arts. This field with wide characters from both art and design provided different tools to approach places and environments through practical working. From the point of view of art and design, the Arctic is simultaneously challenging and full of interesting possibilities to work with different methods (Figure 1).
Figure 1. Art-based performances in the North. Glen Coutts 2012, Katri Konttinen 2012 and 2014.
University of Lapland is part of the Lapland University Consortium (LUC), together with Lapland University of Applied Sciences. The consortium has been profiled as a leader in the area of Arctic research and competence focusing on global Arctic responsibility, sustainable tourism, future services and reachability (University of Lapland, n.d.). University of Lapland is also coordinating the international Arctic Sustainable Art and Design thematic network with 26 circumpolar universities and design education institutes from eight circumpolar countries (Jokela & Coutts, 2014). In the Faculty of Art and Design, art and design are intertwined. Various materials, such as snow, ice, willow, and other nature related materials are widely used in arts and design studies and the specific features of the North and the Arctic are discussed in research done within the fields (e.g. Rytilahti, 2020). With annually changing themes, the world’s northernmost forum of design and town festival, the Arctic Design Week held in Rovaniemi, promotes northern design, students, scientists and artists enlivening town culture with local characteristics (Rytilahti, 2020; Arctic Design Week, n.d.). Arctic Arts Summit is an annually held summit and conference, and its main objective is to strengthen the arts and culture in the North and underline the role of circumpolar cooperation. The Artist’s Association of Lapland works towards promoting working opportunities for local artists. The University of Lapland also has gallery spaces, where the art works from students and the staff are presented. The Arctic, with its special features and variety of cultures and people, is not easily explained or explored. As the Arctic is approached in various ways in the fields of art and design, better discussion is still needed. Through this chapter, I observe how art and design-based actions, under the label of applied visual arts, could contribute to this discussion of increasing awareness and knowledge on the Arctic through a place-specific approach. What could be achieved through methods that aim towards deepening and widening our understanding of places and, therefore, Konttinen
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Arctic environments? Different case examples of art and design-based activities, taking place between 2012-2020, are presented in the chapter, where my affiliation has been the role of a facilitator.
Applied visual art in the North According to Huhmarniemi (2012), applied visual art means contemporary art, which is based on the needs of society or economy life. At the core of applied visual art is collaboration and communication over different boundaries and disciplines. Applied visual art can be seen as an overall network with multiple possibilities to create cross-disciplinary collaboration. It can bring people from different disciplines and backgrounds working together, combining various methods and perspectives in its actions (Figure 2), and encourage people to engage in mutual learning and relearning from each other (e.g., Leavy, 2018).
Figure 2. During the workshops, participants shared different ways to utilise materials, for example, making rope out of willow bark (Anna-Mari Nukarinen, 2012). Through an Applied Visual Art Lens
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The importance of intuitive tacit knowledge is often at the core of working and doing research in natural settings, and in this case, the Arctic. Knowledge is often gained through practice-based methodologies, where the criteria for evaluating research is related to questions and context, and the outcomes are interpreted as particular to the situation (Gray & Malins, 2004). Working within art and design-based activities that combine different materials can support and create dialogue through practical working between people who do not share the same spoken language. Therefore, visual methods can work as a universal language and can connect people sharing their tacit knowledge through art-based actions (e.g., RiverSounds – JoenÄäniä-workshops).
Communicating places Open discussion for gaining knowledge and strengthening understanding is key for better understanding the Arctic. How do we encourage discussion and promote understanding of the North and the Arctic, and what role can art and design have in this? The chapter observes the role of art and design in opening up discussion about the environment. Examples of applied visual artbased workshop and activities, where the concept of place is centric, arepresented. The chapter argues that through focused and open observation, and by creating a better understanding of a place, deeper knowledge and understanding of the Arctic can be formed. The Arctic Circle crosses Finland in Rovaniemi (66°33’45.9”). Here, the sun stays above the horizon throughout days in the summer, and below the horizon during the winter (Figure 3). What does the Arctic look like from the perspective of applied visual art actions? Places and spaces bear cultural meanings, which together with our background and history, affect the ways we see and interpret them. Place is an important feature in our lives; lived and visited places build a map about the life lived, building up the way we see and look the world. As places change in time, naturally or by the actions of people, we also must adapt to changes. Places and the changes in them, cultures that tell stories of time, and art can have the role both in presenting places and cultures, and also in building and strengthening them (Jokela & Huhmarniemi, 2018). Lippard (1997) argues that in order to achieve a sense of place, extensive visual and historical research is required that includes time spent in the field, contact with oral traditions, and also an intensive knowledge regarding local multiculturalism and the wider context of multicenteredness. (Lippard, 1997) Art-based actions can provide tools for understanding and supporting changes by the principles of sustainability (Jokela & Huhmarniemi, 2018).
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Figure 3. Seasons change the views and colour of the environments. (Katri Konttinen, 2020).
What could be achieved through observation of place as a concept that leads towards the creation of better and wider understandings of places and the Arctic’s environments? This chapter observes practical examples, where people work with small-scale tasks connected to the environment. Therefore, it asks, what could be the contribution of art and design-based actions in order to achieve a better understanding of places, and the Arctic?
Through lenses – perceiving places around us We perceive places with different personal prejudices and perceptions. Nowadays, we have all the information in our hands, as the world is open via the internet and various online tools. This raises the question of how much do we actually form our perceptions based on the information available online, and how open are we to observe new places beyond the ‘googled’ information? The COVID-19 pandemic restricted the mobility of people and affected our lives in many ways, and will most likely continue to do so for some time. It has highlighted the tools we have in our hands for travelling and experiencing places as well as meeting other people through online services. This chapter observes the phenomenon of place through art and design-based activities. In encounters and meetings between people and places, knowledge can be shared and new knowledge can be created through collaboration and dialogue. Observations and discussions can also change our perceptions through places, and open our eyes to the unique features that places and environments, such as the Arctic, hold. We can observe how the view through our lenses has changed (Figure 4).
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The first workshop activities presented in the chapter were implemented by the theme “RiverSounds – JoenÄäniä,” inspired by the great northern rivers. Activities were designed as the first actions within the newly launched thematic network Arctic Sustainable Art and Design, coordinated by the University of Lapland. The latter presented activities took place in southern Finland, as part of multidisciplinary project SEEYouth and in Ayr, Scotland. These examples present actions with different participants and settings, but are combined by utilizing a placespecific approach. In these actions, place-specific design as well as environmental and community arts (specifically socially engaged in some cases) are intertwined.
Figure 4. What do we see through our lenses? Test through a glass loupe (Katri Konttinen, 2021).
Environmental and community art in place encountering We encounter and experience environments and places differently. The creation of experience is always dependent, according to Jokela & Hiltunen (2009), on our community and culture. In other words, our background. The experiences form as perceived and personally meaningful emotional content, as social and functional, and as cultural meanings (Jokela & Hiltunen, 2009: 119). “Art that combines the environmental and communal acts as a kind of phenomenological analysis: it aims at clarifying the structure of the human life-world and understanding it from the ethical, aesthetical and social standpoints” (Jokela & Hiltunen, 2009: 119). Environmental art can be seen as a method for communication through and about environments. Change and the nature of temporariness are common factors in the fields of environmental and
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community art (Sederholm, 2000). The change can be slow or fast, physical or dialogue-based, communicating about the community and the environment. Timo Jokela connects environmental and place-specific art to applied visual arts: “Place-specific applied art has been designed for a specific location based on the identified need and terms. It communicates with place-related experiences and memories rather than with the terms of the physical space” (Jokela, 2013: 14). Community art, at its best, creates dialogue and collaboration between the artist and the local community (Kwon, 2002). It can be an empowering tool for helping people to express their thoughts and concerns on local issues, such as the environment. It can also be empowering and educating for younger generations about the community and environments. Working with communities, the time following art and design-based activities, often related to specific projects, should be considered. As a project ends the process begins, and this needs to be thought through carefully when working with different groups and communities. According to Dawes (2008), the focus should be more on the growth of people within a certain culture, instead of focusing on the item of culture constructed by people. As the process is carried out beyond projects, empowerment does not only become an indicator of short-term success, but creates the foundations for building and extending future success (Dawes, 2008: 74-76).
Production of (social) place – from space to place It can be stated that people create places. People all over the world are engaging in place-making activities where space becomes a place (Cresswell, 2004). By giving spaces meaning, arising from experiences and memories, we create social places. The creation of place can happen for a short period of time, a shared moment or experience in a moment in a certain place. From another social aspect, environmental and community arts provide excellent tools for art and design-based activities. Place can be seen as an object (seen, visited) and also as a way of looking (Cresswell, 2004), whereas space has more abstract sound to it. People from different cultures have a different sense of place and different needs for personal space (see e.g. Tuan, 2011 [1977]). Place can be seen as a cellular, ever changing network of social relations (Massey, 2008) and can be understood as part of a process, where social action organizes itself in space and in time. Time and technology have changed the concept of place, as it is possible to travel places online without actually visiting them. We can connect to people on the other side of the world in real time. This has made the world literally smaller and easily accessible. It has reshaped our ideas about places and the world. During the COVID-19 pandemic, distance working and schooling occurred as many schools closed their doors and offices recommended employees to work from home. This led us to a new situation, where the concept of place was limited by the terms of the virus.
Site-specific art: RiverSounds – JoenÄäniä The first case example, RiverSounds – JoenÄäniä (Konttinen & Waara, 2012; Waara & Konttinen, 2013) was a context sensitive concept of art and design-based activity that took place in Northern Finland. The concept was originally developed by master’s students Sofia Waara and Katri Konttinen through a project as part of collaboration within the UArctic Network (University of
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the Arctic) in 2012. Activities executed within the project formed the first actions under the newly launched thematic network Arctic Sustainable Arts & Design 1coordinated by the University of Lapland. The actions brought together international participants from various fields of art and design and backgrounds, working together with local communities in Rovaniemi and Ii, northern Finland, during a two-week long Arctic Circles Art & Design Summer School. The summer school focused on exploring the intriguing challenges that Arctic climate, culture and location pose for art and design under themes of Service Design, Sustainable Design and Applied Arts. (WDC2012 HelsinkiRovaniemi) In RiverSounds we aimed to broaden the knowledge of nature and environments, focusing on site-specific art and design, research and investigations of the river´s specific qualities made in the context of place. RiverSounds could be described as art and design-based dialogue, providing and sharing knowledge on different methods of art and design, as well as working with methods, skills, and materials common to the region. It reached out to define the absolute values of the North by observing, sensing and re-constructing existing ideals and visual culture. Through art and design-based tasks, RiverSounds brought together people to share ideas, thoughts and perspectives. Communication and dialogue extended over people and nature, creating unique and memorable encounters. The process was about learning through practice, focusing on participants’ activity and purposeoriented work with art-based activities as the main tool for knowledge creation and sharing. The soundscape of the river was observed through methods of art and design, utilising environmental art, applying the methods from community art in the process and finding ways of communication through making art (Figure 5).
Figure 5. Working with RiverSounds in Ii (Anna-Mari Nukarinen, 2012).
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Fostering the communication and collaboration between local people in Ii and the summer school participants was important. Groups worked creating instruments related to their environments, some more abstract than others: instruments played by the wind and instruments requiring humans to play them. All instruments were planned in order to create soundscapes connected to the river. As a final result of the workshop, an Art Trail was created, leading people to the Environmental Art Park of Ii, as an opening ceremony for the annual Art Ii Biennale. The performative walk was based on a story of log floating spirit written by a local young participant. RiverSounds was the result of a long design process where different theoretical tools from community art, environmental art education and sustainable design, were used. It aimed to develop the concept of international workshops in the field of sustainable arts and design as well as to create new connections between contemporary art and traditional visual cultures of the Arctic region (Konttinen, 2013). Bringing together people from different backgrounds and local communities, RiverSounds resulted in art works and performances, and visual narratives about the place (Figure 6).
Figure 6. Performance Log Floating Spirit in Ii (Glen Coutts, 2012).
Path of senses and piece of the place – workshop activities with the youth in SEEYouth2 / Espoo Path of senses was a practice used in workshops designed for a group of youth with asylum-seeking backgrounds in southern Finland in summer 2020. Methods from environmental and socially engaged arts were intertwined in actions through a social science lens in the workshops (Figure 7). Themes related to youths’ personal lives, such as the future, challenges, inspiration and experiences were approached via methods from arts and social sciences, combined with the expertise and long-
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term relationship between the youth and the advisor on integration of young people with refugee and asylum-seeking backgrounds. Art-based dialogue created the space for interaction and mutual learning between the youth and the facilitators (Mikkonen & Konttinen, forthcoming). The active role of the youth as experts by experience and through active participation was highlighted in the process of knowledge production. The concept of place and space was in the core of actions and in the everyday lives of the youth, finding their place in the society.
Figure 7. Workshop activities combined different methods and approaches (Katri Konttinen & Mikko Ylisuvanto 2020).
By utilizing multisensory approaches in place related exercises, the awareness of place-specific features can be strengthened, leading towards a stronger connection to a place and a sense of the place. Utilising a task Piece of the place,3 where the aim was to find inspiring elements, resulted in discussions about the importance of nature, where especially the role of water as being the source of all life was highlighted (Figure 8).
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Figure 8. Water as the source of all life with participant thoughts. Katri Konttinen 2020.
The task supported other workshop activities, where we worked with themes related to the youth’s lives, such as belonging to a place and identity building when living in between two countries. Finding attachments to places was discussed through grounding, by being in and sensing the environments, and how important the process is for the youth as they are working towards their future lives. Creating a connection, the nature was discussed as a way for strengthening self-knowledge, and therefore self-esteem, leading towards a sense of belonging to a place. Although, in these activities, the focus was targeted to a certain group with certain themes and aims, the open approach utilized can also be a key factor when discussing the Arctic and how people interpret and find connection to it.
Sense Map / Kemi Alongside the multisensory approach, the concept of mapping has been at the core of art and designbased actions. We engage in building our personal maps as we experience things in places. These maps form around personal experiences and emotions related to experiences as we explore and analyse places through our perspectives (Aura, Horelli & Korpela, 1997). Sense Map was a short-term workshop taking place in and outside a gallery space in Kemi, North Finland. Here, the aim was to encourage participants to observe their own living environments through art-based methods. The workshop took place at Kemi Art Museum in November 2013 during the final exhibition of the Applied Visual Art-master’s degree program: Applied Visual Art and Us (AVA&US) (Figure 9). Master’s students Salla-Mari Koistinen, Sofia Waara and the author acted as facilitators in the workshop.
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Figure 9. AVA&US presented the progress and outcomes of the piloting master’s degree programme of applied visual arts at the Kemi Art museum. Katri Konttinen 2013.
The workshop began with presentations and discussion about the exhibited works of Sofia Waara and Katri Konttinen. Works were presented as sources of inspiration and demonstrating different visual tools for mapping places and observing the surrounding environments. Following the discussion, the group created a colour map. This was practice aimed at supporting group formation through working and discussions, and opening the usage of colours in expressing emotions and moods (Figure 10.) The colour map was utilized later in place mapping.
Figure 10. Colour codes created by the group. (Katri Konttinen, 2013).
From the museum the group headed out to observe the near-by surrounding environments. Participants drew a map of their route that formed their own sense maps of Kemi by using the
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colours from the colour map. They collected materials, such as stones, leaves or photographs, to support observations on environments that aroused emotions or were somehow meaningful to them. At the end, the group gathered at the museum, where the findings were coded by colours and gathered together with the participants’ maps as installations to the space and were documented (Figure 11.). The documentation was posted on Facebook, Twitter and a blog as part of an installation “w/, with, kanssa” by Salla-Mari Koistinen.
Figure 11. Details from the installation. Katri Konttinen 2013.
In the Sense Map, personal mapping was at the core. It was a personal process, where the participants shared their maps in a dialogue. Maps tell stories of places and people living there. As Lippard (1997) writes, the maps have their unintentional subjectivity and for that reason they have been important to the cultural landscape construction. Maps are composites of places and they hide as much as they reveal (Lippard, 1997: 82). The map maker can choose what to include in their personal map and what to highlight; through dialogue this can lead to new findings for the other participants. Mapping and the creation of maps, as a form of personal observations, could be utilized more in multidisciplinary research about the Arctic as a social place. What would the map drawn, for example, of Rovaniemi by a visitor look like and how would it differ from a map made by someone living in Rovaniemi? It could result in interesting outcomes as people living and visiting the Arctic discuss their findings in shared dialogues. Tuan (2011) described experience as a combination of feeling and thought (Tuan, 2011 [1977]). It is interesting to think how one communicates about experiences and if visual tools would help in narrating the experiences. As places carry different narratives in them, they carry narratives of people living there. Lippard (1997) argues that “place is latitudinal and longitudinal within the map
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of a person’s life”. It is defined by the people and the culture lived in that place. The place carries connections and information about what surrounds it, what has formed it, and what has and will happen there (Lippard, 1997).
Personal place-specific adventure: Backpack adventures in Scotland This small-scale sound-mapping project taking place in Ayr (Scotland) was done in order to form a sense of place by mapping sounds on a walking route. Sounds were recorded from chosen sound spots, and were supported by photographs (Figure 12).
Figure 12. Meaningful place, also one of the sound spots in Ayr. Double image, Katri Konttinen 2013.
We are surrounded by sounds and soundscapes. Sounds enlarge our spatial awareness to include areas out of our sight and dramatize spatial experiences, as our formation of space is mostly dominated by our sight (Tuan, 2011). Here, the sounds were united with photographs and written manuscript of the walk. The mapping process formed a visual narrative from a walk along the river. According to Pink (2007) photography has long been an important part of ethnographers’ ‘tool kit’ (Pink, 2007). Finally, I created a video from the different samples gathered from this personal sound-mapping journey (Figure 13). Photography enables a viewer to focus their attention on a specific subject/object. What is left outside the frames can be imagined. Photographs can have deeper meaning by the subjective gaze of the viewer, and that each viewer can produce these meanings by relating the image to their own experiences, knowledge and wider cultural discourses (Pink, 2007: 82).
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Figure 13. Illustration from the Sound Mapping Journey with written notes. Katri Konttinen 2013.
Through applied visual art lens – Dialogue on places through visual methods Geographer Denis Cosgrove argues that those for whom land is the fabric of their lives, for whom it is livelihood and home environment, do not see that land as landscape. They relate to the land as ‘insiders’ (Andrews, 1999: 20). This article argues, however, that art and design-based methods can foster new perspectives for us to observe the familiar surroundings, and can therefore be looked as part of personal mapping process, reframing the map. This was seen in cases where the participants engaged in art and design-based activities in their home environments in Kemi and in Ii. All the presented case examples share in common a strong connection and commitment to places and spaces through art and design-based activities. As meetings and encounters occurred, they provided space for mutual learning (Mikkonen & Konttinen, forthcoming), leading towards knowledge production on places as the participants’ shared their discoveries. In these shared dialogues, different aspects were highlighted. As the youth in Espoo described water as a source of life, rivers were looked at through the livelihood they provided, and seen also as a source of inspiration for soundscapes in RiverSounds. Through the shared dialogue, a deeper understanding can be achieved with creation of new knowledge, which is based on ethnographic and intuitive, tacit observations. Art and design-based methods can provide insights for people from different disciplines by using, for example, a multisensory approach in actions. Multisensory approaches and personal mapping can be identified as the frames in the presented cases, which all aimed to facilitate and encourage meetings, and therefore strengthen the dialogue
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between people and places. This dialogue can play a key role in changing our perception. In RiverSounds, for example, we sought to facilitate meetings between the local community, international participants and environmental art and design (Konttinen & Waara, 2012).
Figure 14. How does the Arctic look through your lens? Experiences with glass loupes, Katri Konttinen 2021.
As this article focused on observing how art and design-based actions with place-specific approach could contribute to the discussion of increasing awareness and knowledge on the Arctic, it approached the phenomenon of place through examples, where small-scale tasks were utilised. These tasks and the dialogues that followed, show that art and design-based activities can foster encounters between people and places, and can awake us to observe our perceptions of places and challenge us to ask, how come we see places differently and why (Figure 14). By challenging our perceptions, we can find new ways to approach places, like the Arctic. Though the knowledge born from art and design-based activities is often tacit and subjective from one’s experiences, it can be said that the creative approach can widen the view in our lenses, as the methods encourage us to approach place as an intriguing concept. Through practical work, forms of dialogue can be formed between people from different linguistic and cultural backgrounds, connecting them to a shared dialogue about places, such as the Arctic.
Notes 1. The network aims on identifying and sharing contemporary and innovative practices in teaching, learning and knowledge exchange in the fields of art, design and visual culture education. It aims on promoting cooperation and collaboration between universities, institutions and communities, focusing on Northern, Arctic issues in the field of arts, design and visual culture. 2. SEEYouth: Social Innovation through Participatory Art and Design with Youth at the
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Margins: Solutions for Engaging and Empowering Youth with Trans-Atlantic Mirroring’ – project, funded by Trans-Atlantic Platform for the Social Sciences and Humanities (TAP)/Academy of Finland (decision n:o 334786, PI Satu Miettinen), funding period 2020–2021, University of Lapland 3. Piece of the place, was originally created for RiverSounds – JoenÄäniä workshops, located in Rovaniemi. The task was to collect ‘pieces’ from the environments, which were thought to have connection or described somehow to the place. The task aimed on observing the place.
References Andrews, Malcolm. (1999). Landscape and western art. Oxford University Press. Arctic Centre. (n.d.). Perustietoja arktisesta alueesta. <https://www.arcticcentre.org/FI/arktinenalue> Arctic Design Week, n.d. <https:// www.arcticdesignweek.fi> Artist’s Association of Lapland <https://www.lapintaiteilijaseura.fi/> Aura, S., Horelli, L. & Korpela, K. (1997). Ympäristöpsykologian perusteet. WSOY Cresswell, T. (2004). Place: a short introduction. Blackwell Publishing. Dawes, M. (2008). Beyond Process: Art, Environment and Sustainability. In G. Coutts., T. Jokela (Eds.), Art, Community and Environment: Educational Perspectives. Intellect, 65-76. Gray, C., & Malins, J. (2004). Visualizing research: a guide to the research process in art and design. Ashgate, cop. Huhmarniemi, M. (2012). Soveltavan kuvataiteen maisteriohjelma – Taidetta ympäristöön, yhteisöjen ja yritysten tarpeisiin. In Seppälä, Tiina (Ed.), Arts, Cultural Collaborations and New Networks: The Institute for Northern Culture, Kemi-Tornio University of Applied Sciences. Serie B. Reports, 10, 28–31. Jokela, T. & Coutts, G. (2014) Preface. In Jokela, T., Coutts, G., yliopistokustannus, L. & Press, L. U. (2014). Relate North 2014: Engagement, art and representation. Lapin yliopistokustannus, 14-33. Jokela, T. & Huhmarniemi, M. (2018) Ympäristötaide kertoo paikan tarinoita. In Jokela, T., Huhmarniemi, M., Haataja, C., Issakainen, T., tiedekunta, T. & Design, F. o. A. a. (2018). Ympäristötaidetta Lapin matkailuun. Lapin yliopisto, 28-36. Jokela, T. (2013) Engaged Art in the North. In Jokela, Timo., Coutts, Glen., Huhmarniemi, Maria., & Härkönen, Elina (Eds.) Cool: Applied Visual Arts in the North. FI, Rovaniemi: Publications of the Faculty of Art and Design of the University of Lapland, Series C. Overviews and Discussion 41.2013, 10-21. Jokela, T. & Hiltunen, M. (2009). Art pedagogical projects in northern wilderness and villages. In Hiltunen, M. (2009). Yhteisöllinen taidekasvatus: Performatiivisesti pohjoisen sosiokulttuurisissa ympäristöissä. Lapin yliopisto, 118-127. Kester, G. (2005). Conversation Pieces: The Role of Dialogue in Socially-Engaged Art. Kocur and Leung (Eds.) Theory in Contemporary Art Since 1985 (pp. 76-100).
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Konttinen, K. (2013). Mapping Applied Visual Arts – A Research Journey into the Streams of Art and Design. Master´s thesis. University of Lapland, Faculty of Art and Design. Konttinen, K., & Waara, S. (2012). RiverSounds – JoenÄäniä. In Seppälä, T. (Ed.), Arts, Cultural Collaborations and New Networks: The Institute for Northern Culture, FI, Tornio: KemiTornio University of Applied Sciences. Serie B. Reports, 10, 50–51. Kwon, M. (2002). One place after another: site specific art and locational identity. MIT Press Leavy, P. (2018). Handbook of arts-based research. The Guilford Press. Lippard, L, R. (1997). The Lure of the local – senses of place in a multicentered society. New Press. Massey, D. (1991). A Global Sense of Place. In D. Massey, Space, Place and Gender. Polity Press, 145-156. Massey, D. B., Valkonen, J., Lehtonen, M., Rantanen, P., Valkonen, J. & Rovio, J. (2008). Samanaikainen tila. Vastapaino. Mikkonen, M. & Konttinen, K. (forthcoming) “We really have quite a lot to say...” – Fostering agency of youth with asylum seeking backgrounds via arts-based methods and dialogue as actions of empathy. In Sarantou, M. & Miettinen, S. (eds.) Empathy in the Digital Era: Creative Methods for Innovation, Vision and Leadership in Global Organizations. Routledge Pink, S. (2007). Doing Visual Ethnography: images, media, and representation in research (2nd edition). Sage Publications. Rytilahti, P. (2020). Pohjoisen muotoilun teoria: Kestävän muotoilun kuluttamisen perusteista. Lapin yliopisto. Sederholm, H. (2000). Tämäkö taidetta? WSOY. Suomi, Valtioneuvoston kanslia (2010). Suomen arktinen strategia. Valtioneuvoston kanslia. Tuan, Y-F. (2011). Space and place: perspective of experience (7th printing). University of Minnesota. University of the Arctic (UArctic) (n.d.) Thematic Network on Arctic Sustainable Arts and Design (ASAD). <www.uarctic.org/organization/thematic-networks/arcticsustainable-arts-and-design-asad/> University of Lapland (n.d.). LUC Strategy 2030. <https://www.ulapland.fi/EN/Aboutus/Strategy> Waara, S., & Konttinen, K. (2013) RiverSounds – JoenÄäniä: Creating new connections between contemporary art, design and traditional cultures. In Jokela, T., Coutts, G., Huhmarniemi, M., & Härkönen, E (Eds.), Cool: Applied Visual Art in the North. FI, Rovaniemi: Publications of the Faculty of Art and Design of the University of Lapland, Series C. Overviews and Discussion 41.2013, 167-171.
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Making Space for Indigenous Perspectives: Reflections on Cultural Sovereignty in the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia) Dzhuliiana Semenova
The Arctic and circumpolar regions throughout the world are home to many ethnic groups with diverse cultural practices and long histories that have been wounded by imperialistic invasions for centuries. Still situated within complicated politics of place, Indigenous peoples have found their own unique ways of connecting to one another under the changing circumstances. One of such places is the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia) – a self-governed region of Russia inhabited by Native peoples of Far Eastern Siberia. After gaining sovereignty (1990) and electing the first Sakha president (1991), the issue of reviving self-consciousness and self-identification of the peoples became acute and a great number of initiatives have been created to support these ideas through education, culture, language, law, economy, research and art. However, consequences of globalization along with state decisions on support of primarily economic well-being of the region may lead to commodification of culture and contribute to complication of the processes of supporting socio-cultural agency. Nevertheless, there are several initiatives that ground themselves in Indigenous self-determination, have critical viewpoints regarding relevance of Western paradigms in local contexts, and attempt to avoid cultural oppression. What role does cultural identity play in shaping ethical relationships? How can cultural participation support decolonization of place? And what can we learn from these civic initiatives to move towards a viable future in the Arctic and circumpolar regions?
Introduction The present article introduces practices of sovereignty that focus on rebuilding, protecting, preserving, revitalizing and supporting Indigenous cultures. As a methodological approach, discourse analysis of sovereignty in the Republic of Sakha was conducted, which allowed us to notice the continuity in the practice of cultural building. Research data is gathered from surveys held among residents of Yakutia, as well as face-to-face interviews with Indigenous scholars and cultural actors. It should be underlined that the concept of cultural sovereignty, which is addressed in the article, is central to the author’s doctoral research on developing strategies for inclusive cocreation built on art-based participatory practices in the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia).
Dzhuliiana Semenova is a PhD candidate at the University of Lapland.
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Implying many definitions depending on the context, sovereignty is a complex multi-layered concept. In political theory, where it is widely used, the term refers to juridically highlight statecentered authority and is regarded as “the cornerstone of international rhetoric about state independence and freedom of action, and the most common response to initiatives which seek to limit a state’s action in any way is that such initiatives constitute an impermissible limitation on that state’s sovereignty” (Hannum, 1996: 14). In recent studies scholars point out that this form of sovereignty has deep roots in multiplication of colonial ruins and historically has been used to spread logics of exploitative relationships (Bauder & Mueller, 2021). Therefore, in the context of Indigenous peoples this word is not alien. However, during the past century this term has developed a different connotation, straightforwardly relating to the process of gaining subjectivity in a variety of fields from international law (the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, 2007) to processes of self-consciousness and self-determination. Indigenous sovereignty emphasizes the assertion of the rights and will of peoples. Within ever changing boundaries of so-called reality this perspective implies vital necessities of Indigenous participation and visibility in decision-making, inclusion in the agenda and comprehensive support regarding peoples’ interests and aims. The concept of sovereignty re-defined by Indigenous optics is built on mutual respect between all peoples, providing space for different worldviews, support of cultural practices, revitalization of languages, acknowledgment of inherent relationships with the earth, protection of lands, waters and all upon them. Bauder and Mueller (2021: 10, 11) accentuate the practical impossibility of reconciling these two perspectives of sovereignty, stating that “Indigenous sovereignty is thus not purely a legal source of political authority, but rather a social and cultural way of defining community” and it “recognizes relationships and interdependencies, rather than granting one actor (i.e., the state) the right to make decisions independently without interference by others.” While thinking about theory and practice of a concrete geographical territory and socio-cultural space – namely the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia) – one cannot ignore a dualistic nature of what is now the largest subnational governing body in the Far Eastern Federal District of Russia. Before analyzing how Indigenous worldviews exist in cultural dimensions, highly saturated by interdependencies and effects of neoliberal modernity, there is a need to address seeds of historical legacies behind the collective intention of cultural building. Transcending through the idea of specific time and continuing to evolve, culture has always been an important actor with its own agency. In this regard, the Yakutian land has come a long way of engaging with cultural practices, back from prehistoric petroglyphs to the phenomenon of local cinematography, which in the last decade has attracted increased attention around the world.
Steps towards sovereignty in Yakutsk Oblast in the beginning of the 20th century In the cultural landscape of a closer historical time, the idea of Indigenous sovereignty was sharply emphasized in the Russian Empire at the beginning of the 20th century when like-minded people began to form societies engaged in teaching literacy, translating stories, and collecting artifacts of material and spiritual culture. Unfortunately, most of these endeavors were not met auspiciously by local administration and, therefore, faced certain challenges from authorities (Antonov, 2005). Not without help of the latter, many cultural and educational societal attempts of activists were
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disrupted and oppressed: “Syrdyk” (“Light”), “Enthusiasts of the Yakut literature”, “The Society of Enlightenment” among others. At the same time, dissatisfying cultural, social and political situations created prerequisites for emergence of local intellectuals who often opposed official authorities in order to advocate for social justice. Being titled as “inorodtsy” – meaning “of foreign (alien) origin” from the Russian language – among people there was a growing social discontent weighted by acute questions about identity, land and specific character of administrative policy. It should be noted that the ideological influence and support of political dissidents played an important role in the formation of the Yakut intelligentsia (Fedorov, 2010). Thinkers who challenged established systems introduced ways of participating in social and political processes of the country. They have “spread anti-colonial discourse, ideas of social justice, democracy and enlightenment on the outskirts of the Russian Empire contributing to the crystallization of national elites” (Korobeinikov, 2017: 88). Among these activists were Semion Novgorodov, Gavril Ksenofontov, Aleksey Kulakovsky, Vasiliy Nikiforov – Kyulyumnyuur, Ivan Popov and others.
Image 1. “The Union of the Yakuts” by the Unknown photographer. Credit: National Archive of the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia). Image 2. Yakutsk, Bazar (ca. 1910-1917). Photograph: Robert Zonnenburg.
On the 4th of January 1906, after the exclusion from the State Duma of the Russian Empire, “The Union of the Yakuts” was established by Vasiliy Nikiforov and representatives from Yakutia’s districts (Bakhrushin, 1927; Kliorina, 1992). Formed in order to achieve civil and economic rights and freedoms, the Union sent the following requirements to the consideration of tsarist authorities in St. Petersburg: 1. Recognition of all lands as property of the Yakuts. 2. Introduction of zemstvo self-government in the region. 3. Right to elect a local representative in the State Duma. According to the National Archive of the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia) (n.d.), the initiative was perceived as “disobedience”: judicial proceedings took four years, as a result sentencing the leaders of the Union to various terms of imprisonment. Nevertheless, succession of events during and after this period sought ways of overcoming social and economic challenges and helped to outline the need for local self-governance. The goals of achievement of cultural progress, introduction to education and enlightenment were put in front. Conquest of these frontiers was to ensure that people would gain social confidence and create necessary conditions for independent solutions to their problems (Stepanova, 2003). The Yakut intelligentsia independently interpreted Siberian regionalism, all-Russian narodism, literature and science – and used these elements to define and express local interests (Korobeinikov, 2017). It is important to note that Yakutia is home to five small-numbered Indigenous peoples of the North – Evens, Evenks, Dolgans, Chukchis and Yukaghirs, who have created unique cultures during centuries-old adaptations to extreme conditions of the natural habitat. After the Russian Reflections on Cultural Sovereignty in the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia)
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conquest and before the Soviet Yakutia, native groups were in complicated relationships with everchanging new realities – land was appropriated, trade became the basis of interaction with newcomers. Moreover, they also had complicated relationships between each other. Local expansionists were having wars and battles with neighbors. Some Northern peoples were more open to becoming subjects of the Russian Empire, which also meant gaining protection from neighbors, while others “opposed the intruders, either by abandoning their territories and moving away, or by armed resistance” (Vakhtin, 1992: 10). Historical and contemporary social, cultural and political realities of northern Indigenous peoples require more attention in academic and other fields.
Cultural sovereignty during the Soviet Yakutia In such conditions from 1910 the youth of Yakutsk actively participated in club formations (“Meteor”, “Prosvet”, “Ogarok”) in order to interact with one another to discuss ideas. In 1913 the study youth participated in organizing a secret club with the task of self-education and development of literature. In 1915 there were “70 members, making it dangerous to hold open meetings, therefore, they were concealed in the form of dance evenings” (Oyunsky, 1930, as cited in Syrovatsky, 1958: 17), during which social and political topics were discussed. In the year of October Socialist Revolution political parties struggled to involve young people in the ideology they represented. The marxist club titled “Young social democrat” was organized in March 1917 and led by political exiles Ye. Yaroslavskiy, G. Ordzhonikidze, and G. Petrovskiy. Among attendees were M. Ammosov, P. Sleptsov-Oyunsky, I. Barakhov, S. Vasiliyev and others, who defended the interests of the working population, standing against the local bourgeoisie and echoes of toyonat – economically and administratively powerful representatives of settlements in central Yakutia. Later participants of the marxist club played an exceptional role in the development of the Yakut Autonomous Republic. Among them was P. Oyunsky, who took part in the creation of the national written language and became one of the founders of the Yakut literature. Being the first to recreate oral Olonkho in a written form, he collected and published a number of epic poems of cultural and literary significance (Nakhodkina, 2018). His poem “The Red Shaman” was born “as a result of painful creative inspiration, impulse, search for appropriate words, expressions, and images” (Vinokurov, 2018: 318). Introducing a figure of the shaman as a symbol of the revolutionary struggle, Oyunsky crafts a story about the idea of individual and collective awakening: at the end the Red Shaman “sings a hymn to the man who awakened him from the eternal sleep and defeated Death by the power of his Mind”' (Okorokova & Permyakova, 2018: 258). Emphasizing the shaman’s belief that happiness is in the hands of a human, the author writes: Once again I will listen to the call of the future, Looking closer into the woeful land… The Middle World is like a hot horse, Weighed down by soot, blood, sweat. He drinks water continuously, thirstily, Shaking all over, snoring and laughing his head off, Jumping, beating on a wide circle, He makes his mark with a fiery stream…
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But through the bloody smoke I see, I see: Our dawn – is more distinct, closer and closer!.. (Oyunsky, 1930). Despite the opposition from the Soviet central authorities, local like-minded thinkers did not give up the idea of the national republic project. Instead, they played active roles as autonomous actors, involving themselves in cultural participation and working with specifically local contexts. In the 1920s they brought up a question about the autonomy of the Soviet Yakutia and on the 27th of April 1922 the Yakut Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic was created. This event came along with the beginning of the Soviet nativization policy that developed cultural and educational circumstances of minorities, practically renouncing policies of the previous regime with forced russification and significant restrictions imposed on Indigenous peoples. However, the nativization policy had considerable flaws. Indigenous people took positions in the local communist party and the Soviet administration only by their ethnic background, regardless of their professional skills, “many of them proved unable to fulfill the requirements of the administrative posts” (Vakhtin, 1992: 18). The Soviet policy on Indigenous peoples passed through significant changes over time. Until the 1930s it was oriented to preserve languages, cultures and traditions, and overall rooted on “the principle of ‘uniqueness’ of Indigenous peoples” (Nikolaeva et al, 2019: 3). Alphabets and literature were published in national languages, contributing to the future existence and viability of languages. In Yakutsk a great number of prominent cultural actors participated in social life through such societies as “Sakha Keskile” (“Future of Yakutia”) and “Sakha Omuk” (“The Sakha people”). These cultural and educational initiatives created conditions for the development of previously unknown spheres, worked with archive materials, studied material and spiritual cultures of the peoples, supported local writers, scholars and artists, contributing to the prosperity of Yakutia’s cultural scene. For instance, in 1928 “Sakha Keskile” initiated the emergence of the first art institution in the area – Art Gallery, nowadays known as the National Art Museum of the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia). After the 1930s, the Soviet policy regarding Indigenous peoples moved towards principles of sovietization and universalization: there was a certain need “to assimilate them within the dominant society and to get rid of the so-called “backwardness” of Indigenous peoples” (Nikolaeva et al, 2019: 3). Under the consequences of Communist rule, the People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs unreasonably repressed activists, scholars, writers and poets: Maksim Ammosov, Plato Oyunsky, Isidor Barakhov, Nikolai Spiridonov – Tekki Odulok, among others. In these blurry times, Indigenous cultural practices have been narrowed, put on mute and suppressed (Brown, 2015). Due to the new socialist optics, organization and implementation of the Ysyakh national celebration has undergone amendments and adaptations, which “contributed to the separation of the Yakuts from their traditions”' (Illarionov et al, 2016: 233). The deep historical relationship that peoples of Yakutia have with the land was disrupted in the forced inner migration that had at least two waves. Firstly, in 1929 the USSR began the forced collectivization that required formations of collective farms in bigger communities. During the process of resettlement, land and animals became property of the state. Secondly, in the 1940s during the involuntary relocations of more than 40 collective farms of the Churapchinsky District for fishing in Yakutia’s Arctic districts. In Central Yakutia during the aforesaid inner migrations, peoples were forced to leave their alaas – ancestral homelands of the Sakha people.
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In the 1950s the new governmental ethnic policy was introduced stating that the population of the USSR “was supposed to suppress all its ethnic, linguistic and cultural differences and merge into a homogeneous mass of the Soviet people” (Vakhtin, 1992: 17). Between the 1950s and 1980s Indigenous people faced many challenges: sovietization and russification hindered Indigenous ways of being, the number of hours for native languages was reduced, and as the result of these processes self-determining one’s identity became problematic. Additionally, large-scale industrial production with the predominant development of extractive industries has affected Indigenous populations, their territories of traditional livelihood, non-human species and fragile ecosystems. Diamond and gold mining industries, hydroelectric engineering “have led to significant land degradation, water contamination, decrease in biological diversity, relocation of the local and indigenous communities, disturbance in their traditional economic activities, health problems associated with water pollution and degradation of natural environments” (World Directory of Minorities and Indigenous Peoples, 2020). Heavily exploiting natural resources, industrialization considerably grew the newly-arrived worker population. During inner movements the assimilation of the peoples of Yakutia intensified, which affected the process of losing languages and merged cultural landscapes. Despite these indelible infringements, during the nearly seven decades of the Soviet Union, several generations of local actors continuously preserved and developed various cultures living on the territory of the Republic, changing the cultural landscape of the place. National institutions of culture and art evolved in regional districts; the Union of Artists has been established, organizing exhibitions and events throughout the wide republic; the Soviet cultural policy of the late 1960s supported dialogical relationships and international exchange with workers, artists and thinkers from other republics and countries; national theaters were developing rapidly, many of them focused on addressing local contexts regarding culture and history. “The cultural revolution in Yakutia as a part of Soviet Union began with overcoming difficulties caused by the former rightless historical situation of the Yakuts, in creating conditions for a broad public education, national writing and press, mass cultural and educational institutions and societies, with the introduction of the national language in the office work in the state-owned institutions of Yakutia on equal rights with the Russian language” (Potapov, 1990: 4). Nonetheless, the Soviet experience of national policy did not succeed in finding a way to guarantee the harmonious coexistence of peoples within a multinational state. Challenges and contradictions of the Soviet times are still echoing in the present, as Crate states: “Contemporary survival for post-Soviet Russia’s Indigenous communities is complicated both by a Soviet legacy that undermined local ecological knowledge, kinship settlement patterns, land and resource rights, and robust ecosystems” (Crate, 2006: 294). In this brief overview of the prerequisites of sovereignty and its difficulties for coming into being in Soviet Yakutia, one can highlight the need for a more thorough study of historical aspects and their impacts on presents and futures of Indigenous populations.
The Republic of Sakha (Yakutia) after the collapse of the Soviet Union A new stage in the history of Yakutia began before the official collapse of the Soviet Union when Boris Yeltsin – the future president of a new-forming country – encouraged self-rule of the ethnic republics, which was prominently put in his speech dated the 6th of August 1990 in the following words: “take as much sovereignty as you can swallow” (Yeltsin, 1990, as cited in Fondahl, Lazebnik Semenova
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& Poelzer, 2000; Rutland, 2010). On the 27th of September 1990 the Declaration on State Sovereignty of the Yakut-Sakha Soviet Socialist Republic was proclaimed. Actively supported by the entire population of the vast territory, it outlined that citizens of the Republic of all nationalities were recognized as the bearers of sovereignty (Article 1, Declaration on State Sovereignty of the Yakut-Sakha Soviet Socialist Republic, 1990). The Declaration contributed to widening peoples’ rights, strengthening statehood, forming new economic relations and reviving the spirituality of the peoples living in the Republic (Nikolaev, Ushnitsky & Borisov, 2000). We is the first word in the Constitution of the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia), adopted by the Supreme Council of the Republic on the 4th of April 1992. Everything begins with coexistence: the plural pronoun referred not only to the Sakha holding the name of the “titular nationality”, but also to other nationalities present in the territory, including many Indigenous peoples of the North, namely Even, Evenki, Yukagir, Dolgan and Chukchi, as well as other peoples, who live in Yakutia. The fundamental principles were rooted in “governmental sovereignty, and not national sovereignty for the one people after whom the republic is named” (Balzer, Vinokurova, 1996: 103). In the turning period in state ideology, national policy concerning Indigenous peoples, economic strategy, and cultural modifications, the issues of cultural preservation and further development of independent ethnic groups have become of particular importance. Together with the just-born form of the Republic, waves of new initiatives and organizations emerged. Among them were public organizations with the purpose of protecting the rights and interests of Northern minorities. The national holiday Ysyakh was revitalized and brought back the elements that existed before the Soviet time based on documentation from 1902 during Waldemar Jochelson’s ethnographic expedition for American Museum of Natural History (Jochelson, 1933). National schools were opened, allowing pupils to study in their own languages. Independent publications appeared, among them it is important to highlight such journals, as “Ilin” that allowed different viewpoints of place-specific contexts, was open to global discourses and contributed to the development of free press and free speech. The radio station and the television program “Gevan” began to broadcast regularly, playing a substantial role in preserving the languages of the Indigenous peoples of the North. Ethno-rock festival “Tabyk” was met with great enthusiasm in 1990, when rock music became an expression of the new worldview of the young generation, who found their cultural symbol and hope in an ancient ritual instrument of the Sakha that was used to gather people when a big catastrophe or celebration was approaching. Free from the academic traditions of the previous Soviet decades, the Yakutian art explored new horizons of creation and started using new methods for artistic self-expression. In addition to different conceptions of sovereignty outlined at the beginning of the article, it is important to highlight the concept of cultural sovereignty developed by Indigenous individuals and scholars throughout the world (Coffey & Tsosie, 2001; Baldy, 2013; Moreton-Robinson, 2020) and to acknowledge cultural practices of Indigenous communities that make this concept happen practically – such initiatives as Isuma artist collective/independent multimedia platform (Nunavut, Canada), Warlayirti Artists Centre (Balgo, Australia) and others. Today, active cultural participation of peoples in building visual, textual, audial representations of themselves, their homelands and surrounding environments plays a key role in building sensitive relationships. As Melanie Benjamin from the Mille Lacs Band of Ojibwe states, cultural sovereignty is “our inherent right to use our values, traditions, and spirituality to protect our future. It goes much deeper than legal sovereignty,
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because it’s a decision to be Anishinaabe, to not just protect a way of life, but to practice living Anishinaabe, every day” (Benjamin, 2015, as cited in Ennis, 2018).
Reflections on cultural sovereignty in the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia) Aimed at moving towards a viable future, cultural sovereignty acknowledges diverse cultures and supports processes of gaining subjectivity through means of artistic and cultural practices. Based on one’s own ethnic and cultural selfhood, cultural sovereignty implies both collective and personal experience. It provides space for mutual understanding between one another and the wider world, stimulates social interaction, supports Indigenous identities, deepens knowledge about peoples, cultures, histories and realities. Most importantly, cultural sovereignty contributes to building ways for Indigenous futures. Not having been used as a common term in the Republic of Sakha, the idea of cultural sovereignty caused a lively discussion among the residents of Yakutsk. Overall, 76 people of different ages and social backgrounds participated in the survey with the question: “Do you think Yakutia has cultural sovereignty? If yes, what would be examples of it?”. As a result, 18 people responded positively and gave examples (23.7%), 25 people responded positively, but could not pinpoint examples (32.9%), 12 people stated they would like to think about this question and are not ready to answer (15.8%), 16 people answered negatively (21%), and 5 people refrained from answering (6.6%). The examples given by respondents are included further in this article. The current cultural situation is analyzed in the Strategic project of Yakutia, which reports “through the ideas of circumpolar civilization, Eurasian integration, and Northern cultures, the peoples of Yakutia are confidently involved in the globalizing process, while maintaining spiritual and moral core, identity, successfully integrating into the world community as an equal participant of the cultural process” (Project of the Strategy of socio-economic development of the Republic of Sakha for the period until 2030 with the definition of the target visions to 2050, 2016: 28). There are many examples of noticeably striving to support cultural identity under the circumstances of global integration. This process goes along with the cultural heritage of peoples becoming phenomena of the world cultural space. Among these are artifacts of spiritual and material cultures of Even, Evenki, Yukagir, Dolgan, Chukchi and Sakha people, national holidays of Indigenous peoples – Shakhajibe, Evinek, Bakaldyn, Heiro, Kilvei, Ysyakh. Given the fact that in contemporary realities it is difficult to talk about the exclusion of external influence on culture and, therefore, about absolute authenticity, it can be argued that in the context of the Sakha Republic the impact of global tendencies, circumstances and echoes is perceived as an opportunity to actualize the traditional forms of national groups living in Yakutia. One can note that artistic and cultural initiatives are not resisting external components, but rather – quite organically and distinctively – use them for internal development in the context of global processes and “create very expressive synthetic forms of creative expression” (E. Vasilieva, personal communication, June 10, 2021). The peoples of Yakutia are sensitive to the problems and challenges of modern global society, to the phenomena that are shaping the world at the moment. This is manifested in an understanding of personal involvement in the global community, a deep connection with local history and contexts, and in the constant act of rethinking one’s national culture.
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Nevertheless, certain challenges of neoliberal modernity and globalization cannot be unseen. In particular, commodification processes might have a dualistic impact on the existence of Indigenous cultural practices, changing meanings, intentions, and implications. Acquiring sovereignty requires balancing between continuing Indigenous ways of being and adapting to the modern stage of world development. These reflections can be followed with questions: What is happening to Indigenous peoples’ socio-cultural agency and sense of belonging? To what extent will economic impacts and consequences of commercialization affect Indigenous cultures? Are there tools to prevent the process of gradual loss of cultural agency if it ever arises within legitimized capitalist frames? These questions receive limited attention within public and academic discourse in Yakutia, perhaps, due to the fact that commodification is a new reality and adapting to it is put in focus. Nonetheless, Indigenous activists and scholars highlight the need to “create a form of visibility that is separate from the mainstream lens, which, on its turn, usually and unfortunately is derivative of self-exotification” (S. Romanova, personal communication, April 13, 2020). Existing in multiple realities, it becomes complicated to differentiate one intention from another. An attendee of mass scale cultural events held in Yakutia notes that “most of the time main objectives of such festivals unacknowledgedly contribute to cultural appropriation of indigenous cultures and identities” (S. Khokholova, personal communication, June 8, 2021). Inner processes of understanding these phenomena of colonial representations of Indigenous identities are not cloudless. At this point it is important to highlight that culture is a continuous process, which evolves through time in unison with actions of creators of cultural values – peoples. Same goes with traditional culture, which is often regrettably used in the past tense as a bygone phenomenon. Uliana Vinokurova deeply disagrees with such relation: “For my perception it is a form of neocolonialism, which contributes to the emergence of people who will not be engaged in cultural sovereignty because their tasks are driven by the colonial methodology” (U. Vinokurova, personal communication, June 9, 2021). Svetlana Romanova supports this ontological obstacle – “the sentiment of pending extinction tied to the definition of being considered Indigenous creates a sense of inevitability to the well-being and future of these cultures” (Romanova, 2021: 233). Thus, it is important to create conditions for cultural emancipation and search for tools that could support self-sufficiency of Indigenous peoples in the current and future social, environmental, economic, and political conditions of the world.
Towards cultural sovereignty of Indigenous peoples in the Sakha Republic In the complex circumstances of multi-layered challenges affected by dominant narratives and ruins of the past, art and culture can be regarded as an active mediator in collective cultural action and foster social change. The paths that peoples of the place began centuries ago in dim-lighted yurtas and balagans, followed by many generations of cultural actors, who had a serious interest in traditional culture and folk creativity, now – through the centuries – is manifested in continuous appeals to histories and identities of peoples, land and nature. Local action in photography, video, music, fine art, as well as practice of cultural institutions, artist-run initiatives, and enthusiast collectives can be seen as steps towards cultural sovereignty of the Sakha Republic.
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Image 2. Excerpt from ‘Boyhood’ series. Photograph: Aleksey Pavlov Image 3. Excerpt from ‘Tiksi’ series. Photograph: Evgeniia Arbugaeva
The focus on place-specific contexts, integrality and high-contextuality of culture, along with interpretation of the territorial features and its meanings are main aspects of various artistic forms of expressions in Yakutia. Being a creative process from the very beginning and thus not being regulated, visual culture holds grand possibilities for cultural expression and “the greatest measure of sovereignty” (U. Vinokurova, personal communication, June 9, 2021). Close relations with layers of contexts specific to the Sakha Republic can be seen in photography (Aleksey Vasilyev, Ayar Kuo, Evgeniia Arbugaeva, Aleksey Pavlov) and cinematography (Kyun Ogoloro Collective, Svetlana Romanova, Kostas Marsaan, Dmitri Davydov, Lyubov Borisova, Sanaa Cinema) reflecting on Indigenous identities, collective memories, historical legacies, current challenges and realities.
Image 4. Still from the ‘Kyusyuur’ movie directed by Svetlana Romanova, 2020. Image 5. Still from ‘My Murdered’ movie directed by Kostas Marsaan, 2016.
In the previous section we have mentioned a sacred Sakha national instrument made from bovine skins stretched between two hitching posts – tabyk. Beaten on days of exceptional cases – big events, holidays or disasters – it made a loud sound that gathered people. Echoes of the cultural impact of the same-named festival that began in the 1990s can be noticed in the emergence of a substantial and heterogeneous music scene. Folk music on national instruments is revived both by individual musicians (Erkin Alekseyev, Khoro Juortu, Alisa Savvinova) and collective ensembles (Kyl Sakha, Seedje, Merlenke, Heiro, Yarar). The Yakut khomus vargan is a part of sound experimentations of Anna Enot, also known as Abiboss, who connects listeners with a wide range of other dimensions through her music in the noise genre. Initiated by Yakutsk City National Gymnasium’s teacher Anatoliy Chiryaev, “The Youth of the North”' punk community supports
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local musicians of various genres (Drrones, Zhenskaya disgarmoniya, Spit) and organizes gigs that gain high local and international audience attention. Crispy Newspaper makes music in the Sakha language with lyrics critically responding to ambiguous events taking place in the homeland. Sobo collective also turns to the mother language, often referring to the local literary and poetic heritage. The Yakut rap scene (Jeada, Urban Rhyme, Muraveinik) lives its own life, which is archived, preserved and supported by Aleksander Ivanov in the project titled “Konyul Sir (translated as “The Free Land” from the Sakha language). Philologist Dorkhoon Dokhsun Vorogushin dedicates his music and research practice to bearers of natural knowledge – Indigenous peoples. His Khotugu Khomuhun collective organizes “Signal” series of events to support multicultural free-speech poetry. Currently working on a dissertation in the field of ethno pedagogy, Vorogushin conducts seasonal camps for the Sakha youth to connect with each other in a process of knowledge gaining intertwined with reviving cultural practices of ancestors.
Image 6. Cover of "Odyssey" EP by Drrones, 2020. Artwork by: Egor Uvarov. Image 7. Cover for "Unreleased tracks" by the Youth of North, 2020. Artwork by: Alexander Innokentiev. Image 8. Cover of "Diplom uni" by Abiboss, 2019. Artwork by: Anya Enot.
From the 1950s, throughout the Soviet Union national schools of art started developing, introducing experiences of artistic expression of other localities to the cultural map of the country and the world. In the art of Yakutia, artists had been imbuing fundamental elements of Indigenous cultures and stretching threads of spirituality into modernity by actively turning to recreation of the enduring aesthetic and values for moral compasses that have long formed the basis of folk festivals, games, and rituals. Artists search for their own ways to continue the tradition of interpretation of the folk legends, lyric poetry, the Olonkho epic tale imaginaries in painting, graphic art, sculpture, decorative and applied arts. Authors address themes of collective memory and history (Eduard Vasiliev, Arthur Vasiliev, Marianna Lukina), Indigenous identities and daily life in the Arctic (Yuri Spiridonov, Nikolay Kurilov, Afanasiy Munkhalov), metaphorical language and symbolism (Isai Kapitonov, Semion Prokopyev, Mikhail Starostin), and mythology (Tuyaara Shaposhnikova, Sardaana Ivanova, Galina Okoyemova). Not familiar to local communities and most definitely unknown to the international scene, in Yakutsk of the 1990s there was the Flogiston collective. Female artists – Marina Khandy, Olga Skorikova, Evdokiia Romanova, Olga Rakhleeva, Irina Mekumyanova, Sargylaana Ivanova and supporters – were updating understanding of art by introducing new genres and forms. Making happenings, performance, assemblages and immersive installations, the group was focusing on finding new ways of social interaction: “The young artists showed a collective desire to break out Reflections on Cultural Sovereignty in the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia)
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of the stereotypes of conventional artistic creation and do something new, focusing on the origins of national cultures of the northern region and a shimmering sense of belonging to the place” (Innokentiev et al, 2021). Summarized, their intentions and aims – in relation to then imperishable academic art, as well as to one another – can be described as sensitive coexistence. This approach runs like a red thread throughout the history of Yakutia, and perhaps this direction helps to move towards a viable future, not only regarding the Republic, but also in relation to the Arctic and circumpolar regions, and wider – to the world. Additionally, the collective was looking forward to strengthening ties with other localities and organized exhibitions representing Arctic art from different regions: Finland, Greenland, the United States, Canada and Russia. In the context of cultural sovereignty, emerging artists should be mentioned as continuers and experimenters, who work both in reproducing and adapting local cultural codes for the new globalized world context. Graphic works of Maria Mishenko transmit stories about her homeplace, the Arctic settlement of Russkoye Ustye, known primarily as a place of residence of Russkoustints – a separate cultural and ethnographic group of Russians. The painter Ekaterina Surzhaninova reflects on the multiculturalism of Indigenous identities and historical memory of Nizhnekolymskoe District. To give space to many voices of the northern landscape, the artist and educator Fedos Zarovnyaev depicts folk tales heard from the elderly, stories from village newspapers and childhood memories. Alexander Innokentiev, also known as Kyhynngy Oÿúr, expands on visual experiments through animation and continues artistic exploration of his previous colleagues by developing the Yakut graphic art school phenomena. Together with Anna Byastinova, the duo archives and popularizes book graphics of Yakutia. Often using natural materials, the Archetype Collective of artists and designers conducts art-based research on themes of national culture, Indigenous knowledge and ecological human existence. Over the past decade, folk crafts have begun to attract more attention from the local population, and the Government of Yakutia supports the activities of artistic, cultural and educational institutions to include folk crafts in the public agenda. Independent agents of culture, collectives, initiatives and non-governmental organizations make process-oriented and often inclusive projects to make space for a dialogue of different worldviews, to learn how to co-exist with one another, nature, non-human citizens and to imagine a viable future through building democratic society with the freedom of speech, the freedom of thought, and the freedom to be.
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Image 8. “A View on Disappearing Zalog” by Alexander Innokentiev – Kyhynngy Oÿúr, 2020. Image 9. “Late Autumn” by Nikolay Kurilov, 1985. Credit: National Art Museum of Yakutia
The art scene of the Sakha Republic would have been hard to imagine without the support of cultural institutions. The Arctic State Institute of Arts and Culture, the branch of the Krasnoyarsk Institute of Arts, was initiated to revive, preserve and continue the cultural heritage of the Indigenous peoples of the North. Contributing to the development of contemporary art, the institute holds the Arctic Triennale and its laboratory of Integrated Geocultural Studies of the Arctic organizes the Arctic Biennale. Since 1928, the National Art Museum of Yakutia has been a center for preserving, restoring, presenting and actualizing works by Indigenous and nonIndigenous authors, becoming one of the largest museums in the North-East of Russia that crystallizes experiences of many generations of artists, sculptors and folk masters. The museuminitiated projects of cultural and social significance include: “Material and spiritual cultures of the peoples of Yakutia in world museums”, “Rarities of Yakutia” and the International Yakut Biennale of Contemporary Art. The Urgel Art gallery, run now by Yury Spiridonov, shows personal and group exhibitions related to themes of the North. Recently opening a public studio and gallery space (2020), the Yakutian branch of the Union of Artists continues to organize exhibitions and curate projects in the field of art and culture. Gathering reflections on the idea of cultural sovereignty, three national theaters come to mind as shapers of theater experience. The Gulun theater of small-numbered Indigenous peoples of Yakutia develops and supports culture, literature and languages of Northern peoples by staging performances in Evenk, Even, Yukaghir and Sakha languages. The Olonkho theater consolidates local people around the cultural values of Indigenous peoples of Yakutia. Anastasiia Alekseeva, one of the leading actresses of the Olonkho theater, organizes folk tale evenings together with “Culture of Yakutia” media platform. For several years research-based student group “Cultural Anthropology” had also been supporting discussion on intersection of history, culture and anthropology. All these actors manifest themselves as impulses based on an intuitive, powerful need for creative exchange in the narrow artistic circles of artists, thinkers, architects, film directors, actors, musicians and writers. There are also self-organized initiatives based on horizontal approaches and ideas of inclusion that democratize the very meaning and being of artistic action. Art Box is a long-term initiative by architect and artist Anku Gasich, who organizes pop-up exhibitions in public spaces, abandoned buildings, and city parks. Everyone is welcome to take part in this hybrid annual event, motto of which is put into the statement as “We never restrict artists from self-expression.” Another self-organized initiative, Art laboratory, invites local people to participate in seasonal practice-based programs. Run by cultural workers, the project twirls a discourse around contemporary art and critical theory in a close link with Indigenous ontologies and Yakutsk-specific contexts. With the interest and participation of all the mentioned actors and initiatives, culture continues to evolve in many ways. Actualizing local identities, cultures, and histories, and bringing them to the surface in the place that grounds itself in the permafrost, practices of cultural sovereignty emerge in ideas of supporting, connecting, and sharing.
Conclusion Every culture strives to live and develop harmoniously like the flow of water in a free river. Cultures of Indigenous peoples of Yakutia have met sufficient challenges and dualistic impacts of
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different times, firstly – the Russian Empire, and secondly – the Soviet Union. The potential of cultural freedom was not wasted even after the Yakut national intelligentsia was destroyed in the 1930s. The collapse of the USSR birthed times of a passionate push: local impulses got a chance and an energy boost in order to revitalize. Continuing paths of ancestors and previous generations, contemporaries of the Sakha Republic share a strong belief that sensitive coexistence always comes first and the pronoun is always we. Supporting self-determination of all nationalities and finding ways of respectful and sensitive co-being has always been, and still is, the priority. Indigenous peoples often face multiple barriers for participation in political processes and decision making. Nevertheless, it is hard to take away the cultural freedom of peoples, since the center of cultural freedom is in the peoples themselves. In this regard, artistic and cultural action opens up possibilities to build ecological relationships with the world and challenge existing inequities. Although the term cultural sovereignty is not widespread within Yakutia, the concept itself exists in practice more than in public discourse. Cultural sovereignty supports cultural self-determination of Indigenous peoples and builds a solid ground for a culturally sustainable future for the coming generations. This small introduction to cultural landscape of Yakutia ends with words heard from Uliana Vinokurova, one of the authors of the Constitution of the Sakha Republic: “Every person consists of concentric circles. Speaking in psychological terms, there is such a word as the self – a free sovereign being, fundamental to the human personality. Depending on the process of socialization and precisely on factors affecting the person, there can be several concentric circles and eventually this can grow to a full recognition of the accepted attitudes, clearly expressed requirements of the community in which the person lives. This is a kind of measure of the independence of a person, who manifests himself or herself through self-consciousness” (U. Vinokurova, personal communication, June 9, 2021).
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Nakhodkina, A. A. (2018). The image of the north in the Yakut heroic epic Olonkho. Source: https://cyberleninka.ru/article/n/the-image-of-the-north-in-the-yakut-heroic-epicolonkho (Date of access: 12.06.2021). Nikolaev A. P., Ushnitsky V. V., Borisov A. A. (2000). Respublika Sakha (Yakutia): put’ k suverenitetu. [The Republic of Sakha (Yakutia): journey towards sovereignty]. Yakutsk: Institute for Humanitarian Research and North Indigenous Peoples Problems of the Siberian Branch of the Russian Academy of Sciences. Nikolaeva, A. D., Neustroev, N. D., Neustroeva, A. N., Bugaeva, A. P., Shergina, T. A., & Kozhurova, A. A. (2019). Regional model of indigenous education: the case of the Sakha Republic (Yakutia). International Transaction Journal of Engineering, Management, & Applied Sciences & Technologies, 10(19). National Archive of the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia). The Union of the Yakuts. Source: http://archivesakha.ru/?page_id=5858 (Date of access: 10.06.2021). Okorokova, V. B., & Permyakova, T. N. (2018). Contextual Problems of Interpretation of PA Oyunsky’s Personality as a Writer-Philosopher. Journal of History Culture and Art Research, 7(3), pp. 253-262. Oyunsky, P. A. (1930). The Red Shaman (translated by A. Boyarov & P. Chernyh-Yakutskiy). Yakutsk, Yakutsk Book Publishing. Potapov, I. (1990). Iskusstvo hudozhnikov Sovetskoi Yakutii. [The Art of Artists of the Soviet Yakutia]. Yakutsk: Kn. izd-vo. Project of the Strategy of socio-economic development of the Republic of Sakha for the period until 2030 with the definition of the target visions to 2050 (2016). Source: https://storage.strategy24.ru/files/news/201901/eaaf054cedb511cf86df83136ed26268.p df (Date of access: 12.06.2021). Romanova, S. (2021). Towards the creation of a self-directed visual culture. Razvitie territorii Arktiki i Dalnego Vostoka: potentsial, problemy, perspektivy. [Development of territories of the Arctic and the Far East: potential, problems and perspectives]. Kazan: Buk. Rutland, P. (2010). The presence of absence: Ethnicity policy in Russia. Institutions, ideas and leadership in Russian politics. Palgrave Macmillan, London. pp. 116-136. Stepanova, S. V. & Makarov G.G. (2003). Soyuz inorodtsev-yakutov: bor’ba za samoupravlenuie. [The Union of the Yakuts: struggle for self-governance]. Yakutsk. Syrovatsky, A. D. (Ed.) (1958). Vpered, zare na vstrechu: (Vospominaniya) [Forward, towards the dawn: (Memoirs)]. Yakutsk: Kn. izd-vo. United Nations. (2007). United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. New York. Source: https://undocs.org/A/RES/61/295 (Date of access: 10.06.2021). Vakhtin, N. (1992). Native peoples of the Russian far north. Minority Rights Group report, 5/92, p. 42. Vinokurov, V. V. (2018). Philosophical Views in Works of Platon Oyunsky. Journal of History Culture and Art Research, 7(3), pp. 318-327.
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World Directory of Minorities and Indigenous Peoples. (2020). Current issues of the Sakha (Yakuts). Source: https://minorityrights.org/minorities/sakha/ (Date of access: 29.10.2021). Xianzhong, L. (2014). An analysis of the pros and cons of the localization policy of the Soviet Union in the 1920's. Oikumena. Regional studies. 1 (28), pp. 41-49. Source: https://cyberleninka.ru/article/n/plyusy-i-minusy-politiki-korenizatsii-sssr-v-1920-egody (Date of access: 10.06.2021).
Reflections on Cultural Sovereignty in the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia)
Izvatas cultural identification and self-determination: The study of the “Lud” tradition Karolina Sikora & Maria Fedina
Izvatas are a separate group of the Finno-Ugric Komi people, dispersedly inhabiting the vast territories of the Russian North. In the 1920s the policy of ’korenizacija’ aimed at unifying all the Komi people by downplaying the groups’ diversity. As a result, 70 years later the apparent consolidation deprived the Izvatas of the possibility to acquire the status of an Indigenous small-numbered people. The greater prevalance of the Izhma Komi ethnic identity in the early 2000s revealed the ambivalence in self-description as a group, both internally and externally. While some Izvatas have identified themselves as a northern subgroup of the Komi Zyryan people, others have been claiming their ethnic distinctiveness. At the same time, the mere belonging to the group has been contested as well. Recognising the phenomenon of fluid, blended and multiple ethnicities, none of these perspectives can be dismissed and thus need to be perceived as valid. In this paper, we analyse the meaning of the “Lud” festival tradition for constructing and representing Izvatas’ distinct, yet unified, identity across the group divide. In this context, we argue that the recognition of the “Lud” celebration as the cultural heritage of Izhma Komi can facilitate the recognition of the community as such. In the end, we demonstrate that cultural heritage listings may become a valid tool for the wider cultural and political self-determination interests of Izvatas.
Introduction The Bolshevik revolution and the introduced policy of korenizacija aimed at the inclusion of nonRussian nationalities into the hierarchies of the newly formed Soviet state provided an opportunity to exercise the right of national self-determination (Martin & Martin, 2001). Allocation of national territories, the formation of national elites, and the development of national culture and language determined the policy of the USSR in the 1920s (Shabaev & Istomin, 2017). In combination with the denial of religious and ideological pluralism, korenizacija implied the promotion of ethnic identities through symbolic signs including folklore and language (Habeck, 2019; Martin & Martin, 2001). In the post-Soviet times, as the result of social and political processes, many groups have stamped their identities and realised the economic, political and social benefits associated with promoting their culture (Karaseva, 2012). Among many other groups, this has also been the case of the Izhma Karolina Sikora is Researcher and Doctoral Candidate at the Arctic Centre/University of Lapland. Maria Fedina is a Doctoral Candidate at the University of Helsinki.
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Komi (the self-denomination is the Izvatas; the Izvatas and the Izhma Komi are further used interchangeably). Despite the historical turbulences, they have maintained a strong and positive local identity which since the 1990s has steered them to seek recognition as Indigenous smallnumbered peoples of the Russian Federation (Shabaev et al., 2010). Reindeer herding, which was adopted from the Nenets and in the 19th century modernized, is often used by the Izvatas activists as evidence of the group’s distinctiveness from the southern Komi people (Rohr, 2014). Yet, this is not the only determinant of Izvatas Indigenous descent. A unique dialect, inhabitation of ancestral lands, a nature-based lifestyle involving fishing, hunting and gathering, as well as a particular culture, have been developing Izvatas’ identity for centuries. At the same time, before the collapse of the USSR, the Soviet policy of russification had greatly influenced the cultural assimilation of non-Russian communities, weakening roles, status, and prestige of their languages, cultures, and identities (Stammler-Gossmann, 2009). The newly minted Indigenous activists had to entwine the culture of the ethnic groups with dominant Soviet culture in a form that could be presented to an outside observer (Kasten, 2005). Therefore, the cultural forms of expression have been developed under the umbrella of common Soviet values, and thus became more standardised and refined (Donahoe & Habeck, 2011). This has as well affected Lud, the reanimated traditional midsummer festival of Izhma Komi people. However, besides being a feast for the eyes of visitors and participants, Lud has become an event that has been stimulating to re-think and revitalise Izvatas distinct identity and unite all the Izvatas people who have been historically living all across the Russian North (Rocheva et al., 2019). At the same time, when in the early 2000s Izhma Komi were not granted the status of small numbered peoples, the Lud celebration started to play a greater role in addressing their claims to cultural and perhaps political self-determination. In order to make this argument, we first place cultural heritage in the context of Russian domestic laws and policies. In the following sections, we provide the background of the Izvatas selfidentification as a separate Indigenous group and discuss the meaning of the Lud celebration for constructing and revitalising Izhma Komi identity. In this context, we aim to explore the potential of listing the Lud festival as an intangible cultural heritage of the Komi Republic in becoming a backseat driver for the promotion of wider social agendas and possibly even political selfdetermination claims of the Izvatas. This article is based on a literature review as well as fieldwork research from both authors, conducted separately. In both cases, the field work took about two months, between spring and summer 2021 in the Izhemsky district of the Komi Republic, but also in Syktyvkar. The authors have been conducting semi-structured interviews combined with participant observation in Izhma, Sizyabsk, Bakur, Mokhcha, Gam, Mosh’Yuga and Vertep.
Cultural heritage and Indigenous self-determination in the Russian context The United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (United Nations, 2007) is the first international legal instrument that recognises Indigenous peoples’ right to selfdetermination (Cambou, 2019). Going beyond any claims for independence, UNDRIP contextualises the self-determination right of native populations as the freedom to determine their political status and freely pursue economic, social and cultural development (Lenzerini, 2019). Even though UNDRIP underlines the rule of the territorial integrity of sovereign states, the Russian Government has not endorsed the Declaration (Rohr, 2014). In its justification, the Russian state referred to already existing domestic standards, which comply with the provisions Izvatas cultural identification and self-determination
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defined by the Declaration, and thus pointed out the redundancy to duplicate the principles (Lenzerini, 2019). The evidence has been pointed to in the Russian Constitution, as its preamble refers to the principles of equality and self-determination, as have been recognised in the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (United Nations, 1966). Yet, the presence of those standards falls back on Lenin’s policy of korenizacija. The idea behind this has been that in order to build up a multiethnic state, the ethnic groups which construct it need to be equipped with legal standards for their autonomies (Mälksoo, 2017). Hence, state continuity requires an efficient and attentive ethnonational policy that prevents and suppresses ethnic conflicts and protects ethnic and cultural diversities (Zaikov et al., 2017). Therefore, although the right to self-determination is multidimensional, historically in Russian settings the cultural self-determination of nations and ethnic minorities have been recognised (Donahoe, 2011). In that regard, the Federal Law on Fundamental Legislation on Culture guarantees the right of ethnic communities to cultural and national autonomy (Russian Federation, 1992). This type of self-organization provides ethnic groups with the possibility to preserve and develop their ways of life, traditions, mother tongues, and self-awareness as distinct groups (Zaikov et al., 2017). To achieve these goals, the ethnic groups can benefit from the financial and legal support of the federation, put forward national and cultural interests to the legislative powers of local authorities, and preserve and enrich the historical and cultural heritage. Yet, national cultural autonomy is not a precondition per se for the enjoyment of the cultural rights of Indigenous peoples. Therefore, providing this kind of autonomy does not discharge the state from the positive obligation under international law to protect and promote Indigenous and minority rights by enhancing their participation in the decision-making process. Nevertheless, while referring to creation, interpretation, preservation and transmitting of tangible and spiritual heritage, the cultural-national autonomy framework provides the ethnic communities as heritage bearers with the capacity to freely realize their cultural self-determination (Bortolotto, 2015; Lixinski, 2015); the basis for this has been further developed in the domestic cultural heritage law framework. Russian legislation has been operating with the term “memorials of the history and culture”, which corresponds to the concept of cultural heritage as referred to in international law (Petrov, 2010). When in 1988 Russia ratified the UNESCO World Heritage Convention, and the document became an integral part of the Russian legal system, the federal law in addition to the term “memorials of the history and culture” adopted a direct expression of “cultural heritage” (kulturnoe nasledie) acknowledging the influences of international law (Russian Federation, 2002). The federal law from 2002 established a framework to prevent the destruction and disappearance of items of cultural heritage, understood as separate buildings, monuments, works of painting, sculptures, arts and crafts, ensembles of monuments and archaeological sites (Russian Federation, 2002). The protection of tangible heritage takes place on the federal, regional and local (municipal) levels which require the subjects of the Federation to adopt relevant sectoral laws (Zadorin et al., 2017). As for the recognition and protection of intangible heritage, Russia has not ratified the UNESCO Convention for the Protection of the Intangible Cultural Heritage (UNESCO, 2003). Thus, the main equivalent of the ICH Convention in the Russian legal system has been the federal law from 1992, which refers to spiritual heritage (Russian Federation, 1992). Yet in domestic legislation, intangible cultural values are considered as an integral part of the tangible heritage, and accordingly,
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constitute the subject of the general provisions enshrined in the constitution and legislation on the material cultural heritage. Therefore, the matters concerning identifying, recording, protecting, using and popularizing intangible heritage are solved by means of laws that complement each other, namely: first, the laws on culture; second, laws on the protection of tangible cultural heritage; and finally, policy documents such as the state national policy for the period up to 2025. In these regulatory legal acts, intangible cultural heritage is understood both as customs, forms of representation and expression, knowledge and skills, as well as related tools, objects, artefacts and cultural spaces recognized by communities, groups and, in some cases, individuals as part of their cultural heritage. Such intangible cultural heritage, being in close relationship with the material and natural heritage, can be catalogued in the registry of the intangible cultural heritage of the peoples of the Russian Federation, which is a federally driven database system. In light of the lack of explicit federal laws on intangible heritage, the Komi Republic government adopted the resolution that lays the grounds for the creation of the Intangible Cultural Heritage Registry, which is run by the Komi Center for Folk Arts and Advanced Training. The resolution does not provide a definition of intangible heritage, but an exemplary list, which is not definitive (Komi Republic, 2013a). What the document underlines is the meaning of the intangible heritage for creating and maintaining the identity as well as cultural continuity of all people living in the Komi, including their cultural diversity. Therefore, by recognising the constant creation of heritage, the resolution acknowledges that cultural practices constantly progress and develop, and thus cannot be “frozen” in time (Logan, 2012). This approach has been reflected in the heritage safeguarding strategy of the Center for Folk Arts, which besides being responsible for creating and updating the registry, organizes masterclasses and courses for adults and children, to facilitate the preservation of cultural elements in societies. Interestingly, at the same time, the registry has not been created to safeguard the intangible heritage embedded in people, but to create a system that allows for further study, classification and access to information about heritage existing on the territory of the republic (Komi Republic, 2013a). Therefore the emphasis has been given to the visibility of the heritage, spread of information, and popularisation of cultural elements. Moreover, the procedure for inscription is rather vague. It is not indicated who can submit the application for heritage listing nor what kind of experts are part of the interdepartmental group, which assesses the applications (Komi Republic, 2013b). This form of an open call for applications can provide a possibility for individuals as well as communities to propose elements of intangible heritage, that they themselves refer to as heritage to be included in the registry. The informants confirmed that there have been instances when individual community members have been proposing elements for inscription in the registry. However, the prevailing number of applications have been submitted by regional administrations and experts (folklorists and ethnographers), who have knowledge both about the practices but most importantly about the procedures (A.R., personal communication, 2021). Therefore, the participation of communities and thus their right to cultural self-determination is not excluded by the legislation of the Komi Republic. It still enables grass-root initiatives to challenge state and expert-driven politics (Bortolotto, 2010). Yet, the challenge is at the stage of assessing applications. The candidate for inscription needs to gain the favour of experts, the representatives of the Komi Ministry of Culture and representatives of the
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Centre for Folk Arts, which at times is done on a discursive basis, followed by individual experts’ preferences and wishes (A.R., personal communication, 2021).
Izvatas: background information
Figure 1: This map shows all the regions of the Russian Federation inhabited by Izhma Komi, created with mapchart.net The formation of the ethnic group of the Izhma Komi occurred between the 16th and the 18th century when several groups of southern Komi migrated to the north of the present-day Komi Republic (Kim et al., 2015). Interethnic marriages between the Vym’ Komi, the Udora Komi, the Russians and the Nenets were a determinant in the construction of the Izhma Komi group (Shabaev & Istomin, 2017). Izhemskaya slobodka (nowadays – Izhma village), founded in 1567 on the banks of the Izhma River, became the centre of the Izvatas residence. The Komi residing in the southern parts of the contemporary Komi Republic led a sedentary lifestyle. Their ways of life consisted of hunting, gathering, cattle breeding, fishing and agriculture activities (Shabaev & Istomin, 2017). The newly established Izhma Komi group along with practising these traditional activities adopted reindeer husbandry from the neighbouring Nenets people, and thus became the only Komi group that was engaged in such occupation (Goloviznina, 2019). While not being a predominantly nomadic population, the Izhma Komi designed a new way of herding, which significantly differed from reindeer husbandry techniques employed by other northern ethnic and Indigenous groups (Dwyer & Istomin, 2009). Based on the Izvatas’s seminomadic lifestyle, the “brigade-shift” method of reindeer husbandry, accompanied by other advances and overall profit-oriented “large-scale” approaches to herding by the end of the 19th
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century established the Izvatas as the largest reindeer herders in Bolshezemelskaya tundra (Kim et al., 2015: 86–87). In the second half of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th century, the shortages in accessible reindeer pastures, as well as the loss of reindeer due to infections and illnesses, urged the migration of the several Izvatas groups to Western Siberia and the Kola Peninsula (Istomin & Shabaev, 2016). In some cases, the Izvatas founded their own settlements; in others, they settled in the areas already inhabited by the Sami, the Nenets, the Khanty, and the Mansi people. Nowadays, the majority of the Izvatas still reside on the territory of their historical motherland, i.e. in the Izhemsky and other northern districts of the Komi Republic. Furthermore, the substantial Izvatas diasporas inhabit the Murmansk Oblast, the Nenets, the Yamalo-Nenets, and KhantyMansi Autonomous Okrugs (All-Russian Census, 2010). According to the census in 2002, 16,000 Izhma Komi have resided in Russia. However, already in 2010, this figure decreased dramatically: less than 6000 people registered as Izvatas (Kim et al., 2015). Nonetheless, in some regions, statistical data may be misleading and distant from the real figures. Indication of own ethnic belonging as Komi, contrary to Izhma Komi or Izvatas, serves as the prevailing cause for that. In addition, at times, when interethnic marriages come at stake, the Izhma Komi prefer to register children as, for instance, Nenets, or Russians, to provide them with a clear ethnic and legal status (Farnosova, 2010; Liskevich, 2010).
Revitalisation of Izvatas identity The Soviet-era experienced the drastic deconstruction of the Izhma Komi local ethnic identity and a rise in general Komi self-identification and self-awareness (Shabaev et al., 2010; Y.Y., personal communication, 2021). Indeed, it is particularly dramatic considering the Izhma Komi reluctance to accept the literary Komi language exemplary for the early years of the Soviet period (Kim et al., 2015). At the same time, despite the noticeable weakening of local self-identification, the Izvatas succeeded in preserving their historical memory (Shabaev et al., 2010). In particular, it was achieved not only in the Komi Republic but in other regions of the Izhma Komi residence as well (Farnosova, 2010). Furthermore, the diasporic communities, particularly, from the geographically adjacent Nenets Autonomous Okrug, have managed to sustain their ties with the Izhemsky district, a historical motherland of the Izhma Komi people. Visiting relatives and taking care of the ancestors’ graves are two of the most common rationales for undertaking a trip to the Komi Republic (Kaneva, 2015). Despite variations in self-designation applied in the Izhma Komi diaspora communities, the distinctiveness of the Izhma Komi among other Komi groups is broadly supported by all communities. Particularly, such distinctiveness is highlighted in relation to reindeer husbandry and their dialect, which according to the Izhma Komi individuals from the Nenets Autonomous Okrug differs significantly from the literary Komi language, which is sometimes called “Ezhva” Komi (Terentyeva, 2015; Valei, 2015). Among other elements that determine “Izhma Kominess” the traditional women costumes, particular cuisine and knowledge of Komi and Izhma Komi songs and folklore are outlined as well (Kaneva, 2015). The last decade of the 20th century commemorates the beginning of the ‘revitalisation’ of the Izhma Komi identity, triggered by the overall Indigenous political movement flourishing in the country Izvatas cultural identification and self-determination
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(Shabaev & Istomin, 2017; Y.Y., personal communication, 2021). It was the period characterized by the emergence of the concept of the ‘golden age of the Izvatas’, associated with the period of the end of the 19th century to the beginning of the 20th century when the Izhma Komi population was considerably distinctive from other Komi groups in terms of material prosperity and entrepreneurial skills (Shabaev et al., 2010). Consequently, culture was one of the spheres, where the revitalizing attempts were the most successful. One of the celebrations promoting the traditional culture and traditional activities of the Izhma Komi people has been Hunter’s holiday (Prazdnik okhotnika). First organized in 2004 in commemoration of the district’s first hunting artel, in comparison with Lud celebration, it does not bear a particular historical counterpart and is not unique even to the Komi Republic (Komiinform, 2021). However, the distinctive Izhma Komi features are reflected in Hunter’s holiday as well. The Izhma Komi traditional folk and hunting costumes, worn by both participants and audience, are the most perceptible attributes (BNK, 2014). Furthermore, the celebration unites the residents of all villages of the Izhemsky district. Another place where the exposition of the Izhma Komi self-awareness is especially vibrant is the Izhma’s District Museum of History and Local Lore, particularly its ethnographic exhibitions on traditional activities of the Izvatas (Izhma Museum, 2021). Museum collections reflecting the Izhma Komi culture and traditional occupations to various extents are likewise present in the regions of Izvatas diaspora. One of the initiatives in the village of Muzhi, in the Yamalo-Nenets Autonomous Okrug, has been the creation of the museum “Komi izba” that replicates a traditional Komi house from the end of the 19th century (Dom-muzej “Komi izba”, 2021). Moreover, the ethnographic exhibition of the Nenets Museum of Local Lore contains a small collection of Izvatas personal and household items (Nenets Museum, 2021). Furthermore, the Berezovo’s District Museum of Local Lore possesses a permanent exhibition on material and spiritual Izhma Komi culture and used to have a temporary exhibition on Zyryan reindeer herders (Berezovo Museum, 2021). The ethnonym ‘Zyryan’ should not be misleading: the local ethnic Izvatas historically employ the denomination ‘Komi’ in relation to the Komi living in the Komi Republic, while announcing themselves as ‘Zyryan’ (Kotov et al., 1996: 99). In addition to a variety of ethnographic exhibitions, all of the northern regions inhabited by the Izhma Komi have folk groups and cultural clubs, which organise masterclasses and workshops promoting the Izhma Komi culture.
Lud tradition as a booster of group identity The most successful Izhma Komi cultural revival project was the reconstruction of the folk celebration Lud. Nowadays, the celebration is both central among the cultural activities in the Izhemsky district and eminent for all Izvatas inhabiting the Russian North. Lud originates from old eponymous summer celebrations and symbolizes the spring to summer transition. The study conducted by Saveljeva has proven that some attributes of old lud celebrations have been adopted from the folk traditions of the neighbouring Russian speaking Ust-Tsilma people (Savel’eva, 2004). Just as reindeer husbandry initially adopted from the Nenets, so did the lud celebrations rooted in the northern Russian folk culture distinguished the Izhma Komi from other Komi groups.
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In the 19th century, contrary to the modern Lud, which is organized once per year, lud celebrations took place on each Sunday and holidays between Pentecost and St. Elijah’s Day (Savel’eva, 2004). Similarly, contrary to the contemporary centralized location of Lud in the village of Izhma, in preSoviet times each Izhma Komi village held its own celebrations, which commonly took place on meadows on the rivers’ banks. A place of the celebrations has been reflected in the name of the holiday as well: lud means “meadow” in the Komi language. The indispensable elements of old lud celebrations are emblematic of modern Lud as well: horse races, various folk games and dances, including a chain dance. The central day of the old lud celebrations was the last day before the beginning of the Apostles' Fast, which marked the beginning of the haymaking period. The day was finished with the ritual dance procession that was named vorota (translated as “gates”), which is reconstructed in modern Lud and is considered to be one of the most picturesque parts of the celebration. According to Saveljeva (2004: 203), the dance followed and symbolized the celebration’s fundamental idea of transition. The Lud tradition was suspended during the Soviet period, but it was revived in the 1990s after the collapse of the Soviet Union. The celebration’s restoration occurred during the time of the overall Izhma Komi ethnic identity stand out and aimed at the preservation and exposition of the group’s distinctness (Rocheva et al., 2019). The first attempt to organize a folklore celebration in the Izhemsky district was undertaken in June 1984, when the interdistrict festival of folk groups took place in Izhma, attracting the artists from the Izhemsky, Pechorsky and Intinsky districts. However, only in 1991, the celebration restored its historical name and thenceforth became an annual event. Contemporary Lud restored the vital, most visually attractive parts of old lud celebrations, including vorota dance-procession, horse races, traditional games and narrative dances. Although the celebration is now consolidated in the village of Izhma, other villages of the Izhemsky district arrange their own courtyards (called sikt, a village), which represent their typical features, traditional goods, food, and souvenirs. The distinctive visual outlook of the celebration is further strengthened by participants, particularly women, wearing traditional Izhma Komi costumes, either inherited from their ancestors or sewn specifically for the celebration (Ministry of Cultural and National Policy of the Komi Republic, 2007; Rocheva et al., 2019; Savel’eva, 2004). Together with the revitalisation of old traditions, the festival has acquired new attributes typical to most folklore celebrations in Russia – performances of various folklore groups from the district and beyond, accompanied by the sale of traditional souvenirs and local goods. Overall, a clear divide in the structure of the celebration is evident. The morning and early afternoon parts are a classical representation of Russia’s modern folklore festivals not bearing any particular ethnic meaning. In contrast, the evening and night parts commencing with the vorota processions and culminating on the small “island” surrounded by the Izhma and Kurya rivers, even nowadays are highly ritualized and endowed with symbolism and pre-christian beliefs. Present-day Lud bears several symbolic meanings. The paramount idea of transition, though conceivably not as significant to the modern-day Izvatas as it used to be to their ancestors, still flourishes in celebration’s rituals. Among other symbolic features, openness and unity are of essential importance. Lud does not only unify residents of the Izhemsky district, it rather serves as a binding thread for all Izvatas: those living in the Komi Republic and representatives of diaspora groups from the Kola Peninsula, the Nenets, the Yamalo-Nenets, and the Khanty-Mansi Izvatas cultural identification and self-determination
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Autonomous Okrugs. The unification of all Izhma Komi is stated as one of the official goals of the celebration as well (The Statute concerning the 15th interregional traditional folk celebration “Lud”, 2021). For some people from the diasporas, participation in Lud is concurrently the first visit to the historical motherland of the Izhma Komi people (Chuprova, 2015; E.E.S, personal communication, 2021; V.K.K., personal communication, 2021). Participation in Lud with the intention to find relatives is notably common for the diasporas as well (Khozyainov, 2015). Additionally, the contemporary ritual of taking a seedling from Izhma to plant it back at home emerged with the inclusion of diasporas in the celebration. This ritual is associated with the connecting and uniting nature of Lud as well (Ministry of Cultural and National Policy of the Komi Republic, 2007).
Izvatas cultural heritage and community recognition When the Izvatas association started to articulate their ethnic distinctiveness at the beginning of the 1990s, there has been a need to select signals for creating a unified Izvatas identity across the group divide. Therefore, on the one hand, what Barth calls the “codification of idioms” meant the creation of new cultural forms of expression which reflect the native ethnic identity (Barth, 1969: 34). On the other hand, in that case, relevance has been given to the revival of the selected cultural traits to establish the historical tradition justifying the distinct Indigenous descent (Barth, 1969). Even though the ethnocultural self-determination of Izvatas was accompanied by the creation of the museums, libraries, folk groups, cultural organisations and handicraft factory (Vokueva et al., 2015), the actual symbol of Izvatas ethnic and cultural distinctiveness became the revived Lud celebration, which over time has been used as a catalyst to build Izvatas separate Indigenous identity (Rocheva et al., 2019). When in 2009 the Lud tradition became one of the wonders of the Komi Republic and in 2013 was included in the regional register of the intangible cultural heritage of the Komi, its importance has been elevated from the celebration of local meaning to the republican one. This has resulted in several consequences for the tradition itself, as well as for the position of Izhma Komi in the republic. Together with the inscription in the registry, almost instantly the visibility of the celebration has expanded beyond the regions inhabited by Izvatas (V.Sh., personal communication, 2021). As one of the informants stated: “You see, people read about Lud, they become interested in the culture of Izvatas as well as their problems. Look at yourself, you read about the tradition, now you are here in Izhma and will write the first publication in English about the celebration. Is it not a lot?” (V.Sh., personal communication, 2021). Additionally, the statistics conducted after the festival in 2018 has shown the growing number of participants from all across Russia, as well as foreign visitors, mainly other Finno-Ugric people from Finland, Estonia and Hungary (Argumenty i fakty, 2020). In that regard, the forecast of increased revenue, which the tourism industry interested in exploring Izvatas culture could generate, ultimately became an important asset of the inscription. A wider interest in the celebration has been followed by a number of publications; books and newspaper articles replenished the collections of local libraries and museums (Personal observation of the author, 2021). As a practice that earned recognition as intangible cultural heritage, the Lud celebration could benefit from the wider financial support coming additionally from the budget of the Komi Republic as well as became eligible to apply for funding from other sources (Komi Republic Government, 2019). Moreover, the biggest oil company operating in the region, Lukoil-Komi, became one of the main sponsors of the event, as a part of their strategy to support cultural
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development in the extraction areas (Lukoil, n.d.). The involvement of significant resources for the administration of the festival determined the presence of the district and regional officials during the event, along with the representatives of Lukoil (V.Sh., personal communication, 2021). Under those conditions, Lud became a platform to accommodate conferences and think tank forums (the so-called Izhma readings), which welcome scholars, cultural workers and activists in contributing to the public debate by discussing the most topical issues surrounding Izhma Komi (Admizhma, 2020). Lud has exceeded the frames of being a mere local feast but gave space for researchers, journalists, representatives of public organizations and politicians to meet, thus gaining a political undertone (A.T., personal communication, 2021). It allowed raising the topics, which otherwise could have been too thorny to be discussed, under the umbrella of cultural heritage. To such a degree, it offered a space to articulate and negotiate the questions of self-determination, Indigenous status, and land rights. Moreover, the heritage of the Lud festival became the manifestation of the Izvatas distinct identity. The need to learn dances, songs and traditional expressions to hold the festival has been exceptionally important for the community members (V.K.K., personal communication, 2021). Consequently, Lud has been growing into a tool to strengthen Izvatas position in the politics of the Komi Republic, as people determined to preserve and transmit to the next generations distinct culture, language and identity. But most importantly the growing importance of Lud has been facilitating the recognition of the Izvatas community as such, as being distinct from other Komi people.
Lud Heritage Listing and advocacy for further political rights Previous studies conducted by others, such as Barth (1969) have shown that ethnic groups often use their cultural distinctiveness to reach further political goals, and thus ethnopolitical movements strive to reinforce the development of cultural forms of expression. Inevitably, the formal acknowledgement of the meaning of practices for communities can be achieved in a form of lists of cultural heritage (Blake, 2015; Bortolotto, 2017). However, the Russian legislation has a rather peculiar attitude towards lists of a different kind. Since the system often falls short in providing a convincing definition of its objects, therefore, it adheres to the principle to define “lists”. For instance, the definition of the “Arctic zone of the Russian Federation”, which lacks a convincing description, at the end merely enumerates territories defined as the “Russian Arctic”. The same is true for the “territories of traditional nature use”, “Indigenous small numbered peoples” and at the end also “intangible cultural heritage”. The system of “lists”, thus, follows in the arbitrary logic of the Russian bureaucratic decisionmaking system, which being drawn on the policy divide et impera, reflects the important political maxims of the authoritarian regime. This is what Cowan et al. (2001) have called the ‘essentializing proclivities of law’, understood as a tendency of the legal systems to operate within clear-cut categories of classification (Cowan et al., 2001: 10). Thus, the legal systems tend to contour the boundaries, whether it is “heritage – not heritage” or “Indigenous small numbered – nonIndigenous”, to include or exclude and grant rights and protection or deny them (Singh, 2014). In the light of the non-recognition of Izvatas rights, and community aspiration in earning the smallnumbered peoples status, the process of heritage listing can open up a backdoor not only for wider cultural heritage protection but especially for political claims. The recognition of the intangible
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heritage of the group, which has not been perceived by law as separate, can go beyond the enhancement of the visibility of heritage or stimulating identity. It can provide the Izvatas with a strong argument in favour of greater self-governance and possibly with the recognition as an Indigenous small numbered people of the Russian Federation. Therefore, the listing of the Lud festival fosters peoples’ agency, as they become more prone to further actions, furthers their cultural and political self-determination. Since cultural heritage law, both international and domestic, is often perceived to be a rather apolitical domain of heritage experts, it rarely attracts the attention of elites. However, under the cover of preservation of the past, imperceptibly it becomes an important theatre for the articulation of broader political claims (Lixinski, 2015). This is shown in the case of the Lud festival, of which listing was simply meant to fill in the regional registry and also to promote the celebration (conversation with Tatyana Popova, 2021), without presupposing that the festival can evolve into a platform for broader claims. Therefore, the political demands are slowly rising out of the primarily apolitical act of heritage recognition. Claiming political self-determination and connecting it with the small numbered peoples status by the use of heritage listings seems to be a less rebellious way to secure Izvatas rights. On the one hand, using the heritage listings does not involve land rights claims, as is the case while bringing environmental protection and ecological issues as the first and main reasons for community recognition. This is what the Izvatas organisation in the early 2000s has built upon: the unsuccessful request for the small-numbered peoples status. On the other hand, much of the expectations for greater autonomy can be too far fetched, given that the legal mechanisms for heritage protection privilege state rights and obligations to preserve the heritage and its meaning over communities’ rights to heritage (Bortolotto, 2015; Xanthaki, 2017).
Conclusions Even though the Izvatas, both the community and the public movement, have been particularly active in articulating their cultural and political claims, domestically as well as internationally, their position in the Russian legal system is not properly recognised. Nevertheless, the inevitable success has been the enhanced visibility and the wider recognition of Izhma Komi through the process of listing the Lud festival as an intangible cultural heritage of the community. The meaning of the revitalised festival for boosting the Izvatas identity cannot be disregarded either. However, at the current stage, even a thinner version of self-determination does not seem to be on the horizon. Even though the Izhma Komi identity and its strong expression during the Lud have the potential to become a forum for more political claims, the manifestation of those demands is not yet fully developed. It is doubtful whether the Lud celebration can become an incentive for political self-determination, since the meanings of heritage, as well as possibilities that heritage recognition may offer, are tightly controlled by the state, thus reducing to a minimum the potential of heritage in the exercise of self-determination.
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Complex Yoiks – A Time Traveller: Aboriginal Oral Traditions Among the Sámi in Sweden
Krister Stoor
Introduction This article presents research on the oral narration context and content of Yoik, the traditional Sámi acapella form of singing. The Sámi people are recognized as Indigenous in northern Fennoscandia. Although yoik has been brought into the modern world through combining with music forms such as rap and country, yoik traditionally was created and performed by individuals who imparted their own experiences of people, animals, and places on their narratives. For it to conform to its traditional form, yoik can never be taken out of its original context, because outside of that context the narrative becomes something else, only text, taking on new connections. The word yoik is used as if it were a verb, which comes from the north Sámi word juoigat. To yoik is to express yourself verbally with song or speech; one yoiks a song that is to say a vuolle, vuölle, vuelie, or luohti. The differences between what one calls songs is only geographical. In the Scandinavian languages the word yoik has also become a substantive noun, nominative, one talks about the wolf’s yoik, person’s yoik, and so on. Every individual has its own song, but you cannot create it yourself, it has to be given to you. Animals do, as well, have their own songs. Some sing them with characteristics; you have to be the animal you are describing in the song. Landscape is a third theme that has to be described. Sometimes these themes are intertwined, which is what professor Israel Ruong calls ‘complex yoik’ (Arnberg et al, 1997). Yoiking tradition can be considered Indigenous (i.e., aboriginal) dating to before the transition to reindeer herding in the 16th century. The ethnomusicologist Ernst Emsheimer (1964) recognized the yoik as the oldest singing style in Europe. We do not know how it exactly sounded back then. The first documented yoik is from Schefferus’ book Laponia from 1673 (Schefferus et al, 1956). The station master Karl Tirén was one of the earlier collectors of yoik during the early 1900s in Sweden. In Finland, Armas Launis (1908) did the same kind of collecting with 800 transcriptions and recordings. Though, its traditional form arose in the last century after the Sámi were influenced by the Western European cultures. It is said that when the juke box was introduced in the late 1950s at the café in Guovdageaidnu, Norway, it influenced the old tradition. One can hear it as Krister Stoor is an Associate Professor in the Department of Language Studies/Sámi Dutkan at Umeå University.
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well in the forest Sámi traditions that Swedish folk music also influenced the singing style. A way to degrade another Sámi was to yoik him like a waltz in 3/4 beat (Stoor, 2007: 51). Nils Petter Svensson, a forest Sámi reindeer herder from Mausjaur, Arvidsjaur parish, Sweden that fit into the yoik time frame, was a traditionalist who transitioned to the modern form. When he was yoiking in 1953, Burman brothers who were playing the accordian, and Nils Petter Svensson was yoiking them as he himself was an accordian. Svensson’s greatest tribute to the old tradition is his way to use the song as a form of storytelling, as I will explain later. Johan Turi’s description of yoik The first Sámi who described yoik was the Sámi author Johan Turi. He was a pioneer and with his 1910 book Muitalus sámiid birra [An Account of the Sámi] came to be considered as the father of Sámi literature (Turi & DuBois, 2012). Turis’ approach was to create a story where the reader was present as an audience and, in the story, the yoik is along as a natural part. The first time he presented a yoik, a wild reindeer’s tune in the first part of the book, he described a reindeer herder who received a visit by a wild bull reindeer and allowed it to mate with his female reindeer. Muhto son oaččui goit goddenáli, sus šadde bohccot dego gottit, nu šealgadat ja beavrrihat, ja dan olbmui šadde rievddalmas bohccot. Ja juohkehaš gáđaštii su bohccuid, go dat ledje olu čábbábut go iežáin. Gotti luohti Goddi, goddi, nana, nana, goddi, goddi, manat dego suoivvanas, goddi, goddi, nana, nana, voja, voja, čuovggadii dego silba, goddi, goddi, voja, voja, nana, nana, voja, dego čuovžaguolli. (Turi & DuBois, 2012: 67) ___________
He got in all cases the wild reindeer’s offspring, [thus] his reindeer became like wild reindeer, so shiny and high legged, and that man got reindeer who differed from all of the others. And everyone envied him his reindeer, because they were much more beautiful than the others. The Wild Reindeer’s Song Wild reindeer, wild reindeer, nana nana, wild reindeer, runs like the shadow, wild reindeer, wild reindeer, nana nana voia voia, shiny like silver, wild reindeer, wild reindeer, voia voia nana nana
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voia, shines like a whitefish. (Turi & DuBois, 2012: 67) Turis’ chapter on the Sámi songs begins with a five-line description of yoik. One of the most recognized meanings is “It is an art to remember other people. Some are remembered in hate and remembered in love, and others remembered in mourning” (Turi & DuBois, 2012: 198). Turi writes an epic yoik where the reader ends up in a yoik story about a young couple who are dating [to be free for marriage – idiomatic expression]. Finally, he describes a young man’s song and the reindeer’s song. The last five lines in the chapter contain a description of the yoik, which is also often cited. Juigamus lea dakkár, go lea rievttes čeahpes juoigi, de lea nu hávski gullat, goase čirrosat bohtet guldaleddjiide. Muhto go dakkár juoigit leat, guđet garrudit ja bániid gasket ja uhkidit goddit bohccuid ja velá isidanai, ja de dat leat ahkidat gullat (Turi & DuBois, 2012: 199). __________ Yoiking is such, that if it is really artful, it is very pleasant to listen to: tears nearly come to one’s eyes while listening. But if it is that kind of yoiking that includes swearing and gnashing of teeth and threats to kill reindeer or even their owners, then it is terrible to hear (Turi & DuBois, 2012: 199). If one transfers Turis’ writing to plain speech then the reader finds himself in the middle of a performance. The only difference is that the reader will never be able to influence Turis’ text. That Turi continues to be cited and discussed depends, according to my understanding, that he described a reality and reality cannot be wrong. Thus, Turi becomes a theoretician whose theses are tested again and again. Linguist Nils Jernsletten begins his article Om joik og kommunikasjon (Jernsletten, 1978) by discussing Turi and he shows that someone who does not recognize Turi’s context believes that Turi’s text deals with something other than yoik, and Jernsletten further develops Turi’s thoughts. Specifically, he makes his reflections more precise: The yoik, luotti, is also not an objective, characterizing musical-poetic description of the people who belong to the group. It reflects the subjective perception of others of man, or of animals or landscapes if that is what the yoik is named after (Jernsletten, 1978: 110). Jernsletten (1978: 111) writes that a luohti does not exist by itself other than if a collective adopts it and therefore confirms a personal yoik individual’s identity in the society. Further, he writes that when a person dies his/her personal song gets forgotten. Through a turn on the reasoning, he means that as long as the individual’s luohti is remembered the man lives on, even if he is physically dead (Jernsletten, 1978: 11). That viewpoint is strengthened by Turi’s discussion about yoik as a memory art (Turi & DuBois, 2012). Even Rydving discusses the term “life” as a qualitative concept
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in a pagan environment, and it is again played out in the yoik as a memory art. One lives as long as one is remembered (Kjellström et. al., 1988: 84). The early 1900s recordings To speak further on what example Karl Tirén’s diary can give, one such example is a description about, among other things, a settler couple who is having a wedding and there are a lot of Sámi taking part. The crowd is good [idiom] with many yoiks, but there comes a moment where conflicts appear, for example “riklappen Bånta” (the rich man Bånta, the name indicates he is rich) wants to yoik a hate song to the farmers, which he is reluctant to do. Even Tirén receives criticism and slanderous songs are yoiked toward enemies on the Norwegian side of the border (Tirén, 19141915: 4f). Tirén has documented a yoik, probably from the same wedding. Utne le avo ja hauske tanne Brutas li fauro Tanne lä tjåkonam svänska ja same Ja lä te ko vieljatja ja åbbatja tal mia roligisjavos vänak Tirén lä ai tanne _________ Today, we had it good here the bride is beautiful Here are both Swedes and Sámi and we are friends and family and the funny and nice friend Tirén is also here. (Tirén, 1914-1915: 20). The reindeer herder and author Lars Rensund writes about a wedding three years earlier in 1912 between Nils and Anna Lasko.1 Rensund describes the event as if it were the biggest wedding ever. In Rensund’s explanation there are no hints about ethnic disagreements, except he describes in detail how meager the soups and foods were. Tirén and Rensund are completely agreed on the question about yoiking. The foremost yoiker, according to Rensund (Rensund, 1984: 80) was Lars Erik Steggo, Bebno-Pera, who was the groom’s stepfather and he yoiked a kin song. Slontja bardne juokalvasav (häjav. – brolåbev) tagai Rahpeni, nelje vareh juokalvassai pievdi Arvasav, Barturtev, Njasjav, Tjidjakav. __________ Stoor
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Slontja’s son had a wedding in Rappen Peoples from four mountains he invited Arvas, Barturte, Njasja, Tjidjak (Rensund, 1984: 80). One can assume that a nine-year-old Israel Ruong could have been at the same wedding that Rensund describes. Ruong was two years younger than Rensund and Ruong was one of the Sámi authors who discussed the role of yoik within the society. To remind you, “Feel and Yoik”2 is the title of the chapter that Ruong wrote in the work Yoik, which is often used as a theoretical basis in the scholarship about yoik (Kjellström et. al., 1988). Ruong borrows the author Johan Turis’ reasoning and meaning that it is an art of remembrance, which lies in the experience (Arnberg et. al., 1997: 38). Ruong made an interpretation and translation of an example of such an experience by Mattias Andersson’s song “Reindeer Herd at Oulavuolie.” Ruong characterizes the song about the mountain Oulavuolie as a complex yoik, where the motif threads are intertwined (Arnberg et. al., 1997: 24). The motifs are the landscape, the reindeer, and the humans, and the complex yoiks contain parts of two or three motifs. The text, melody, and rhythm give a picture of the life and the work, “… a picture transposed to and carved into an artistic force field, which from ancient times is the Saami’s own” (Arnberg et. al., 1997: 14). Moreover, one can compare Ruong with the American ethnopoetics Dell Hymes (1981) and Barre Toelken (1995). Ruong understands, like Hymes and Toelken, that the language can be translated and interpreted, also interpreted more than how he translates it. Ruong creates poetry of simple texts that sometimes are prettier than the original language. His concept of complex yoiks is used by many yoik researchers (e.g., Kjellström et. al., 1988). To conclude, what a complex yoik means, it is a song which could be about a mountain, at the same time deals with people who lived there or the life that was lived there. There are thus several parallel actions in a complex yoik and time dimensions could co-exist. Ruong’s development of Turis’ memory art theories make it understood that the yoik functions as a type of inner travel, where the yoiker takes his memory to places he or others have been (Arnberg et. al., 1997: 24). Nils Petter Svensson yoiks his father Nils Petter Svensson (1884–1963) was a reindeer herder in the Mausjaur reindeer herding community (sameby) in Arvidsjaur Parish. Svensson appears as an informant both within Uppsala landsmål arkiv (ULMA) collection during the 1940s and in Swedish Radio’s collection during the 1950s. He was also an informant to Ernst Manker of the Nordic Museum (Manker, 1968). In ULMA’s yoik meeting minutes, which describes when a number of yoikers and storytellers had gathered to yoik and explain songs and stories for ULMA’s fieldworkers3, it says that Nils Petter Svensson, among others, sang a song about waiting for the uncles Johan and Lars Mattsson in the morning, when they should have been coming back from a small game hunting with their catch, birds. Svensson yoiked “with completely open mouth and not ugly but somewhat stressed baritone” (Moberg, 1943: 9). It is clear, that Svensson’s performance has a narrative character according to Moberg. Svensson uses gestures and the content is happily about life’s events. His uncle Lars Mattsson returns in several stories, among others, including how the uncle will learn ancient arts from a shaman (Moberg, 1943: 10). It is striking how the shamans emerge during the Aboriginal Oral Traditions Among the Sámi in Sweden
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performance within the group that sat together. During the group’s meeting, the topic of conversation moves frequently toward the supernatural, like the weather, about shamans, and so forth. N.P. Stenberg explained about how his uncle who learned to make predictions like a shaman, which according to the meeting minutes should have happened during the 1720s.4 As a result of the explanation about N.P. Stenberg’s uncle, it is natural that Nils Petter Svensson speaks about his uncle who had similar shamanistic abilities to Stenberg’s uncle. The narrators changed positions; sometimes they are audiences and sometime speakers. Nils Petter Svensson returns in a later situation as the same man who warned the women to examine the shaman’s medicine cabinet (Moberg, 1943: 10). Svensson contributes to Swedish Radio’s 1953 recording with ten individual songs and all are personal yoiks. The characteristic of all of his recorded yoiks is sentimentality; harbme båhta “grief comes” again in several situations. Even Svensson’s approach to switching between speech and song is recurrent and does not seem to be a coincidence. In a recording from 1963 he began an interview by saying that he knew not so much, but the interviewer Tryggve Sköld convinced Svensson of the opposite and in several seconds, he started his explanation. Svensson regularly yoiked very slowly. He liked to draw out the notes and has much sentimentality in his voice (Svensson, 1963). Stølen describes his yoik technique in a way that represents a minor tradition and formula structure that was common in Arvidsjaur (Stølen, 2001: 36ff). His father’s song [sung] la la aja aja sorrow comes when I remember (father) gu bien gu aja aja he was strong at work you should not be afraid to send the dogs to the reindeer the reindeer you must tame [spoken] you should not be afraid to send the dogs to the herd [sung] but so was the herd also tame the reindeer were tame they remained still during the rest periods. I remember when he drove the herd with the help of the dogs from the camp fire he sent the dogs Turn reindeer! He called Mother wanted once to drive the herd away then father called to the dogs [spoken] turn reindeer, he called
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and the dogs set off and turned the reindeer and mother could not drive the herd away [sung] The good reindeer dogs could not get the reindeer from the rest place yes, a good reindeer dog had my father naja vaja aja aja (Arnberg et. al., 1997: 175). This song is to the father, but as Gaski (2000) has pointed out, there are regular implied moments in the yoik, and that happens even here. The song in this case also mostly describes the father’s dog. Ruong reveals that Svensson uses the word sjoåvana to mean a good reindeer dog (Arnberg et al., 1997: 174). It shows also how good the herding dogs were in his father’s time, which suggests that dogs had become worse in the later time during Nils Petter Svensson’s old age.5 Johan Turi writes about the yoik as a memory technique and in that case Svensson uses the yoik as a way to be transported back in time. The yoik awakens feelings within him. When one listens to the recording, one notices that Svensson took upon himself his father’s role in the middle of the melody in the father’s song. He does not sing about his father, but he becomes the reality of his father. That is apparent when he calls for his dogs and calls out jårgot “turn”. Even the word håskohtit “to yell for the dogs to turn the reindeer herd” (Schlachter, 1958: 68) takes on a significant meaning. It explains to him how a reindeer herd should be tended. He speaks for others, galgabetet, “you [plural] should tame the reindeer and you should not be afraid to drive the herd with dogs.” When he talks about the time that the mother wanted to drive away the reindeer, the song transitions to talking and he is back as Nils Petter Svensson for several seconds. But as soon as he yells to the dogs then he is back in the father’s role again, jårgot “turn” becomes the key word again. This is clearly the example of a portion of the yoik’s dynamic. One yoiks not about anything, except one yoiks something and as a yoiker one can change perspective when it fits the context. Nils Petter Svensson has for several minutes not been himself but his father Anders Svensson, who commands both his dog and wife. When one analyzes Anders Svensson’s wife’s role, she can appear to be a weak person. But if one compares when Nils Petter Svensson yoiks the mother’s song, the mother appears as a strong and powerful woman who was along for the migration and drove the herd along with the dogs. Nils Petter Svensson finished with the words die lii geuvros gummo ‘it was a strong old woman’ to underscore the power with his mother (Ruong, 1954: 54). A translation shows that the mother was the strongest and most diligent one of the married couples. She is moving and skiing the whole time, while the husband sits near the fire pit and controls the dogs. In an interview with Tryggve Sköld, Svensson yoiks his father and, although the text is not really the same as in Swedish Radio’s recording, the performance itself is similar. Svensson was not as moved, but the relationship between his father’s and mother’s song are intimately associated with each other. He transitioned from yoiking his father to yoiking his mother with a little bridge of small, short spoken words (Svensson, 1963). When Nils Petter Svensson Aboriginal Oral Traditions Among the Sámi in Sweden
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yoiked his father in 1943 (Moberg, 1943), ULMA thus described his yoiking exactly in the same way as in 1953 and 1963; it became a genealogy where speech and singing switches. That indicates that the father’s song is not only a musical story, but song’s expression becomes a performance, where the context determines the mood that one can hear in Svensson’s voice. That seems to be found as a standardized form that he assumes and that is heard strongly by his father and the family. One can ask if the father was a lazy man and wonders if there was a conflict between the mother and father, where he wanted to drive away the herd. That is probably an exaggeration to claim that the father was lazy, and I will not go so far in my interpretation. But apparently, he was careful with resting time for the reindeer (and for himself). That is important knowledge, which is significant for a good reindeer herder, in other words to know when the reindeer need to rest. To summarize Nils Petter Svensson’s yoiking, one can say that he was an emotional person and he used the expression harbme båhta ‘grief comes’ on several occasions. Åbme bäive ‘the past times’ is another formulation that he is using in other songs and it is a reverent way to speak of the dead (Arnberg et al., 1997: 176ff). It is not at all uncommon that the memory comes back for him with an event that belonged “to the old days”, when for example one was with the herd migration on Lake Mausjaur (Arnberg et al., 1997: 176). By looking at several different songs that belonged to Nils Petter Svensson’s family, one sees the context and in the analysis of his father’s song that has several parallel actions. We also understand Nils Petter Svensson’s relationship to his surroundings, relatives and friends better. By the way, Nils Petter Svensson himself appears very knowledgeable within reindeer herding, judging from Tryggve Sköld’s interview with him (Svensson, 1963). Svensson yoiks the same song, which Anders Hesekiel Mattsson yoiked for Swedish Radio, “Reindeer doe talked to the herder” (Arnberg et al., 1997: 190). The melody is the same but the text is a little bit different, and in addition, Svensson changed between speech and song. The content is that the doe says to the reindeer herder that he should not be hungry, he shall slaughter her calf.
Summary Oral history is a typical folkloric research tradition. The yoik is a story that is either sung or spoken. It concerns often the activities that were handed down from mouth to mouth over several generations. It is first during the late 1900s that large studies were made of the yoik. The earlier examples from the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries are more scattered and not collected with a goal to give the yoik an overall picture. In order to understand the yoik, one should include the yoik’s context, or the yoiker’s social background in order to understand the content with the text. A message has a double subjectivity, both the sender’s message and the receiver’s possibility to interpret the message. Such a connection gets the performative aspect’s large significance, the actor and listener have a connection that influences the occasion. One calls it performance and it is an artistic action, which includes both the actor and the listener (see Bauman, 1977: 4). The actor is able in the narrative moment, dependent upon the view of the public, to give meaning that can be interpreted differently depending upon the listener’s knowledge in the topic. To understand those codes, one must have insight into the actor’s culture. In the stories there is knowledge that builds upon traditional values. Nils Petter Svensson, Arvidsjaur Parish comes from a Forest Sámi tradition, since he was from the Sámi reindeer herding community, Mausjaur, situated in the village Borgsjö. Svensson has Stoor
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a yoik tradition where both speech and song are important ingredients in the yoik; he is in other words a yoiking narrative. Svensson blends the spoken knowledge with the song: when he yoiks his father he changes between speech and song. The speech also becomes a changing perspective also in the song: when he speaks, he does it from his father’s perspective. Nils Petter Svensson acts from a short period as his father. The song to the father is also an example for what Israel Ruong calls a complex yoik. A complex yoik has several parallel actions and themes that are intertwined. That is to say that yoiks which deal with his father also deal as much with his father’s good dogs, with his mother, with how one herds reindeer in a good way, with places, and gives a good picture of the relations between families. Nils Petter Svensson is travelling in time in his songs.
Acknowledgments This article is written within the research project Oral narrative as immaterial cultural heritage and social force, funded by the Swedish Research Council (Vetenskapsrådet), 2016-02275.
Notes
1. Anna Lasko has left several examples of yoiks to Karl Tiréns documentation. 2. Ruong published the same article in the Institute for Folk Life Research publication series but under another title, Om jojkning [About Yoiking. To remember, feel, and reproduction] (Ruong 1976). 3. On August 27 – 30, 1943 ULMA gathered its informants. That is the time for the great church days (Storstämningshelgen, annually fourth weekend in August) where all of the Sámi in the region are gathered in the “Lapp Town” in Arvidsjaur. 4. The actual time disappears in stories. N.P. Stenberg was born in 1881 and his uncle should have been active more than 160 years earlier. “Uncle” in this case probably stood as a concept for an older person. 5. I have myself heard many times stories about how much better dogs were in earlier times and that has been exemplified with different stories from the old days.
References Arnberg, M & Unsgaard, H & Ruong, I. (1997). Yoik. Stockholm: Sveriges Radios förlag. Bauman, R. (1977). Verbal Art as Performance. Rowley: Newbury House. Emsheimer, E. (1964). Studia ethnomusicologica Eurasiatica. Stockholm: Kungl. Musikaliska akademin. Gaski, H. (2000). The Secretive Text. Yoik Lrics as Literature and Tradition. In: Sami Folkloristics. (Vol. NNF Publications 6). Eds. Pentikäinen, J & Gaski, H & Hirvonen, V, Sergejeva, J & Stoor, K. Turku: Åbo Akademi University.
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Hymes, D. (1981). “In Vain I Tried to Tell You”. Essays in Native American Ethnopoetics. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Jernsletten, Nils, (1978). Om jojk og kommunikasjon. In: Kultur på karrig jord: festskrift til Asbjørn Nesheim. Oslo: Norsk folkemuseum. Kjellström, R & Ternhag, G & Rydving, H. 1988. Jojk. Hedemora: Gidlunds. Moberg, C-A. (1943). ISOF i Uppsala. Acc 17598. Protokoll över upptagningarna av lapsk folklore och jojkningar under prof. Collindersexpedition till Arvidsjaur d. 27–30 aug. -43. Launis, A. (1908). Lappische Juoigos-Melodien. Gesammelt und Herausgeben. FF-Publications, Northern Series No 3. Helsinki: Finnischen Litteraturgesellschaft. Rensund, L. (1984). Renen i mitten. Minnen berättade av Lars Rensund. Luleå: Norrbottens Museum. Ruong, I. (1954). ISOF, Institutet för språk- och folkminnen. ULMA 32580:XIV:67c. Texter till jojkarna, samt brev från Jon Eldar Einejord. Ruong, I. (1976). Om jojkning. Stockholm: Institutet för folklivsforskning. Schefferus, J., Granlund, J., & Manker, E. (1956). Lappland. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. Schlachter, W. (1958). Wörterbuch des Waldlappendialekts von Malå und Texte zur Ethnographie. Helsinki: Suomalais.ugrilainen seura. Stoor, K. (2007). Juoiganmuitalusat – Jojkberättelser. En studie av jojkens narrativa egenskaper. (Sámi dutkan-samiska studier-Sámi Studies 4). Umeå universitet: Sámi Studies Stølen, A. (2001). Om dur- og moll-preg i Arvidsjaur-joiker. Svensk tidskrift för musikforskning STM 2001:27–44. Svensson, NP. (1963). Tlar om renskötsel. Edited by T. Sköld and P-U Ågren. Umeå: ISOF, Institutet för spark- och folkminnen. DAUM Bd 568. Tirén, K. (1914–15). Dagböcker 1914–1915, första och andra färden 1914. Bergvik: Bergviks allting. Toelken, B. (1995). Morning Dew and Roses. Nuance, Metaphor, and Meaning in Folksongs. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Turi, J., & DuBois, T. A. (2012). An account of the Sámi. A translation of Muitalus sámiid birra, based on the Sámi original. Karasjo: ČálliidLágádus.
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City as Home: Sense of Security and Emotional Places in the Drawings of Schoolchildren from the Nordic Countries and Russia Tatiana Zhigaltsova
The article gives an overview of the concepts of “feeling of place”, “place attachment” and “sense of security” in phenomenological tradition in the fields of geography, psychology, and culture studies. The author demonstrates the utility of the drawing method in the interpretation of "sense of security" in relation not only to specific places, but to the entire urban environment. The results of the study among the children and teenagers from Tornio (Finland), Haparanda (Sweden), Nikel (Russia) and Kirkenes (Norway) are presented. The study was based on an anonymous questionnaire with open-ended questions and children’s drawings. A total of 56 questionnaires in Nikel, 33 in Haparanda, 35 in Tornio and six in Kirkenes were collected between 2015 and 2020. The schoolchildren were asked if they considered their cities clean, safe, and friendly. The questionnaire also included questions about specific places in the cities that the children and teenagers associated with the feelings of interest, joy, comfort, pride, anxiety, sorrow, disgust, and shame. The study identified the criteria of a secure urban environment, the most important of which being a “feeling at home”. This was reflected in the drawings of places triggering positive emotions of comfort, joy, interest (emotopias of peace and activity). It was proven that negative emotions such as sorrow in connection with cemeteries, shame and disgust in connection with dirty and polluted places do not diminish the sense of security among schoolchildren, as opposed to anxiety (dark places, abandoned buildings). The obtained results were visualized by means of interactive emotion maps.
Background Studies concerning different aspects of “place” (“feeling of place”, “place attachment” and other) are remarkably diverse and represent such branches of social studies as environmental psychology, sociology, community psychology, human geography, cultural anthropology, gerontology, demography, urban studies, leisure sciences and tourism, ecology, forestry, architecture and planning, and economics (Lewicka, 2011: 207). Modern processes of computerization, globalization, increased migration and mobility have not weakened the research interest; rather, place research has become of great relevance, and the number of publications on the subject is steadily increasing (Lewicka, 2011). Tatiana Zhigaltsova is an Associate Professor of the Department of Culture and Religious Studies of the Northern (Arctic) Federal University named after M.V. Lomonosov, Russia, Arkhangelsk.
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It was geographical studies that took an early interest in the notion of “place”. The growing interest to the concept of “place” in humanistic geography was underpinned by “an insistence on taking seriously the inter-subjectively constituted lifeworlds – the shared meanings and ‘common-sense knowledges’ – associated with groups of people who lead similar lives under similar circumstances in similar places”, which led to the so called “cultural turn” in geographical work (Latham, McCormack, McNamara & McNeill, 2009: 6). Human geography researchers focused on the importance of everyday practices and life routines and researched such mundane human experiences as tending gardens, sitting in airports and cafés and using telephones (Latham, McCormack, McNamara & McNeill, 2009: 7). The feeling of place in the geographical research, especially in the early periods, under the influence of phenomenological tradition was construed as strong emotional attachment, and even affection, to places – “topophilia” (Tuan, 1974). Since the 1980s, an opposite trend has been observed – the loss of sense of place, which was caused by technological progress, monotony and standardization of design and architectural solutions, creation of environments of few significant places – cities were becoming “placeless”, or “flatscapes” (Relph, 1976: 384). This phenomenon was largely attributed to cities and megacities. At present, the borders between towns and cities, between urban and rural environments are becoming conventional and interpenetrating. Rural lifestyles are undergoing urbanization, with people commuting to workplaces, travelling, teleworking, shopping, and the omnipotent media are present in every sphere of life. “The traditional divide between the city and the countryside has been perforated” (Amin & Thrift, 2002 in Latham, McCormack, McNamara & McNeill, 2009: 1). Still, some researchers tend to differentiate between the “rural sense of place” and the “urban sense of place” (Convery, Corsane & Davis, 2012). The feeling of home and your own land in small rural settlements has deeper roots (“rootedness within a locality”) due to the fact that several generations might have lived in the same area. Some farm families have a deep feeling for their own land gained over the years from early childhood, so that the land and the surrounding environment are an integral part of their cultural code (Convery, Corsane & Davis, 2012: 12). In my opinion, not only the feeling of place, but also the sense of security will be stronger in small populated places, in towns balancing between rural and urban environments, due to the absence of unfamiliar, unknown, disturbing spaces, as well as the absence of outsiders, whose actions may be regarded as threatening. The very environment of a small city, where it is easier to reach different destinations and which is better adapted to the daily needs of its residents, is perceived by them as a safer environment (Boverket, 2011: 20). The crime rate in larger cities is higher due to higher population density, greater migration, more rapid population growth and prevalence of young people in the demographic structure of the population (Ladbrook, 1988). Naturally, lower crime rates are a foundation for the sense of security. The sense of security is made up of not only low crime rate and the feeling of being protected against physical violence. “Human security” encompasses all kinds of human life aspects: “categories of human security are economic, food, health, environmental, personal, community, and political” (Imanian, 2014). Children and teenagers are vulnerable in this respect, because their “human security” depends on the actions of adults. Children are prone to losing their sense of personal and public security in larger cities due
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to higher exposure to such risks as kidnapping, child abuse and simply geographical disorientation, because they are not very well acquainted yet with the local environments (Imanian, 2014). Identification of detailed criteria of the sense of security in association with specific locations and the living environment in general as perceived by children and teenagers is a promising direction for “sense of security” studies.
Drawing urban environments Research into the sense of security requires qualitative methods, for instance, by means of drawings. Analysis of drawings allows capturing subconscious representations, i.e. something that cannot be exposed by direct questioning. The analysis of drawings made by residents of large cities of all ages is a widespread technique for surveying the image of a place and the image of the city in general. Kevin Lynch was one of the pioneers to apply the drawing method (Lynch, 1991). He asked the respondents to draw a map of their city and describe their daily itineraries. Following this, the author reflected on the image of “one’s own territory”, where people feel “at home” and can identify themselves “both socially and spatially”. As an example, he provided a child’s drawing of “one’s own” territory (Lynch, 1991). The drawing analysis method has been successfully used with children and teenagers as well. In a study by James et al. (1998), the researchers applied methods based on children’s yet limited competencies and skills, such as the Draw and Write technique (Backett-Milburn & McKie, 1999), along with conversational interviews, assuming that in all other senses children were like adults. “The Draw and Write technique involves drawing a picture and writing about the feelings it provokes or more explanations about its details that could not be expressed through drawing” (Imanian, 2014, as quoted in Sewell, 2011). Drawings are generally used to analyse images of specific places and routes from one point to another. Researcher O. Nikitina conducted interviews with 10-12 year-old native and immigrant children in Paris and Berlin. She asked the children to draw their itinerary from their house to school. The drawings were analysed by V. Semenova in the article “Mapping of an urban space: Key approaches for the visual analysis” (Semenova, 2009). By comparing the children’s drawings, V. Semenova arrived at a conclusion that immigrant children did not mark the beginning and end of their itinerary, did not depict themselves in the drawings, and did not capture “mental points”. This suggested that they did not personalize the space, as opposed to native children (Semenova, 2009). Drawings can be used to analyse not only the image of places, but also personal attitude and emotions of the author, which are bound to be conveyed through the drawing. M.V. Osorina, who studied children’s perceptions of the world, noted that five-year-old children already possessed an individual symbolic system that allowed them to use spatial and colour codes to convey important information about the world through drawings (Osorina, 2019). This information could be obtained from spatial arrangement of objects and people, by comparing their sizes, shapes, colours, etc. Yet another method of drawing analysis was developed by Sara Imanian, who used prepared drawings of characters with empty speech bubbles and asking schoolchildren to come up with anxiety-related phrases to fill the bubbles. The children were asked to imagine that the boy or the
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girl drawn on a piece of paper were the same age as them, and were asked to write down what would worry this child about his or her parents, brothers and sisters, his or her home, their neighbourhood, the nearby park and streets, and the road from home to school (Imanian, 2014). The resulting phrases characterized children’s personal attitude to the problem. Besides “PictureAided Questionnaires about the worries of girls or boys of participants’ own age at home and in the city”, Imanian also used “Draw and Write tasks about how insecure homes and cities look like” and “Conversational interviews about concepts of security/insecurity, secure/insecure places, and children’s reactions to feeling insecure” (Imanian, 2014). Edwards (2008) argued that there was a “structural similarity” in the images of emotions drawn by different people. It is feasible to decode the emotional component of the drawing, by analysing the drawing technique: pressure of the pen against the paper, length of dashed lines, and use of colour. For example, “anger” appears to generate jagged, dark, pointed forms, while “joy” accounts for light, curving, circular forms that tend to rise within the format (Edwards, 2008).
Hypothesis and study aim Is this elusive sense of security possible to capture, study, and understand? The hypothesis of this study posits that identifiable emotionally charged places provide the key to understanding (identifying criteria for) the sense of security of the entire urban space. In the course of my field studies, it became necessary to coin a one-word term to denote emotionally charged places triggering positive, negative and mixed emotions of interest, joy, comfort, pride, sorrow, anxiety, disgust, and shame. I introduced the word “emotopias”, composed of the first parts of the Latin word “emovere” – “to excite” and the Greek word τoπος – “a place”. The purpose of the present study is to research the sense of security as perceived by children and teenagers from small Arctic cities. The research aims to: 1) Identify places associated with the sense of security, and count the number of mentions of such places using open-ended questions in anonymous questionnaires. 2) Identify criteria for the sense of security through the descriptions and drawings of emotional places (emotopias) in the cities. 3) Draw up emotional maps of the cities.
Methods and participants The present study compiles data received during my 2015-2020 field visits to small Arctic cities with the population ranging from 7,000 to 20,000 people in Russia, Norway, Sweden and Finland. During these visits, I collected and analysed data on emotopias of children and teenagers aged 9 to 16 years old. A total of 56 children were interviewed in Nikel, 33 – in Haparanda, 35 – in Tornio, and 6 – in Kirkenes. The drawings and short anonymous questionnaires with open-ended questions were administered with the consent of the school administrations and verbal consent from the parents. Three types of schools (dancing, art and secondary) were included in the study. No personal data were gathered. Only the child’s age, nationality and the duration of residence in the city (for natives) were taken into consideration. The sex of the respondents was not considered for gender neutrality purposes.
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My first questionnaires that were used in Nikel and Kirkenes in 2015 concentrated on polar emotions (positive and negative) brought out by specific places. The questionnaire consisted of open-ended questions and had three parts: 1 – general information; 2 – questions about the sense of place (secure, clean, multicultural, beautiful, unique); 3 – blank space for the respondents to draw their favourite and least favourite places and describing their emotions. The findings of my earlier studies on children and teenagers’ perception of urban environments in Nikel and partially Kirkenes were published in “Favorite and Least Favorite Places of the Northern Border Cities” (Zhigaltsova, 2018). Later on, in the second part of the questionnaire, the question about the multicultural character of their respective cities was substituted with a question about the “friendliness” of the city, because the replies to the open-ended questions in Nikel showed the relevance of this criterion for maintaining their sense of security, while “multiculturalism” did not show such a correlation. The questionnaires were reworked to include a wider range of emotions, such as interest, joy, comfort, pride, sorrow, anxiety, disgust, and shame. Thus, the questionnaire for the study in Haparanda and Tornio consisted of four parts: 1 – general information, 2 – questions about the sense of place (secure, clean, friendly, beautiful, unique); 3 – questions about the places in the cities evoking such emotions as interest, joy, comfort, pride, sorrow, anxiety, disgust, and shame; 4 – blank space for the respondents to draw their emotional places (emotopias) and describe their emotions. During my earlier field surveys in Nikel and Kirkenes, it became clear that schoolchildren often named and drew places related to their own personal emotional experiences, or “secret” places. It was quite impossible to interpret these locations as places of collective/group emotions, because in the study children and teenagers were considered primarily as an age group. For example, here are captions to some drawings of favourite places in Nikel: “In this place, I met some kids who later became my best friends” (age 13); “Because the roof is like wow (so cool there!!!)” (age 13). Hence, such individual places were removed from the study, and we analysed only the places and descriptions that were mentioned by at least three different schoolchildren. The places that were mentioned by at least three schoolchildren were plotted against physical maps of the cities. We utilized a method of emotional mapping in order to visualize problem areas in the cities and positively and negatively charged places, and designed online emotion maps available at http://emogeography.com. The data obtained during field visits in the previous years were updated, which enabled me to provide a wider scale of comparisons in the present study. The choices of places and the emotions that were associated with them were surprisingly similar among the young respondents of different nationalities in my studies. This inspired me to unite some emotopias under larger categories, like “emotopias of peace”, “emotopias of activity” for places associated with comfort, joy and interest, and “emotopias of pollution”, “emotopias of disease and death” for places associated with shame, disgust and sorrow. A small number of returned questionnaires does not allow for making wide generalizations, however, and the answers to the questionnaires can be used as a basic context for discussing the drawings.
Sense of security in urban environment The sense of security in urban environment was studied by way of open-ended questions in an anonymous questionnaire. The main question was “Do you consider your city secure?”, and
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additional questions were “Do you consider your city clean?”, “Do you consider your city friendly?”, “What does your native city mean to you?”. More questions dealt with multiculturalism/friendliness, beauty, uniqueness of the cities. The answers of schoolchildren to most questions were quite short: yes, no, quite, and slightly. The answers to the question about cleanliness were more detailed: “Not too bad, but mostly not very clean, you can see some litter here and there” (Swede, age 14), “Depends on the time of year” (Swede, age 14). Table 1 shows how children and teenagers characterised their cities. Nikel
Kirkenes
Haparanda
Tornio
(56 respondents)
(6 respondents)
(33 respondents)
(35 respondents)
No. of mentions secure
43
6
20
30
clean
1
0
8
23
N/A
N/A
17
24
multicultural
12
6
N/A
N/A
beautiful
29
5
16
31
unique
24
5
15
28
friendly
Table 1. Responses of the children and teenagers living in Nikel, Kirkenes, Tornio, Haparanda.
The table shows that even if the children did not consider their city clean, it did not reduce their sense of security. At a first glance, it seems obvious that cleanliness and security are interconnected. However, can the same be said about the environmentally challenged cities, where pollution may be viewed by the residents as a threat to the health of their families? For comparison, let us have a look at the answers of schoolchildren from Nikel and Kirkenes in 2015. Only one respondent from Nikel considered their city clean. Irrespective of the age group, schoolchildren from Nikel considered their city polluted: “No, there are factories and chimneys here that pollute the air” (Russian, age 11), “everybody wants to leave because of the smoke” (Russian, age 13). At the same time, the majority were convinced in the security of the city: “few cars” (Russian, age 11), “Our Nikel is a secure little place” (Russian, age 12), “One cannot get lost here” (Russian, age 13). The schoolchildren from Nikel made no connection between poor environmental situation and security. The lack of security was often connected to crime, to alcoholics: “No, because all over Nickel, there are drunkards and also a man without legs (and another man was stabbed)” (Russian, age 14). The same could be said about the schoolchildren from the neighbouring Kirkenes. All of them called their city polluted: “Yes, there’s so much pollution because of the nickel factory” (Norwegian, age 9), “Quite polluted. A lot of dust from the mines” (Norwegian, age 13). At that, these schoolchildren also considered their city to be secure: “thanks to the police” (Norwegian, age 9), “this is a small city, no crimes” (Norwegian, age 11), “very safe, few thefts” (Norwegian, age 13). Therefore, we assumed that littered streets and even environmental pollution do not make the city less secure in the eyes of the schoolchildren.
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Friendliness is a more solid indicator of the sense of security: the schoolchildren who considered their city friendly also called it secure more often. The relation between the criteria of friendliness and security requires deeper research, as well as criteria for beauty and uniqueness. About half of the respondents in Nikel and Kirkenes consider their cities beautiful and unique. Among the respondents from Haparanda and Tornio, this indicator is much higher. When answering the question “What does your native city mean to you?”, lots of my respondents mentioned the sense of security, especially younger schoolchildren, who often associated their city with the feelings of home and security. For example, children going to primary schools in Tornio replied: “Tornio means home and security” (Finn, age 10), “The city means it is safe for me here” (Finn, age 10), “Home” (Finn, age 10). The comparison of Tornio with “home” gave title to this article. This comparison provides a key to understanding of how important it is for children to feel at home in the city. The children attending primary schools in Haparanda replied: “I think we are doing fine, we have no wars” (Swede, age 10), “Fun, and my city means a lot to me” (Swede, age 10), “I like my home city” (Swede, age 10). Here are also some replies from Nikel children of the same age: “My family, my home, my friend” (Russian, age 9), “Home, my native city” (Russian, age 10), “The city where my friends live” (Russian, age 11), and from Kirkenes: “I was born here” (Norwegian, age 9), “This city is my whole life: my friends, my school, hobbies” (Norwegian, age 11), “My home” (Norwegian, age 11). The teenagers in my studies also associated their cities with the feeling of home. Here are some quotes from the questionnaires filled in by teenagers from Tornio, Haparanda and Kirkenes: Tornio teenagers: “It brings back a lot of childhood memories” (Finn, age 14), “All my friends are here” (Finn, age 14), “This is a safe place to live” (Finn, age 15). Haparanda teenagers: “The city of my childhood is very important, anyway” (Swede, age 14), “It made me feel very bad, but it also made me into a strong person I am now” (Swede-Finn, age 14), “It feels like home” (Somali, age 14, has been living there for 5 years). Kirkenes teenagers: “This is a place where my friends live” (Norwegian, age 13), “This is my home” (Norwegian, age 14). Quite alarming were the responses of Nikel teenagers (over 14 years old), who were thinking of leaving their home city: “A place where I will live until I turn 18, and then we shall see” (Russian, age 14), “A place where I will stay until I am 18, but will always remember” (Russian, age 15), “My little homeland and a bank of memories” (Russian, age 15). Based on the quotations obtained from the respondents in my field studies, I singled out the following criteria of urban environment security for children and teenagers: 1) 2) 3) 4) 5) 6)
feeling oneself at home in the city; good knowledge of the urban environment and possibility to explore; lack of military action; low crime rate; having friends; road safety; City as Home
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7) peacefulness. Are these security criteria reflected in the drawings and descriptions of emotopias made by the schoolchildren?
Emotopias of peace and emotopias of activity The place that was named by the respondents in my study most often and associated with the positive emotion of “comfort” was “home”: “I chose my home, because I feel safe there, and it is fun” (Swede, age 10, drawing of a house); “Because you can take a breath and have some rest” (Finn, 14, emotion “comfort”). Schoolchildren described their home through such words as “family”, “security”, “shelter”, “order”, “quiet”, “silence”, “help”, “fun”, “brothers and sisters”. M.V. Osorina argues, “home” is the first outside environment to become “my own” (Osorina, 2008: 39). It is important for children to “place numerous signs of their presence here [at home – T.Zh.], such as handicrafts, personal belongings” (Osorina, 2008: 39). Russian teenagers over 12 years old put particular emphasis on “their room” as a place where they felt comfortable. In their drawings, they showed such “signs of presence” such as their bed, desk, computer with the name of their favourite computer program, refrigerator magnet, etc. (Zhigaltsova, 2018: 368). Implied “signs of presence” can also be seen in the drawings of “home”: window curtains, a heart symbol on the door, a smoking chimney, tree houses (Fig. 1).
Figure 1. Drawings of “home” (one-family houses) by primary schoolchildren from Haparanda (top), Tornio (middle), and Kirkenes (bottom).
One noticeable fact is that all pictured houses were low-rise wooden structures. The drawings of high-rise buildings were missing the “signs of presence” of not only the schoolchildren, but also of other inhabitants (Fig. 2). Only driveways and walkways to the building were drawn in detail. Were it not for the comments, such drawings could easily be understood as drawings of places
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associated with negative emotions, particularly due to the short sharp marks made with heavy pressure.
Figure 2. Drawings of “home” (high-rise buildings) by teenagers from Nikel (top) and Tornio (bottom)
Comparison of Figures 1 and 2 suggests a more personal experience, a stronger feeling of place among the schoolchildren living in one-family houses rather than in high-rise buildings. Obviously, this requires further studies and confirmation. “Hygge” was my first association when I was visiting classrooms in Haparanda and Tornio. These public and official spaces held numerous “signs of presence”, such as pictures, drawings, handicraft items, shelves, and hand-made notices. All these created a friendly atmosphere and made one feel at home in the classroom. This was especially characteristic of Haparanda, where schoolchildren wore no shoes, only socks in class, and the school desks were arranged in a circle in the center of the room, or along the walls. However, some negative emotions in relation to schools were expressed in the questionnaires. These were mostly found in the replies of schoolchildren over 12 years old, who explain it by “boredom” (Norwegian, age 14), demanding requirements, when “every teacher thinks that his or her subject is the most important one” (Russian, age 13), as well as complicated interpersonal relationships with other schoolchildren: “There are a lot of people, and a lot of pressure from your peers, and school is the place where you can feel lonely and ostracized” (Finn-Swede, age 14); “a lot of enemies” (Immigrant, age 15, has lived in Tornio for 9 years). It is possible that the pressure from parental control and school environment makes schoolchildren search for private places. All of the respondents, regardless of their nationality, mentioned the need
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for some private places in public urban environment where they could spend time with their friends or simply be alone, this need being an indispensable component of emotional well-being of a child and a teenager. Finnish researchers determined that about 33% of schoolchildren would go to their favourite private places after emotionally draining experiences, such as setbacks, disappointments, and depression, seeking emotional regulation (Korpela et al., 2002: 393). Although in the majority of cases the parents were aware of the children’s favourite places, this study has shown that most often children would select private places based on the lack of social demands and outside of parental control (Korpela et al., 2002: 396). Schoolchildren often pick out their favourite private places based on previous positive communicative experiences in these places, and on the desire to retract from the outer world, while having the ability to control the whole visible territory. More often, these are places in the open area with nature-made shelters where one can hide from the prying eyes, and they are associated not only with comfort, but also with joy and interest. Spontaneous play zones in parks, snowdrifts, river banks, and forests at the edge of the city: “The beach and the forest. It is interesting to explore them” (Swede, age 9, emotion – interest); “The parks and the river. A wonderful place to listen to the sounds of nature” (Finn, age 10, emotion – comfort); “It is a green spot close to my house, it is beautiful and fun, and I like to walk there. The birds are always chirping there” (Russian, age 12, emotion – joy). The urban environment of small cities is closely connected with the natural environment. Emotional space of these cities exceeds their physical boundaries and is inseparable from the surrounding natural environment. Schoolchildren often associated surrounding nature with positive emotions, such as joy, interest and comfort. It is where all of the local residents, including schoolchildren, try to spend their free time, skiing, jogging, or doing sports. Therefore, emotopias of peace can at the same time act as emotopias of activity: “You need to go there to ride a bicycle or ski. An incredible place” (Norwegian, age 12, emotion – interest). A striking example is the water area of the city: “I like to spend time with my family by the river” (Russian, age 12, emotion – joy). Figure 3 shows the children’s drawings of the river and the lake.
Figure 3. Drawings of places associated with comfort and joy by schoolchildren from Haparanda (top), Tornio (middle), and Nikel (bottom). Zhigaltsova
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Swimming, sailing, fishing, and bungee-jumping are usually the activities shared with close friends or family, that is why they get intertwined with the feeling of seclusion and privacy. It is an amazing phenomenon, when a person can feel private in a public place like a beach or a swimming pool. The schoolchildren also expressed such a moral emotion as pride in relation to their own home, the natural and water environments (the river, the beach, the forest). Among the public buildings in Haparanda and Tornio, the schoolchildren are proud of the sports centre. The Finnish schoolchildren are also proud of the museum, their school: “because it is a wonderful school” (Finn, age 10, emotion – pride); and the Swedish schoolchildren – of the railway station, namely the Ungdomshuset Station. Thus, returning to the criteria of the urban environment security, the analyzed drawings and descriptions of emotional places have confirmed the need of the schoolchildren to feel at home in the city, to know well and explore the urban environment, to feel comfort and peace, to have a lot of friends and family close by. One can also add the need for private places for playing, and the close connection between the urban and the natural environments.
Emotopias of pollution and emotopias of disease and death Apart from the positive emotions (such as comfort, joy, interest, and pride), the schoolchildren also experienced negative emotions towards the urban environment. Despite the fact that, as mentioned above, garbage pollution and even complicated ecological situation did not make the cities less secure, in the opinion of the schoolchildren, polluted places were often associated with such negative emotions as shame and disgust: “places that are very polluted” (Swede, age 14, emotion – shame). Among the polluted places, the respondents named the beach, littered places, the school canteen, the playroom in the local shopping mall and even “one’s own room”: “My room, because it is very dirty” (Finn, age 10, emotion – shame). It is worth mentioning, that in their responses, the schoolchildren connected disgust not only with specific places, but also with bad smells: the stench of tobacco, fish, toilets: “smelly places and the farms, because they stink” (Finn, age 10). The caption to the drawing (Fig. 4), for instance, described bad smells.
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Figure 4. A drawing of a least favorite place by a student from Kirkenes (emotion – disgust). The caption to the drawing ran: “I chose this place because there’s garbage, and it smells of fish”.
In small cities, schoolchildren do not have strong fear in relation to the urban environment. They know the city and the suburbs well, as they begin to explore the environment from the age of 6-7, which is a few years earlier than the majority of schoolchildren in larger cities (Zhigaltsova, 2018: 362). In the study by N.K. Radina conducted in a large Russian city Nizhny Novgorod, it was discovered that primary schoolchildren are afraid of darkness, deserted places, basements, parks and forest parks, being home alone, public transport, recreational facilities, roadways, new constructions, and “outsiders” in the city (Radina, 2017: 135-137). These places of “destruction and death” identified by N.V. Radina were typical for Russian schoolchildren responses. In my earlier works, I defined these places as “sacrificial”, meaning that ignoring such places and experiencing neutral emotions in relation to them helps the citizens to “purify”, to safeguard the rest of the environment and maintain their emotional health (Zhigaltsova, 2016). Of all listed above in the present study, the responses of the Swedish, Finnish and Russian respondents held mentions only of “dark places” (or poorly / insufficiently lit places). Fear of abandoned and tumbledown buildings because of the risk of meeting the “outsiders” (homeless people and drug addicts) was observed in the responses of Nikel schoolchildren. Fear of strangers (migrants, newcomers) was not mentioned by any of the schoolchildren. Haparanda, Tornio and Kirkenes have very few abandoned and tumbledown buildings, that is why they do not produce such a prominent negative reaction as in Nikel. In the framework of the present study it would be relevant not to focus on sacrificial places or “places of destruction and death”, but rather on places of “disease and death”, which were associated not only with anxiety, but also with sorrow. These are hospitals, morgues, cemeteries. The schoolchildren were apprehensive of the cemetery as a place of death: “The cemetery, because it reminds me of the dead” (Swede, age 10, emotion – sorrow); “The cemetery, because my grandmother is buried there” (Finn, age 10, emotion - sorrow). The cemetery drawings were very similar (Figure. 5)
Figure 5. Emotopias of death in the drawings of Tornio (top, middle) and Nikel teenagers (bottom). Zhigaltsova
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In the drawings of the cemetery, one can always see a fence – the border of the place, as well as a gate or a door. The cemetery is perceived as a place of “otherness” or even as an alien place, which can be entered only by crossing the border. In the middle drawing, a teenager from Tornio depicted the grave mounds as negative emoji. The drawing of a teenager from Nikel was more schematic and typified with sixteen identical square graves. Not all of urban space needs to have a positive colouring. The places of “disease and death”, evoking sorrow, and even places of pollution, evoking shame and disgust, do not make the urban environment less secure. Anxiety, without a doubt, diminishes the sense of security, which is why preventive work in such places is necessary. In this case, this does not require great effort: to make dark or insufficiently lit places well-lit. The problem of abandoned buildings in small Russian Arctic cities, however, demands an urgent solution, since these buildings destabilize the emotional health of the citizens. The identified phenomenon of ignoring places of acute anxiety and even fear allows the citizens to maintain their sense of security. The loss of such may lead to forced migration.
Mapping emotopias This research tends to belong to the field of visual art. In order to visualize emotional environments of the small Arctic cities, I developed interactive emotion maps of Haparanda and Tornio together with video artist Sergey Zhigaltsov, photographer Kenneth Mikko and translator Anna Kondakova. The maps are available at http://emogeography.com/emotional-maps.html. In the design of these maps, we used some of the drawings collected during my field visits. (Fig. 6).
Figure 6. Depiction of “home/my place” on the interactive emotion maps of Haparanda (on the left) and Tornio (on the right) based on schoolchildren questionnaires, 2020.
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For the maps, both children and teenagers were included into one age group. Each emotion was coded with a colour: blue-green colours were used to code positive emotions, while red and brown were used for negative ones (Fig. 7).
Figure 7. Interactive emotion maps of Haparanda (on the left) and Tornio (on the right) based on schoolchildren questionnaires, 2020.
The maps allow us to get a new perspective on emotopias and identify problem areas in the emotional spaces of the cities. Comparing the two maps, one can observe that negative emotions like disgust and shame are more prominent in the emotional space of the Swedish schoolchildren. It is necessary to take into account the fact that some teenagers come to Haparanda schools from the neighbouring villages (Nikkala, Seskarö and other), and they have very strong emotional connection with these. Haparanda emotional space is therefore perceived in a more neutral way. One respondent expressed an idea that Haparanda was not a child-friendly city, as it was more focused on the elderly people: “I dislike the whole city, there is nothing for young children, all people are old there” (Swede, emotion – disgust). The Church was associated with negative emotions among the Swedish schoolchildren mainly because of its “ugly” outer appearance. Both emotion maps reveal positive emotions in relation to the respondents’ “home”, the surrounding natural environment, the youth and sports centres, mixed emotions in relation to the school and the shopping malls, and sorrow in relation to the cemetery. In addition to visualization, the emotion maps also demonstrate emotional activity of the respondents in relation to certain places in the city by means of diagram rotation. The rotation speed depends on the number of times a certain place was mentioned in the responses of the schoolchildren: the more mentions the place received, the higher the rotation speed of the diagram is. The smallest number of mentions was three, the largest (“my home”) – 37 in Haparanda and 32 in Tornio.
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The maps also demonstrate the lack of segregation between the center and the periphery in the emotional space of the Finnish and Swedish schoolchildren, in spite of Haparanda having a pronounced architectural and planning centre – the central square with its beautiful historic buildings. The emotional space of the Swedish and Finnish schoolchildren was decentralized, unlike the emotional space of Nikel schoolchildren, where there were central landmarks – the Lenin Square and the Community Centre (the Palace of Culture) “Voskhod,” and a periphery landmark – the Kolosjoki river and the bridges across it, situated in several kilometers from the center (Zhigaltsova, 2018: 364). The results of this research were included in a photo exhibition “People and Places” in “Jala Studio” in Haparanda (February 2021) and in the Rajala shopping centre in Tornio (FebruaryMarch 2021). The exhibition showed Kenneth Mikko’s photographs, some of the drawings of schoolchildren and interactive emotion maps of Haparanda and Tornio. The photo exhibition was funded by the Municipalities of Haparanda and Tornio.
Conclusion The idea inspired by the answers of younger schoolchildren about the similarity of a small city to their home implies an expansion of the sense of security to the limits of the city with the suburbs, when the threshold of the house ceases to be the boundary between security and danger. Summing up the entire study, it is important to mention that in order to maintain and enhance the sense of security among schoolchildren living in small Arctic cities, measures should be taken to plan urban space in the same manner as we plan our home space, where each place and each object structuring the environment is assigned to a certain age group, as if for family members. According to my personal observations, in Russian cities, regardless of their size, places for teenagers rarely exist. There are playgrounds for children under 12 years old in every yard, and at best, a skatepark and a football field for active, athletic teenagers. All other teenagers, especially girls, often remain invisible users of the urban environment, who often prefer to stay indoors or go for a walk to the mall. The increasing attachment to their room among Nikel teenagers cannot not but cause alarm – 16% of high school students indicate that their own room (their computer desk, their bed) as their favourite place in the city (Zhigaltsova, 2018: 365, 368). To emphasize once again, the home environment needs to be friendly for every family member. Given the ageing of the population and the migration of young people away from smaller cities, special attention should be paid to “children-friendly” places in the urban environment of the cityhome. The simple principle of creating a safe, cozy home environment in a small city lies in giving each family member their own space, which includes a variety of emotopias of peace and emotopias of activity, as well as the signs of presence in the city. For example, youth street art is not only a manifestation of the creativity of teenage nature, but also a kind of “sign of presence” of teenagers and young people in the city, as well as an indicator of their sense of security. Strong feeling of home has a beneficial effect not only on the schoolchildren’s perception, but also on their confidence of being able to change the urban environment on their own accord. Children who have a sense of belonging to their neighbourhood do not think it is impossible to make the place secure. They try to convince adults and local authorities to consider children in making the space secure. On the contrary, children who do not have any sense of belonging to their space of residence, cannot believe that they could play an effective role in creating security (Imanian, 2014: 7). City as Home
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The complete list of security criteria for schoolchildren will therefore include: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10.
feeling at home in the city; good knowledge of the urban environment and possibility to explore; lack of military action; low crime rate; having friends; safe roads; feelings of comfort and peace; private areas for playing; close connection between the urban and natural environments; lack of places of anxiety and fear.
To conclude, the present study has proven that it is possible to identify criteria for the sense of security in the city by means of identifying emotional places (emotopias). The identified security criteria for the schoolchildren give direction for preventive work with the entire urban environment. Out of the list above, “lack of military action” and “low crime rate” obviously do not belong to the city planning sphere, but rather to the security policy of the city, and it is in the power of adults to ensure that schoolchildren do not have to worry about these issues. Analyzing the remaining criteria, we can put forward the following general recommendations for planning the urban environment in order to maintain a sense of security among schoolchildren: Enhancement of emotopias of peace through: •
giving priority to low-rise buildings when planning urban environments;
•
creating home-like coziness and comfort in public and official institutions;
•
setting up some private places in the public urban environment where schoolchildren and teenagers could spend time with their friends or simply be alone, for example, in park areas;
Enhancement of emotopias of activity: •
preventive measures and ecological work with the suburbs: maintaining the cleanliness of nature trails, forests, water areas, and so on;
•
minimization of traffic flows inside the city and re-routing traffic flows;
•
organization of all-city events where the schoolchildren and teenagers could realize their potential for creativity and physical activity, socializing and making new friends.
Despite the fact that it has been shown that the presence of emotopias of pollution and emotopias of disease and death (garbage places, cemetery, hospital) in general does not affect the feeling of security in schoolchildren, it is necessary to improve the situation with places of anxiety, like dark places and abandoned buildings.
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Acknowledgements The author expresses sincere gratitude to the schools for their participation and assistance in the implementation of this research, and all the schoolchildren of Nikel, Kirkenes, Haparanda and Tornio, who participated in the anonymous questionnaires. The author is very grateful to Anna Kondakova for her support, to Kenneth Mikko and Roman Khoroshilov for their invaluable assistance in the organization of field work. Also, the author expresses gratitude to the Municipalities of Haparanda and Tornio for their funding a photo exhibition “People and Places”, which demonstrated the study results for these cities. Special thanks goes to the reviewers for their comments and suggestions for improvement.
References Amin, A., Thrift, N. (2002). Cities: Reimagining the Urban, Cambridge: Polity. Quoted from Latham, A., McCormack, D., McNamara, R., McNeill D (2009). Key concepts in urban geography. London: SAGE Publications, California, pp. 232. Boverket (2011). Places to feel secure in Inspiration for urban development. Karlskrona: Boverket, pp. 91. Convery, I., Corsane G., Davis P. (Eds). Making Sense of Place: Multidisciplinary Perspectives (2012). Series: Heritage Matters. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press. 334 p. Edwards, B. (2008). Drawing on the artist within. New York, Simon & Schuster. https://books.google.ru/books?id=ROh9ZGJPfv8C&lpg=PP1&hl=ru&pg=PR11#v=o nepage&q&f=false Imanian, S. (2014). Children’s Sense of Security in Social Spaces: A Case Study of Middle-Class Children in Iran. SAGE Open, 4 (4). https://doi.org/10.1177/2158244014561212 Korpela, K., Kytta, M., Hartig, T. (2002). Restorative experience, self-regulation, and children’s place preferences. Journal of Environmental Psychology, 22, 387–398. https://doi.org/10.1006/jevp.2002.0277 Ladbrook, D.A. (1988). Why are crime rates higher in urban than in rural areas? — Evidence from Japan. Australian & New Zealand Journal of Criminology, 21(2), 81-103. https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/000486588802100203 Latham, A., McCormack, D., McNamara, R., McNeill D. (2009). Key concepts in urban geography. London: SAGE Publications, California. p. 232. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.14754762.2010.00984_5.x Lewicka, M. (2011). Place attachment: How far have we come in the last 40 years? Journal of Environmental Psychology, 31(3), 207-230. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jenvp.2010.10.001 Lynch, K. (1990). The Image of the City. USA: The M.I.T. Press Osorina, M.V. (2019). Children's secret world in adults' world. Piter Publishing House, 446 p. Radina, N.K. (2017) The city as a factory of fear and risk: children's judgments about the urban space. Social Psychology and Society, 8 (2), 131–145. DOI:10.17759/sps.2017080209. Relph, E. (1976). Excerpts from Place and Placelessness. In Introducing Architectural Theory: Debating a Discipline. Edited by Korydon Smith, Johnson Philip, and Mark Wigley. London: Routledge, 2012. pp. 373-386.
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Semenova, V. (2009). Mapping of an urban space: Key approaches for the visual analysis. In Visaul anthropology: Urban Memory Maps. Edited by P. Romanov. Moscow, Variant, TSPGI, pp. 6781. Tuan, Y.-F. (1974). Topophilia: A study of environmental perception, attitudes, and values. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice Hall. Zhigaltsova, T. (2018). Favorite and Least Favorite Places of the Northern Border Cities. In Human and societal security in the circumpolar Arctic: local and indigenous communities. Edited by K. Hossain, M. Roncero, A. Petreteil. Leiden; Boston: Brill Nijhoff. DOI: 0.63/9789004363045_00. Zhigalsova, T. (2016). Sacrificial heterotopias of a provincial city. Urbanistica, 4, 73-80. DOI: 10.7256/2310-8673.2016.4.21603
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Briefing Notes
Briefing Note
Finding Marguerite and Tookoolito: “Mapping Women of the Arctic” Carol Devine, Tahnee Prior & Malgorzata (Gosia) Smieszek
Introduction Maps can beautifully and, at times, wistfully tell us the story of us. However cartography, like history, often overwhelmingly documents the worlds, stories, and accomplishments of men. In these stories, the contributions of women, especially Indigenous women, rarely make it onto the map. This holds true in the Arctic as well. In this commentary, we explore the gendered dimension of map-making, honour the rare yet pivotal examples of female cartography, introduce Mapping Women of the Arctic – a way of re-imagining the Arctic through female placenames – and encourage readers to locate and highlight women’s contributions to the sciences, arts, policy, culture, diplomacy, history, exploration, and more. Inspired by Mapping Antarctic Women, an initiative that (re)maps the continent with female place names and tells the little-known stories of women’s contributions to the other pole, Mapping Women of the Arctic is a new, crowdsourced map-making initiative that seeks to celebrate and mark the unsung achievements of women in the Arctic.
Mapping the Arctic As highlighted in this edition of the Arctic Yearbook, mapping informs how we perceive and understand the world, and indeed the Arctic. Historical maps were etched into cave walls, or drawn on paper and animal skins, – “artifacts composed of signs that materialize a way of experiencing” (Geertz, 1976, as cited in Rundstrom, 1990). As such, maps not only represent place or geographic feature names, but also cultural and religious representations, people, animals, objects, nature, and demographic data. They are often also gendered. As is highlighted by Pavlovskaya and Martin (2007),
Carol Devine is a Research Fellow at the Dahdalah Institute for Global Health Research, York University; Tahnee Prior is a Killam Postdoctoral Researcher at the Schulich School of Law, Dalhousie University, and the co-lead of Women of the Arctic (ry); and Malgorzata (Gosia) Smieszek is the Project Coordinator and Researcher at the UiT The Arctic University of Norway, and co-lead of Women of the Arctic (ry).
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The traditional mapping subject, dominant until recently, is a scientist, cartographer, or GIS expert, a ‘disembodied’ and, likely, male researcher or professional, in pursuit of objective knowledge, the discovery of the truth, and its accurate graphic representation…Despite the quest for objectivity, the practices and products of this mapping subject have been infused with masculinist privilege (c.f. Rose 1992). What are most often mapped are worlds devoid of women’s experiences produced from within professions that are dominated by men. Arctic maps are unsurprisingly gendered as well. While the area has been inhabited by Indigenous peoples for millennia, the most easily accessible maps of the Arctic are overwhelmingly made by men for men, and often non-Indigenous men. In fact, even today, Canadian Geographic’s “10 most fascinating maps of the Arctic” were all developed by Western men.1 Early maps of the Arctic were developed by European men, such as Flemish Mercator’s full map of the Arctic in 1569. Later maps of the Arctic, such as John Hugh Johnson’s “The Arctic regions, showing the North-West Passage as determined by Cap. R. McClure and other Arctic voyagers” (1856), go beyond documenting exploratory voyages to feature people, nature, and the environment (Gapp, 2021). Still, maps such as Johnson’s often centre traditionally male-centric and colonial worldviews of exploration and conquest, whereby a “settler-colonial construct of the Arctic manifests itself in cartographic lines and scenes of domination and expansion” to subsume a local Inuit geography by, among other things, visualizing local wildlife as a tool in the imperial project (Gapp, 2021) – the map is framed with drawings of walruses, igloo-building, and an “Esquimaux Female.” This form of mapmaking stems from a “heroic tradition” where polar exploration serves as a “proving ground for colonial masculinity, places considered by men to be far too dangerous to bring women” (Rosner, 2009) (although, this does not necessarily mean that women actively chose to stay away). Often, it is imaginaries, like this, that shape our understanding of what the Arctic is. Mapping Polar Women Feminist cartography, in contrast, is defined by its adoption of “an epistemology of embodiment,” including an acknowledgment of different relationships, modes of production, and cartographic media (Huffman, 1997: 267 in Pirani et al., 2019). As such, it often recognizes and redresses the exclusion of women from map-making by profiling and visualizing previously supressed and/or varied views on the meaning, construct, and utility of place. However, female cartographers, like many Indigenous cartographers2, largely remain unknown and marginalized globally. In fact, in 2019, of the 200 Wikipedia profiles of cartographers only two were women (Llamas-Owens, 2020).3,4 And yet women have contributed to map-making throughout history, as they have to exploration, policy, culture, education, diplomacy, the arts, science, and more. This holds true in the Arctic and Antarctic, alike. For instance, Russia’s State Oceanographic Institute encouraged women to participate in its work as early as the 1920s, and in 1933, renowned Russian marine geologist Maria Klenova produced the first seabed map of the Barents Sea.5 She also contributed to the first Soviet Atlas of Antarctica.
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Marie Klenova Source: Shirshov Institute of Oceanology of Russian Academy of Sciences (photographer, and date unknown)
Seeking to (re-)map Antarctica with female place names, and to highlight the contributions of women, such as Klenova, Carol Devine (co-author to this commentary) has spent the past decades developing an interactive and collaborative project, titled Mapping Antarctic Women. As Devine and other scholars have learned through their respective work, prior to the mid-19th century, those Antarctic place names were chosen by men for women left behind – daughters, wives (Adèlie Coast, Marie Byrd Land), patrons (Queen Elizabeth Land, Queen Maud Land) and pioneers (Cosmonette Glacier named for the first woman cosmonaut). As the ban for women to go to Antarctica was eventually lifted by male gatekeepers (including explorers, scientific institutions, and governments), female place names were increasingly mapped by women explorers and scientists, expedition members, and those working in situ. Each place, named by or for a woman, tells an inspiring multi-layered story. The Ronne Filscher Ice Shelf in the Pensacola Mountains (originally named Edith Ronne Land) was named after Edith “Jackie” Ronne, the first woman to overwinter in Antarctica and the first woman to work on land on an Antarctic expedition. From 1946-48, she traveled to the continent with her expedition leader husband, yet it was she who was the ground breaker (and expedition leader) in her own right.6 Plumbstead Valley is the namesake of South African palaeobotanist, Dr. Edna Plumbstead, for her work on Glossopteris fossils. And Tilav Cirque honours female Turkish astrophysicist Serap Tilav. Maria Klenova’s namesake is Klenova Peak, rising 2300m in the Sentinel Range, Ellsworth Mountains. Devine’s map of Antarctic women was born, unwittingly, in 1995. She was in Antarctica leading the first environmental clean-up expedition, a collaboration between The VIEW, a Canadian Foundation, and a Russian Antarctic Expedition. Devine was sitting in the office of research station manager Sergey Potapov discussing the joint ecological project when he said: “You’re the first woman here in over 20 years, there are few women in the Antarctic.” As he spoke, Devine remembers looking at a map on his wall: Marguerite Bay. “So, Marguerite was here before me. Who was she?” Devine promised herself she would find out.
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Years later she started to (re)make the map of Antarctica with all female place names. Of course, she mapped Marguerite Bay, the placename for French Explorer Jean-Baptiste Charcot’s second wife. Today, the illustrated map shows but a few dozen of the over 350 place names honouring women, which Devine continues to collect.7 Her map is a bid to celebrate the vital roles women have played in shaping our knowledge of the Antarctic, shining a light on female place names, and sharing the little-known stories of women’s presence and contributions to our knowledge of this frozen continent, important for regulating the world’s temperatures.
Mapping Antarctic Women: Appearances and Disappearances Sample of a crowd-mapped (re)map of female places names in Antarctica. Carol Devine, Illustrator: Aidan Meighan, appeared in Ernest Journal, 2018 ernestjournal.co.uk
In telling the unknown or little-known stories of Antarctic women we both learn and share science, history, geography, ethnography, anthropology and much more; and the stories of the barriers women faced and tackled, their explorations, discoveries – inner and outer. The adage rings true about the need for role models and women’s visibility, “you need to see it to be it.” Throughout her work on Mapping Antarctic Women, Devine inevitably wondered about the Arctic context. In her initial search for female place names in the Arctic, she researched and recorded stories of notable (in the broadest sense) women of the Arctic, to see whether there are place names attributable to them. Queen Victoria was honoured, sharing a mapped colonial narrative at both poles. In the Arctic, Victoria Island, Kitlineq – the eighth largest island in the world and Canada’s second largest island – was named by fur traders and explorers, Peter Warren Dease and Thomas Simpson, who followed its southeast coast in 1839. In Antarctica, Victoria Island is found on the western side of Antarctica, fronting the Ross Sea and the Ross Ice Shelf, and discovered by British Captain James Clark Ross in 1841. Determined to locate Indigenous female place names, Devine came across the work of geography and polar studies scholar Morgan Seag, whose research on the formal exclusion of women in polar science until the 20th century – although “women contributed, and some had substantial influence in polar science as early as the mid-19th century” (Seag, 2019; see also Herbert, 2012) – found
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that, of course, “Indigenous women had been involved in Arctic knowledge-making and travel long before the arrival of Western explorers…From the 19th century, Indigenous women’s knowledge and skills were assets to some expeditions originating in Europe and North America.” (Seag, 2019). As an example, Seag’s work references Tookoolito who, together with her husband Ipiirvik, was a guide and translator for Arctic expeditions in the 1860s and 70s. Tookoolito and Ipiirvik (nicknamed Hannah and Joe, respectively) not only made notable contributions in the search for the lost Franklin expedition and the Polaris North Pole expedition, they were exploited and exhibited at sideshows and museums in Europe and the US, and additionally suffered the loss of their children. Scouring maps, Devine was keen to find Tookoolito’s place name – ᑕᖁᓕᑦᑐᖅ in Inuktitut (and Taqulittuq in Roman orthography) – certain that she had one. There she was: Tookoolito Inlet, located on Cornelius Grinnell Bay in Nunavut. Her name also appears as Hannah Island in Greenland. A more recent example of a notable woman of the Arctic – and one without a place name, to date – is Rebecca Hainnu, Inuk translator, writer, and the principal of Quluaq School in Clyde River, Baffin Island, Nunavut, where she is an advocate for her student population (of some 340). In 2018, she was selected as one of Canada’s 40 outstanding principals by the Learning Partnership. Hainnu is also “recognized in her own community, region, territory and beyond, as a phenomenal, outstanding educator” (Bell, 2018). And in addition to this work, she has written two books, The Spirit of the Sea and A Walk on the Tundra (co-authored with Anna Ziegler), a finalist for the Canadian Children’s Literature Round Table Information Book award in 2012. Like Tookoolito, Rebecca Hainnu and many other women of the Arctic deserve recognition, and perhaps even to be mapped. Moving forward: Nominating Women of the Arctic Together with Finland-based non-profit association Women of the Arctic (www.genderisnotplanb.com), Carol Devine is now developing a prototype mapping project to spotlight the stories and geolocations of women of the Arctic from all walks of life. Inspired by Devine’s experiences and efforts to (re-)map women’s stories through female place names and toponymies in Antarctica, Mapping Women of the Arctic is an attempt to redress this structural imbalance, to honour their contributions and tell their stories. This includes short profiles of women – who live in, work on, or engage with the Arctic – geolocated based on where they have spent an important part of their lives. Among other things, the project and map seek to challenge “what makes a person notable” – the Wikipedia criteria vein and the pervasive heroic male narrative of the Arctic. Devine presented the initial concept of this project at the Gender in Polar Research workshop of the 2020 Arctic Science Summit Week. Not only did workshop presenters share the contributions of remarkable individuals to Arctic research, but discussions and participant feedback reinforced and elaborated that nominations of the persons to be mapped include non-binary, transgender, intersex and gender queer identifying individuals (Fattah et al., 2019); and the need to interrogate not only the sexism that dominates Arctic history, research, exploration (and mapmaking) but also heterosexism and the exclusion of the experiences of those with an identity outside of the pervasive gender binary. Building on this feedback, and inspired by the Indigenous digital mapmaking of Inuit women and men,8 the map will crowdsource nominations of remarkable women, non-binary, and genderqueer identifying individuals across the circumpolar North. As
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such, the map of women of the Arctic will coalesce and visualize missing data, include important information relating to geographic features, as well as topographical and cultural references. Want to nominate a notable woman of the Arctic?
Fill in and submit your nomination form at: www.genderisnotplanb.com/mapping-arctic-women.
Notes 1. See 10 fascinating historic maps of the Arctic. (2016, June 27). Canadian Geographic. https://www.canadiangeographic.ca/article/10-fascinating-historic-maps-arctic. 2. Nevertheless, approaches to Arctic cartography exist, as well. Lesser unknown, yet ingenious maps made by Inuit in Kalaallit Nunaat (Greenland) are carved, wooden portable maps–3D hand-held maps that “represent coastlines in a continuous line, up one side of the wood and down the other.” These Ammassalik maps aided in navigation on water at night, and are an example of Inuit innovation, including in cartography. The gender of these cartographers remains unknown to the authors. See Inuit Cartography. (2017, February 2). The Decolonial Atlas. https://decolonialatlas.wordpress.com/2016/04/12/inuit-cartography. 3. https://futuremaps.com/blogs/news/the-women-who-shaped-the-world 4. To redress the gender disparity in Wikipedia, where by August 23, 2021 only 19.05% biographic entries were of women (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:WikiProject_Women_in_Red), an Antarctic “Wikibomb” (https://www.scar.org/antarctic-women/) in 2016 of voluntary editors, including Carol Devine and female polar scientists themselves, improved and created over 100 biographies of women in Antarctic science. 5. A bathymetric map of the Barents Sea (Klenova 1948). Access at: https://blogs.egu.eu/divisions/ts/2020/12/21/maria-vasilyevna-klenova-12-august1898-6-august-1976-the-mother-of-marine-geology/. 6. Antarctic Pioneer: A life of Jackie Ronne by Joanna Kafarowski will be published in 2022 by Dundurn Press. 7. To check the database or to share a name or story, contact Carol Devine (carol@caroldevine.org). 8. Mapping is increasingly also digitized, combining new technologies, like satellites, with ancient practices, such as storytelling such as the Inuit Heritage Trust’s Nunavut Place Names Program1, a digital map populated by Inuit elders and community members. Similarly, the Exchange for Local Observations and Knowledge of the Arctic (ELOKA) Finding Marguerite and Tookoolito: “Mapping Women of the Arctic”
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includes a Yup’ik Environmental Knowledge Project working with Elders from Bering Sea coastal communities in Alaska to document Yup’ik place names.
References Bell, J. (2018, February 6). Nunavut teacher named outstanding Canadian principal. Nunatsiaq News. https://nunatsiaq.com/stories/article/65674nunavut_teacher_named_as_outstanding_c anadian_principal/. Fattah, D. A. et al. (2019). Highlights from IASC and IASSA Workshop on Gender in Polar Research (Issue 52). IASSA: Northern Notes, 1-41. Access at: https://iassa.org/images/newsletters/NorthernNotes_53.pdf. Gapp, I. (2021, April 8). The Boundaries of Arctic Map-Making: Exploration, Environment and Marginalia. NiCHE. https://niche-canada.org/2021/04/08/the-boundaries-of-arcticmap-making-exploration-environment-and-marginalia/ Geertz, C. (1976). Art as a cultural system. MLN, 91(6), 1473-1499. Herbert, K. (2012) Polar Wives. Vancouver: Greystone Books. Huffman, N. H. (1997). Charting the other maps: Cartography and visual methods in feminist research. Thresholds in feminist geography: Difference, methodology, representation, 255-83 as cited in Pirani, N., Ricker, B. A., & Kraak, M. J. (2020). Feminist cartography and the United Nations Sustainable Development Goal on gender equality: Emotional responses to three thematic maps. The Canadian Geographer/Le Géographe canadien, 64(2), 184-198. Llamas-Owens, E. (2020, May). Female Cartographers: Historical Obstacles and Successes. Western Kentucky University. https://digitalcommons.wku.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1884&context=stu_hon_t heses Pavlovskaya, M. & Martin, K.S. (2007). Feminism and geographic information systems: From a missing object to a mapping subject. Geography Compass, 1(3), 583-606. Rosner, V. (2009) “Gender and polar studies: mapping the terrain.” Signs: Journal of Women in culture and Society, 34(3), 489-494. Rundstrom, R. A. (1990). A cultural interpretation of Inuit map accuracy. Geographical review, 155168.
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Briefing Note
Subsistence: A Critical Overview of the Concept Susanna Hancock
subsistence (n.) early 15c., “existence, independence,” from Late Latin subsistentia “substance, reality,” in Medieval Latin also “stability,” from Latin subsistens, present participle of subsistere “stand still or firm” (see subsist). Latin subsistentia is a loan translation of Greek hypostasis “foundation, substance, real nature, subject matter; that which settles at the bottom, sediment,” literally “anything set under. (Etymonline, 2017) Arctic and subarctic Indigenous populations have always subsisted on what the land has to offer and have passed on their knowledge to newcomers. At the same time subsistence, or living off the land, is a way of life not only for Indigenous populations of the North, but for many of the diverse residents that inhabit the Arctic and subarctic today. As with many other terms, subsistence originated in Greek, was translated to Latin, exported to many other areas of the world and debated over hundreds of years by Christian theologist (Thieme, 2010) - before developing an economic connotation in the 19th and 20th century (Moss, 2010). Subsistence as a term has since been instrumentalized to classify forms of living along hierarchical orders. Why different terms are used is dependent on their particular setting. What they designate might be very different depending on who is using them and to what avail. Having a closer look at legal, political and everyday terminology helps us understand the webs of relations within which they operate. Several biases are associated with the term subsistence: A gender bias arises from the term’s connotations with unpaid women’s care work, a spatial bias from association with the rural nature of poor (often African or Asian) farmers (von Werlhof, Bennholdt-Thomsen & Faraclas, 2001), and an ethnic bias from the association with foraging lifestyles of Indigenous peoples perceived to live in remote areas (Gartler, 2013). Thus, subsistence can be seen as a term for the economy of the others (Gartler, 2018). They are biases because they are essentially not correct: un-paid provisioning activities exist in all areas of the world and across all sectors of the population. Within (neo-liberal) capitalist value frameworks un-paid activities have, however, been systematically devalued in favor of monetized economic sectors and wage work. Susanna Gartler is affiliated with the University of Vienna and Austrian Polar Research Institute (APRI).
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In English-language use this becomes especially apparent when subsistence is connected to notions of poverty and deprivation, which is what I refer to as the economistic bias. This devaluation is linked to the devaluation of any non-monetary sectors that continue to exist outside or marginal to the money economy. Kuokkanen puts it this way: “For many, the term ‘subsistence’ carries negative connotations of primitive ways of life, a low standard of living, or ‘eking out’ a wretched existence in conditions of poverty. For others it refers to ‘primitive’ societies of the past or rural communities in the global South in need of so-called development” (Kuokkanen, 2011). Reimer (2006) argues, moreover, that characterizing the subsistence economy as informal, or somehow unorganized and irregular perpetuates the stigmatization of people’s whose ways of life do not conform to idealized standards of economy. While in Alaska collectives and individuals must identify their practices as subsistence in order to be able to navigate land use disputes (Moss, 2010), in other regions across the Arctic and Subarctic other terms are common such as simply hunting, gathering, fishing, trapping, and whaling. In northwestern Canada, where the term subsistence is not embedded in the same ways as in Alaska in legal frameworks governing life, ‘living off the land’ is frequently used. Indigenous peoples in Alaska both appropriate and critique ‘subsistence’ as a way of designating their way of life. The profound gulf between an Alaska Native definition of subsistence and mainstream definitions is pointed out by Indigenous leaders and activists. This statement by Iñupiaq leader Eileen MacLean makes it abundantly clear: “Subsistence is not about poverty; it is about wealth. This wealth is expressed in the harvest and in the sharing and celebration that result from the harvest” (MacLean, 1998). Yup’ik broadcaster and journalist John Active confirms what is at stake: “Our subsistence lifestyle is our culture. Without subsistence we will not survive as a people. If our culture, our subsistence lifestyle should disappear, we will be no more” (Active 1998). These quotes show the profound difference between static, purely material and ahistoric understandings as the lowest level of economic provision (or ‘mere survival’) to what Alaska Natives frame as their way of life. Understanding subsistence as a whole way of life constitutes a dynamic, broad, and inclusive understanding of the term, including material as well as immaterial and symbolic dimensions. It is also a contextual, long-term, and transgenerational understanding. Table 1 describes different dimensions of meaning associated with the term and their associated poles:
Dimensions of Meaning
Poles
Variability
Static
Dynamic
Categories of Exclusion and Inclusion
Restrictive
Broad
Disciplinarity
Minimalistic/Fragmented
Holistic
Im-/Materiality
Material
Immaterial/Symbolic
Situativity
A-historic
Contextual
Short-Term
Long-Term
Tempo-centric
Transgenerational
Table 1: Dimensions of Meaning of Subsistence (Gartler, 2018:51)
Gartler
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A subsistence way of life encompasses not just foraging, it is a much broader, holistic concept for Alaskan Indigenous peoples, as this quote by Jonathan Solomon in Fort Yukon reflects: I never heard the word subsistence until 1971 under the Native land claims act. Before that time, when I was brought up in the culture of my people, it’s always been “our culture” and “our land.” You cannot break out subsistence or the meaning of subsistence or try to identify it, and you can’t break it out of the culture. The culture and the life of my Native people are the subsistence way of life. And that’s what we always used, the subsistence way of life. It goes hand in hand with our own culture, our own language, and all our activities (Solomon in Berger, 1985). Alaska Native ways of framing subsistence expand the notion to include animals and the immaterial world (Newton, 1983). “Whereas the connection to ‘existence’ is similar to the way subsistence was understood by early European philosophers and theologists, provision here is no longer solely by and for humans” (Gartler, 2018: 57). Instead, agency is extended to animals and other non-human persons in Indigenous ontologies. For example, among Yukon First Nations “singing to animals is not an uncommon occurrence. Songs are sung to draw in animals, to evoke their presence, to thank them” (Ranspot, 2019). Animals, rivers, glaciers, plants and lakes are seen as sentient beings who interact from ‘day one’ with humans to ensure the mutual and peaceful subsistence or co-existence of humans and their surroundings (Cruikshank, 2005). During a meeting with Indigenous Elders in Juneau the following statement was made: As Tlingit, Haida, and Tsimshian people, we are taught to have respect for our food; for the animals and plants that constitute our food; and for the teachings of our Elders with regard to the gathering, preparing, sharing and eating of our food. Our respect for our food is evidenced in the beautiful totem stakes that our Tlingit ancestors placed in streams to greet the salmon as they returned to their birth places; in our intricately carved feast dishes; in the stories we teach our young about the relationship between the Tlingit, the Haida, and the Tsimshian and the animals that are our sustainers of life; and in our songs and dances, as is evidenced when our beloved berries are brought in at a koo.eex’ (memorial party) (Tlingit, Haida and Tsimshian Elders in Newton & Moss, 2005). At the same occasion in Juneau, it was made clear that a reductionist and purely regulatory understanding of subsistence is inept: “Each Elder at that first meeting and at successive meetings, passionately objected to having their understanding of Tlingit food reduced to a regulatory word like “subsistence” (Tlingit, Haida and Tsimshian Elders in Newton & Moss, 2005). Not only the term, but also the activities and life ways denoted become increasingly politicized acts in in parts of the Arctic and subarctic. Why is the term subsistence so contentious and why are being on the land, foraging and other activities aimed at providing for oneself and one’s community being considered as acts of resistance on Turtle Island and elsewhere? Underlying these issues is a continuing struggle for (land-)rights and (Indigenous, and non-Indigenous) selfdetermination, necessary under conditions of (neo-colonial) systems of extractivism and appropriation of land – whether in Arctic, European, rural or urban settings.
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In many polar regions, the extractive industry and accompanying colonizing processes have contributed to the marginalization of subsistence life ways and endangered food – and, more broadly, human security. However, it is necessary to consider the differential effects of the wage economy including the extractive industry. High wages, and several days or weeks between shifts, within the mining industry for example, can provide opportunities for individuals to receive a higher-than-usual -income (Saxinger & Gartler, 2017), distribute wealth – notably the case when the worker has children (Gibson & Klinck, 2005), and facilitate on-the-land activities by making it possible to buy (better) hunting equipment. At the same time, highly formalized wage employment can take away necessary time for hunting trips (Nelson, Natcher & Hickey, 2005). In the North, the interwoven realms of monetary and non-monetary provision including government subsidies are often called a ‘mixed economy’ with a focus on sharing within subsistence (see e.g. Burnsilver, 2016; Ready & Power, 2018; Wheeler & Thornton, 2005). However, structures of inequalities, which significantly shape this relationship, are not always highlighted. This overview of the concept of subsistence confirms the “great deal of social evolutionary baggage” (Moss, 2010: 123) and biases it carries by highlighting Indigenous viewpoints and critique. To conclude, subsistence can denote a wide variety of activities, however it always refers to unpaid activities which are valued less compared to paid ones, by discursive connotation with destitution and poverty.
References Active, J. (1998). Why Subsistence is a Matter of Cultural Survival: A Yup'ik Point of View. Cutlural Survival, Fall(22.3). Retrieved from https://www.culturalsurvival.org/author/active Berger, T. R. (1985). Village Journey. The Report of the Alaska Native Review Commission. New York: Douglas & McIntyre. Burnsilver, S., Magdanz, J., Stotts, R., Berman, M., & Kofinas, G. (2016). Are Mixed Economies Persistent or Transitional? Evidence Using Social Networks from Arctic Alaska. American Anthropologist, 118(1), 121-129. doi:10.1111/aman.12447 Cruikshank, J. (2005). Do Glaciers Listen? Local Knowledge, Colonial Encounters, and Social Imagination. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press. Etymonline (2017). Subsistence. http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=subsistence
Retrieved
from
Gartler, S. (2013). Subsistenz. Eine Anthropologische Begriffsanalyse. (Diplomathesis) Social and Cultural Anthropology, University of Vienna. Retrieved from: https://www.researchgate.net/publication/274038797_Subsistenz__Eine_Anthropologische_Begriffsanalyse Gartler, S. (2018). One Word, Many Worlds: The Multivocality of “Subsistence”. Alaska Journal of Anthropology, 16(2), 49-63.
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Gibson, G., & Klinck, J. (2005). Canada’s Resilient North: The Impact of Mining on Aboriginal Communities. Pimatisiwin: A Journal of Aboriginal and Indigenous Community Health, 3(1), 115140. Kuokkanen, R. (2011). Indigenous Economies, Theories of Subsistence, and Women. Exploring the Social Economy Model for Indigenous Governance. American Indian Quarterly, 35(2), 217-240. MacLean, E. (Ed.) (1998 ). Subsistence: An Alaskan Way of Life. Anchorage: Alaska Federation of Natives. Moss, M. L. (2010). Rethinking Subsistence in Southeast Alaska: The Potential of Zooarchaeology. Alaska Journal of Anthropology, 8(1), 121-135. Nelson, M., Natcher, D. C., & Hickey, C. G. (2005). Social and Economic Barriers to Subsistence Harvesting in a Northern Alberta Aboriginal Community. Anthropologica, 47, 301. Newton, Richard G. 1983 in Newton, Richard G. and Moss, Madonna L. (eds) 2005 Haa Atxaayi Haa Kusteeyix Sitee, Our Food Is Our Tlingit Way of Life: Excerpts of Oral Interviews 3rd ed., USDA Forest Service, Alaska Region. R10-MR-30, Juneau. pp. viii–x: iv. Ranspot, T. (2019). "You Gotta Sing to It!" : Music in Human-Animal Relations Among Northern Athabascans. (Doctor of Philosophy in Social Anthropology). University of Aberdeen, Aberdeen. Ready, E., & Power, E. A. (2018). Why Wage Earners Hunt: Food Sharing, Social Structure, and Influence in an Arctic Mixed Economy. Current Anthropology, 59, 97. doi:10.1086/696018 Reimer, B. (Ed.) (2006). Special Issue on the New Rural Economy (Vol. 1). Saxinger, G., & Gartler, S. (2017). The Mobile Workers Guide. Fly-in/Fly-out & Rotational Shift Work in Mining. Yukon Experiences. Whitehorse, Yukon First Nation of Nacho Nyäk Dun, Yukon College, ReSDA (Resources and Sustainable Development in the Arctic). Thieme, S. (2010). Subsistence: History, Meaning and Reconstruction of the Subsistence Term. Munich Personal RePEc Archive. Tlingit, Haida and Tsimshian Elders in Newton, Richard G. and Moss, Madonna L. (eds) 2005 Haa Atxaayi Haa Kusteeyix Sitee, Our Food Is Our Tlingit Way of Life: Excerpts of Oral Interviews 3rd ed., USDA Forest Service, Alaska Region. R10-MR-30, Juneau. pp. viii–x: viii von Werlhof, C., Bennholdt-Thomsen, V., & Faraclas, N. (2001). Subsistenz und Widerstand: Alternativen zur Globalisierung. Wien: Promedia Verlag. Wheeler, P., & Thornton, T. F. (2005). Subsistence Research in Alaska: A Thirty Year Retrospektive. Alaska Journal of Anthropology, 3(1), 69-103. Retrieved from http://www.eci.ox.ac.uk/publications/downloads/thornton05-alaska.pdf
Subsistence: A Critical Overview of the Concept
Briefing Note
Swedish Sámi reindeer herders seek Indigenous rights
Robert P. Wheelersburg
I journey on the sea of time follow the tracks of the wind -Nils-Aslak Valkeapää (1994) Trekways of the Wind In 1973, Swedish Prime Minister Olof Palme compared the American “Christmas Bombings” of Hanoi to Nazi atrocities during the Holocaust (New York Times, 1973). By taking similar positions against other countries, Sweden attempted to become the world’s human-rights conscience. Yet for several centuries, Sweden systematically eroded the Indigenous rights of Sámi reindeer herders through royal decrees, laws, border treaties, and social programs (e.g., Nomad Schools). Despite signing the Arctic Council’s 2021 Reykjavik Declaration affirming Indigenous rights, Sweden has failed to do so for its own Indigenous people. In fact, Sweden continues to actively fight against Sámi Indigenous rights in parliament and with legal action. Thus, despite what some Arctic Council (AC) members say publicly, states like Sweden are violating treaties they signed and need to be sanctioned to force them to uphold those treaties. Without enforcement, it may be only a matter of time before Arctic Indigenous peoples lose their cultures, and in the words of former Sámi reindeer herder and artist Nils-Aslak Valkeapää’s (1994), “follow the tracks of the wind”. Although there is no universally accepted definition of what cultural traits constitute an Indigenous people, the United Nations (2004) provided a working definition of Indigenous peoples, with the most important trait being self-identification as Indigenous. However, Indigenous status does not matter unless the state in which it resides recognizes and protects the rights that go with it. In the Arctic and elsewhere, some Indigenous peoples transcend state borders, resulting in a situation where some parts of Indigenous communities are supported by states and some are not. One of those cases is the Sámi whose ancestral homeland, Sápmi, crosses four nation-states today: Finland, Norway, Russia, and Sweden. The first two states are supportive of the Sámi Indigenous status. Robert P. Wheelersburg is a two-time Fulbright Scholar at the University of Umeå, Sweden and a former National Science Foundation – Fulbright Arctic Scholar at the University of Iceland. He was Professor of Anthropology (retired) in the Social Science Department at Elizabethtown College.
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Russia and Sweden are somewhat supportive, but Sweden is hesitantly so, using legislation and judicial action to restrict Sámi Indigneous rights As evidence of that statement, in the 1990s, the European Union (EU) ruled that Sweden failed to provide Sámi reindeer herders with Indigenous protection by restricting access to their exclusive rights to land and water in the face of encroaching non-Sámi industries. Subsequently, in 1999 the Swedish government appointed an investigator to determine whether it followed the EU’s International Labour Organization (ILO) Convention 169 protecting Indigenous rights. The investigator declared Sweden not in compliance because the country failed to establish precise territorial boundaries that reflected the difference between Indigenous (Sámi) and traditional (nonSámi) economic activities. Consequently, there was no distinction between exclusive and shared access to land and natural resources based on those differences (Wheelersburg 2008). In order to meet the minimum standards of ILO Convention 169, Sweden had to establish Indigenous and traditional boundaries. Parliament created a border delineation commission reporting to the Agricultural Ministry that regulated reindeer herding in the country. The commission used historic sources, especially maps, to create the two boundaries required to bring Sweden into compliance. The commission determined that the Sámi winter pasturage shared with non-Sámi industries comprised traditional territory, while the Sámi Indigenous territory consisted of summer reindeer pasturage they used almost exclusively. Those designations correlated with the historical boundaries of lappmarkgräns [Lapland Border] from the 1750s and odlingsgräns [Limit of Cultivation] established in 1890. Both boundaries were created by the Crown supposedly to reduce conflicts between the Sámi and Swedish/Finnish settlers who continued colonizing Sweden’s north (Norrland). The Crown did not vigorously enforce those borders and Swedes and ethnic Finns living in Norrland ignored them widely (Wheelersburg, 2008; Norstedt, 2019). The commission found that the Lapland Border formed an “outer” boundary on reindeer winter pasturage. Sámi herders had access to outer boundary lands and natural resources and could use them in cooperation with resident settler groups who practiced their own traditional industries like farming and forestry. The second border, the Limit of Cultivation, was designated the “inner” boundary, within which Sámi had occupied lands almost exclusively over the centuries, using them for reindeer herding and associated industries like fishing and raw material acquisition. Those inner boundary territories, many of which were former Crown lands (today, national parks), form the basis of Sámi Indigenous use rights that Sweden should protect. By designating and protecting Indigenous use rights through Sámi reindeer herding villages regulating their own territories, Sweden considered itself in compliance with ILO 169 (Wheelersburg, 2008). Yet the result of Sweden establishing the Indigenous and the traditional boundaries was to strengthen non-Sámi industries in the traditional zone – for a time. A 1994 parliamentary decision allowed the public to hunt small game and fish on Sámi winter pasturage (within the outer boundary) without paying a fee to the herding village that controlled the territory. A long court battle with the Swedish government ensued to restore those Indigenous rights (during which government lawyers officially used the racist term “Lapp”) (Swedish Government, 1993: 32). It took twenty years for the Swedish Supreme Court to reach a decision restoring Sámi Indigenous rights. In 2020, the supreme court ruled in favor of Sámi controlling small-game licensing on winter
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reindeer pasturage by siding with Girjas’ Sámi reindeer herding village’s right to regulate access for hunting and fishing on its traditional (i.e., winter) territory (Library of Congress, 2020). While not citing Indigenous protection, the court affirmed that the Sámi had established their exclusive control over natural resources in their reindeer herding districts during the mid-17th century, which was codified in the Reindeer Grazing Act of 1886. The courts used historic records as evidence to rule that the Sámi reindeer villages controlled the natural resources in their respective areas based upon their traditional, not Indigenous, status. Although the court cited the legal concept of “time immemorial” (i.e., a period in time before recorded history not requiring evidence to prove use rights), the ruling was based on behaviors that established the hunting and fishing (and grazing) rights, that were only a few hundred years old (Orange 2020; Black 2021). Despite Sweden’s earlier claims to be the world’s conscience for human rights, as well as being a member and signatory to the Arctic Council’s 2021 Reykjavik Declaration where the Council “Recogniz[ed] the rights and the special circumstances of Indigenous Peoples and the unique role of the Permanent Participants within the Arctic Council” (Arctic Council 2021: 1), the country continues fighting to prevent Sámi from attaining full Indigenous rights. Sweden’s refusal to recognize and protect the rights of its own Indigenous people may be related to the competition over resources that form the basis of both Sámi and non-Sámi economies in northern Sweden. Today, there are two categories of Arctic residents: Indigenous and settler (i.e. traditional). The stakes are high for which category designates a people, since the Indigenous category often imparts a legal status that allows special access to land, waters, and other natural resources, that the category of traditional does not. An example is whaling. Inuit have Indigenous rights to hunt whales, while at the same time, Icelandic whaling, a traditional cultural practice lasting several hundred years, is considered illegal by the global community (NOAA, n.d.). The current practice of reindeer herding in Sweden is several hundred years old as well; however, it is regarded as an Indigenous enterprise. As such, reindeer herding is somewhat protected at least within the inner boundary lands. Therefore, there are tangible benefits for an Arctic group considered Indigenous; benefits that are unavailable to other Arctic residents no matter how long they lived in the region or how long they have practiced a particular economic behavior. The definitions that apply to various Arctic peoples do not provide much guidance for policy makers and officials navigating the complex process of managing the use of territories (land and waters) and their natural resources in a cooperative and fair manner. Part of the reason for the definitions’ inadequacy is that they attempt to qualify peoples who today represent a blend of Indigenous, traditional, and modern cultural behaviors. In addition, there are other identities that are applicable to Arctic peoples that intermingle the two primary categories, creating confusion and conflict between competing groups. For example, only Swedish Sámi who are members of officially recognized reindeer herding villages are considered Indigenous by the Swedish government, even if others speak Sámi as a first language or practice traditional Sámi enterprises like handicraft production. The only exception is that the Swedish Sámi Parliament, recognized by the government as an advisory body, has members who are not reindeer herders. Although the term Indigenous is used frequently in discussions about the Arctic, as mentioned above, no specific definition of Indigenous peoples has been officially adopted by any global or regional body such as the U.N. or the E.U. (United Nations, 2004). The U.N.’s working definition is not considered absolute, believing that it is more appropriate to recognize Indigenous peoples Wheelersburg
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based upon their own self-identification rather than to use a confining, all-encompassing category. Still, the working definition includes characteristics that policy makers may use to assign people to the Indigenous category, like speaking a minority language or having a long-term association with a particular homeland. The EU also has a non-binding definition of Indigenous people. People whose ancestors inhabited a place or country when persons from another culture or ethnic background arrived on the scene and dominated them through conquest, settlement, or other means and who today live more in conformity with their own social, economic, and cultural customs and traditions than with those of the country of which they now form a part (European Environmental Agency, 2021). While the lack of an accepted definition with specific traits is a problem, the main issue with formal recognition of Indigenous peoples is that there are no consequences for an individual government that does not respect that status. Regional organizations such as the European Union (EU) or global entities like the United Nations (UN) seek only voluntary compliance, including the ILO 169 (International Labour Organization, 2017) for the former and Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples for the latter (United Nations 2004). With no globally accepted definition of Indigenous status nor any international means to enforce Indigenous rights, such peoples are dependent upon the good will of their governing states to recognize and provide them with cultural and economic protection. In Sweden’s case, that good will is often lacking, particularly when Sámi Indigenous protection interferes with the majority society. Although a country may want to protect its majority society’s traditional rights as well the minority people’s Indigenous ones, it is difficult to do so because of a lack of objective agreement on what constitutes traditional cultural or economic behaviors. A standard definition of “traditional” is even more elusive because there are only scholarly examples, which generally describe the concept as the opposite of modern. For example, consider the following: The concept of tradition outlines a type of society defined by traits placed in opposition to other traits characterizing industrial society. […] Tradition is oriented towards a legitimate reference to the past while modernization is oriented toward the mastery of the future. […] Tradition is a transmitted, and often transformed, heritage which survives and orients contemporary actions (Langlois, 2001: 15829). For policy purposes, it is possible to make a distinction between exploiting reindeer as a way of life since time immemorial (Indigenous) and reindeer herding as a business enterprise using both traditional and modern methods developed over the past 150 years (Ruong, 1937). That is to say, the Sámi have utilized reindeer, wild, tame, or herded, for most if not all of their time in the Nordic Arctic region. That use of reindeer for the entirety of their occupation in the Swedish Arctic, despite archaeological evidence that the Sámi were not the original inhabitants there, makes up the basis for their Indigenous territorial and natural resource use rights. Yet due to changing circumstances related to influences by the Swedish government, in combination with economic and technological evolution, Sámi reindeer herding today is a modern, rational business enterprise using some traditional methods (e.g., lassoing) that retains hardly any Indigenous behaviors. A key point related to that dual status is that some traditional behaviors were retained in the face of influences from a majority (i.e., state-level) society using governmental tools like legislation to control both Sámi and non-Sámi industries. The result is that Sámi reindeer herding in Sweden as
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a whole receives enough Indigenous protection to survive as a way of life, while herding’s traditional behaviors (e.g., ear marks as brands) and rational business practices do not (although they are regulated). Conversely, Swedish/Finnish traditional industries like Baltic seal hunting [själen] and slash-and-burn farming [svedjebruk], both of which began in the Middle Ages and lasted into the 20th century, did not receive protection as traditional behaviors and ultimately died out. Except for the Crown and the Foreign Ministry, Sweden has never considered itself an Arctic country, although it proclaimed itself so officially when it took the Arctic Council Chair in 2011 (Sörlin, 2014). Today, however, Sweden signs Arctic Council documents to protect the Indigenous rights of Arctic peoples in the abstract, but fails to protect its own Indigenous people in practice. Thus, the Arctic Council should consider sanctioning member nations who refuse to honor their own people’s Indigenous rights. For example, the council could refuse to pass the AC chair to a member who receives international or council-level condemnation, or to states who lose judicial cases over failing to honor their own indigenous people’s rights. Regardless of the sanction imposed, the Council needs to act forcibly when members do not adhere to declarations they signed.
References Arctic Council (2021). Reykjavík Declaration 2021. Black (2021). What is Time Immemorial? Black’s Law Dictionary Online, 2nd edition. European Environmental Agency (2021). Indigenous Peoples. Copenhagen: European Union. International Labour Organization (2017). C169 – Indigenous and Tribal Peoples Convention, 1989 (No. 169). New York: United Nations. Langlois, S. (2001). Traditions: Social. In N.J.S.B. Baltes (Ed.) In International Encyclopedia of the Social & Behavioral Sciences, 15829-15833. Oxford: Pergamon. Library of Congress (2020). Sweden: Supreme Court Recognizes Sámi Indigenous Group’s Exclusive Right to Confer Hunting and Fishing Rights in Sámi Area. Washington D.C.: Library of Congress. NOAA (n.d.). International Whaling Commission. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. Washington D.C.: U.S. Department of Commerce. Norstedt, Gudrun (2019). Lappmarksgränsen. [Lapland Border]. Samer.se. Östersund: Sametinget [Sámi Parliament]. New York Times (1973). Swedish Comment Brings U.S. Protest. NYT Archives. Dec. 26, 1973. Swedish Government (1993). Regeringens proposition 1992/93:32 om samerna och Sámisk kultur mm. [The Government’s Proposition 1992/93:32 about the Sámi and Sámi Culture, etc.] Stockholm: Allmänna förlaget.
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Orange, Richard (2020). Indigenous reindeer herders win hunting rights battle in Sweden. The Guardian. January 23, 2020. Accessed from https://www.theguardian.com/world/2020/jan/23/indigenous-reindeer-herders-samiwin-hunting-rights-battle-sweden Ruong, Israel (1937). Fjällapparna Jukkasjärvi Socken. [Mountain Lapps in Jukkasjärvi Parish.] Geographica Writings from Upsala University’s Geography Department, 3. Uppsala: Appelbergs Boktryckeriaktiebolag. Sörlin, Sverker (2014). The Reluctant Arctic Citizen: Sweden and the North. In Kaus Dodds and Richard C. Powell (Eds.), Polar Geopolitics: Knowledges, Resources and Legal Regimes, 149 – 165. Cheltenham, United Kingdom: Edward Elgar Publishing. United Nations (2004). The Concept of Indigenous Peoples. United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs. Workshop on Data Collection and Disaggregation for Indigenous Peoples, New York, January 19-21, 2004. New York. Valkeapää, Nils-Aslak (1994). Trekways of the Wind. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. [note: the book contains no page numbers] Wheelersburg, Robert P. (2008). Special Collection: Rapid Landscape Change and Human Response in the Arctic and Subarctic. The Northern Review, 28, 161–180. Whitehorse: Yukon College.
Swedish Sámi reindeer herders seek Indigenous rights
Briefing Note
Arctic Indigenous Peoples and the State: Toward a Universal Convergence of Arctic Reconciliation Barry Scott Zellen
Since the fall of Afghanistan to the Taliban in the summer of 2021, attention has been once again refocused on the importance of the human terrain to regional stability and security – whether in the old battle zones of the Global War on Terror, or future theatres of potential conflict such as what the United States Navy has recently described as the Blue Arctic. If there is a systemwide vulnerability that could be exploited by a diplomatically skilled and economically powerful external actor in the Blue Arctic, it would most likely be found in its least populous and most remote areas where human security issues remain a work in progress. If there is to be a new Cold War in the Arctic region – and many believe there already is one – continued gains in native development will be crucial to its successful outcome. And it is here that the United States and its Arctic allies possess many natural advantages, presenting the world with an exemplary model for more inclusive and effective governance in partnership with the Indigenous peoples of the Arctic.
Hearts and minds: The looming battle for the Arctic’s human terrain With the recent fall of Afghanistan to the Taliban on the heels of America’s military withdrawal, attention is once again refocused on the importance of the human terrain to regional stability and security – whether in the old battle zones of the Global War on Terror, or future theatres of conflict such as what the United States Navy has recently described as the “Blue Arctic” (United States Navy, 2021). If there is a system-wide vulnerability that could be exploited by a diplomatically skilled and economically powerful external actor in the Blue Arctic, it would most likely be found in its least populous and most remote areas, such as Canada’s vast Arctic archipelago north of the Canadian mainland, where Inuit have in recent decades settled their outstanding land claims and innovated new systems of self-governance, including the 1999 formation of the Nunavut Territory, a vast territory of increasingly strategic lands and waters with a population of just over 40,000. Also potentially vulnerable to external influences is neighboring Greenland, which has been undergoing its own incremental (and thus far amicable) process of decolonization between its majority Inuit populace and its colonial sovereign, Denmark – and whose population of just over 50,000 lacks the internal capacity to unilaterally defend its vast EEZ, providing an opportunity for its alliance Barry Scott Zellen, Class of 1965 Arctic Scholar, Center for Arctic Study and Policy (CASP), U.S. Coast Guard Academy.
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partners to collectively contribute to regional security in the event of a Danish withdrawal in an independence scenario. Indeed, one can detect a common human terrain vulnerability in both the archipelagic (high) Arctic and on the Arctic mainland of both North America and Eurasia, where numerous economically struggling interior and coastal villages dot the vast, underpopulated, and remote frontier regions of several of the Arctic states, forming isolated islands of humanity separated by vast distances of open space with an insularity that is as isolating as that found in the even more lightly populated offshore Arctic islands. In these vast archipelagos, real or metaphorical (in much the same way that renowned Russian literary giant, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, perceived Siberia in his classic book, The Gulag Archipelago), a struggle to win the hearts and minds of locally predominant Indigenous peoples there may emerge as the next strategically salient regionwide fault line, internally dividing each of the otherwise stable Arctic states into regions of contested human terrain in an Arctic manifestation of the same dynamics described by Thomas P.M. Barnett almost two decades ago in his theoretical work on the Pentagon’s (then) “New Map,” with a persistent “Functioning Core” and “NonIntegrating Gap” (Barnett, 2003; Barnett, 2004). A similar fault line is retrospectively apparent in the outer Aleutians, where three quarters of a century ago Japan invaded and occupied the predominantly Unangan (Aleut) islands of Attu and Kiska, after bombing Amaknak Island, home to the Dutch Harbor Naval Operating Base, and U.S. Army’s Fort Mears (Perras, 2003). As a an example of what was perceived as a “triangular” strategic contest between the armed forces of imperial Japan on the one hand, and the United States (in coalition with Canada) on the other, the Indigenous Unangan people were caught in the middle and perceived by combatants on both sides as peripheral to the conflict, and thus transported to distant evacuation centers in both countries where they endured much hardship and suffered great losses (Arnold, 2011; Perras, 2003). Such tragic consequences to Indigenous peoples caught between combatants were all too common in World War II, from the liberation of the Aleutians, the first island chain to be retaken from the Japanese in 1943, all the way to the very last in the Battle of Okinawa, where U.S. forces wrestled back control of contested strategic islands from the Japanese at an enormously high cost to the local Indigenous population, trapped as they were between the warring parties much the way the Unangan had been two years earlier. Similar tales of dispossession and exile continued to take place across much of Arctic North America during the Cold War that followed the end of World War II, creating tensions between Inuit and Ottawa, Washington, and Copenhagen (Kunuk, 2009; Kunuk, 2018; Arnold, 2011; Perras, 2003). The consequences of these kinetic collisions between Arctic Indigenous peoples and modern states asserting sovereignty in the Arctic were very often tragic; as Canada’s Qikiqtani Truth Commission has described: “For Inuit, the loss of home is more than the loss of a dwelling — it is a disruption of a critical relationship of people with the land and animals. It represents the loss of independence and replacement of a way of life” (Qikiqtani Truth Commission, 2013). Understanding the historical context and near universality of this internal fault line across the Arctic can help illuminate the strategic saliency of the human terrain within the Arctic states, and presents a potential vector for external manipulation and destabilization that could disrupt the internal balance of power between distant governments of the “center” and the isolated Indigenous villages of the “periphery” – forging a new line of conflict that could come into play during a period of intensified strategic competition in the Arctic. This is true whether a campaign of hybrid warfare
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of the sort mastered by Moscow in recent years, or the “checkbook diplomacy” (or, as it became known, “debt-trap diplomacy”) favored by China, or the even less probable scenario of a formal state of war between rival states for control of the Arctic domain, as experienced at a theatre level during World War II with the Japanese occupation of the outer Aleutians, and narrowly avoided by allied successes in both the Battle of Britain, and the Battle of the Atlantic, which prevented German expansion to Arctic North America.
Indigenous polities and world order Whether in the Arctic, or further south throughout the world ocean, these sorts of tensions and vulnerabilities in state-Indigenous relations are commonplace, as observed by American forces in the Pacific from Guam to Okinawa; and by allied partners who maintain their own offshore bases on remote islands across Oceania. China, as it expands its influence deeper into the Pacific, finds itself facing similar tensions and vulnerabilities along Indigenous fault lines, creating a vast, interconnected theater of strategic competition where local Indigenous polities gain an increasing geopolitical importance to the international order, just as we experienced during the Global War on Terror (GWOT), and as the fall of Afghanistan has painfully reminded us recently. While Indigenous populations in these remote, often insular, territories may be relatively small, they are locally and regionally predominant, and essential to the security of both the North Pacific and North Atlantic, just as they are to the security of the Arctic basin itself. The United States Coast Guard recognizes and deeply understands this at its very core and has been working closely with the Indigenous communities of Alaska for the past century and a half, ever since the Alaska purchase freed many Alaska natives from the near-enslavement of colonization by the RussianAmerican Company. A widely perceived and discussed strategic triangle pitting Washington’s interests against those of an aligned Moscow/Beijing axis presumes an inherently unitary structure of the Arctic states, but in much of the Arctic, states are not unitary but are instead former colonial states cobbled together across the centuries by expanding states from the Westphalian core of Europe as they reached out across the seas, leaving Indigenous peoples and their local governing structures largely intact (in contrast to farther south) and fostering hybrid colonial governance via local (and for the most part, corporate trading) proxies. Limited in manpower and dependent upon native hunters and trappers to exploit the region’s bounty of furs, the colonial era Chartered Companies, whether Russian, British, or Danish, preserved prior power relationships and networks in the precolonial world that could be successfully leveraged in the interest of ascendant colonial powers. Because this remains a defining feature of several Arctic states including Russia, the United States (Alaska), Canada (NWT and Nunavut), and Denmark (Greenland), a lingering fault line persists between center and periphery, largely aligning with the settler elites (and their descendants) in command of the state apparatus to the relative south, and the Indigenous communities in the more remote northern hinterland that have been gradually regaining self-governing powers. Understanding this internal historic dynamic and achieving a stable balance of interests through inclusive and respectful policies of native social, economic and political development can thus be of significant strategic consequence in the event of future external agitation by a non-Arctic state, and to the future stability of the Arctic region, and thus requires sustained investment, respectful relationship-building, and a continuous process of confidence-building measures as illustrated by the recent U.S. re-engagement with Greenland, lest an external actor seeks to destabilize the status Zellen
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quo. Because of the many socioeconomic challenges facing northern villages from one end of the Arctic to the other, this is a potential vulnerability that an external power could seek to exploit – and, some argue, has already become a target for exploitation by Beijing through its Polar Silk Road, part of its global Belt and Road Initiative. Because Arctic Indigenous homelands have been imperfectly integrated with the political economies of the Arctic states, despite much progress from ongoing efforts in recent decades, this remains a near universal fault line across the Arctic and a challenge faced internally by the seven Arctic states that have Indigenous populations engaged in long-term processes of cultural renewal, economic development, and restoration of land rights (and externally by the eighth, Iceland, which has no Indigenous populace of its own, owing to the Norse becoming its first inhabitants in the 9th century). Progress on this front varies greatly by region and by state, offering an uneven opportunity for external influencers. Russia has in recent years mastered the art of “hybrid warfare” below the threshold of formally declared war (Garamone, 2019; Deep, 2015), as demonstrated in its persistent but low-level interventions along the arc of what it once referred to as its “near abroad” (Safire, 1994) and with particularly effective results in Crimea in 2014. Beijing has similarly deployed “checkbook diplomacy” (Hamilton, 2016) to coopt elites along the global network envisioned by its BRI, including its northern component, the Polar Silk Road. The latter has faced strong blowback against what the United States and its allies have successfully reframed as “debt-trap diplomacy” (Taj, 2019; Lanteigne, 2019; Pompeo, 2019), while the former has on its own generated a near-universal distrust, particularly by states bordering Russia that fear they could become the next Crimea. In short, tactical blunders by both Moscow and Beijing in their efforts to coerce smaller polities and peoples have blunted their capacity to project power into the Arctic (with the exception, of course, of Moscow’s own Arctic territories and waters, where its sovereignty remains uncontested, but where it remains far behind its democratic Arctic counterparts in reconciling State and Indigenous interests).
Indigenous engagement and the containment of China’s Arctic ambitions Intriguingly, the strengthening alignment of interests between Indigenous peoples and their sovereign states across the non-Russian Arctic from Alaska to Finland may provide the democratic Arctic with an inherent advantage over Russia, whose own native peoples remain marginalized, their lands and resources encroached upon or expropriated, and many of their leaders either exiled or effectively marginalized (Nilsen, 2019; Balzer, 2021). One can even imagine the democratic Arctic states mastering in turn the art of hybrid warfare if a future Arctic Cold War intensifies, just as many of them by necessity re-mastered the art of counterinsurgency (COIN) warfare during the long GWOT – including Human Terrain Mapping (HTM), which became central to U.S. strategy during its many battles to win Indigenous hearts and minds in multiple theatres of operations, and which defined the political orders imposed on post-conflict countries throughout that conflict (Zellen, 2012) – and by confidently and proactively turning the tables on Moscow, winning the battle for the hearts and minds of Russia’s own oppressed native peoples, a process already underway to a limited degree with the warm diplomatic reception enjoyed by Russian Indigenous leaders in Arctic governing institutions like the Arctic Council where Arctic Indigenous organizations enjoy a distinct membership status as Permanent Participants, second only to the founding member states (the A8), and superior in organizational status to the many observer organizations and states, among which China is included.
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One can even cautiously hope that Russia may come to realize that its security can be best strengthened by achieving parity with its democratic counterparts on the Arctic Council in the area of Indigenous rights and empowerment. This may in fact be under way and could explain the notable prominence of Indigenous issues in Russia’s latest Arctic policy update (Office of the President of the Russian Federation, 2020). It could also explain some interesting but little reported pronouncements by Vladimir Putin several years ago recognizing the Ainu people (whose homeland, since World War II’s end, has been partitioned by Russia and Japan) as Indigenous to Russia, catching the attention of Tokyo, where Ainu recognition has been advancing at an incremental pace, suggesting a potential diplomatic advantage of a more pro-active approach by Moscow on Ainu rights issues. Engaging in the battle for influence of the Indigenous Arctic human terrain could thus be to Russia’s advantage, helping to neutralize its diplomatic and political vulnerability on this issue vis-à-vis the West. In so doing, the inter-Arctic collaborative dynamic would also be strengthened, further neutralizing any risk associated with the increasingly competitive strategic triangularity described above. With its deep pockets, China may take the opportunity to retool its approach, shifting further away from “debt-trap diplomacy” to foster a more mutually beneficial model of Arctic economic development, positioning Beijing to more adeptly exploit any shortfalls by Arctic states to sufficiently support and re-empower their own Indigenous peoples who are intimately aware of any unevenness in Arctic social, cultural and economic development; a shift whose beginnings are evident in China’s 2018 Arctic white paper where it, matching Japan, its principal regional rival, makes reference to Indigenous issues seven times. This is especially noteworthy for a country that does not even recognize its own domestic Indigenous peoples and continues to impose its will on its many diverse minorities, particularly those aspiring to greater autonomy. So, a triumph by the democratic Arctic states is by no means guaranteed with regard to a future battle for Indigenous hearts and minds, but the democratic Arctic states still have many advantages over Russia and China that make it unlikely either of these rivals could meaningfully undermine western influence in the region, or dilute the undisputed sovereignty they have over their respective Arctic territories. If there is to be a new Cold War in the Arctic region – and many believe there already is one – continued gains in native development will be crucial to its successful outcome; and it is here that the United States and its allies possess many natural advantages, presenting an opportunity to consolidate victory and achieve an unrivaled regional supremacy through more inclusive and effective governance – in partnership with the Indigenous peoples of the Arctic.
Indigenous engagement: A universal convergence of Arctic policies and strategies When examining the Arctic policies and strategies of the Arctic states as well as non-Arctic states with Arctic interests and ambitions, one can detect the emergence of a new common theme embraced, at least rhetorically by all, on the issue of Indigenous engagement and inclusion – evidence that states are well aware of the importance of Indigenous peoples to Arctic security, and to the maximization of their Arctic interests. This true of the Arctic states as well as non-Arctic states, whether democratic or authoritarian in governance, and including even the self-proclaimed “Near-Arctic” state, China. Indeed, if we examine the frequency and context for the use of the terms “Indigenous,” “tribe/tribal,” and “native” in recently articulated Arctic policies and strategies
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of the countries most active in the Arctic region, we can gain an appreciation of how far along we already are in this convergence of Indigenous inclusion. A quick tally shows the April 2019 U.S. Coast Guard’s Arctic Strategic Outlook (United States Coast Guard, 2019) mentioning these terms 26 times, compared to the 3 mentions in the July 2020 U.S. Air Force’s Arctic Strategy (United States Air Force, 2020) and the 5 mentions in the U.S. Navy’s January 2021 A Blue Arctic: A Strategic Blueprint for the Arctic (United States Navy, 2021), an indication of the enduring importance of Indigenous relations to the Coast Guard as a service, with its long, century-and-a-half engagement in Alaska and its close relationship to its coastal communities, where many a SAR mission has endeared the hearts of locals to the service. Coming as a surprise to some, Russia’s Arctic Policy Foundations to 2035 (Office of the President of the Russian Federation, 2020) released in July 2020 mentions Indigenous issues a total of 17 times, greatly exceeding both China’s 2018 Arctic White Paper (State Council Information Office of the People’s Republic of China, 2018) and Japan’s 2015 Arctic Policy (Headquarters for Ocean Policy, 2015) by more than a factor of two, with their respective 7 mentions each. Now, all of these are dwarfed by Canada’s 2019 Arctic and Northern Policy Framework (Crown-Indigenous Relations and Northern Affairs Canada, 2019) with its 188 mentions, as Indigenous issues and perspectives, and the historic reconciliation of the Canadian state with its Indigenous peoples, has been particularly evident in Ottawa’s Arctic policies and strategies in recent years. Ottawa’s 2019 Arctic and Northern Policy Framework marks at the very least a powerful, symbolic shift (and, potentially, as meaningful a substantive shift as well), as Arctic policy itself is now to be developed through a consultative process with the peoples of the Arctic, an indication that co-management has evolved beyond resource management into national policy formulation. There is much reason to hope this collaborative dynamic between Arctic Indigenous peoples and states will endure amidst the reawakening of the Russian bear in world politics. As Dr. Lawson W. Brigham recently observed in the Wilson Center’s Polar Institute blog, Polar Points, the smooth transfer of the chairmanship of the Council from Iceland to Russia “was warmly welcomed … from all the Arctic states and Permanent Participants. Russia’s Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov vowed to keep up the Council’s spirit of cooperation and he reiterated the Council’s shared vision that the ‘Arctic is the territory of peace, stability and cooperation’” (Brigham, 2021). As Brigham points out, the “narrative most of the world hears today is that tension, potential military conflict, and resource races dominate the Arctic. The message in Iceland led by the members of the Arctic Council stands in stark contrast by reminding everyone that the Arctic remains one of the most peaceful places on Earth” (Brigham, 2021). And while “the Arctic is an integral part of the global security arena as it has been for the past seven decades,” Brigham points out that “continued stability and close international cooperation are the cornerstones of a shared vision of the Arctic states” (Brigham, 2021) – and one may add, of the Arctic Indigenous peoples too, whose fates and futures are now intertwined with those of the Arctic states. Any views expressed in this article are the author’s alone, and do not reflect official views or policies of the U.S. Coast Guard, Department of Homeland Security, or any other branch, department or service of the U.S. Government.
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References Arnold, Carlene J. (2011). The Legacy of Unjust and Illegal Treatment of Unangan, Master’s Thesis in Global Indigenous Nations Studies, University of Kansas. Balzer, Marjorie M. (2021). “Siberia, Protest and Politics: Shaman Alexander in Danger.” FocaalBlog, 21 June. https://www.focaalblog.com/2021/06/21/marjorie-mandelstambalzer-siberia-protest-and-politics-shaman-alexander-in-danger/. Barnett, Thomas P.M. (2004) The Pentagon’s New Map (New York: Putnam). Barnett, Thomas P.M. (March 2003) “Why the Pentagon Changes Its Maps: And why we'll keep going to war,” Esquire, https://www.esquire.com/news-politics/a1546/thomas-barnettiraq-war-primer/. Brigham, Lawson (July 23, 2021). “Reflections on the Arctic Council’s Recent Message to the Globe: Peace, Stability and Cooperation,” Blog Post No. 11, Polar Points, Wilson Center Polar Institute, https://www.wilsoncenter.org/blog-post/no-11-reflections-arcticcouncils-recent-message-globe-peace- stability-and-cooperation. Crown-Indigenous Relations and Northern Affairs Canada (November 18, 2019), Canada’s Arctic and Northern Policy Framework (Ottawa: Government of Canada), https://www.rcaanccirnac.gc.ca/eng/1560523306861/1560523330587. Deep, Alex (March 2, 2015). “Hybrid War: Old Concept, New Techniques,” Small Wars Journal, https://smallwarsjournal.com/jrnl/art/hybrid-war-old-concept-new-techniques. Garamone, Jim (September 4, 2019). “Military Must Be Ready to Confront Hybrid Threats, Intel Official Says,” Defense.gov, https://www.defense.gov/Explore/News/Article/Article/1952023/military-must-beready-to-confront-hybrid-threats-intelligence-official-says/. Hamilton, Daniel S. (2016). “Checkbook Diplomacy,” The Diplomatist, as reposted by the Center for Transatlantic Relations, https://archive.transatlanticrelations.org/publication/checkbook-diplomacy-daniel-shamilton/. Headquarters for Ocean Policy (October 16, 2015). Japan's Arctic Policy (Tokyo: Government of Japan), https://www8.cao.go.jp/ocean/english/arctic/pdf/japans_ap_e.pdf Kuhara, Sonoko (August 21, 2021). “What the ‘Blue Arctic’ Means for the US Pacific Military Presence,” The Diplomat, https://thediplomat.com/2021/08/what-the-blue-arctic-meansfor-the-us-pacific-military-presence/. Kunuk, Zacharias (2009). “Exile” (Igloolik: Igloolik Isuma Productions), http://www.isuma.tv/isuma-productions/exile-0) Kunuk, Zacharias (2018). “Kivitoo: What They Thought of Us” (Igloolik: Igloolik Isuma Productions), http://www.isuma.tv/hwma/kivitoo/ep4kivitoo1). Lanteigne, Marc (May 7, 2019). “The US Throws Down the Gauntlet at the Arctic Council’s Finland Meeting,” Over the Circle, https://overthecircle.com/2019/05/07/the-us-throwsdown-the-gauntlet-at-the-arctic-councils-finland-meeting/. Nilsen, Thomas (November 27, 2019). “Russia Removes Critical Voices Ahead of Arctic Council Chairmanship, Claims Indigenous Peoples Expert,” The Barents Observer, https://thebarentsobserver.com/en/civil-society-and-media/2019/11/russia-makesready-arctic-council-chairmanship-removing-critical.
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Office of the President of the Russian Federation (March 5, 2020). Foundations of the Russian Federation State Policy in the Arctic for the Period up to 2035 (Moscow: Government of the Russian Federation), tr. Anna Davis and Ryan Vest, Russia Maritime Studies Institute, United States Naval War College, https://dnnlgwick.blob.core.windows.net/portals/0/NWCDepartments/Russia%20Mari time%20Studies%20Institute/ArcticPolicyFoundations2035_English_FINAL_21July202 0.pdf?sr=b&si=DNNFileManagerPolicy&sig=DSkBpDNhHsgjOAvPILTRoxIfV%2FO 02gR81NJSokwx2EM%3D. Perras, Galen Roger (2003). Stepping Stones to Nowhere: The Aleutian Islands, Alaska, and American Military Strategy (Vancouver: UBC Press). Pompeo, Mike (May 6, 2019). “Looking North: Sharpening America’s Arctic Focus,” Text of Secretary of State Mike Pompeo’s Rovaniemi Speech, U.S. State Department Website, https://www.state.gov/looking-north-sharpening-americas-arctic-focus/. Qikiqtani Truth Commission (2013). “Nuutauniq: Moves in Inuit Life. Thematic Reports and Special Studies Qikiqtani Inuit Association,” Qikiqtani Truth Commission website, http://docplayer.net/55079820-Qikiqtani-truth-commission-nuutauniq-moves-in-inuitlife-thematic-reports-and-special-studies-qikiqtani-inuit-association.html. Safire, William (May 22, 1994). “ON LANGUAGE; The Near Abroad,” New York Times Magazine, https://www.nytimes.com/1994/05/22/magazine/on-language-the-nearabroad.html. Solzhenitsyn, Aleksandr I. (1977). The Gulag Archipelago: 1918-1956 (New York, Harper & Row). State Council Information Office of the People’s Republic of China (January 2018). China’s Arctic Policy (Beijing: Government of China), http://english.www.gov.cn/archive/white_paper/2018/01/26/content_2814760266603 36.htm. Taj, Hadeeka (May 5, 2019). “China’s New Silk Road or Debt-trap Diplomacy?,” Global Risk Insights, https://globalriskinsights.com/2019/05/china-debt-diplomacy/. United States Air Force (July 2020). Arctic Strategy (Washington, DC: United States Air Force), https://www.af.mil/Portals/1/documents/2020SAF/July/ArcticStrategy.pdf. United States Coast Guard (April 2019). Arctic Strategic Outlook (Washington, DC: United States Coast Guard), https://www.uscg.mil/Portals/0/Images/arctic/Arctic_Strategic_Outlook_APR_2019.p df. United States Navy (January 2021). A Blue Arctic: A Strategic Blueprint for the Arctic (Washington, DC: U.S. National Ice Center), https://media.defense.gov/2021/Jan/05/2002560338/1/1/0/ARCTIC%20BLUEPRINT%202021%20FINAL.PDF/ARCTIC%20BLUEPRINT %202021%20FINAL.PDF. Zellen, Barry Scott (2012). The Art of War in an Asymmetric World: Strategy for the Post-Cold War Era (New York: Bloomsbury Academy).
Arctic Indigenous Peoples and the State
Briefing Note
Plans, Problems and Perspectives for Greenland’s Project Independence
Michael Paul
The 2021 anniversary marked three hundred years since Hans Egede set sail, with the blessing of the Danish monarch, to missionize the population of Greenland. For some people of Kalaallit Nunaat that date symbolizes not an occasion to celebrate but rather to declare independence from Denmark. But in the absence of necessary governmental and economic preconditions, leaving the Realm of the Danish Crown seems to be a long-term goal. The new government in Nuuk wants to boost the independence process but many problems remain. A more central role in the Arctic Council is a step forward.
Only one political current in Greenland, the Partii Naleraq of former Prime Minister Hans Enoksen, wanted to declare independence on National Day (21 June) 2021, the anniversary of the granting of self-government within Denmark in 2009. Most of the population would prefer a more gradual process of separation. Greenland does not yet appear ready for independence. That opinion is shared by Kuupik Kleist, the first prime minister from the Inuit Ataqatigiit party, who led the territory into self-government in 2009. Kleist explained that Denmark only wanted to retain control over foreign and security policy, and that Greenlanders have long had the opportunity to take control of all internal affairs, from policing and justice to finances. Kleist fears that Greenland will remain trapped in a mindset of dependency. The new government of Prime Minister Múte Bourup Egede – a coalition of Inuit Ataqatigiit and Naleraq – wants to boost the independence process but many problems remain the same as before and make cooperation between Copenhagen and Nuuk indispensable. Copenhagen faces a balancing act between supporting the independence process and simultaneously protecting its own foreign and security interests. Greenland is striving to become Michael Paul is Senior Fellow, German Institute for International and Security Affairs (SWP), Berlin. This essay is an updated version of Greenland’s Project Independence. Ambitions and Prospects after 300 Years with the Kingdom of Denmark, Berlin: SWP, January 2021 (SWP Comments 10/2021).
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a state in the traditional sense with full formal – and thus also foreign policy – sovereignty. The latter is an important factor for Nuuk, because enhanced international status is associated with the ability to attract external investment. Copenhagen has to tolerate this ambivalent stance, while at the same time attempting to influence the separation process. Much will therefore depend on whether and how the conflicting goals on both sides can be resolved. A first example is the combination of infrastructure and foreign policy, another mining and Sino-American rivalry, and the final problem is how to defend Greenland’s sovereignty without losing control of the island.
Infrastructure and foreign policy Danish Prime Minister Lars Løkke Rasmussen visited Greenland’s capital in person in September 2018 to present a financial package for expanding the airports at Nuuk and Ilulissat. Rasmussen hoped to resolve two problems simultaneously, i.e. providing Nuuk with the funding required for these projects and allaying Washington’s fears that excessive Chinese investment could leave Greenland overly dependent on Beijing. Greenland has no railways, few roads, and currently only one international airport at which widebody jets from Asia, Europe and North America can land, namely Kangerlussuaq. Rather than repairing the runway in Kangerlussuaq, Greenland’s government instead planned to extend the runways at the two regional airports – near Nuuk and at the attractive coastal tourist destination of Ilulissat – to allow international flights to land there from 2023. But the unspectacular airport project became a highly sensitive matter in several respects: domestically as an important step towards the economic development required for independence; externally as a warning sign of impending dependency on a foreign “near-Arctic state” (China); and hence as a security problem for cooperation with the United States. While Copenhagen naturally wants to retain Greenland in the Danish realm, it must also fund the territory’s steps towards independence. Denying assistance would cost Denmark the support of Greenland’s population, and ultimately its geopolitical status as an Arctic state. Yet, the issues are broader than simply promoting and developing elements of Greenlandic statehood. Denmark needs to find ways of dealing with an intractable security dilemma: on the long term it cannot preserve the island’s sovereignty by its own – but ceding effective control to the United States would be the end of Denmark as an Arctic state. The latter appears particularly unpalatable at a juncture where great power rivalry in the region is growing and the security situation deteriorating. As a major infrastructure project, the airport projects fall under the auspices of the regional government, which controls most aspects of political and economic life under the Act on Greenland Self-Government of 2009. Copenhagen retains control only over foreign and security policy – and regarded the project as security-relevant. The issue of concern was the China Communications Construction Company (CCCC), which appeared on the Greenland International Airports shortlist of possible partners for financing and building the airports. CCCC is involved in Belt and Road projects through which Beijing seeks to expand its global influence. Denmark feared that Chinese engagement could endanger its defence cooperation with the United States. The Greenland government saw the airports as a question of infrastructure rather than security. Economic diversification and investments are vital if they are to achieve independence. While Nuuk possesses the right to independence under the autonomy agreement, it cannot yet afford to
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exercise it. Denmark funds almost half of Greenland’s public budget, through an annual block grant of almost €500 million; that would cease in the event of independence. There is no prospect of revenues from fishing – which represents about 95% of Greenland’s exports – and tourism making up the shortfall. But resource extraction could do so. Greenland’s reserves of rare earths, which are vital for a range of high-tech applications, are sufficient to meet current global demand. The island also possesses metal ores and hydrocarbon deposits. When tourists and investors land at the new airports in a few years, the revenues and capital they bring could help to realize independence. But numerous obstacles remain to be overcome. For example, resource extraction is a responsibility of the Greenland government, but where uranium is involved there are implications for the Kingdom as a whole. Uranium mining and Chinese investment raise fundamental questions over what “security” means in and for Denmark, and thus touch on Copenhagen’s residual rights. Copenhagen finds itself in the tricky position of having to balance and stabilize the relationship with its former colony – which is already historically burdened and complicated by the independence issue – in the context of interest-driven rivalry between great powers.
Mining, the Sino-American rivalry, and the new government in Nuuk Nuuk has proactively encouraged a Chinese presence in Greenland; like his predecessor Aleqa Hammond, Prime Minister Kielsen tried to attract foreign involvement in Greenland’s mining industry, while other political forces expressed reservations over – and in the case of uranium mining rejected – such investments. Beijing is interested in Greenland for both geostrategic and economic reasons. It regards the island as a potential hub in its Belt and Road project. A paper by Chinese Arctic researchers discussed the prospect that the “small and weak Greenland nation” could become “the most important link for successful realization of the Polar Silk Road”. Greenland also hosts large reserves of rare earths. The global market is dominated by China, which possesses a market share of more than 80% and controls practically the entire supply chain in an extreme example of Western reliance on Chinese production. The United States currently imports most of its rare earths from China. Global demand for these metals is rising; they are required for cutting-edge technologies such as for electric vehicles, magnets and net-worked Industry 4.0 applications. All these technologies also have military applications, making them crucial for the functioning of modern networked armed forces. Major rare earth reserves are believed to exist in Kringlerne and Kvanefjeld in southern Greenland. The Australian Greenland Minerals and Energy (GME), in which the Chinese Shenghe Resources holds a stake, also intends to mine uranium there. But the signing of a cooperation agreement between Shenghe and the China National Nuclear Corporation (CNNC) in 2019 led the opposition Inuit Ataqatigiit party to raise critical questions concerning the content of the agreement, the environmental impact and Chinese interests. Three successive environmental impact assessments rejected rare earth and uranium mining, although a majority of Greenland’s parliament supported mining. In the parliamentary elections of April 6, 2021, Kielsen’s party Siumut continued to back the Kvanefjeld project, while the environmental party Inuit Ataqatigiit advocated for a moratorium and thus practically an end of the project.
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The majority in Inatsisartut - Greenland's parliament - was won by Inuit Ataqatigiit: it achieved 37.4% and thus 12 of the 31 seats, while Siumut came second with 30% and ten seats. The leadership of the new ruling party reiterated its rejection of the project after the election, and its leader, Múte Bourup Egede, began to form a coalition government under these auspices. For his party, the most important issue was to put an end to the social crisis and to pursue a development “that does not come at the expense of our environment”. The prime minister-designate stressed that economy and development must first be brought under control before independence can be discussed. Freedom from Denmark, which Siumut promoted as an electoral argument, was less of an electoral issue than the environmental impact of the projects necessary for independence. According to the coalition agreement of April 16, 2021, the ruling party Inuit Ataqatigiit received eight ministerial posts (including prime minister) and Naleraq two ministerial posts - in addition to Kirsten L. Fencker as health minister, Pele Broberg became minister of foreign affairs, business, trade and climate.
Greenland and U.S.-Russia relations The island’s rich resources and strategic location have led the United States to make formal purchase offers several times, in 1867, 1946/47 and 1960. Hence, President Trump’s idea of buying Greenland from Denmark in “a large real estate deal” was not new. Alongside its major reserves of rare earths, Greenland’s strategic significance for the United States has been underlined by the reactivation and modernization of Russia’s military bases in the Arctic. Greenland and specifically the Thule Air Base are exceptionally important for the United States. From a geostrategic perspective, Greenland forms one of North America’s extremities. Almost all Russian reconnaissance flights over the North Atlantic pass across or close to Greenland, which lies on the shortest flight path from Russia’s Western Military District to the American East Coast (the same applies to missiles). The facilities located at Thule include the largest and most northerly of America’s ballistic missile early warning installations, part of its global satellite control network and its northernmost deep-sea port. Russia’s development of new military bases, especially on Franz Josef Land, radically alters the security interests of the United States. The military base in Nagurskoye has major implications with regard to the Thule Air Base. Greenland also forms the western end of the “GIUK Gap”, the choke point between Greenland, Iceland and the northern extremity of the United Kingdom through which ships and submarines of Russia´s Northern Fleet have to pass to enter the Atlantic. Crucial civilian and military maritime infrastructure (undersea cables) lies south of the GIUK Gap and the Labrador Sea. In a trilateral agreement in October 2020 the United States, Denmark and Greenland declared that the security and prosperity of all three parties will continue to depend on strong transatlantic cooperation, for which the Thule base is of central importance. As well as economic benefits (the base is to be maintained by local firms from 2024), the agreement is of great value to Nuuk because it treats Greenland as a foreign policy actor. But the Greenlandic people “want more growth than just that military base”, Egede said in an interview in May 2021. “The U.S. wants to use the air base. We also need to have something for it.” Washington opened a diplomatic representation in Nuuk after a hiatus of almost seven decades, and offered a financial package worth US$12.1 million to develop Greenland’s resources, tourism and education (although most of the money is ear-marked for American consultants). The US
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offer was met with little support and instead tended to be regarded as an attempt to undermine Danish-Greenland relations even rather than as a genuine offer of support. The United States will have to invest more – why not in new, “green” technologies? Other than mining projects, a “green growth” strategy could develop environmentally sustainable economic sectors. Greenland’s former Industry and Energy Minister Jess Svane announced plans in February 2020 to turn meltwater from the ice sheet into drinking water for export. The power of the melt-water could also be harnessed to generate clean electricity for energy-intensive computing centers. The Arctic climate makes the Circumpolar North as a whole an ideal location for innovative technologies and services, as the European Commission has stated in 2016. Harsh climatic conditions and the fragile environment require specialized technology and know-how to meet high environmental standards. Opportunities in the “Green Economy”, such as sustainable multi-source energy systems, eco-tourism and low-emission food production, could be developed further, according to Brussels. The Commission wants to support the search for sustainable economic alternatives, naming explicitly “Blue Economy” sectors such as aquaculture, fisheries, offshore renewable energy, maritime tourism and marine biotechnology. As in Iceland, energy can be a growth sector; the availability of geothermal and hydro power back up that expectation. Greenland and Iceland have great mutual interests, on trade, health, fisheries, infrastructure, minerals, energy, air traffic, and tourism; the report” Greenland and Iceland in the New Arctic” contains 100 specific recommendations. Former Finance Minister Vittus Qujaukitsoq wished to see investment and tourism promoting Greenland’s development regardless of where the funds come from: China, the United States or Canada. The important thing, he said, is better training and more jobs. Ultimately, he added, an independent Greenland will not – like Djibouti in Africa – host military bases for rival powers like China. It seems that in Trump’s presidency, the U.S. has been overly focused on reining in China’s influence in Greenland, while neglecting to invest economically.
Greenland and international security Greenland and the Faroe Islands already enjoy extensive self-administration. While they are not entitled to pursue absolutely autonomous foreign and security policies, they can maintain their own international contacts providing these do not contradict official Danish policy. As a sovereign state Greenland could still continue cooperation with Denmark in questions of defence and foreign policy, as well as financial policy. Copenhagen would have an interest in that, because Greenland is the key to Denmark’s access to the Arctic with all its resources and attributes: minerals, fishing grounds, oil and gas, power and international recognition. In order to maintain the status associated with this, Copenhagen will have to invest more in protecting and defending its rights. As the Arctic polar sea ice melts, shipping traffic has been increasing. Since 2006 there has also been a growing number of vessels entering Danish-controlled waters without observing the usual protocols. Cases of illegal fishing, piracy or terrorism have not yet come to light. But how should maritime security be ensured as shipping traffic increases? The Royal Danish Navy possesses three ice-breakers and serves as Greenland’s coast guard. The forces in Greenland currently operate one aircraft, four helicopters and four ships (as well as the legendary Sirius Dog Sled Patrol) – to guard the world’s largest island with 44,000 kilometers of Paul
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coastline. With these personnel and resources, they also have to defend the sovereignty of the Realm, monitor fisheries, provide maritime services, transport patients and assist with other social services, as well as conduct search and rescue (SAR) missions. The SAR deficits in the Arctic are considerable. Recently there was even the idea, in a blog of the U.S. Naval Institute, to resume the “Greenland Patrol” which was established by the U.S. Coast Guard in 1941. Future US aid, the author recommends, should be ear-marked for port infrastructure to enable them to receive U.S. Coast Guard (USCG) vessels if the need arises. Growing Russian military activity has led a number of states to demonstratively expand their presence in support of Nordic NATO members. In August 2020, the USS Thomas Hudner became the first Arleigh Burke class destroyer to enter the deep fjord behind Nuuk; in the same month Danish and French warships conducted joint exercises with a USCG vessel off Greenland’s west coast. In September, Denmark conducted joint maneuvers in the Barents Sea with the United States, the United Kingdom and Norway. In the first such operation for 20 years, naval forces demonstrated freedom of navigation above the Arctic Circle. Copenhagen has to pursue a delicate balance between its own scarce military resources and the comprehensive support offered by its allies. An independent Greenland will – like Iceland – not be able to defend itself on its own. Copenhagen relies on support from the United States but has to avoid any appearance that it is allowing its policies to be dictated by Washington. Trump’s offer exacerbated that problem because his idea was an “absolutely radical break” with the post-1945 status quo. “When small nations wake up to the world’s superpower threatening to unroot that relation, it’s not something to take lightly,” the Danish expert Martin Breum explained.
Perspectives Greenland will remain in some form of union with Denmark for the foreseeable future. One reason for Copenhagen to support granting Asian states observer status in the Arctic Council was to make it easier to find investors for Greenland and the Faroe Islands. That in turn improves its relationship with the two autonomous territories and weakens the centrifugal forces in the Realm. These intentions are subsidiary to Denmark’s central foreign policy objective: avoiding harm to its relationships with the United States and with the European Union, and to its own privileged position in the Arctic. The new trilateral agreement for the US base in Thule is suited to further these interests. Additionally, to the ambitions of the “near-Arctic state” China and established Arctic power Russia, Denmark’s problems ultimately include the associated reawakening of US interest in Greenland. Copenhagen has to balance conflicting internal interests and – for all its understanding of the desire for independence of its territories – safeguard its own foreign policy and security interests. Trump’s initiative increased the price of continuing security cooperation. But the success of the Thule Agreement indicates the possibility that an independent Greenland could continue defence cooperation with the United States without that country necessarily supplanting Denmark as protector. Under a new agreement with Copenhagen, Nuuk gets also a greater and more central role in the Arctic Council: Greenland will be first to speak at future council meetings, followed by the Faroe Islands and ending with Denmark, while Greenland would also be the main signatory to any
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declarations. Although this is essentially a symbolic step forward, Kalaallit Nunaat will get a more central role to shape its own Arctic future. Nuuk is in the comfortable situation of being courted from multiple quarters. Copenhagen will seek to control the centrifugal forces, allowing Nuuk to become more independent while remaining part of the Danish realm. Copenhagen knows it depends on Greenland for its seat on the Arctic Council, and the associated interest of the major powers. Further progress towards independence would therefore have significant repercussions for Denmark’s foreign and security policy. But the decision will ultimately be made in Nuuk.
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Gateway Maine: Following Old Arctic Routes to a Sustainable Future for the United States Susana Hancock
If one were to extend the nooks and crannies of Maine’s coastline, it would reach more than 3,400 miles from the state’s southern terminus to the North Pole and beyond. It is a stretch that from trade among the Red Paint People to subsistence cod fisheries has been entrenched in the region’s culture, livelihoods and ecological approach for more than 10,000 years. Despite this northern connection, the United States traditionally has viewed its relation with the Arctic through Alaska. However, as the country faces increasing climate threats and is under pressure to divest from petroleum, Maine is capitalizing on the opportunity to rewrite the national narrative and frame itself as a true Arctic player. As part of this process, Maine is finding economic prosperity, forging global partnerships and ushering in a carbon-free future. If the United States is committed to meeting its environmental promises while concurrently spurring economic ingenuity, it best pay attention.
Alaska—and its oil—dominate the national narrative Since the acquisition of the future state from Russia in 1867, Alaska has been the country’s sole territorial connection within the Arctic region. The discovery of oil in Alaska’s Kenai Peninsula in 1957 contributed toward its promise of financial self-sufficiency, which led to its statehood two years later. Since then, the petroleum industry has continued to dominate Alaska’s economy, having generated more than $180 billion US cumulatively and comprising as much as 90% of its annual unrestricted general funds (Resource Development Council for Alaska, n.d.). While Alaska has a plethora of other cultural, economic and political links with the wider Arctic, the dominance of its oil continues to guide much of the national policy in the region. In both of the United States’ chairmanships of the Arctic Council (1998-2000, 2015-2017), facing the urgency of climate change ranked among the country’s top three priorities for its tenure (Arctic Council, 2021). In each case, the US left its leadership position with increased interest in expanding petroleum development in Alaska, and in the Arctic more broadly. In 2000, the US Energy
Susana Hancock is an environmental anthropologist from Oxford University, UK.
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Information Administration, at the request of Frank H. Murkowski, Alaskan senator and chair of the US Senate Committee on Energy and Natural Resources, claimed that the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge alone held “the largest unexplored, potentially productive onshore basin in the United States” (US Energy Information Administration, 2000: vii) Toward the end of the second chairmanship, President Trump signed the “America-First Offshore Energy Strategy,” which cut drilling restrictions in the Arctic (Exec. Order No. 13795, 2017). Later that spring, the Administration announced its intentions to withdraw from the Paris Agreement.
History of Maine’s Arctic engagement Unlike the northern half of Alaska, only the peak of Maine’s tallest mountain, Katahdin, chiseled from the receding Pleistocene glaciation, meets any statistical definition of “Arctic.” Katahdin is within the 10°C isotherm and is home to isolated populations of flora and fauna more associated with an Arctic alpine environment than a continental one (Quinn, 2008: 119). However, in the intervening years between US chairmanships, the long-simmer of Arctic interests began to boil thousands of miles away in Maine. The tipping point came in 2013 when the Icelandic shipping company Eimskip announced it would move its North American headquarters to Portland, thereby providing a concrete link between Maine and the entire Arctic spread. Despite Maine’s position bisecting the 45th parallel, making it as close to the equator as to the North Pole, the people of Maine and the Wabanaki Confederacy have been looking to the North for millennia. For over 10,000 years, small-scale subsistence societies have peppered the shores of the North Atlantic. Throughout this time, these communities united through a common and resilient heritage of responding to climatic and cultural developments ranging from deglaciation to colonization. Dating back 7,000 years ago, one of the earliest attested trades amongst peoples of the Arctic and present-day Maine focused on Ramah chert, a prized silica-based tool stone, from the Ktijigattalik (Ramah) quarry in today’s northern Labrador.1 Labrador, possibly because of its relative accessibility as well as its familiar culture and climate, has continued to have a well-trodden role in Maine’s maritime history. Under the initial guidance of professor and naturalist Paul Chadbourne in 1860, Bowdoin College began a continual 160-year legacy of Arctic research and expeditions, most famously including the early 20th century journeys of Robert Peary and Matthew Henson, as well as the later expeditions of Donald MacMillan aboard the locally-built ice-safe schooner Bowdoin.
Maine harbors international climate research Today, Bowdoin’s academic work in the Arctic is joined by a plethora of leading institutions, mostly focusing on the interconnectedness between drastic Arctic climate shifts and social systems. Established in 1973 with an eye toward the poles, the Climate Change Institute at the University of Maine in Orono has grown into an international focal point for researchers seeking to understand the processes and implications of natural and anthropogenic climate change. As new members of UArctic and its north2north exchange, students from universities in Reykjavik, Akureyri and Tromsø can now study at the University of Southern Maine. Arctic Law Fellows at the University of Maine School of Law learn about intergovernmental science agreements in Svalbard and Greenland. University of New England’s Institute for North Atlantic Studies in Portland draws upon the Sustainable Development Goals to connect disparate silos of science and
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culture. Together with the World Ocean Observatory, the Climate Change Institute and Maine Law developed the Arctic Futures Institute, which now leverages international collaboration to advance economic and environmental interests in the northern regions. In the midcoast town of Castine, Maine Maritime Academy developed the nation’s first course in Arctic navigation as the school (and current home to the Bowdoin) studies the opening of icy, disputed waters. In Boothbay, the independent Bigelow Laboratory for Ocean Science just discovered new relationships between algae and bacteria in the warming Arctic waters with significant implications for controlling atmospheric CO2. Farther south in Portland, the Gulf of Maine Research Institute (GMRI) monitors North Atlantic and Arctic sea currents while supporting community resilience and fishery adaptation.
Gulf of Maine’s rapid warming The Gulf of Maine has become Ground Zero for understanding the oceanographic impacts of climate change due to its shallow horseshoe-shape at the confluence of the Labrador Current and Gulf Stream. In 2014, a bombshell report from Dr. Andy Pershing, the then-Chief Scientific Officer of GMRI, concluded that “the Gulf of Maine has warmed faster than 99.85% of the global ocean” (Pershing, 2014). Yet, like most of the world experiencing drastic climate devastation, Maine does not need statistics. With the warming and acidifying waters, lobsters move into Canadian territory and the shells on bivalves fail to harden. After peaking in 1969 at more than 24 million pounds (Maine Department of Marine Resources, 2021), the shrimp industry has now been closed for eight consecutive seasons and the cod fishery that once sustained the entire maritime region has been cut by 95% in the past decade (Castañón, 2019). Nets previously overflowing with boreal haddock and flounder are now picking up subtropical species like seahorses, triggerfish and black sea bass. In 2018, having set 18 new temperature records in the previous twelve months, Dr. Pershing acknowledged that GMRI has “had to add new colours to our temperature illustrations to reflect just how warm the Gulf of Maine has been” (GMRI, 2018). Of course, Maine is not alone in its experience of environmental devastation. Rising tides, stronger storms and new agriculture patterns are increasingly universal in the United States and the rest of the world. However, in a country for which the Arctic has become synonymous with resource extraction, Maine instead looks north to draw upon its thousand years of cultural, climatic and economic similarities. While Alaska and the rest of the United States left its last Arctic Council chairmanship with new orders for off-shore Arctic drilling and a full dismissal of anthropogenic climate change by the national administration, Maine’s governor, Janet Mills, led a delegation of more than 60 Maine researchers, policy-makers, business leaders and artisans to address the Arctic Circle Assembly in Reykjavik. Eleven Mainers spoke at the international gathering, a new memorandum of understanding concerning sustainable forestry practices was signed, past environmental agreements confirmed and a preview of the state’s “Maine Won’t Wait” climate policy was unveiled.
Linking the Arctic with economic revitalization This rapid warming of the Gulf of Maine, the result of the warming waters to the north and the consequential disruption of ocean circulation, impacts every sector of Maine’s $70 billion US economy. In the two years following Eimskip’s move to Portland in 2013, shipping between Maine
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and Iceland skyrocketed more than 4000% as new markets opened (Eimskip, personal communication, 15 May, 2021). While consecutive directors of the Maine Port Authority and Senator Angus King (ME-I) have argued that the strategic positioning of Maine’s three deep-water ports (compared to Alaska’s one) will bring business to the coastal state as shipping through the Northwestern Passage clears (Angus King, personal communication, March 2, 2021), Eimskip provided the incentive to search the wider Arctic for existing models of environmental and economic success that could be transplanted to Maine. According to one senior Arctic official, “[previously] Maine moaned about having a poor economy and pointed to its position at the end of the line in the [country’s] north-eastern corner. Today, it sees itself as the jumping off point” (McGwin, 2016). As a linchpin to this process, the state inaugurated the Maine North Atlantic Development Office (MENADO). In 2014, MENADO co-hosted two international Arctic-focused trade events drawing audiences from Nuuk to Murmansk. Maine companies also started looking for new opportunities. The Maine-based Ocean Renewable Power Company started building its river- and tidal-powered hydrokinetic electricity generators throughout Alaska and northern Canada, thereby reducing the monthly reliance on diesel by as much as 25,000 gallons (Andrews, 2016; Caldwell, 2016). Eimskip’s cold storage offered Bristol Seafood a new European market. Hancock Lumber began to explore partnerships to supply and transport building materials to Greenland. External companies also began to see opportunities in Maine. The German AquaVentus consortium turned to the University of Maine’s offshore wind program to design floating wind-to-hydrogen turbines that could generate clean electricity while sparing Arctic migrating species. Likewise, the Iceland Ocean Cluster looked to the coastal state to form a sister “hús” to foster sustainable blue economic entrepreneurship throughout the northern North Atlantic. At the national level, then-President Barack Obama instituted the Arctic Executive Steering Committee by executive order, and Maine’s Angus King (I) reached out to Alaska’s Lisa Murkowski (R) to form the bipartisan US Senate Arctic Caucus.
The Arctic Council puts Maine on the map Maine’s big break may have come in October 2016 when the US Department of State chose to hold the Arctic Council plenary in Portland rather than in Alaska in recognition of the state’s Arctic stewardship and emerging leadership as a northern player. Predictably, climate change topped the agenda. While Arctic Council plenaries returned to Alaska and then moved abroad with the change in chairmanship, US Ambassador David Balton concluded that hosting the meeting in Maine “makes [Americans] aware of why they should care about the Arctic” (McGwin, 2016). In some ways, the Arctic Council meeting was also a public coming out party for Maine. The following year, MENADO became the first US organization outside of Alaska to join the Arctic Economic Council, and it has been developing new bilateral engagements continually. Given Maine’s strategic position in the northeast of the Atlantic and environmental values, it is of little surprise that Maine lawyer, Ben Ford, argues that “Arctic development will be the number one driver of Maine’s economic growth for the next generation” (MacLean, 2018).
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Looking north to find sustainable solutions In 2019, Governor Mills signed an MOU with Finland over innovation in forest bioeconomy innovation, recognizing that “Finland and the State of Maine have a lot in common in forest issues,” according to Finnish Prime Minister Antti Rinne (State of Maine: Office of Governor Janet T. Mills, 2019). Yet, while Maine’s paper mills are facing a declining market and high costs for lumber and energy as well as lawsuits for the use of PFAS chemicals, Finland has transformed a once-comparable industry into a thriving biosolutions economy in which it creates products associated with the petroleum industry, including batteries, medical devices and textiles--all without the petroleum. Maine offers Finland strong business and research connections to sidle into the North American market, while Finland offers Maine a model of expertise for new biotechnologies that can make better use of the state’s natural resources (Dana Eidsness, personal communication, July 24, 2021). Following the initial success of this venture, Michigan signed a joint MOU with Finland and Maine in 2020, and other forested states are seeing what such sustainable bioeconomic models might bring to their own regions. Currently Maine is exploring options for a marine economy MOU with a variety of companies in Tromsø, Norway (Dana Eidsness, personal communication, July 24, 2021). One, Nofima, a biorefinery, has the capacity to extract proteins and lipids from discarded lobster shells, which can be used for a variety of purposes, including cancer research and bioplastics. Nearby BioTep transforms fish waste into key components of blood pressure medication. Elsewhere, seaweed is reconfigured into a sludge that can clean oceans. Sharing the same marine ecosystem, Maine has all of the raw materials but lacks the investment in biotechnology to use them in place of petroleum-based products. Tromsø, meanwhile, lacks the workforce and sees a potential employee pipeline from the new trans-Atlantic partner. Due in part to Maine’s intentional search for solutions rather than quest for extraction, Nils Arne Johnsen, the Norwegian founder of the High North Business Alliance has cited the state “as one of the most important players when it comes to establishing international business development in the high North Atlantic” (MacLean, 2018).
Maine: The United States’ missing Arctic link Ultimately, Maine’s participation in the Arctic, even as a subnational actor, creates trans-Atlantic partnerships that leverage similarities in culture, history and resources to address escalating climate challenges. If the United States is serious about addressing its climate needs and moving away from oil, while simultaneously supporting new economic endeavors, it needs to look beyond Alaska. Through Maine’s steadfast effort to prioritize science-based climate action and community, the state is “perfectly positioned” to shape the “pathways and solutions we all need for a more regenerative, equitable and sustainable North” (Parker, 2021). While Maine may still be a subnational actor of an Arctic state, according to MENADO’s director, Dana Eidsness, it “has more in common with Nordic countries than with New Jersey. [The] coastal communities, small enterprises, resource utilization, sustainability of industry, these are all common threads” (MacLean, 2018).
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Notes 1. Chert, however, seems to have cultural significance beyond its functional value, as it was prioritized over more accessible materials and was reserved for specific intents and associated with burials (see Loring, 2002).
References Andrews, L. (2016, September 28). Harnessing Alaska’s Wave, Tidal, River Energy: Great Potential, Daunting Challenges. Anchorage Daily News. https://www.adn.com/energy /article/harnessing-alaskas-wave-tidal-and-river-energy-great-potential-and -challenges/2014/03/25. Arctic Council (2021). The United States. https://arctic-council.org/en/about/states/the-united-states. Caldwell, S. (2016, September 28). Tiny Alaska Village Hopes to Cut Energy Costs with Experimental River Power. Anchorage Daily News. https://www.adn.com/economy /article/tiny-alaska-village-hopes-cut-energy-costs-experimental-river-power/ 2014/06/15. Castañón, L. (2019). The Gulf of Maine Cod Fishery is in Rough Shape. The Fishermen Aren’t Doing Much Better. Northeastern University. https://news.northeastern.edu/ 2019/10/28/the-gulf-of-maine-cod-fishery-is-in-rough-shape-the-fishermen- arent -doing-much-better. Exec. Order No. 13795, 82 FR 20815 (2017, April 28). GMRI (2018). Ocean Warming and Climate Leadership. https://gmri.org/stories/oceanwarming-and-climate-leadership Loring, S. (2002). ‘And They Took Away Stones From Ramah’: Lithic Raw Material Sourcing and Eastern Arctic Archaeology. In Honoring Our Elders: A History of Eastern Arctic Archaeology, edited by W. W. Fitzhugh, S. Loring, and D. Odess, pp. 163-185. Arctic Studies Center, National Museum of History, Smithsonian Institution. MacLean, M. (2018). Maine has more in common with Nordic Countries than New Jersey. Journal of the North Atlantic & Arctic. https://www.jonaa.org/content/2018/2/18/ maineincommon. McGwin, K. (2016). Maine Meeting Brings Arctic Council Far South of the Arctic Circle. The Arctic Journal. https://www.arctictoday.com/maine-meeting-brings-arctic-council -far-south-of-the-arctic-circle. Maine Department of Marine Resources (2021). Historical Maine Shrimp Landings. https://www.maine.gov/dmr/commercialfishing/landings/documents/shrimp.table.pdf. Parker, H. (2021). While Washington Ignored Its Responsibilities to Address Climate, Mainers Embraced Ours. Journal of the North Atlantic & Arctic. Hancock
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https://www.jonaa.org/content/while-washington-ignored-its-responsibilities-toaddress-climate-mainers-embraced-ours. Pershing, A. (2014). The Gulf of Maine is Warming Fast! Seascape Modeling. http://www.seascapemodeling.org/seascape_projects/2014/01/the-gulf-of-maine-iswarming-fast.html. Quinn, J.A. (2008). Arctic and Alpine Biomes. Arctic and Alpine Biomes. Greenwood Publishing Group. Resource Development Council for Alaska (n.d). Alaska’s Oil and Gas Industry. https://www.akrdc.org/oil-and-gas. State of Maine: Office of Governor Janet T. Mills (2019, October 10). Governor Mills, Finland Prime Minister Sign Agreement to Facilitate Maine-Finland Forest Sector Collaboration.https://www.maine.gov/governor/mills/news/governor-mills-finlandprime-minister-sign-agreement-facilitate-maine-finland-forest-sector. US Energy Information Administration (2000). Potential Oil Production from Coastal Plain of Arctic National Wildlife Refuge: Updated Assessment. https://www.eia.gov/analysis/archive/service/srog0002.pdf
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Opening-up the Arctic Through International Science: The Case of Svalbard, Norway Mayline Strouk
While the Arctic is commonly referred to as a remote and harsh edge of the world, it is also a region of international science. The case of the Svalbard archipelago shows that scientists from forty-eight countries on every continent of the globe have conducted research projects in this high-latitude territory. Eleven non-Arctic countries even have a research station. Such international organisation of science around Svalbard redefines what we consider as the Arctic. Norway mitigated the “Arcticness” of Svalbard by making the archipelago more accessible in many respects. Together with many non-Arctic countries, it has organised logistics to enable scientists from all around the world to travel and work in Svalbard.
Introduction: “A melting pot of nations and collaborations”1 The canteen of Ny-Ålesund resonates with voices speaking Norwegian and English but also Italian, French, Chinese, German, and Japanese. At 79° North, ten nations share a Norwegian village for scientific purposes. Every day, scientists from the whole world gather in the Servicebygget building where they can find the canteen, meeting rooms, a library and a lounge equipped with a TV. On its busiest days, in summer, the village can host hundreds of scientists. Once a week, scientists can gather around a bar and share beers and hot dogs while discussing ecology, glaciology or biology – if they feel like talking about work on a Friday night. Ny-Ålesund is a village dedicated to international research and composed of research stations belongings to ten countries: Norway, Germany, the Netherlands, France, Italy, the United Kingdom, Japan, South Korea, China and India. Most of these nations are non-Arctic, and lots of scientists from other non-Arctic countries are welcome to use the Norwegian facilities. The Svalbard archipelago, where the village is located, hosts other international research facilities, such as the University of Svalbard (UNIS) in its capital, Longyearbyen, the Polish Hornsund station, the Russian Barentsburg station or the Czech Joseph Svoboda research station. Far from the common idea of an isolated and hostile territory, the Svalbard archipelago is an attractive Arctic area. In 2014, visits to Svalbard related to scientific research represented nearly 61,000 days of presence (Aksnes & Rørstad, 2019). Yes, Svalbard is 60% covered by glaciers, the average temperature over the year is -5.1°C, and there are more polar Mayline Strouk is a PhD student at the department for Science, Technology and Innovation Studies (STIS) of the University of Edinburgh and at the Centre for Science and Technology Studies (CWTS) of the University of Leiden.
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bears than the 3000 inhabitants of the archipelago. But this “Arcticness” of Svalbard, which makes it attractive to scientists wishing to study a typical Arctic ecosystem, is being mitigated by its sovereign country, Norway, to make it even more appealing. Thus, Svalbard is an Arctic archipelago where living conditions are particularly demanding, and an attractive territory to scientists from all around the world who can enjoy modern scientific facilities, an international airport, security against polar bears and many other features which makes it a “luxury fieldwork” location among researchers. Scientific research in the Arctic has a strong international dimension. It is not limited to the eight states whose territory lies beyond the Arctic Circle, but many states, sometimes from far away, participate in or even initiate research programmes in the High North, and are involved in scientific cooperation organisations. Thirteen non-Arctic states manage a research station in the Arctic. Most of them are in Svalbard (one of the two Chinese research stations is in Iceland, Germany runs a research station together with Russia, and Switzerland has a research base in Greenland). Members of the International Arctic Science Committee (IASC) include Austria, China, Czech Republic, France, Germany, India, Italy, Japan, Korea, The Netherlands, Poland, Portugal, Spain, Switzerland and the United Kingdom among their members. Asian countries have their scientific cooperation organisations, the Pacific Arctic Group (PAG) and the Asian Forum for Polar Sciences (AFoPS). By definition, scientific research in Arctic takes the form of a network of researchers, states and organisations from all around the globe involved in understanding a particular environment undergoing rapid and irreversible changes that impact the whole world. The definition of the Arctic as being limited to the territories beyond the Arctic Circle needs to broaden when considering the region as an ecosystem integrated into a global system that attracts international scientific interest. In addition to these purely scientific considerations, science in the Arctic is also an activity with a political scope since it is a way for states geographically and culturally distant from the region to gain a foothold there (Strouk, 2020a). Many non-Arctic states have gained status in regional governance through their scientific activity, obtaining Observer State status in the Arctic Council (Chater, 2016; Strouk, 2020a). For China, Germany and eleven other states, their scientific commitment in the Arctic has contributed to building their legitimacy to attend Arctic-wide events and giving them a voice among stakeholders. Often, their Arctic foothold consists of a scientific station, rarely opened year-round and hosting at most a few dozen scientists at a time. Thus, through science, the Arctic seems to have no boundaries. Svalbard plays a particular role in this opening-up of the Arctic region through science, since it is through Svalbard that these many non-Arctic countries have launched and sustained their scientific activity, although this activity is also widely spread across all the territories located beyond the Arctic Circle. These countries often have a research station in Svalbard, students and researchers studying at its university or doing fieldwork around its capital, which is accessible every day of the year thanks to its international airport. This openness of Svalbard to international science is no mere coincidence, but a process of construction of the territory by and for science. First by and for Norway, then by and for non-Arctic states. Science has contributed to the opening up of Svalbard and the positioning of this High-Arctic territory as international territory. Above all, it is through a Norwegian policy of “making” the archipelago accessible, in other words of limiting its own Arctic characteristics, that it has achieved its international attractiveness. The case of Svalbard redefines the Arctic imaginary as its attractiveness relies on both its Arctic dimension and its ability to mitigate its “Arcticness”. Opening-up the Arctic Through International Science
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The making of a territory by and for international science First of all, it is necessary to look back at the history of research in Svalbard. In 1920, following the end of World War I, Norway was granted sovereignty over the Arctic archipelago of Svalbard by treaty, in exchange for which the eight other signatory states (such as the USSR and the United States) would have the right to exploit its resources freely. From then on, Norway’s challenge was to maintain and assert its sovereignty over the archipelago and for long deployed its presence through mining activity (Pedersen, 2009; Pedersen, 2017). The country exploited several coal mines, notably in Longyearbyen and Ny-Ålesund, while the USSR also demonstrated motivations, primarily economic, on the archipelago, where it also operated several mines. From the 1960s onwards, however, mining activity was no longer as fruitful in Svalbard. Not only international demand and resource availability began to decline, but several accidents hampered Norway’s continued coal mining. In particular, in 1962, a fatal accident in the Ny-Ålesund mine led the Norwegian authorities to close the village. After two years of neglect, the then Director of the Norwegian Polar Institute (NPI) proposed to the authorities to install the new European Space Research Organisation (ESRO) satellite there. Then in 1968, the NPI decided to set up its scientific station in the village, occupied by a few scientists during the year. Reviving Ny-Ålesund not only allowed Norway to increase its capacity to study its own Arctic environment, but also to maintain a presence in an archipelago where its sovereignty remained limited (Paglia, 2019; Strouk, 2020b). Gradually, during the 1970s and 1980s, Norwegian scientific presence strengthened around NyÅlesund station, and the former mining village offered a favourable setting for research, between its already constructed buildings (albeit in poor condition) and its regional environment rich in biodiversity. An airstrip linking the village to Longyearbyen was built and gradually the NPI increased the infrastructure of Ny-Ålesund, for example by building a new 800 m² station in the 1990s. As tensions with the Soviets increased in the late 1980s (Tamnes, 1992, cited by Paglia, 2019: 3), Norway began to promote Ny-Ålesund not only as a research village for domestic scientists but also for foreign research institutes. By highlighting the presence of a scientific infrastructure in such a remote location in the High Arctic already managed by Norwegian organisations, the country gradually attracted new nations and turned the village into an international platform for Arctic research. However countries far away from the Arctic had already seen the potential for polar research in Svalbard. In 1963, French geographer Jean Corbel built a small field base 5km from the abandoned mining village of Ny-Ålesund. The base was abandoned after his death and then taken over by a French team of researchers in the late 1970s. Today, the French Polar Institute (IPEV) still operates the Corbel base. Before France and Norway, Poland was the first to open a research station in Svalbard, in Hornsund, in 1957 during the International Geophysical Year (IGY). It was used occasionally for Polish research programmes and then abandoned in the early 1970s before being reactivated permanently a few years later. Since then, Poland has also set up two seasonal bases near Longyearbyen, which opened in 1984 and 1995. Finally, Russia, which also set up two seasonal bases near Longyearbyen, opened a research centre there in 1962. Thus, when Norway saw the potential of Ny-Ålesund to become not just a Norwegian but an international Arctic research centre, it was in the context of an already progressive internationalisation of the scientific presence in Svalbard. The Archipelago proximity to Europe and the treaty, which facilitates access and exploitation, have undoubtedly contributed to this attractiveness. But from the 1990s onwards, Norway organised this internationalisation of research in Svalbard. It offered to lend a research station to other countries in its village of NyStrouk
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Ålesund, where it manages the logistical aspects (food supplies, security…) and access to state-ofthe-art research infrastructure, such as the costly Zeppelin Observatory, built in 1990. In 1972, the United Kingdom initiated a small seasonal base in Ny-Ålesund and opened a permanent station in 1991. In 1990, the Netherlands opened their station in the village. In 1991, Germany opened a station, as did Japan, followed in 1992 by France. The German and French stations merged in 2003 to form the AWIPEV infrastructure. In 1997, Italy founded its Dirigible Italia station, in 2002 South Korea, in 2004 China, and 2008 India. Thus, in the space of just twenty years, ten or so states, often far removed from Arctic issues, have decided to open their research stations. Not only does this mean that they now have a presence in the region, but that they can regularly send scientists there and conduct research programmes. In a way, through science, they are integrating themselves into Arctic issues, affirming their involvement in the study of a fragile ecosystem that is undergoing rapid change. What is more, in Svalbard, these changes are particularly abrupt. Today, states other than Norway have conducted more than half of the research projects in Svalbard. The following figure compares the research days recorded by NIFU in 2019 (Aksnes & Rørstad, 2019) with the research projects recorded in the Research in Svalbard database in 2020. Norway is the leading country for scientific research, with 46.9% of the projects registered in RiS and 41.5% of the research days registered in 2018. But other countries represent nearly 55% of the research conducted in Svalbard. Non-Arctic countries like Poland, Germany, the United Kingdom and China have a significant share of the research projects conducted in the archipelago. In general, many non-Arctic states are involved in science in Svalbard. Forty-eight states in all, spread across all continents. Countries such as Cuba, Lithuania and Malaysia have conducted one or more research programmes in the archipelago. It may seem insignificant, but one should have in mind Svalbard is one of the closest inhabited territories to the North Pole. 50 45 40 35 Relative distribution of projects recorded on RiS database as of 01.2020 (%)
30 25 20 15
Relative distribution of researcher-days in 2018 (source NIFU, 2019; %)
10 5 N o G rwa er y m an y U Po K lan d U SA Ch in Ru a ss Fr ia an N ce et Sw her… ed en Ita ly Ja pa K n or e In a D di en a m Cz ark ec Fi hia nl an Ca d na da Sw Be itz lgi e… um O th er
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Figure 1. The top 20 nations involved in scientific research in Svalbard in Svalbard
The Norwegian policy of internationalising research in Svalbard was jointly supported from 1993 onwards by the University of Svalbard establishment in Longyearbyen. The establishment of a university in the capital city allowed for further diversification of the archipelago’s economy
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towards education and for the creation of jobs and the attraction of new residents (teachers and students who would stay in Svalbard for several months or even years) (Misund et al., 2017). Until lately, almost three-quarters of the university’s students were from countries other than Norway, and many from non-Arctic states. But since around 2019, the Norwegian outlook towards internationalising science in Svalbard has changed. The country is now seeking to reassert the Norwegian identity of research in the archipelago. The government initiated a 50% Norwegian student quota at UNIS and introduced a change in the management of Ny-Ålesund in 2019. While the Norwegian semi-private company Kings Bay was responsible for the science village management, the Norwegian Polar Institute is now in charge. A Norwegian strategy was released in the same year and states, among other things, that only projects in the natural sciences (i.e., not social sciences) are allowed in Ny-Ålesund (Norwegian Government, 2019). The internationalisation of science in Svalbard, driven by Norway and supported by a group of nonArctic states eager to insert themselves into the Arctic, is thus at a turning point, towards a gradual ‘re-Norwegianisation’ of research. Nonetheless, Svalbard retains its status as a High Arctic territory accessible to international science.
The making of accessibility in the High-Arctic The attractiveness of Svalbard for international science, although it is the result of a complex historical process, is today mainly due to a ‘making’ of its accessibility. This accessibility is manifold, and to account for it, the rest of this paper will rely on a series of interviews conducted in March 2020 with Norwegian researchers met in Tromsø and French scientists who have carried out fieldwork in Svalbard. First of all, it is a question of geographical accessibility, as the archipelago is North of Europe, but above all can be easily reached by plane. Longyearbyen International Airport has daily flights to the Norwegian airports of Tromsø and Oslo and has a connection to Ny-Ålesund. Meaning that it only takes a few hours to reach your research area in Svalbard from almost anywhere in the world. It makes the journey much faster and cheaper than doing research elsewhere in the Arctic. To do fieldwork in Greenland, for example, would require several days or even weeks of travel if you need to get away from the capital Nuuk. “It is much more difficult in Greenland, much more isolated. In Svalbard, you have all the infrastructures with the Sysselmann [governor]. There is a helicopter nearby or whatever if you have an emergency. In Greenland, it’s not like that, there’s no one…because it’s also too long distance.” (J., Norwegian researcher, 03.2020) The other Arctic fieldworks are much more complicated logistically. Once the boat has left, you can’t come back to land, you have to organise the shipment of equipment a long time in advance. It’s much easier to organise the logistics of going to Svalbard (N., French researcher, 03.2020) The great advantage of Spitsbergen is that it is very high up in the Arctic and very accessible. You can get there in a day from Paris, you can be there in a day and the next day you can start your research. (D.M., French researcher, 02.2020) There are several reasons why Svalbard is attractive. It is the most accessible part of the Arctic anywhere; you can get there easily. You can fly from Paris to Svalbard in one day. You can’t do that for Greenland and Alaska. (P., Norwegian researcher, 03.2020)
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The evolution seen from France is that Svalbard is really a science spotlight because it is a zone with really easy access where the effects of climate change are drastic, multiplied and amplified. (D.T., French researcher, 03.2020) Svalbard is not an Arctic territory like any other. Its accessibility makes it a unique place for scientists in the Arctic, where it’s ‘easy’ to do research. For researchers who have experimented with other regions of the High North, the archipelago offers completely different working conditions. Not only is it much easier to get there than elsewhere in the Arctic, but the infrastructure available is also unique. Researchers have access to beds, meals, security, research equipment, laboratories, boats or snowmobiles to get around. Several researchers we have met describe the luxurious nature of research in Svalbard. Your life in Svalbard is your life in Tromsø or in Paris. Everything you can dream and imagine is there that is very easy. (…) Everything is there, and that makes it very easy and unique to do your research. If you have to do it in Kerguelen, or the north of Svalbard, or Greenland, or in Canada, you have to fill a ship, plan everything, have everything with you. There is nothing, no infrastructure. But it is a fully functioning town. (P., Norwegian researcher, 03.2020) The infrastructure in Ny-Ålesund for research is fantastic. (…) In Ny-Ålesund I have my bed, food, I don’t need to think about the practical things, I can go out and do my studies. The setup is so nice in a way I can focus on my science. (P., Norwegian researcher, 03.2020) What is so nice is that in Svalbard, I am coming to a table which is already decorated with everything I need. The infrastructure, the laboratory, the bed, the food, the boat…everything is perfect. I feel very efficient, I come in, and I do my studies and then I leave with a lot of data. (G., Norwegian researcher, 03.2020) It’s very unique, I don’t think there’s anywhere else in the world that has such large variation of instrumentation within all spheres in one small location as Ny-Ålesund. There’s nowhere else in the world. (C., Norwegian researcher, 03.2020) It’s so much easier. Norway accommodated for them to come there and run all the logistics. It’s extremely easy to run activities in Ny-Ålesund because everything is taken care of. You can just rent a building and send your researchers up there. (C., Norwegian researcher, 03.2020) And the Norwegian system means that there is really everything in Svalbard to be able to carry out your research, whether it’s in terms of lab operations, getting around…you have access to all the equipment on site to carry out operations, i.e., the boat, the rooms, etc. (C. French researcher, 03.2020) Even more, some dare to compare Svalbard conditions to a hotel. In general, Svalbard stands out as a place so accessible and easy to live in that it is almost unthinkable that it exists. The Svalbard archipelago remains a territory of extreme conditions, but several spots have been established, Longyearbyen and Ny-Ålesund, to limit its Arcticness while making it a promotional tool for research. Like Las Vegas, Longyearbyen and Ny-Ålesund are havens of comfort amid hostile Arctic environments. Opening-up the Arctic Through International Science
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All the logistics are really well organized, it’s like being in a three-star hotel. (T., Norwegian researcher, 03.2020) [Svalbard] has changed a lot, from very primitive in the tents we have been to at the beginning, there were just small groups of people. And then, to very civilized, in NyÅlesund, it’s almost hotel standards. It’s really a contrast. (R., Norwegian researcher, 03.2020) Longyearbyen is (…) like a hamburger stand on the moon. In principle, it has nothing to do there. All the things you can buy there, all the food, the fruits, everything is brought there. It’s artificial, artificial, artificial. (…) It’s like Las Vegas or something. In the middle of the desert, you have a big city. (P., Norwegian researcher, 03.2020)
Conclusion Svalbard is an Arctic territory with extreme conditions and often appears to be a remote, even unknown territory. But through scientific activity, it has become part of global networks and is an international scientific hub. Science was initially a means for Norway to mark its presence in a territory where its sovereignty was challenged, and then became associated with the desire of many non-Arctic countries to gain a foothold in the region. Beyond the political stakes, for scientists, Svalbard is above all a place where rapid and irreversible changes are taking place, which must be studied and understood. The archipelago’s geographical accessibility, reinforced by Norwegian logistics, is a considerable asset for scientific research. In the end, the case of Svalbard invites us to think of the Arctic region as a space deeply connected to the rest of the world.
Notes 1. As stated by a Norwegian scientist interviewed in 03.2020, talking about his experience at Ny-Ålesund research station.
References Aksnes, D., & Rørstad, K. (2019). Norwegian Polar Research, High North Research and Research in Svalbard. NIFU Norsk institutt for studier forskning og utdanning, 128 p. Available at: https://www.nifu.no/publications/1791998/ Chater, A. (2016). “Explaining Non-Arctic States in the Arctic Council”. Strategy Analysis, 40(3), 173-184. Misund, O.A., Aksnes, D., Christiansen, H., Arlov, T. (2017). “A Norwegian pillar in Svalbard: the development of the University Centre in Svalbard (UNIS)”. Polar Record, 53(3), 233244. Norwegian Government. (2019). Ny-Ålesund Research Station. Research Strategy. Oslo: Research Council of Norway, 19. Available at:
Strouk
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https://www.forskningsradet.no/contentassets/d65fa16b8a4147f78703cdc46fe09e07/ny -alesund-research-station-research-strategy.pdf Paglia, E. (2019). “A higher level of civilisation? The transformation of Ny-Ålesund from Arctic coalmining settlement in Svalbard to global environmental knowledge center at 79° North”. Polar Records, 56, E 15. Pedersen, T. (2009). “Norway’s Rule on Svalbard: Tightening the Grip on the Arctic Islands”. Polar Records, 45(2), 147-152. Pedersen, T. (2017). “The Politics of Presence: The Longyearbyen Dilemma”. Arctic Review on Law and Politics, 8, 95-108. Research in Svalbard (RiS) database, available at: https://www.researchinsvalbard.no/ Strouk, M. (2020a). “Science en puissances : La recherche scientifique, porte d’entrée vers la gouvernance arctique pour les États observateurs”. Etudes internationales, 51(1), 59-87. Strouk, M. (2020). Un archipel de l’Arcticque, territoire de la science internationale. Géographie de la recherche scientifique au Svalbard. Master thesis, University Paris Panthéon-Sorbonne, 233 p. Tamnes, R. (1992). Svalbard og den politiske avmakt: Striden nom flyplass, olje og telemetri-stasjon, 19551970. Oslo: Institutt for forsvarsstudier, 87.
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