The shift in Sweden’s tone surprised few, mirroring as it does the Arctic policy updates announced last year by Finland and Norway. All three of the states whose territories make up the European Arctic — bar Russia — are now within NATO, and all three have publicly committed to military integration, both inside the alliance and through complementary mini-lateral formats. Their Arctic strategies now echo each other in form and in substance. Each names Russia as an unequivocal threat, and the other two as indispensable allies.

Image: Transportation of equipment during Nordic Response 2024. (Source: Tore Ellingsen, Norwegian Armed Forces)

Set against the war in Ukraine, this convergence of Nordic approaches to Arctic security at first sight appears self-explanatory. What makes it truly notable, however, is that it has no historical precedent. A shock emanating from Russia, the very same country that produced three divergent strategic reorientations across Fennoscandia after WWII, has this time produced a strategic convergence in the region. Military integration across the Nordics now appears a foregone conclusion, and has advanced at pace. Yet the cultural paradigm shift that drives it may run even deeper than any comparable recent reconfiguration in Europe, including Germany’s Zeitenwende or Macron’s efforts to strong-arm France’s security pivot from the south towards the northeast. Finland, Norway and Sweden survived neighbouring the Soviet Union on three fundamentally different security models. Under Putin, post-Soviet Russia has pushed all three to converge on essentially the same approach to regional defence.

It is worth dwelling on how the Nordic security cultures came about in the first place. A first factor is geography. With the northern parts of Finland, Sweden and Norway on average warmer, more densely populated, and better connected to southern metropoles than those of other Arctic states, politics in the Nordics has long played out uniformly across their national territories. Security, and life at large, in the Arctic regions of Sweden, Finland and Norway has always been inseparable from the security of their heartlands at large.

In the 1930s, Sweden, Finland and Norway then confronted the mounting threats of Nazi Germany and Stalin’s Soviet Union. Norway prided itself on having held to neutrality through WWI, and its interwar security concept was optimistic about the country’s capacity to continue staying out of trouble. It maintained official neutrality, careful diplomacy, adherence to international law, geographical remoteness, and productive relations with Britain. Norway, it was hoped, was simply too peripheral to interest Europe’s feuding great powers.

The German invasion of 1940 upended these assumptions. The Nazis cared greatly about Norwegian geography, and about its north in particular, which offered defensible access to North Atlantic sea lines of communication, to Swedish iron ore deposits, and to maritime approaches to the Soviet Union. Britain, for its part, mined Norwegian waters days before the German landings and had troops embarked for a landing of its own. Five years of occupation, the Soviet liberation of eastern Finnmark, and the scorched-earth German retreat, deeply traumatised the young country. The war had falsified Oslo’s dearly held security tenets, at catastrophic cost.

After the war, Norway rearmed decisively and abandoned neutrality. Unable to stop the great powers from caring about its coastlines, Oslo set out to ensure that the powers it favoured would henceforth commit to proactively defending them, and became a founding member of NATO in 1949. Yet Norway simultaneously imposed limits on its own membership, including no permanent foreign bases in peacetime, no nuclear weapons on Norwegian soil, and a series of restraints on allied activity near the Soviet border (which were eased by the Norwegian governments in late August 2026). The hope was that this blend of integration, deterrence and reassurance towards the Soviets would keep the narrow Norwegian north from becoming a forward platform that Moscow would read as threatening.

Finland, by contrast, had spent the best part of the 1930s nourishing a dual approach of political neutrality and defence cooperation with neighbouring states, especially Sweden. As with Norway, the Finnish approach failed to safeguard peace. In November 1939, the USSR invaded Finland, and Sweden declined to enter the war. The Finns spent the next six years fighting alongside alternating foreign invasion forces, but always with the objective of regaining their independence. During the 1941-1944 Continuation War against the USSR, Finland banked on Nazi Germany to help it regain territories lost to Moscow in 1939. When the German front against the Soviet Union collapsed, Finland switched sides to fight with the USSR against Germany in 1944-1945. The Wehrmacht operated from northern Finland against the Soviet Arctic and Murmansk, Petsamo emerged as a strategically important wedge, and the German scorched-earth withdrawal towards the south devastated Finnish Lapland.

After the war, Finland, like Norway, concluded that its neutrality had failed it. But unlike Norway, the newly Soviet-aligned Finland did not enjoy the manoeuvring space required to join any western alliance. In 1948, Finland was muscled into signing the Finnish–Soviet “Agreement of Friendship, Cooperation, and Mutual Assistance”, which gained it political independence from the USSR, but in exchange obliged it to coordinate with Moscow on security issues. Simultaneously, Finland doubled down on universal conscription, and built up a formidable military force to independently deter the Soviet Union from attacking. For Finland, the end of WWII brought official neutrality, managed accommodation with Moscow, and an independent military deterrent maintained as an absolute national priority.

Sweden, lastly, concluded from the war that its own neutrality had been vindicated, but only by a hair’s breadth. The price of non-invasion had been high. Stockholm supplied Nazi Germany with iron ore throughout the war years and permitted German troop transit across its territory to occupied Norway. Britain, for its part, weighed interdicting the ore traffic and drew up plans to occupy Swedish ore fields under cover of aiding Finland. In the north, the Finnish wars exposed the vulnerability of open terrain in any wider regional conflict involving the Soviets. Protection for Sweden, in the end, had come from concessions, but also from meaningful military capability, extensive mobilisation, and a good deal of diplomatic luck.

Sweden thus resolved after 1945 to maintain its neutrality, but also that neutrality would only hold if backed by substantial military power. Swedish defence industries were expanded, universal conscription doubled down on, and from 1945 to 1972 the country ran a nuclear weapons research programme that even brought it within range of a deployable nuclear device in 1965. Stockholm’s proposal for a Nordic defence union, meanwhile, foundered on Norwegian insistence on American security guarantees. And while Sweden committed publicly to neutrality vis-à-vis the Soviet Union, it prepared in secret to receive Western military assistance in any regional conflict.

The three resulting models — armed neutrality in Sweden, territorial defence plus accommodation of Moscow in Finland, and alliance integration plus self-restraint in Norway — held until the Soviet collapse. The result was a fragmented security region, both in the Scandinavian south and north. From Moscow’s point of view, Finland could be assumed to remain pliant and posed no threat, Sweden mattered chiefly in the Baltic, its neutrality driving a wedge between allied northern territory and Finland, and Norwegian Finnmark was unlikely ever to become a viable staging area for a NATO offensive. Two of the three countries could be dealt with on the bilateral level typically preferred by the USSR. Seen from the allied side, the Norwegian north was highly vulnerable but of considerable value for intelligence collection. Norwegian Cold War planning was structured explicitly around giving up Finnmark, holding at the Lyngen position, and waiting for allied reinforcement from further south. The European Arctic thus never became a likely frontline of bloc confrontation, which showed in the comparatively modest ground deployments on both sides.

Image: Russian-Finnish border (Source: Olle Gustavsson - CC BY-SA 4.0)

The fragmentation of the European Arctic security region became an irrelevant issue after 1991. But while the basic strategic tenets of the Nordics lasted untouched, deeply into the post-Cold War era and beyond the 2014 annexation of Crimea, they could not survive the shock of the full-scale invasion of Ukraine. With Finland and Sweden now in NATO, the alliance’s operational area runs across the whole of Fennoscandia. The NATO-Russia border in the region grew from 196km before the war to more than 1,500km. Denmark, Finland and Sweden have been folded into the area of responsibility of JFC Norfolk, bringing the North Atlantic and the European Arctic under a single joint command. Beneath it sits Multi-Corps Land Component Command Northwest in Mikkeli, a headquarters capable of treating Finnish, Swedish and Norwegian land forces as components of one northern campaign. The Forward Land Forces battlegroup established in June 2026 under that structure is Swedish-led and based at Boden in Sweden, though it is designated FLF Finland, with its staff element at Rovaniemi. In the air domain, CAOC Bodø, activated in October 2025 as NATO’s third combined air operations centre, now plans and directs air operations across the Nordic region, the Baltic, the North Atlantic and the Barents. NATO is thus increasingly able to plan and execute a single integrated defence effort across the whole of the North.

But far from relying on NATO streamlining alone, the Nordics have also launched an ambitious supplementary programme of integration among themselves. NORDEFCO, which dates from 2009, was rebuilt after 2022. Its Vision 2030, signed in 2024, sets objectives including the ability to conduct and command multinational combined operations, host nation support and military mobility between and through the Nordic countries. The Nordic chiefs of defence followed in September 2024 with a joint Defence Concept setting out principles for acting together in peace, crisis and armed conflict. The air domain has gone furthest. In March 2023, before Sweden had even acceded, the air commanders of Sweden, Finland, Norway and Denmark signed a declaration of intent aiming to operate their roughly 250 fighters seamlessly as one force. Norway, chairing NORDEFCO this year, has set the ambition of making the Nordic region “the most integrated region in Europe within defence.” Should the war in Ukraine end, a rearming Russia would therefore face not three states with separate diplomatic and military approaches, but a group that plans as one and increasingly operates as one. A conflict there would no longer be three separate problems, such as a Norwegian delaying campaign in Finnmark, a Finnish effort fought alone, or a Swedish neutrality to be respected or violated at will, but a single campaign across one operational space against a very capable single opponent.

Image: Swedish and Finnish troops familiarising themselves with each others equipment and getting ready for an exercise in Norway. (Source: Marcus Nilsson, Swedish armed forces)

This is a fundamentally different outcome from the one produced by WWII and the early Cold War, and the plausible reasons are many. Russia is a weaker opponent than the Soviet Union ever was, and is seen as less predictable, raising threat perceptions accordingly. But the Nordics have changed too. Finland, Sweden and Norway are, by orders of magnitude, richer, militarily more capable and politically closer to one another than in 1945. And the alliance they have joined is not an uncertain proposition but a mature and deeply integrated organisation with seven decades behind it. From the Russian point of view, this constellation of factors, as well as the fundamentally altered security landscape of the European Arctic, should long have raised the alarm.

In the relevant Russian literature, as well as in media reporting and government statements, no such realisation seems to have sunk in, however. Some Russian commentary notes that accession gave NATO an almost continuous northern flank. Russian officials, however, still routinely speak of Arctic “militarisation”, juxtaposed with the cooperation baseline represented by the fledgling Arctic Council. But official Russia has not responded to the Nordic convergence as a convergence. Finland is addressed as a nation betraying its historical commitments, Norway barely at all. The Swedish strategy drew no Russian ministerial statements. Its most substantive mentions came from Sergei Belyaev, the Russian ambassador in Stockholm, in a RIA Novosti interview nearly three months after, and even there it was a secondary item in a conversation mostly about detained shipping.

Should the war in Ukraine end on terms that let Russia reconstitute its military, the European Arctic will pose a problem neither side has had to wrestle with before. A rearming Russia will confront not three states with separate national arrangements, but a Nordic bloc that increasingly operates as one, and that in the air already operates jointly. The asymmetry that structured the Cold War-era European Arctic is gone. Whether that configuration can produce stability is an open question. Deterrence works when the opposing side reads a posture as defensive, which cannot be said of Russia’s visible evaluations of Nordic military integration. In any case, the European Arctic is unambiguously more militarised than at any point since WWII, and whether it is safer will not be clear until the war in Ukraine, which produced this transformation, finally ends.

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Macron’s initiative has been received with particular interest in the Nordic countries. On May 27, France and Norway signed the Narvik Agreement, making Norway the newest partner in the French-led nuclear deterrence club. In an exclusive interview with 66° North, , one of France’s leading nuclear weapons experts, sets out the implications of the agreement for the future of European deterrence vis-à-vis Russia, and the broader significance of access to the Arctic for French nuclear operations.

Image: Etienne Marcuz (Source: Private)

66° North: Etienne, many thanks for agreeing to be interviewed. You’ve just published an excellent research note with the Fondation pour la Recherche Stratégique (FRS), one of France’s leading think tanks. It examines both the nuclear and Arctic dimensions of the Narvik Agreement, which was recently concluded between France and Norway. For readers who don’t follow the French nuclear debate closely, what is the Narvik Agreement, and why does it matter?

Etienne Marcuz: The Narvik Agreement is broader than just deterrence, it’s a security agreement covering many areas, and covers hybrid warfare, cyber operations, and economic matters as well. But the main focus, for both our president and the Norwegian prime minister, was the “forward deterrence” initiative that creates a strong link between French nuclear deterrence and the territories of states that take part in the initiative. With it, Norway becomes the ninth state to join this French initiative, and, apart from the U.K., the first non-EU state to do so. I say “apart from the U.K.” because the U.K. is a very particular partner in “forward deterrence”, since it has its own nuclear weapons.

The agreement is also significant because Norway is a very close ally of the United States. The fact that Oslo saw value in having both U.S extended deterrence and French “forward deterrence” tells us the French initiative is credible and relevant to Norway’s own security. That makes this a major step for Norway, for France, and for the initiative as a whole. If a country like Norway finds the initiative worthwhile, it can be worthwhile for other important partners too. The obvious next candidate now would be Finland.

66° North: Why is Norway different, in strategic terms, from the other European countries associated with French “forward deterrence”?

Etienne Marcuz: Until now, most of the other eight participating countries have been quite far from Russia’s borders. Poland is a special case, with its border with Belarus and Kaliningrad. But with Norway joining, we now have a participating state in direct contact with the border of the Russian mainland. That means nuclear operations could in principle be launched from a partner state directly towards Russia. Norway is, in effect, a gateway to Russian territory, and, above all, to the Russian Arctic. It gives the French strategic forces new options to strike Russia if needed.

66° North: In terms of the delivery system, we’re talking here about air-launched nuclear weapons, is that right?

Etienne Marcuz: Yes, exactly. In the past, we’ve seen U.S. strategic submarines come into Norwegian waters and exercise with the Norwegian navy. That could in principle happen with French strategic submarines too, but we have fewer of them than the U.S., and I’m not sure we’d risk our strategic submarines that far north, that close to their primary threat. For now, the work will mostly focus on the airborne component, the strategic air forces. We can’t rule out French strategic submarines sailing to Norway in the future, but that isn’t the priority.

66° North: Going back to the early Cold War, Norway has always committed to stationing no nuclear weapons on its territory in peacetime. So I’m curious, what would French nuclear operations in the Norwegian Arctic, actually look like in practice, given that, at least on paper, Norway is still at peace with Russia?

Etienne Marcuz: This is one of the major differences between French “forward deterrence” and American “extended deterrence”. France will never deploy nuclear weapons in foreign countries in peacetime, at least given current doctrine. French law prohibits flights with nuclear weapons in peacetime. So this would only happen in a time of crisis. The peacetime restriction you mention for Norway also applies to Finland, I believe. The advantage is that these countries wouldn’t need to change their laws before joining the “forward deterrence” initiative, because peacetime deployment of nuclear weapons to their territories would never occur. French nuclear weapons in Norway or Finland would only be present during an acute crisis.

66° North: So the two are essentially compatible.

Etienne Marcuz: Yes, exactly. As for how it would materialise: in the future we’ll probably train more with the Norwegian air force, as we do with Sweden. That means deploying French strategic air forces to Norway on a fairly regular basis. For example, two Rafales from the strategic air forces were stationed in Lithuania for NATO air policing, and from there they went to Sweden for a short deployment to exercise with the Swedish air force. Each time the French strategic air forces go to Sweden, there’s now also a nuclear dimension to their exercises. It would be the same with Norway.

Image: France’s Rafale B Fighter jet is nuclear-capable and forms the core of France’s airborne nuclear deterrent (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

66° North: Switching back to the Arctic, and the Norwegian part of it specifically, how should we think about French deterrence and the Arctic region more broadly? In your note, you acknowledge that there’s a clear geographical focus to the targets the French air force would be interested in. Is this agreement really about French access to the Russian Arctic as a whole? Or is France more focused on the narrow set of high-value strategic targets right next door to northern Norway, on the Kola Peninsula? Could you walk me through that?

Etienne Marcuz: These are just my own assessments, I have no direct insight into French nuclear targeting. But it’s important to understand that we’ve only just launched this initiative. I wouldn’t call it an empty shell, because we already have ideas about what we want to do, but there’s still a great deal to build, which is why we have to think carefully about the opportunities “forward deterrence” offers.

When it was launched last March, we mostly focused on dispersal, on being able to deploy our Rafale jets elsewhere, especially in a crisis, to improve their survivability against a Russian disarming strike. Instead of dispersing across French territory alone, we could now spread them over a much broader area. But as you think about other opportunities and look at a map, you realise that deploying Rafales up north, above the Arctic Circle, opens new possibilities for the French air force. First, you’re much closer to the targets, so you need far fewer refuelling aircraft to strike. If you wanted to strike strategically important targets near Murmansk, for instance, you could fly directly from the airfield to the launch point for the ASMPA missile, without any refuelling, which means much less warning time for Russia. It’s also a much smaller footprint, so it’s much harder for Russia to detect. Those are the operational opportunities.

And then, as you say, there are new targeting opportunities. Some targets we could already reach from French territory, but only with very long transits. Others, especially in the Russian Far East, were simply too far to reach from France at all. Deploying French Rafales in Norway opens up a vast array of targets, not only military but also, for example, oil and gas facilities in the Arctic.

66° North: Let’s zoom out and set the European security dimension aside for a moment. How do you see the introduction of French “forward deterrence” changing the wider nuclear landscape in the Arctic? That region is historically the primary theatre for U.S.-Russia nuclear signalling, but through different, mostly missile- and submarine-based, delivery modes. Does this new element of Franco-Nordic cooperation change the regional deterrence picture? Could it heighten escalation risks?

Etienne Marcuz: I don’t think it would change things significantly. As you say, the region is already an arena for nuclear signalling and nuclear forces. You have the strategic submarines stationed near Murmansk, multiple early-warning radars, both U.S. and Russian, and numerous test sites. There’s already a huge nuclear dimension to the Arctic, so bringing France into the picture mostly reinforces that dimension rather than changing it.

And given the current unpredictability of the U.S., it counterbalances the fact that the U.S. is, in a sense, withdrawing, and less involved than it used to be. France is filling the resulting gaps, in my view. We’re not trying to replace the U.S., we’re filling in where it may be a little less engaged. We’re reinforcing the nuclear pillar without adding major new capabilities. Our way of conducting nuclear operations is somewhat different from the American approach, but it doesn’t significantly change the overall picture.

66° North: When President Macron announced the “forward deterrence” concept at the Île Longue in March, he stressed that France’s nuclear decision-making would remain fully sovereign, a matter for the French president to decide on behalf of the French people. That’s an important distinction in the French context. So what will Nordic allies actually be able to participate in, especially on the political and doctrinal side?

Etienne Marcuz: We’re still working out exactly what we’ll do. We’ve started with bilateral dialogues between France and each partner, and a multilateral dialogue will follow. For now, France is talking to every country to understand what they can contribute to nuclear operations, and what they’re ready to do. I’ve been told, for instance, that several partners are concerned about how NATO deterrence and French deterrence would intersect. They have operational commitments to NATO that they must respect, so what happens if they’re asked to take part in both? That’s something we have to work through.

Here I’d note, with some self-criticism, that France’s initial framing was perhaps a little presumptuous. There was a tendency to suggest that our partners needed to learn how to conduct nuclear operations. That wasn’t fair, because all nine partners are already involved in NATO’s nuclear missions. Four of them as carriers of the bomb, the others providing conventional support to nuclear operations. They already know how to conduct nuclear operations, they just don’t know the French way, which they’d have to learn.

But the reverse is also true. France knows how to conduct its own nuclear operations in full autonomy, and that autonomy is, in a sense, the difficulty. We’re used to running conventional air operations with allies, but not nuclear ones, and the two are quite different. There’s common ground, but it isn’t identical. So we also have to learn from our partners, who are used to conducting nuclear operations within a coalition.

That’s why the French president framed this in steps. The first step is exercising together. The second is signalling together, as we discussed, deploying Rafales to these countries, but also flights along the eastern flank. French strategic air forces could take off from Saint-Dizier, fly up to Norway and follow the Russian border, purely as signalling. The final step is integrating partners into actual operations. Through joint training, we could have Gripen or F-35 aircraft take part in a hypothetical nuclear raid, the strike package, which matters because France doesn’t operate its own stealth aircraft. There are specific roles in the raid where they’d be valuable: high-altitude escorts, for example, where the F-35 would be excellent. The Gripen, for its part, is well suited to intercepting Russian aircraft and can carry, I believe, six Meteor long-range air-to-air missiles, whereas the Rafale carries only two. Those are the kinds of capabilities that could help a nuclear raid penetrate Russian defences. We can do it in full autonomy, but it would be valuable to have these specific capabilities from our allies. That’s how Norway and the other partners can contribute.

66° North: I’d assume that in the Nordics there will be some domestic controversy around nuclear cooperation with France. These countries have strong commitments to NATO, as well as a long tradition of nuclear restraint. Norway isn’t an EU member, so there’s no direct non-NATO mutual defence pact with France through the EU treaties. But since you’re French, I wanted to ask about the domestic reaction in France. France hasn’t historically prioritised northern Europe in its security strategy, at least not before 2022, and I’d assume the reaction to “forward deterrence” within French civil society has been mixed. How do you read the first reactions in France to this agreement? What are the main lines of controversy, and how do you see this playing out over the coming months and years?

Etienne Marcuz: First, it’s important to say that the reactions to Macron’s “forward deterrence” initiative have not been mixed, they’ve been quite positive. What the opposition parties criticised was the form, not the substance: the staged optics, Macron flying in a Rafale, the massive expense, and so on. They didn’t criticise what he actually said, the criticism came largely from not understanding what “forward deterrence” means. That’s worth stressing, because even though everyone is thinking about the Rassemblement National (RN) possibly winning the next presidential election, which is far from certain. But even if it did, the RN hasn’t criticised Macron’s initiative. So it probably won’t change much, if it changes at all, only in minor ways.

On the Narvik Agreement specifically, I haven’t seen many reactions in France. There seems to be a genuinely Nordic focus to it. Partly that may be because the Nordic countries are more willing to participate than southern ones, Spain or Italy, say, are less concerned about the Russian threat. And the eastern European countries remain more dependent on the U.S. to finance their capabilities, so they’re more worried about angering Washington if they try to become more independent, which makes them more cautious. So between the southern countries being less concerned about Russia and the eastern ones worried about a U.S. troop withdrawal, the Nordic countries became the obvious choice for this initiative.

But again, on the Narvik Agreement, not much has been said. It was in the news, but I haven’t seen anyone criticise it. As you say, the political class is still working out what “forward deterrence” can offer. My research note seems to have been well received, and that was the intention. It was a way to show the French public and politicians that we’re not simply providing security to our partners, but that our partners bring us new capabilities, new ways to deter Russia. It benefits every side, and explaining to the French population why France benefits is, I think, the most important thing.

66° North: Would the capabilities provided by France’s partners be enhanced further if Finland also joined the initiative?

Etienne Marcuz: Just as Norway opened the door to the Arctic because of its border and its access to the Barents Sea, Finland can provide access to Russia’s western border. It shares more than 1,300 kilometres of border with Russia. We could penetrate Russian territory through that border, which forces Russia to deploy sophisticated air and missile defences not only along the border but deep inside its territory. Because the French ASMPA missile has a very long range of several hundred kilometres, it would compel Russia to position powerful air and missile defence systems far inside the country. Russia probably already has to do this because of NATO. But if at some point the U.S. withdrew its forces and left NATO to face Russia alone, France’s ability to strike deep into the country would still force Russia to maintain air and missile defences across a very wide area.

66° North: You mentioned the U.K. as a partner that stands apart from the others in the initiative. Could French and British deterrence be coordinated in Northern Europe, given the recent Northwood Declaration and the direction of the wider European nuclear debate? Or is that something French policymakers are hesitant about? What’s the current state of discussions between Paris and London?

Etienne Marcuz: Before I turn to the U.K., let me add one point about Finland. Its air force trains intensively for survival under a disarming strike, and Finland fields a large arsenal of long-range conventional cruise missiles. Those could be very useful even for our nuclear strike package. As I said, Russia would be forced to deploy a great deal of its air and missile defence, and the Finnish air force could play a valuable role in taking those defences out.

As for the U.K., the difficulty is that it has no airborne component to its strategic forces. That means its only way to signal is through its submarines. And there’s the same problem we have with our own submarine force: the U.K. has only four strategic submarines, and it’s hard to imagine either of us being willing to risk an SSBN simply to signal during a crisis in the Arctic. We wouldn’t bring a strategic submarine closer to the threat just to say, “look, we’re here”, we’d keep it hidden. So, for now, if the U.K. contributes to “forward deterrence” on the Scandinavian peninsula, it would be by providing escorts to the French strike package.

That may change in the future. The U.K. seems willing to rebuild an airborne component. It has bought the F-35A from the U.S. and says it will field dual-capable aircraft for the NATO nuclear mission in the coming years. That could be a first step toward an autonomous capability, which could be built with French support. So in the long term, yes, we might see coordination with a future autonomous British nuclear component, but that will take a long time.

66° North: What do you think are the biggest misconceptions that people elsewhere in Europe, outside France, have about how French nuclear deterrence works, especially in the context of the new “forward deterrence” debate? And do you think France is ready, politically and institutionally, for its European allies to scrutinise its nuclear doctrine more closely? Over the long term, is France ready to open up its nuclear debate and the way deterrence works for it within a more European context?

Etienne Marcuz: I think we’re approaching this the wrong way. France hasn’t been hiding its nuclear doctrine, we’ve been very explicit about what we want to achieve. For a long time, French officials described our doctrine as “chemically pure”. But times have changed, so we had to adapt. The real issue is that our European allies have studied nuclear deterrence through American eyes. They consider nuclear operations only in the American way, and that matters enormously, especially for escalation management.

French nuclear deterrence is often criticised for lacking flexibility, for not allowing limited strikes. People ask how you can deter Russia with around 300 weapons when Russia has some 6,000. But that’s, again, thinking the American way. Why does the U.S. have so many weapons? Partly it’s a Cold War legacy, and partly it’s because the U.S. is prepared to contemplate limited strikes, limited operations, flexible response, on the assumption that the detonation would happen neither on American nor on Russian soil, but on European soil. We obviously don’t want that. We don’t want a nuclear detonation on our own soil. We need new ways to deter Russia, and to deter limited Russian use in particular.

One thing we’re currently working on are conventional deep strikes. Rather than responding to limited Russian battlefield use of nuclear weapons in kind, Russia doesn’t care about its own soldiers, as we see every day in Ukraine, we need to inflict damage on what Russia values most, which are its military industry and its energy facilities. And we can strike those with conventional weapons.

So it’s not only that our partners need to understand how French deterrence works. For instance, that we do have some flexibility through our own concept of the “warning strike”, and can carry out a limited strike on specific targets. Yes, we need to explain that first. But beyond our partners understanding French doctrine, it’s up to all of us to invent a new way to deter Russia using both nuclear and conventional weapons. We don’t just need our partners to understand our doctrine, we need to build a European doctrine of deterrence, and of integrated deterrence, not only nuclear.

Please note: The views and opinions expressed in this interview are those of Etienne alone. They do not necessarily reflect the views or positions of the editor of 66° North, Etienne’s employers, or the French government.

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A few weeks ago, students from my “International Relations of the Arctic” class at Sciences Po invited me to speak at a TEDx conference they organised on campus. The prompt for speakers was “batteries not included”. I had a lot of fun putting the talk together. The video won’t be out for a few months, but I’d like to share a revised transcript with you here.

A few years ago, scientists in the Arctic recorded a remarkable pattern. Parts of the Arctic Ocean are becoming warm enough to melt sea ice from below. Not from the sun hitting the ice above, but from the warming ocean water itself. In the past decades, the average temperature of the Arctic has already risen roughly three to four times faster than the global average. And the polar north is still heating up faster than any other area of our planet.

In the Arctic itself, the impacts of climate change are already undermining ecological stability, harming local communities, and changing long-established patterns of life. But the impacts of Arctic warming are not confined to the region. They reverberate across the entire planet. This is not a distant problem, but one that is already shaping our immediate future.

For example, the amount of sea ice that survives the Arctic summer season is currently declining by about twelve percent per decade. The Arctic Ocean could see its first ice-free summer as early as the 2030s, squarely within the lifetime of most people reading this post.

This has far-reaching effects on other parts of the Earth, because Arctic sea ice helps regulate its climate, influences global weather patterns, and affects ocean circulations. Unless global greenhouse gas emissions are reduced rapidly, the negative consequences of a melting Arctic will continue to spread. Even regions located thousands of kilometres to the south will have to deal with rising sea levels, shifting temperature and rainfall patterns, and more extreme weather events. There may therefore be no clearer symbol of why we urgently need to counteract climate change than the Arctic.

Because as Arctic ice disappears, one of the planet’s most important climate-stabilising mechanisms weakens. So, from the point of view of protecting the Arctic — and with it our climate, food security, or even our coastal cities — surely we should accelerate the only solution we know can halt global warming: A shift from fossil-based systems of energy production and consumption, including oil, natural gas and coal, to renewable energy sources.

Image: Sunny skies over the Arctic ice sheet in June 2010 (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

The answer is yes, but with one important caveat.

On the one hand, the Arctic reminds us of why a global transition to renewable energies is needed as fast as possible. The consequences of unbridled climate collapse and a destroyed Arctic would be globally destabilising and extremely dangerous.

But, on the other hand, the Arctic also serves as a bellwether for some of the political pitfalls we might encounter during this transition. Like other high-stakes economic transformations, the green revolution has political ramifications, and introduces a risk of conflict.

To stay with the theme of this conference, the batteries powering the global green transition are not included. We have to build them ourselves. And that means mining the materials they are made of.

Moving away from our dependency on the physical components of the fossil fuel era, like oil, gas and coal, is clearly unavoidable. But the low-carbon economy of the future will also rely on physical materials, although of a different kind. A decline in fossil fuel dependence may reduce some forms of geopolitical competition, but it will not eliminate resource politics altogether.

Key technologies of the green transition, such as batteries, solar panels, or wind turbines, simply cannot be produced at scale without a massive surge in the production of certain metals and minerals. A single electric car battery can require tens of kilograms of nickel, copper, and lithium, materials that must be mined, transported, refined, and assembled across multiple continents.

Global demand for key minerals and rare earths is therefore predicted to skyrocket in the coming decades. According to the International Energy Agency, it will nearly triple by 2030 and grow to over four times the current levels by 2050.

Now, this would perhaps not in itself be too much of a hurdle, were it not for the fact that global mineral supply chains have become an increasingly contested part of international relations.

In recent years, states around the world have begun to view critical minerals not in terms of economic objectives, but through the lens of their national security. This is not because these materials are always inherently rare. To the contrary, many of them are abundant in the Earth’s crust.

But once mined, most minerals and metals must be refined before they can be processed into usable products. And most of the world’s refinement capacities for critical minerals and rare earths are concentrated in a small number of countries, especially China. In fact, China is the dominant refiner for nineteen out of twenty critical minerals tracked by the International Energy Agency.

Other states increasingly fear that this one-sided dependency could be weaponised. And indeed, international supply chains have already become bargaining chips in geopolitical competition, especially during trade wars between the world’s two biggest powers, China and the United States. Many countries are therefore now looking for solutions closer to home to solve the resulting conundrum. And in doing so, many of them are turning north, to the Arctic.

The reason for that is that the Arctic could soon become a critical minerals powerhouse. A 2024 report by the Arctic Economic Council states that the Arctic is home to 31 out of the 34 materials identified as essential for technologies like renewable energy installations and electric vehicle batteries. Three-quarters of the critical raw materials listed in the EU’s Critical Raw Materials Act are already being extracted in the Arctic.

There is massive untapped potential for Arctic mining, as many of the region’s deposits still remain to be explored, but are expected to be large. The Arctic states — the United States, Canada, Norway, Sweden, Finland, Iceland, Denmark through Greenland, but also Russia — are therefore now scrambling to finance and open new mines, and build the infrastructure needed to support them. Their objective is to harness the mineral wealth of the Arctic to supply the world with the materials it needs for the green energy transition.

So, why would this be a problem? After all, we need minerals, and the Arctic states seem ready to supply them from their very own territories.

The issue is that, at the same time as Arctic states are rushing to exploit mineral deposits, their region is emerging as a new frontier of militarised security competition. And minerals are increasingly becoming caught up in that dynamic. Across the Arctic, something notable is happening. Mines are being planned in the same places that are being fortified by militaries. The defining resource policy problem of our century is merging with a regional security crisis.

For one thing, Russia, which controls more than half of the Arctic coastline, launched a war of aggression against Ukraine in 2022. This has brought about an increasingly tense standoff with the remaining seven Arctic states, all of which are NATO members. Military exercises in the region are large and frequent, and the risk of an armed conflict breaking out in the Arctic is no longer negligible.

The melting sea ice is also opening new shipping routes through the Arctic, which attracts the interest of outsiders from around the world. China, which declared itself a near-Arctic state in 2018, has worked hard to assert itself in the region. Ambitious Arctic mining plans are therefore no longer being implemented in a politically harmless environment.

In Russia, for example, the government has moved to boost Arctic mining through state-directed investments. Moscow now pins the future of its economic model not only on gas and oil, but also on minerals and rare earths extracted in the north. Its official Arctic strategy defines the region as a crucial resource base. Russia has modernised its military assets in the Arctic, in part to be able back up its claims to important deposits both at land and at sea.

Across the European Arctic, mining expansion is unfolding in a region that is also becoming more strategically important due to a possible threat from Russia.

In the Arctic Ocean, national claims to large swathes of seabed, which offer the potential for deep sea mining, are being staked in accordance with the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea. Norway even opened parts of its continental shelf to potential seabed mineral extraction and launched the first licensing process. But Russia, China and the U.S. are disagreeing over whether America, which has not ratified UNCLOS, has the legitimacy to stake a claim. This is a problem, because the division of the Arctic seabed in the end remains a political process reliant on the good faith of major powers.

And perhaps most crucially, U.S. President Trump has threatened to bring the island of Greenland under American control, citing rare earth and mineral deposits, which the U.S. wants to keep out of the reach of Chinese companies. It’s easy to dismiss headlines about ‘buying Greenland’ as an anomaly. But they are actually a symptom, a signal that the world’s great powers have begun to view the Arctic first and foremost as a strategic warehouse.

What we are seeing in the Arctic, therefore, is a growing tendency by states to enmesh their attempts to escape a critical minerals dependency with emerging and unstable patterns of security competition. Instead of being viewed as a technical issue and a problem of international cooperation, the question of Arctic mining is being turned into an issue that allegedly requires a military response.

More states than ever before see their Arctic mining activities as a zero sum game, deposits as something to be protected, and global mineral markets as a source of risk as opposed to a part of the solution to climate change. The problem with this approach is that it is ultimately self-defeating.

For one thing, mining and processing are capital- and technology-intensive industries. Mines require substantial supporting infrastructure, large-scale investments, and potential decades of risk-tolerance and political commitment. Securitising mines, and militarising their surroundings, makes such long-term commitments less likely to endure.

Militarised competition over resources would also harm local communities, especially Indigenous ones, when they should instead be the first to benefit from new economic activity. It would fragment supply chains, trigger a regulatory race to the bottom, and remove the legitimacy of mining projects in the eyes of local communities, promising control, but producing instability instead.

Image: TedX conference at Sciences Po in Reims on April 18 (Source: TEDxPlaceMuseux)

But most importantly, perhaps, securitisation gives rise to a paradox. The materials needed to save the Arctic may become the reason the Arctic becomes more unstable.

But it does not have to be this way.

The green transition will not succeed through militarised competition over strategic minerals. It will require cooperation over supply chains, infrastructure, refinement technologies, the responsible use of shared resources, and appropriate norms of extraction that consider and integrate local communities, especially Indigenous folks.

The Arctic shows us two truths at once. It shows us why the transition to renewable energy is unavoidable. And it shows us why that transition must be managed politically, not just technically. A binding multilateral treaty, or a global minerals trust, are ideas that are already being discussed within the UN. Either could be a good place to start. Because the ultimate risk to any country involved is not the loss of sovereign control over mineral deposits, but the possible failure of the green transition, which must be implemented as fast as possible.

A slowdown of this process for any reason, including mutual mistrust, lack of international cooperation, or the outbreak of conflict, would be a catastrophe affecting everyone. It must absolutely be avoided.

Many Arctic communities already know this. This is the main reason why they are open for business. The natural environment of Arctic regions offers clean, affordable and abundant energy sources for processing and smelting, such as hydropower and geothermal energy. Actors like Greenland are already world leaders in sustainable approaches to mining. Their rulebooks are setting some of the strongest standards in the world on how to balance the need for more minerals with the environmental, social and cultural requirements of the places and people that produce them.

To solve the paradoxes of the green transition, we have to listen to people from the Arctic. Because they understand what is at stake, the solutions they offer deserve to be heard by the rest of us.

GUGI, the organisation mentioned by Healey, is short for the Russian “Главное управление глубоководных исследований”, or Main Directorate of Deep-Sea Research. It is a secretive agency belonging to the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation. Presumably founded in the 1960s, GUGI operates submarines and submersibles for deep sea operations. Its vessels are based in Oleniya Guba on the Kola peninsula, and able to gather intelligence on rival countries’ submarines, work with installations on the seabed, and conduct sabotage operations in remote parts of the deep sea.

GUGI’s flagship vessel, the AS-31 Losharik, has a capability of operating to a depth of up to 6,000 meters. Its hull is formed from seven interconnected spherical titanium compartments, which distribute pressure rather than resisting it. GUGI’s battery-powered submersibles, the AS-37 Rus and AS-39 Consul, are also titanium-hulled and capable of operating at depths of 6,000 meters. They have been deployed in the Arctic to take seafloor samples. Russia has also laid the keel of the new mini-sub “Sergei Bavilin” which, according to sources associated with the Russian Defence Ministry, will be able to dive to 11,000 metres, the approximate depth of some of the deepest ocean trenches.

Image: Vice-Admiral Vladimir Grishechkin, Chief of Staff of the Northern Fleet, was appointed head of GUGI in 2021 (Source: “Russian submarine” on VKontakte)

With NATO’s deep sea vessels, such as attack submarines, built for fundamentally different mission purposes, Russia has historically enjoyed an edge over the alliance in targeted deep sea operations. Western military planners fear that Moscow could employ its assets for sabotage operations to cause immense harm to the economies of rival states, or gain leverage by threatening to do so.

1. Russia adds robots to its underwater fleet

Nurlan Aliyev, a Senior Research Fellow at the College of Europe in Natolin, conducts pioneering work on Russia’s research fleet and its robotic maritime capabilities. On March 26, Aliyev published an essay on Russia’s expanding robotic sea capabilities with the Center for Maritime Strategy, which is an extract of his upcoming book on Russian Arctic strategy.

In the article, Aliyev argues that Russia is supplementing its legacy GUGI assets by integrating unmanned surface and underwater robotic systems into its wider maritime strategy. Moscow hopes to achieve asymmetric maritime dominance over NATO through a blend of offensive, defensive, and dual-use applications, particularly in the Arctic and North Atlantic. Alongside Cold War-era GUGI assets, Russia already deploys a newer, more diverse portfolio of platforms for reconnaissance, seabed mapping, and sabotage, including the “Harmony” underwater sensor network.

Image: Model of GUGI’s new mini-sub “Sergei Bavilin” (Source: KB Malakhit)

In an interview given to 66° North, Aliyev stressed that Russia’s growing investment in maritime robotics addresses both economic and security requirements. Robotic systems allow Russia to survey the seabed for resource extraction purposes and maritime claims, maintain underwater communication lines, and support shipping and transport along Arctic sea routes and major river systems. These tasks are complicated by harsh weather conditions, vast distances, and persistent shortages of skilled personnel. In this sense, the robotisation of Russia’s underwater assets is a practical adaptation to the requirements of key Russian waters, especially in the Arctic, with the added benefit of fitting into Moscow’s preference for advanced technologies that can be repurposed for military aims if needed.

This inherent dual-use nature of robotic underwater technologies is also what makes them consequential for maritime strategy. Systems designed for civilian purposes — such as environmental monitoring, pipeline inspection, debris removal, or offshore energy work — can be repurposed for intelligence gathering, reconnaissance, or sabotage. Military organisations like GUGI will increasingly also incorporate robotic systems simply because many modern underwater operations will become impossible without them.

The implications of Aliyev’s findings are straightforward. While Russian underwater capabilities are already posing a strategic challenge to NATO, the addition of robotic and unmanned capabilities may make attribution, deterrence and the protection of said infrastructure even more difficult in the years ahead. And while the potential military uses of new capabilities are evident, their development as civilian tools will continue to make straightforward categorisation, as well as targeted responses, difficult to achieve.

2. Russian military reacts to NATO’s first ‘Arctic Sentry’ exercise

In other Russia-related news, commentators focused on how the Russian military reacted to ‘Cold Response 26’, NATO’s first major joint military operation under the ‘Arctic Sentry’ umbrella.

In an essay for , argued that Russia’s military response to the exercise was notably restrained, reflecting a pattern of managed deterrence rather than escalation. Instead of matching large-scale manoeuvres, Russia relied on more familiar signalling tools, such as missile warnings, bomber patrols, reconnaissance flights, and limited naval drills, which are designed to demonstrate readiness without provoking a crisis.

Eskonmaa argues that this more calibrated posture reflects both strategic intent and practical constraints. Bogged down by its war in Ukraine, Moscow currently lacks the capacity to stage comparable ground exercises in the Arctic, and therefore focuses signalling efforts on maritime and aerospace capabilities instead.

At the political level, Russian messaging framed the exercise less as an immediate military threat than as part of a longer-term struggle over control of the Arctic, particularly the legal status of the Northern Sea Route.

Russian media continue to portray NATO activity in the region as evidence of growing militarisation and Western ambitions to internationalise Arctic shipping corridors, thereby undermining Russian jurisdiction. The overall pattern, however, suggests a deliberate strategy of controlled deterrence. While Russia continues to signal its military presence in the Arctic, it avoids actions that would result in direct confrontation with NATO forces.

Image: Norwegian Army troops patrol into the snowy hills near Bardufoss during ‘Cold Response 26’ (Source: NATO CC)

3. Greenland, Denmark and the U.S. reopen the 1951 Defence Agreement

With headlines on Greenland waning, and the attention of policymakers on both sides of the Atlantic now squarely on the Strait of Hormuz, defence officials from the U.S., Denmark and Greenland have quietly reopened a Cold War era defence agreement. Reportedly, the promise of a renegotiation had been a priority for the U.S. during talks with Greenlandic, Danish and NATO officials, and one reason behind the tempering of Washington’s more territorial ambitions in early February.

The 1951 Defence Agreement was signed between Denmark and the U.S. following the American occupation of Greenland during WWII. It awards the U.S. sweeping access rights on the island. Having rebuffed President Truman’s 1946 purchase offer, Denmark found itself both strategically compelled and broadly willing to grant the U.S. expanded access. While the 1951 agreement explicitly preserved Danish sovereignty, it also allowed for the establishment of U.S.-controlled “defence areas” on Greenland, albeit within the confines of joint NATO planning.

During the Cold War, the U.S. Army operated up to seventeen permanent bases and other installations on the island. Following the demise of the USSR, bases were gradually dismantled. Only what is today the Pituffik Space Base remained. In 2004, the Greenland Self-Government Commission agreed to terms of reference for the Self-Government Act concluded with Denmark five years later. It thus became clear to U.S. military planners in 2004 that Greenland would soon move toward greater autonomy. In response, the Bush administration negotiated the Igaliku Agreement, which recognised Greenland as a full third party to the 1951 agreement. Under the agreement, the original requirement of Danish consent for the opening of new defence areas on Greenland was preserved, but the Greenlandic government was also looped into the procedure as an independent stakeholder.

Image: U.S., Greenlandic and Danish officials sign the Igaliku Agreement in 2004 (Source: Allan Peter Olsen on X)

In U.S. conservative circles, this very requirement was framed by some as a potential hindrance during the Greenland crisis in January. In the context of fracturing allied relations and “diminishing trust” in European allies, some commentators dismissed the Danish and Greenlandic assurances that U.S. defence concerns would always be considered, and pointed to the potential advantage of territorial possession removing the Greenlandic-Danish “veto right” over the establishment of new American bases.

With White House attention elsewhere, however, these concerns proved largely unfounded. In late March, NORTHCOM commander General Gregory Guillot told the Senate Armed Services Committee that his department was in the process of negotiating with Greenland and Denmark over “more ports, more airfields, which leads to more options for our secretary and for the president, should we need them up in the Arctic.” According to Guillot, the Pentagon plans to establish various new capabilities on Greenland, including space systems to enable the proposed Golden Dome missile defence system, the ability to launch fighters and tankers to serve as the ‘first line of defence’ against cruise missiles that could be launched from the Arctic, and ports for special operations forces and the Navy. A spokeswoman for NORTHCOM later added that military planners would also target new “defence areas”, one near a disused deepwater port close to the town of Narsarsuaq in southern Greenland, and another in Kangerlussuaq, where there is a runway capable of handling heavy aircraft.

The Danish public reaction to the prospect that the secretive negotiations could result in a revision of key provisions in the Igaliku Agreement was subdued. In Greenland, however, members of the public surveyed by the New York Times were largely unenthusiastic. A greater militarisation of the island remains undesirable in the eyes of most Greenlanders, but is currently regarded as a price worth paying in exchange for calmer external circumstances by many officials in Nuuk.

4. Is Canada’s Arctic spending spree really rooted in foreign policy?

Arctic relations with the U.S. have also influenced recent Canadian debates over how to restructure the country’s security posture in the region. On March 12, Canada’s Prime Minister Mark Carney announced a historic security and infrastructure package for the Canadian Arctic.

The planned expenditures are organised around three broad themes: sovereignty assertion, development and nation-building, and strategic autonomy vis-à-vis the United States. In the announcement, Carney bemoaned that previous administrations were unsuccessful in their attempts to strengthen Canada’s sovereignty in remote Arctic territories, a traditionally anxiety-laden aspect of Canadian statecraft. To remedy this, the governing Liberal Party plans to “move forward with a comprehensive plan backed by over $40 billion, including more than $35 billion in federal investments to defend, build, and transform Canada’s Northern and Arctic region.”

Video: Canada’s PM Carney announces spending package for the Arctic and northern territories

Of this sum, around $32 billion are earmarked for various forward operating locations of the Canadian Armed Forces in Yellowknife, Inuvik, Iqaluit, and at Goose Bay. The objective is to give the Canadian military — whose standing personnel across the northern parts of the country currently still amounts to only around three hundred individuals — the ability to deploy more rapidly, and year-round, across the entire region. Carney also promised that the investments would put the Canadian Armed Forces in a position to defend the country’s Arctic “without the help of Allies”.

Many observers in Canada agree that such investments are long overdue. The Canadian Armed Forces and Coast Guard are structurally incapable of monitoring and protecting certain parts of their Arctic regions, as well as adjacent waters. The deteriorating security environment of the wider Arctic region, combined with intense diplomatic pressure by the Trump administration on Canada to boost its defence spending, make an expansion of the country’s military presence in the north essentially unavoidable.

Carney’s package nonetheless follows a characteristically Canadian pattern, essentially prioritising domestic concerns over the wider regional backdrop. For Canada, Arctic sovereignty remains, primarily, an issue of nation building, population control and infrastructural development. Apart from in times of acute security crises, the Canadian Arctic has rarely been framed in foreign policy terms. But when it was, such as in the early decades of the Cold War, military planners quickly came up against difficult realities on the ground, including insufficient infrastructure, and a dependency on Indigenous communities for everything from knowledge of the terrain to basic assertion of year-round presence.

This domestic-first approach also characterises the spending spree announced by Carney. Although they were framed as a defence and security package in response to international upheavals, a notable number of the measures announced by the government are designed to benefit the military as well as civilian communities.

For instance, it is hoped that the planned upgrades to the Rankin Inlet and Inuvik airports will facilitate lower-cost air travel for both the military and civilians. A new highway extension is meant to connect both settlements and bases around Yellowknife and Inuvik. The government also wants to build the country’s first overland connection to a deepwater port on the Arctic Ocean, to link “strategic mineral deposits” in the north to the national road network. And a new hydro expansion project is supposed to “double the Northwest Territories’ hydro capacity and serve 70% of residents.”

In spite of these projects, media critiques of Carney’s announcement have zeroed in on continuing discrepancies between military and social spending in the Canadian Arctic. The general lack of high-quality healthcare and transport services in northern communities remains a problem, income and wealth levels are below the national average, and funding for everyday infrastructure is often insufficient. The historical memory of forced relocations of Inuit families during previous militarisation episodes of the Cold War has also clearly coloured discussions.

While Canada’s spending package is thus clearly presented as a response to the new security situation in the wider region, Canada’s actual priority remains Arctic sovereignty assertion. Without stable, well-developed, economically prosperous local communities, Canada feels like it lacks the solid bedrock it needs for a role in the Arctic that would correspond with the size of the country’s territory.

For Canada, as with other Arctic countries, regional development and international security cannot be usefully disentangled. Like his predecessors, Mark Carney will be forced to walk this tightrope. Whether he is able to deliver the improved security posture promised to the U.S. will ultimately depend on whether he also addresses Indigenous concerns, regional development objectives, and demographic pressures. For Canada, Arctic security will thus continue to be a matter of butter first, guns second.

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1. What’s under the bonnet of ‘Arctic Sentry’?

Initially, ‘Arctic Sentry’ will “include exercises like Denmark’s ‘Arctic Endurance’ and Norway’s ‘Cold Response’”, and then integrate additional deployments. The mission will be led by NATO’s Joint Force Command (JFC) Norfolk, whose geographic area of responsibility was recently expanded to include the alliance members of Denmark, Finland and Sweden, effectively creating an integrated North Atlantic–Arctic command area. Command of JFC Norfolk itself was transferred from the U.S. to the United Kingdom earlier last month.

Image: Finnish marines disembark a Swedish Navy CB-90 fast assault boat near Tovik in Norway prior to Exercise Nordic Response in 2024 (Source: NATO)

On the strategic level, ‘Arctic Sentry’ marks a culmination of recent efforts by NATO to improve and integrate the alliance’s Arctic capabilities. The declared goal is to meet perceived security threats in the region from Russia, but increasingly also China.

On an operational level, the mission is supposed to streamline and integrate the different capabilities held by NATO members for Arctic-relevant operations in the air, land, sea and space domains, and to provide ongoing assessments of posture and capability gaps. While NATO activities in the Arctic have mushroomed in recent years, operational cacophony, discrepancies in equipment and ability, and a lack of political cooperation have often complicated allied joint operations.

Arctic-relevant acquisitions by alliance members — intelligence, surveillance and reconnaissance capabilities, space-based capabilities, maritime assets like icebreakers, and vehicles, weapons and other equipment better suited for the extreme cold — will likely be coordinated. ‘Arctic Sentry’ will also build on recently established NATO infrastructures in the region, including the Combined Air Operations Centre opened in Norway’s Bodø in 2025, and the Forward Land Forces based in the Finnish town of Rovaniemi.

2. Why is the mission being launched now?

The political momentum behind ‘Arctic Sentry’ initially grew out of a German proposal from early January. In response to U.S. President Trump’s comments that U.S. “control” of Greenland would be necessary due to “neglect” of the island’s defence by Denmark, Berlin proposed to create an Arctic joint mission under U.S. leadership, modelled on NATO’s ‘Baltic Sentry’. Whereas Belgium, the U.K., and other European states quickly seconded Berlin’s proposal, NATO chiefs initially met it with caution. After transatlantic tensions around Greenland smoothed out following Trump’s meeting with NATO’s Secretary-General Rutte in Davos, however, the White House eventually greenlit plans for a joint mission, allowing planners to move ahead.

International media coverage of NATO’s announcement has been enormous. However, three questions have received insufficient attention in the discussion. First, what Arctic capabilities will alliance members actually be able to pledge to the mission? Second, what will be the mission’s actual geographical focus? And third, is it likely to further heighten military tensions across the wider Arctic?

3. What Arctic capabilities does NATO possess?

The military problem set faced by NATO in the Arctic is inherently multi-domain. Of crucial importance are the protection of sea lines of communication, persistent surveillance of vast and sparsely populated territories, maritime access, the protection of underwater infrastructure, and capabilities to rapidly reinforce the alliance’s northern flank in a crisis or war. Unlike in other geographical areas, expeditionary capabilities and air power are often more important in the Arctic than permanently stationed assets. Environmental conditions are prohibitive, and operational skills must be acquired through consistent training and exposure.

Narrow Arctic capabilities are concentrated in the hands of a few regional alliance members, while other allies contribute to northern operations through deployable air power, expeditionary maritime forces, or cold-weather-trained troops that can be transferred to the region. Canada, Denmark, Finland, Norway, Sweden, and the United States possess assets such as dedicated Arctic presence forces, sub-Arctic brigades or regiments, ice-capable coast guard vessels, or sea and air bases located in Arctic territories.

In the land domain, Norway in many ways still sets operational benchmarks for NATO. The Norwegian Army’s Brigade Nord train year-round in the country’s Arctic north. The United States reactivated the 11th Airborne Division in Alaska as an Arctic-focused formation in 2022 and maintains a dedicated Northern Warfare Training Center at Fort Wainwright. Finland’s Jaeger Brigade and large reserve force are trained for cold-weather operations and can deploy quickly and at scale.

While numerically smaller, Sweden’s Norrbotten Regiment is specialised in winter warfare and operates in the country’s Arctic region, and the Canadian Rangers are reservists deeply embedded in northern communities. The Danish military has a permanent presence on Greenland, including the now infamous Sirius Dog Sled Patrol. Other allies may also contribute troops to operations in the far north, including France’s 27e Brigade d’Infanterie de Montagne, Germany’s Gebirgsjäger, and the U.K.’s Royal Marines Commando Force, all of which have participated in cold-weather exercises in Scandinavia in recent years.

Image: A U.S. Marine Lance Corporal participates in cold water immersion training near Bardufoss in Norway in 2018 (Source: NATO)

In the maritime domain, icebreakers, ice-reinforced vessels and submarines are key. The U.S. Coast Guard operates one heavy and one medium icebreaker, and is currently constructing a new class of Polar Security Cutters. The Canadian coast guard is expanding its fleet of medium and heavy icebreakers. Denmark possesses a number of ice-strengthened Arctic patrol vessels. Norway operates a coast guard vessel with genuine icebreaking capability. Germany and Sweden possess large research icebreakers, Finland is a recognised icebreaking powerhouse, and Poland operates smaller icebreakers in the Baltic. The U.S., France and the U.K. field nuclear submarines for under-ice operations, while Norway, Sweden, Germany and others hold smaller submarines for potential operations in Arctic-adjacent seas.

Finally, distances in the Arctic, the sparseness of local infrastructure, and surveillance needs render the aerospace domain decisive. NATO members fall into two Arctic air power categories, with structural power being provided chiefly by the U.S., Norway, Finland, Sweden and Canada, and reinforcement power being provided by France, the U.K. and Germany. Norway, for instance, holds F-35A fighters based at bases in Ørland and Evenes, and operates several P-8 Poseidon maritime patrol aircraft. Finland is in possession of F/A-18 Hornets, and transitioning to F-35A aircraft, with an air doctrine structured around resilience to assumed vulnerabilities and compromised basing infrastructure. Sweden’s JAS 39 Gripen is built for dispersed operations, and well-suited to Arctic conditions. The U.S. has enormous air capabilities concentrated in Alaska, which include F-22 Raptors at Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson, F-35s and F-16s at Eielson Air Force Base, strategic bombers on rotation, and an extensive early warning network. Integrated into North American homeland defences are Canada’s CF-18 Hornets, which could soon be replaced by F-35. The U.K. has deployed Eurofighter Typhoon jets to Iceland and Norway, and potentially holds expeditionary capabilities in the form of F-35B. France has deployed Rafales to Nordic exercises, and Germany has sent several of its Eurofighters to Arctic exercises.

Air field are distributed around the Arctic allied states, including in Norway, Sweden, Finland, Canada and Alaska. The U.S. and its allies in Scandinavia have signed a range of new access agreements for Nordic bases in recent years. A key role is played in this domain by Iceland, an alliance member without its own military, whose Keflavik Air Base is used by U.S. and NATO aircraft, and which plays a central role in GIUK gap monitoring. Space capabilities, meanwhile, are predominantly provided by the U.S., with Norway making significant strides to play a more important role.

3. Which of these capabilities have been pledged for ‘Arctic Sentry’?

Actual commitments of allied capabilities to ‘Arctic Sentry’ have so far been limited, however, as the final shape and form of the mission remains to be hammered out: In one of the first mission-specific announcements, the Danish Ministry of Defence pledged an unspecified number of F‑35 jets as its first contribution, and explicitly folded its already-planned Arctic activities into the ‘Arctic Sentry’ umbrella. Sweden deployed JAS 39 Gripen fighters to the area around Iceland and Greenland. Finland reframed its participation in Norway’s Cold Response 26 exercise as a contribution to ‘Arctic Sentry’, as did Norway. Multiple official U.S. Marine Corps releases detailed U.S. logistics and deployment-readiness capabilities for ‘Cold Response 26’, which is now framed as part of ‘Arctic Sentry’. Canada’s Department of National Defence described an expanded 2026 CAF Arctic operations programme and stated that Canada welcomes ‘Arctic Sentry’, but without specifying commitments.

Of the non-Arctic allied states, the U.K.’s Ministry of Defence announced a plan to double British troops in Norway from 1,000 to 2,000, in addition to deploying 1,500 Royal Marines for ‘Cold Response 26’, a carrier strike group deployment led by the HMS Prince of Wales in 2026, as well as Royal Navy warships, F‑35 jets, and helicopters, all under ‘Arctic Sentry’. Germany announced deployments of forces “from all branches of the service” in the coming months, and dispatched an A400M tanker aircraft and four Eurofighter jets to Iceland. And Emmanuel Macron pledged as of yet unspecified French contributions to the mission during a press conference with Finnish president Stubb. These announcements illustrate that allied governments are increasingly linking existing deployments and exercises to the emerging mission framework. Yet they also highlight how much of the initiative remains operationally undefined.

4. What’s still unclear about ‘Arctic Sentry’ and NATO’s Arctic posture?

NATO’s Arctic capabilities are therefore considerable, yet it remains unclear whether, and to what extent, they will require further enhancement. It is also uncertain which of these capabilities will be drawn upon under the umbrella of ‘Arctic Sentry’, where they will be deployed, and how this may affect the alliance’s overall Arctic posture.

For one thing, NATO will need to decide to what extent it wants to match the Arctic capabilities of Russia. While NATO retains a global conventional advantage, and holds an edge in air power, expeditionary capabilities, reconnaissance and anti-submarine capabilities, the military balance between the alliance and Russia in the Arctic is not symmetrical. Russia has rebuilt and expanded Cold War–era airfields, ports, radar stations, and military facilities along its Arctic coastline, which gives it a clear comparative lead in forward infrastructure. The Northern Fleet remains the backbone of Russia’s Arctic power projection, and includes dozens of surface warships, patrol vessels, and submarines. Russia also fields far more heavy icebreakers than any other Arctic state, many of which are nuclear-powered and capable of sustained operations in thick ice, a crucial element in Arctic logistics. And while many of Russia’s Arctic units been depleted or redeployed due to the Ukraine war, its local formations are sizeable and trained and equipped for harsh Arctic conditions. To catch up, NATO states would need to commit to sustained, decades-long investment programmes.

However, matching Russian capabilities across the board may not be necessary given the likely threat scenarios. Between 2015 and 2022, Russia still conducted naval and air exercises, including live-fire drills, on NATO’s northern flank, ostensibly for purposes of political signalling. Since the launch of the full-scale invasion of Ukraine, however, the pattern of Russian Arctic military activity has changed significantly. Most Russian exercises in the high north now take place in the Barents Sea, closer to Russian coastlines rather than Norway. According to a 2024 study by Kristian Åtland, Thomas Nilsen, and Torbjørn Pedersen, the primary purpose of Russia’s current military activities in the Arctic now appears to be the more limited objective of reinforcing the Northern Fleet’s “bastion” defence of ballistic missile submarines on the Kola peninsula. Drawing on open-source data, Tormod Heier similarly concluded in a 2025 study that there was “no military antagonism nor provocative exercises between U.S. and Russian forces in the Arctic [after] 2022,” suggesting a recognition of overstretch and subsequent retraction on the Russian side. Paradoxically, the war in Ukraine may thus have contributed to a temporary stabilisation of Arctic military confrontation. And while Russia’s Arctic forces will certainly recuperate, its overall posture in the region is likely to remain defensive. NATO’s objective should therefore be limited deterrence focused on monitoring and denial rather than capability outmatching.

Image: The Brest, a small anti-submarine ship of Russia’s Northern Fleet, during a live-firing exercise in 2022 (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

At the same time, Russia remains committed to preserving the Arctic as a zone of economic development, particularly its hydrocarbon projects on the Taymyr Peninsula and the infrastructure underpinning the Northern Sea Route. Even after a hypothetical end to the war in Ukraine and a subsequent Russian military recovery in the north, escalating military tensions, especially in remote Arctic areas, would place these investments at risk and would therefore remain undesirable from Moscow’s perspective.

A partial exception is northern Scandinavia, where strategic planning continues to echo Cold War logics. Given the central role of Russia’s nuclear deterrent, much of which is based on the Kola peninsula near the Norwegian border, any large-scale armed conflict with NATO could trigger an invasion of northern Norway as well as adjacent areas of Finland and Sweden. In such a scenario, Russian military planning might prioritise securing freedom of action around the Northern Fleet’s “bastion” and constraining NATO access to surrounding regions. Only last month, Norway’s chief of defence, Eirik Kristoffersen, told the Guardian that such a scenario remains likely.

However, preparations for this type of conflict in northern Scandinavia predate any discussion of ‘Arctic Sentry.’ Dedicated capabilities have long been developed for this purpose. The expansion of Norway’s military presence in the north, NATO’s regional joint exercises, the establishment of new alliance infrastructure in Scandinavia, operations in the GIUK gap to protect sea lines of communication, and the accession of Finland and Sweden to the alliance are all oriented toward this contingency.

What, therefore, is the added value and military rationale of ‘Arctic Sentry’? Two possible explanations stand out. First, the United States has demanded greater engagement from NATO partners in the defence of its own northern flank in a potential confrontation with China. Sino-Russian joint air and naval exercises in the northern Pacific have become more frequent. Although most European Arctic planners remain primarily focused on Russia, China now figures more prominently in U.S. Arctic planning. These differing threat perceptions may require a broader geographical focus for the alliance, including the North American Arctic and specifically Alaska and the Bering Strait. ‘Arctic Sentry’ could therefore include a significant North American component — which would, however, need to focus on the Pacific side of the region, and thus be far removed from NATO’s historical area of operations.

Second, and closely linked to the first point, ‘Arctic Sentry’ would likely not have been proposed without renewed U.S. efforts to gain control of Greenland. U.S. officials have criticised what they describe as insufficient attention to Greenland’s security by Denmark and its European partners. ‘Arctic Endurance,’ one of the two current pillar exercises under ‘Arctic Sentry,’ was arguably conceived by Denmark as both a deterrent and a reassurance measure in response to U.S. plans for Greenland. Yet while Russia and China feature prominently in American arguments about Greenland’s strategic importance, neither Washington nor European capitals have clearly defined the actual threat scenarios that would necessitate a specific allied response. Possible contingencies range from hybrid activities and maritime confrontations in the GIUK gap to amphibious landings on Greenland or the reinforcement of missile defence around Pituffik Space Base. Each of these scenarios would require distinct military responses.

This ambiguity also helps explain the limited detail provided by NATO capitals regarding the capabilities to be deployed and their geographic distribution. Planning for conflict in northern Scandinavia will largely proceed along previously established lines. A sustained allied presence in Alaska remains unlikely given its distance from Europe, while threat scenarios around Greenland remain too indeterminate to justify concrete military measures beyond symbolic signalling. At the same time, these considerations form a central part of the political rationale underpinning the creation of ‘Arctic Sentry.’

The mission’s primary drivers therefore appear less military-strategic than political. This, however, also constitutes its unspoken vulnerability: If ‘Arctic Sentry’ functions at least in part as an instrument of alliance management designed to accommodate the preferences of U.S. President Trump over Greenland, then its coherence may also depend on the durability of those very same preferences. A renewed shift in the White House’s position on Greenland remains plausible and could rapidly undermine the political and strategic foundations of ‘Arctic Sentry’.

5. Will ‘Arctic Sentry’ heighten military tensions in the Arctic?

Regardless of ‘Arctic Sentry’’s rationale, however, it seems clear that the mission will lead to a further increase in NATO’s Arctic military deployments. In expert circles, this has led to debates over whether the mission is likely to further increase tensions in the region, and contribute to its wider militarisation. In a piece for Responsible Statecraft, Pavel Devyatkin argued that NATO’s launch of ‘Arctic Sentry’ has not been matched by equivalent efforts to manage risks of miscalculation or de-escalation, such as confidence- and security-building measures. Devyatkin pointed out that this could trigger an action-reaction cycle with Russia, where each side frames its activities as defensive but contributes to mutual threat perceptions, increasing the risk of accidental escalation.

Gabriella Gricius, by contrast, argued in an essay for the Center for Strategic and International Studies that the growing frequency of military exercises in the European Arctic does not necessarily indicate unchecked militarisation or an imminent escalation of conflict. Rather, it reflects the emergence of a new equilibrium in which states use exercises and visible presence to signal deterrence, credibility, and predictability. NATO activities, alongside Russia’s own drills, contribute to deterrence by denial and strengthen interoperability among allied forces, while hybrid threats remain more pressing than scenarios of conventional war. In a comment for 66° North, Gricius added: “I do not expect ‘Arctic Sentry’ to heighten military tensions. I see it as a strategy for the Allies to develop more presence and predictability in the region.”

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Notably, while the arguments put forth by the U.S. administration and the responses cobbled together by Europe were opposing in kind, they were apparently also anchored in what has become a shared — but somewhat shallow — threat perception. In essence, the United States and Europe agree that Russia and China are posing a joint security threat in the Arctic. While the U.S. and Europe clearly don’t see eye to eye on the modalities, they nevertheless seem to agree that Greenlandic security will have to be redefined to guard the island against that threat. And although it is unclear why such efforts would zone in on Greenland as opposed to the Bering Strait, concerns over Russia and China are now clearly producing remarkable outcomes. For instance, the EU is working out a spending boost for Arctic security, while the U.S. is reportedly pushing for the establishment of Cyprus-style security areas on Greenland to establish new military bases.

This raises a more fundamental question: how Arctic security is understood in Moscow and Beijing, and, specifically, how the Greenland crisis itself has been interpreted in each capital. While many Western analyses assume that both Russia and China would welcome the spectacle of NATO infighting, a close reading of Greenland-related coverage in their heavily censored media environments reveals important differences in interpretation.

1. Russia: Crimean analogies, legal fairytales and the demise of NATO

During the first Greenland crisis triggered by the current U.S. administration in 2025, Russian official and media messaging was incoherent. Authorities struggled to reconcile opportunistic appeals to UN Charter principles with the overtly imperialistic worldview embraced by Vladimir Putin after 2022. Officials alternated between pious declarations of Greenland’s right to self-determination and offhand comments about U.S. “historic interests” in the island.

By late January, these contradictions were consolidated into a more structured, if no less internally inconsistent, set of lines. An alleged media guidance document from the Presidential Administration reported by Meduza, though unverifiable, closely mapped onto subsequent coverage across Russia’s state-aligned outlets.

On one level, Russian officials denied any interest in Greenland, presenting Moscow as a detached observer concerned only with rising NATO activity. Putin declared the island “of no concern” to Russia, Foreign Minister Lavrov insisted Moscow had “no plans” of invading Greenland, and Kremlin spokesperson Dmitry Peskov emphasised that Russia regarded Greenland as Danish territory, while the former Arctic Council diplomat and current ambassador to Norway, Nikolay Korchunov, lamented the “risk of heightened Arctic tensions” due to NATO actions.

Image: The propaganda show “Vesti nedeli” on 11 January 2026 (Source: Screenshot)

But on the other hand, Russian media were also instructed to portray the American plans as being analogous to Russia’s 2014 annexation of Crimea. Trump supposedly was keen to “enter history like Putin” by expanding the U.S.’ national territory, behaviour that was to be framed as being "characteristic of great powers". Maksim Suchkov, director of MGIMO’s Institute of International Studies, told Kommersant’ that Trump was bent on an “annexation of the world’s largest island” for legacy reasons. And Sergey Lavrov managed to refer to the Greenland situation both as an example of “colonialism” while also likening it openly to Crimea.

But Russian commentators also leveraged Crimea for another argument: That Russia’s annexation of the peninsula was somehow not a land grab at all, but a voluntary and democratic realisation of the “right to self-determination” by the Crimean people. Ъ FM, for example, suggested that Crimea could be used as a blueprint for the U.S. to “help the local Greenlandic population realise their right to self-determination.” And on 29 January, the Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs submitted an "official request" for the United Nations to recognise the "right to self-determination" of Crimea, Donetsk, Luhansk, and other occupied territories of Ukraine, citing the situation around Greenland as precedent. Although UN General Secretary Antonio Guterres rejected that request a day later, the Russian media — as well as the Crimean “parliament” and Dmitry Medvedev — reacted furiously, brandishing the alleged though near-universally disputed “legality” of Russia’s annexations of Ukrainian territories.

Most importantly, however, Russia portrayed the Greenland crisis as a welcome stick in the wheels of NATO and the wider “collective West”. Komsomol’skaya Pravda consulted experts on whether Greenland would become the “graveyard of NATO.” Maxim Dankin, the General Director of Russia’s Arctic Development Project Office, told the same paper that “the escalating tensions between the Americans and the EU play into our hands”. Kommersant’ ran a long explainer on historical wars between NATO members. The same paper also diagnosed a Western “leadership crisis”, arguing that the western alliance was about to fall apart. Foreign affairs doyen Fyodor Lukyanov argued that NATO would probably survive the crisis, but only because “no one takes Trump’s ultimatums seriously.” And several commentators suggested that the Greenland situation would further undermine the position of Ukraine, and expose the entirety of Europe to a sudden and sustained defence crisis.

2. China: U.S. “bullying”, EU strategic autonomy and international instability

China’s media landscape, by contrast, was focused more on questions of territorial sovereignty and non-intervention, as well as traditional accusations of “U.S. bullying”, imperialism, and indignation over the notion that China could pose a threat to any country deemed “foreign”. The People’s Daily (人民日报) ran a front page piece on how a Greenland annexation would definitely violate international law. A commentary in the Yangcheng Evening News (羊城晚報) suggested that “Trump harbours a 19th century imperial ambition, hoping to occupy more territory”. And the China Economic Daily (经济日报) accused the United States of an “obsessive addiction to natural resources.”

Image: CCTV coverage of the Greenland crisis, 10 January 2026 (Source: CCTV)

More prominent, however, was a second narrative: The structural weakness of Europe, and China’s hopes for the EU to develop a more “strategically autonomous” stance in world politics. A column in the People’s Daily argued that “NATO is Europe’s Achilles’ heel, a fact the United States is well aware of.” Similarly, an article in the Yangcheng Evening News suggested that “Europe has really been pushed to the limit. It must be said that Trump has Europe firmly under his control. But Europe has already been quietly preparing for the aftermath.“ The same paper later argued that “history has shown that compromise cannot bring true security, but perhaps the potential humiliation from Greenland will prompt Europeans to reflect on this situation and ultimately take action to change.”

The Guangming Daily (光明日报) criticised that “the EU has followed the U.S. lead for many years. Its so-called strategic autonomy is easier said than done, often leaving it in a complex situation of internal conflict.” Ding Chun, director of the Center for European Studies at Fudan University, told the Jiefang Daily (解放日报) that “regardless of the outcome, this standoff has deepened the structural rift between the two sides, and Europe will further “de-risk” from the U.S.” And Cui Hongjian, a professor at the Institute for Advanced Studies in Regional and Global Governance at Beijing Foreign Studies University, told CCTV that “Europe must seriously consider how to truly break free from its dependence on the U.S. and embark on a path of genuine strategic autonomy.”

A third, and somewhat unexpected, narrative strand examined the consequences for China of a potential end of NATO. Unlike in Russia, where commentators met that eventuality with glee, the Chinese media cautioned against its unpredictable ramifications. The China Daily (中国日报) argued that a fallout between the U.S. and Europe could “mirror the historical split of the Roman Empire into Eastern and Western halves” and cause “spillover effects that could directly and negatively impact the current international system.” In the China Economic Daily, an article suggested that “as a major builder of the post-World War II international order, this move by the U.S. has severely impacted the existing international order.” And Jian Junbo, director of the Center for China-EU Relations Studies at Fudan University cautioned in the Jiefang Daily that a “disintegration of NATO would trigger unforeseeable consequences.”

Lastly, Chinese commentators also focused on what U.S. actions would mean for access to the Arctic region. The Global Times echoed a spokesperson for China’s Foreign Ministry, who stated that “countries’ right and freedom to carry out activities in the Arctic in accordance with the law needs to be fully respected.” And for many outlets, the clearest benefit to China lay in the parade of European leaders that showed up in Beijing for state visits right after the crisis. In an optimistic editorial, the Beijing Daily noted that “China is becoming more popular as the U.S. government increasingly spreads fear through its threats to seize Greenland.”

3. The West should stop fighting windmills

Taken together, these narratives reveal a certain degree of overlap. In both Russia and China, the United States is portrayed as reckless, Europe as weak, and NATO as fragile. Both countries are looking to exploit the situation to their advantage. But while the similarities are real enough, and important to consider, the clear divergences between the Russian and Chinese perspectives cannot be ignored.

On the transatlantic alliance, for instance, Russia actively seeks fragmentation, viewing disunity as strategically advantageous, whereas China is weary of the systemic instability that could follow a serious rupture. Moscow has studiously avoided criticism of Washington in order to preserve tactical engagement with the Trump administration, while Beijing is openly confrontational, positioning itself as an alternative partner for disillusioned U.S. allies. Russia appears willing to rely on idiosyncratic interpretations of international law to justify territorial expansion, whereas China remains invested in strong non-interference norms, reflecting concerns over regime security and the legacies of colonial intervention.

Similarly, where Russia wants to see a weak and divided Europe, China places its hopes in European strategic autonomy as a vehicle through which the EU might align more closely with Chinese preferences. Russia remains protective of Arctic sovereignty arrangements and focused on preserving access to resources and military predominance. China, by contrast, promotes narratives of Arctic neutralisation and the treatment of the region as a de facto commons — an arrangement that would better accommodate Chinese interests.

NATO states may continue to pursue a “one size fits all” strategic narrative for the Arctic, one that glosses over the fact that the United States is primarily concerned with China while Europe remains focused on Russia, all in the name of alliance cohesion. But unless this narrative is grounded in a better appreciation of the differences between Russian and Chinese worldviews and Arctic strategies, the Greenland crisis will not remain an isolated episode of Western quixoticism. Instead, it will become a template for how the alliance exhausts real capabilities in pursuit of imagined threats — and, more dangerously, imagined convergence among adversaries whose interests, strategies, and worldviews remain distinct.

Image: Meng Jinghui's sinified stage drama version of "Don Quixote", shown in Beijing in 2010, also had the protagonist striking at invisible, hostile“windmills”

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My own answer to the first question is no, whereas my answer to the second question is maybe, but for reasons that have little to do with coherent sphere-of-influence politics.

Image: American LC-130 "Skibird" at Camp Raven in Greenland (Source: U.S. National Air Guard)

1. Will there be a “tripartite division of the world”?

First, on spheres of influence.

The standard argument runs as follows. The United States, an exhausted superpower constrained by domestic dysfunction and scarred by long wars in the Middle East, is winding down its global military entanglements and retrenching to its immediate neighbourhood, the Americas. This retrenchment, proponents argue, will allow Washington to reduce military spending and redirect resources toward social and economic regeneration at home.

As a corollary, the United States would tacitly accept the emergence of regional spheres of influence elsewhere: China in East Asia, Russia in Europe. In exchange for strategic restraint, Washington would effectively greenlight Beijing and Moscow to impose regional orders in their respective “backyards.” The result, so the theory goes, would be a more stable great-power equilibrium. War between major powers would become less likely, even if the unfortunate borderlands and peripheries would, as the Melian Dialogue goes, “suffer what they must.”

This vision has long guided Vladimir Putin’s approach to U.S. diplomacy, a point that is also underlined by ’s testimony of a bizarre 2019 offer by Russian officials for the U.S. to “trade Venezuela for Ukraine.” It now appears to have been embraced by the Trump administration as well.

Yet while the spheres-of-influence narrative is parsimonious and intuitively appealing, it fails to capture current realities for three reasons:

1. It overestimates the coherence of U.S. foreign policy.

2. It overstates Russia’s power and capacity for dominance in its neighbourhood.

3. It projects Western assumptions about great-power behaviour onto China with potentially unwarranted confidence.

2. A chaos theory of U.S. foreign policy

Begin with the question of whether U.S. policy has in fact translated a rhetoric of retrenchment and hemispheric spheres of influence into practice. On one level, the answer appears to be yes. Washington has evidently rediscovered the joys of interventionism in Latin America, and the 2025 NSS explicitly elevates the Western Hemisphere to the primary theatre of U.S. foreign policy.

Yet it would be a mistake to assume that Trump’s conception of a U.S. sphere of influence is geographically confined to the Americas. In the worldview of the administration, bringing the Western Hemisphere back into line is framed as a corrective to “decades of neglect”. But this corrective is not conceived as a trade-off. Reasserting dominance close to home is not meant to come at the expense of U.S. interests elsewhere, it is imagined as an addition, not a substitution.

Beyond outlining a carrots-and-sticks approach to Latin America, the NSS also articulates an explicitly activist blueprint for the political reordering of Europe along ideological lines favourable to the United States. After a year of putative “peace negotiations,” the war in Ukraine continues with non-negligible American involvement. For Asia, the NSS goes further still. The document commits the United States to “denying aggression anywhere in the First Island Chain” and to preventing “a potentially hostile power” from exercising control over the South China Sea, explicitly through military means, albeit with the help of Japan and South Korea.

Taken together, this does not read like a programme of hemispheric retrenchment, nor like a willingness to abandon the ostensible Russian or Chinese spheres of influence. Rather than withdrawing, the United States is attempting to restructure its influence in Europe and Asia by transforming traditional alliance systems into more openly transactional arrangements. These increasingly resemble relationships of vassalage — or a “Budapest Pact”, in the words of Olivier Schmitt.

A part of the reason for this lies, I believe, in MAGA’s idiosyncratic interpretation of what calls “allied scale”. The basic idea is that hegemonic competition with China will remain the paramount foreign policy task of the United States for decades to come, and that China possesses a range of inherent advantages because it now out-scales the U.S. on most material power metrics, such as manufacturing capacities, power generation, shipbuilding, steel output and leads on key technologies. But if the resources and capacities of America’s “allies” were to be added to the equation, the balance would suddenly shift back in favour of a hypothetical U.S.-led bloc.

Perhaps this helps explain why, in some of my own discussions with MAGA-adjacent writers, I was surprised to be asked what it would take for a politically rearranged Europe to join an “American-led tech alliance” to compete with China. While I have no answer to these sorts of questions, they nevertheless demonstrate an awareness on the part of pro-Trump figures that Washington would probably not be able to “go it alone” in a confrontation with China. A denial of Russian or Chinese “control” over Asia and Europe will likely remain a significant goal of U.S. policy, in spite of the isolationist rhetoric coming out of the White House.

The U.S. is therefore unlikely to fully retreat, in any meaningful sense, to the Western Hemisphere. It will pair its new interventionism in Latin America with militarised “great power competition” in other parts of the world. In part, this is because the foreign policy agenda of Trump II has so far been marked by competition between various ideological entrepreneurs. While some figures in the administration espouse retrenchment and self-regeneration, others argue for a proactive global projection of U.S. power in protection of American predominance. The tone of documents like the NSS, and U.S. decision-making in practice, often depend on which actor last captured the president’s ear. The outcome has been a foreign policy that tries to implement too many contradictory objectives at once. In 2025, the U.S. bombed seven countries, including the Russian and Chinese allies of Iran and Venezuela — all while speaking the language of great power restraint. This incoherence is understood, and viewed as fraught with risk, in both Moscow and Beijing.

3. The shaky foundations of Russian power

A recognition of U.S. volatility helps explain why the assault on Venezuela was met not with glee but with a noticeable glumness in Russia. Spheres-of-influence theories would predict Vladimir Putin running victory laps around the Kremlin, celebrating the dawn of a new era of Schmittian Grossräume. Instead, the Russian president has remained conspicuously silent on Venezuela.

Part of the explanation is straightforward. Nicolás Maduro was arguably a Russian ally and asset. But Putin has also avoided directly antagonising the United States for most of the past year, remaining narrowly focused on negotiations over whether to end his war on Ukraine.

Image: Putin and Maduro at Putin’s Novo-Ogaryovo residence, 2018 (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

Seen from a broader vantage point, however, Russia’s reluctance likely has deeper roots. The U.S. intervention in Venezuela has not merely illustrated but actively underscored the relative erosion of Russia’s national power, the very foundation on which any credible Russian claim to a sphere of influence would have to rest in a changing international order.

For one thing, the surgical efficiency with which U.S. special forces captured Maduro demonstrated the type of military ability Russia simply does not possess. Russian war bloggers and regime propagandists, including RT head Margarita Simonyan, jealously compared the American operation to Russia’s failed assault on Ukraine’s Hostomel airport in 2022. The capture of the leader of a neighbouring state in his own capital, executed with minimal bloodshed, stands in sharp contrast to Russia’s four-year war of attrition in the Donbas. The idea of Russian-led regime change in Kyiv has long since retreated into the realm of the fanciful. Moscow’s military machine remains a threat to the country’s neighbours, but its capacities for the type of expeditionary interventions required for sphere-of-influence management are much more limited than they were during the intervention in Kazakhstan in early 2022.

Secondly, since its invasion of Ukraine, Russia has lost partners not only in places like Syria and Venezuela. It has also seen its political influence in its immediate neighbourhood erode. In the South Caucasus, Russia has alienated Armenia and Azerbaijan, and failed to assert control over Georgia despite the latter’s democratic backsliding. In Central Asia, states have not broken with Moscow, but used additional leverage to seek greater alignment with China, Turkey and Iran. Ukraine, Moldova, the Baltics and Finland are all actively hostile to Russia.

But most importantly, Russian commentators have highlighted the potentially catastrophic consequences of the events in Caracas for their own country’s economic model. Venezuela holds the world’s second-largest oil deposits. If U.S. firms were indeed to attain control over oil production in the Caribbean, the resulting price collapse could jeopardise Russia’s budget planning. Moscow needs roughly $65-70 per barrel of oil to sustain its economic model without steadily eroding state capacity. Below that range, the model still plays out, but only by burning buffers, raising taxes, or cutting investment. Moreover, the production costs expected for many of Russia’s more remote deposits are high enough to make their development unviable at low global price levels. Oleg Deripaska, the head of Russian aluminium giant Rusal, warned on Telegram that the U.S. may be able to push oil prices below $50 a barrel, thus endangering Russia’s “cherished state-capitalism” — and with it its ability to pursue an activist and militarised foreign policy in the long term.

While Russia might therefore welcome a shift to a spheres-of-influence model in purely theoretical terms, it will most likely not be equipped to establish itself as a true great power pole within such an order. This would, of course, not prevent Putin from trying. Russia holds much of what calls “agentic power” — a willingness to compensate for economic weakness through a surplus of risk tolerance. It remains a first-rate spoiler and saboteur, and poses a clear and unambiguous military threat to Europe. But any Russian attempt to go beyond tactical confrontation and reestablish itself as a permanent gravitational centre of a wider regional order would likely turn into a rather messy affair, as Moscow would face the stiff resistance of actors surrounding it in virtually any direction.

3. China’s odd great power behaviour

Finally, the vision of a world divided into spheres of influence squares particularly poorly with the foreign-policy model of China, the world’s second superpower.

Since the 1979 invasion of Vietnam, Chinese Communist Party leaders have refrained from using the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) to interfere in neighbouring states. There is now a striking mismatch between China’s immense economic heft, which Beijing has leveraged to construct dense and far-reaching influence networks, and its comparatively modest global military presence. While the PLA has consistently pushed for ever-growing deployments in China’s immediate periphery, its overseas footprint remains minimal, with only a small number of uniformed personnel stationed at bases in Djibouti and Tajikistan.

From Beijing’s perspective, China’s security outlook remains overwhelmingly inward-facing. This is not to say that the PLA’s current posture is necessarily benign. It poses a serious threat of armed conflict over Taiwan and in the South and East China Seas. Chinese calculations around these conflicts are unpredictable and harbour risks of catastrophic escalation. Yet these potential flashpoints are framed by Chinese leaders not as projects of regional domination, but as domestic or post-colonial issues tied to territorial integrity and “national reunification.” Armed conflict is also seen as risking the introduction of instability into a paranoidly shielded domestic political context. While one certainly does not have to agree with this interpretation, the evidence that it guides Chinese policy-making is strong.

Beyond Taiwan, Hong Kong, the Sino-Indian border, and nearby maritime disputes, it remains unclear to what extent China would be willing to underwrite a hypothetical Sinocentric order in Asia by force. Moreover, the resistance to any such attempt would be formidable, not only by the U.S., Japan and South Korea, but also by a wide range of other Asian states. The reluctance of Chinese military leaders to deploy troops even to highly unstable neighbouring countries like Afghanistan, or turn the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation into anything more than a multilateral law enforcement platform, is well-documented.

It is thus difficult to imagine Beijing departing from its default priorities: domestic stability, regime security, territorial control, and selective, transactional security partnerships abroad. China will continue to prefer economic entanglements and soft coercion over military deployments. These priorities sit uneasily with the kind of activist interventionism typically associated with Russian or American sphere-of-influence behaviour, and offer little evidence of any Chinese willingness to abandon long-standing commitments to territorial integrity and non-intervention in favour of a more openly coercive Raumpolitik.

3. The new world order will be a lethal mess

There is therefore neither a discernible master plan for a “tripartite division of the world” among the United States, China, and Russia, nor a configuration in which the actual behaviour and capabilities of those three states correspond to that model of international order in practice.

While Washington proclaims hemispheric retrenchment, it continues to project power in Europe and pursue regional predominance in Asia. Russia aspires to a sphere of influence it lacks the material foundations to sustain. And China, despite posing a grave threat to Taiwan, shows little inclination to adopt the outward-looking security posture required to impose regional hegemony along classical great-power lines.

The result will be a situation where the old world order, alongside its commonly internalised restraints on the use of force and intervention, is gone — but without being replaced by an alternative, stable arrangement, such as a great power concert or solidified spheres of influence. The world order, in short, is entering a period of lethal chaos.

Image: Scoresby Sund in Greenland, with the Russian research vessel MV Multanosky in the fjord (Source: Hannes Grobe, AWI, Wikimedia Commons)

4. Where does that leave Greenland?

While “hemispheric control” may currently be riding a discursive wave crest in Washington, there are thus no structural imperatives in international politics that would compel the United States to annex Greenland.

From the far more relevant perspective of regime cohesion, by contrast, the attack on Caracas was likely a straightforward decision for Trump. The blitzkrieg against Venezuela’s Bolivarian regime is one of the rare cases where the competing visions within the administration align.

The limited scope of the intervention will have reassured isolationists such as J.D. Vance, insofar as no U.S. ground troops were committed. For Marco Rubio, military force against Venezuela offered an opportunity to settle accounts with a long-standing bête noire of Latin American diaspora politics. The extraterritorial extension of law-and-order emergency powers in the name of combating crime and migration bears the imprint of Stephen Miller. Pete Hegseth, for his part, is likely to have welcomed the demonstration of American expeditionary capabilities, even in a largely uncontested operational environment. And for Trump himself, the combination of nineteenth-century-style imperial assertion and an oil grab must have looked like a clear political win.

Greenland, by contrast, is a fundamentally different case, both from the perspective of regime coherence and from the standpoint of classical spheres-of-influence logic. An invasion of Greenland would likely be truly pushed by only a narrow subset of actors: Trump, Hegseth, maybe Miller. Other factions might not openly resist such a move, given the president’s dominance over decision-making. But in terms of regime cohesion, and domestic sentiment in a mid-term election year, the rationale behind an armed takeover of Greenland would be much less self-evident than the capture of Maduro.

In terms of Western Hemisphere politics, Venezuela’s Bolivarian leadership — an uncooperative regime that denies military access and partnered with hostile external powers — pose a tangible problem for U.S. control. Greenland and Denmark never did. They are hyper-reliable U.S. allies. The United States already exercises unquestioned security tutelage over Greenland, a role it has repeatedly been invited to deepen. American firms, moreover, are free to pursue resource extraction on the island with minimal obstruction.

According to realist assumptions about sphere-of-influence politics, interventions and annexations are an expensive means of last resort against uncooperative subordinates. It is much cheaper and more convenient to sustain alignment through other forms of pressure, as the United States would evidently also be able to do in Greenland. This is not to mention the enormous costs of a decisive break between the E.U. and the U.S., predominantly for Europe but also for Americans.

What, then, can help explain Trump’s increasingly more assertive designs on Greenland? The answer may be deceptively simple. Territorial control over Greenland appears less as a strategic necessity than as a personal prestige project, which would allow Trump to cast himself as one of the “great” imperial presidents of U.S. history. The broader, harmful consequences of such a move — for the international order, allied cohesion, or principles of international law — may be evident to all involved, yet subordinated to this ambition.

The “chaos theory” of U.S. foreign policy outlined above allows for multiple actors within the Trump administration to compete over direction and emphasis, with rival visions — hemispheric retrenchment, global great-power competition, ideological activism in Europe — surfacing according to timing and circumstance.

But it must also allow for decisions that are not animated by theory at all. Some outcomes may instead be driven by the personal ambitions of the individual at the system’s centre.

It is this contingency, not an emerging system of orderly great-power spheres, that constitutes the real risk to Greenland.

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State violence is woven into both the identity and the institutional DNA of Anabar. But the plight of the district’s communities is not a historical aberration. Today, Anabar’s population, still overwhelmingly non-Russian, once again sees its needs and way of life subordinated to the priorities of a distant autocratic centre. For one thing, Dolgan and Evenki males have been drafted into Russia’s invasion army at unsustainably high rates, fraying the already brittle social fabric of their home communities. Yet beyond the war in Ukraine, a longer-term development linked to Russia’s vision of its future national security now threatens to unsettle the delicate balance between Anabar’s people and their environment. Roughly one hundred kilometres to the east of Ebelyakh, in a location only accessible in the winter, lies the Tomtor field, one of the largest rare earth mineral deposits on the planet — and, as such, a future crown jewel of Russia’s state-driven extractivist project.

Image: Installations at the Tomtor field in Yakutia (Source: rm-rmz.ru)

1. What’s the context for Russia’s rare earth mining “roadmap”?

On November 4, Vladimir Putin instructed his Cabinet of Ministers to compile a dedicated “roadmap” for the long-term development of rare earth and mineral mining and production in Russia. The order was published on the Kremlin website, tucked into the list of outcomes of this year’s Eastern Economic Forum (EEF) in Vladivostok. In recent years, the EEF has morphed into a launchpad for Russian-led economic initiatives in East and Southeast Asia — now an economic lifeline for Moscow since the launch of its full-scale invasion of Ukraine. Preparations for the “roadmap” were assigned to the office of Russia’s Prime Minister, Mikhail Mishustin, with a deadline for December 1.

While not the first of its kind, the timing of the Kremlin’s announcement matters. Rare earths are a distinct and exceptionally valuable group of seventeen heavy metals. They are used to produce high-performance magnets, which in turn underpin the automotive, electronics, and defence sectors, and are equally indispensable for renewable energy technologies. Global demand for rare earths, as well as other metals deemed “critical” — lithium, nickel or copper, for instance — is projected to skyrocket. The journalist Guillaume Pitron estimates that humanity may need to “mine more metals over the next thirty years than over the last 70,000 years combined.” Rare earths are geologically abundant, but their refinement requires heavy chemical processing that produces toxic and radioactive waste. Refinement plants are capital-intensive and require decades-long commitments, which is typically only feasible for committed state actors.

China, the country with the world’s most abundant rare earth reserves, also holds a de facto monopoly on their refinement (91% of global output in 2024) thanks to decades of targeted state investment. Chinese leaders have long understood the strategic significance of their position. Warning of historical Western interventions in oil-rich Middle Eastern countries, Deng Xiaoping proclaimed during his 1992 Southern Tour in Inner Mongolia that “the Middle East has oil, China has rare earths.”

Image: Calligraphy stone carving of Deng Xiaoping’s alleged quote, “中東有石油，中國有稀土”, in Baotou, Inner Mongolia. (Source: Xueqiu.com)

The resulting geostrategic problem only began to be acknowledged by other states after China “unofficially” banned rare earths exports to Japan during a standoff over a 2010 boat collision incident near the Senkaku islands. Later, during several episodes of the U.S.-China trade war, Beijing placed sweeping export restrictions on rare earth elements to the U.S., forcing the Trump administration to blunt parts of its tariff-driven re-shoring agenda.

China’s coercive leverage has since pushed other states, and in particular the U.S., to seek out alternatives to Chinese suppliers. But China’s midstream refining capacity remains the true bottleneck, one that is vastly harder to replicate. Arguably, the U.S.’ quest for rare earths and minerals has also animated much of Trump’s diplomatic outreach during his second term: from designs on mines in Greenland, to “mineral deals” imposed on Ukraine, efforts to end the D.R. Congo-Rwanda war, a sudden reversal on the AUKUS submarine deal with Australia, and efforts to reinvigorate the U.S.’ stalled engagement with Central Asia.

The Kremlin’s “roadmap” is timed to exploit this American scramble. As Putin’s envoys explore a potential Ukraine “peace deal” with Trump, on Russian terms if possible, Moscow now sees promises of a “rare earths partnership” as a handy negotiation tool. Leaked documents from before the Trump-Putin meeting in Alaska even showed plans for “jointly mining rare earths in the Arctic.”

2. Why does the Russian government care?

Yet Putin’s interest goes beyond mere opportunism. The Russian government has supported the development of its rare earths industry with a dedicated state program since 2013. In 2016, Putin called rare earths “critical to Russia’s defence sector” — though 80% of domestic consumption serves the petrochemical industry, which itself contributes up to 45% of federal revenue.

Russia desperately needs rare earths for its most strategic sectors, but it currently mines and refines only around 2% of its own consumption. 98% of materials imported from foreign sources, overwhelmingly from China. This, in turn, sits uneasily with Putin’s desire for Russian “technological sovereignty” and “resource self-sufficiency”.

Here Russia’s ambivalence toward China is laid bare. Although Moscow’s relations with Beijing have arguably reached a pinnacle of stability and cooperativeness, Russia’s trust towards China remains conditional. In its discussion of the Russian rare earths “roadmap”, the paper Kommersant’ noted that “independence from imports from China” will be an explicit goal of the document. Mistrust toward Beijing is therefore an equally powerful driver as the leverage Moscow hopes to gain vis-à-vis Washington.

Image: Rosatom’s Lovozero Mining and Processing Plant on the Kola peninsula (Source: Corporate Communications Department of JSC Atomredmetzoloto)

2. What do Russian deposits look like?

On paper, Russia is reasonably well-positioned to become an important player in global rare earths market: According to the U.S. Geological Survey, Russia sits on 3.8 million confirmed tons of rare earth elements, the fifth-largest deposit in the world behind China (44 million tons), Brazil (21 million tons), India (6.9 million tons) and Australia (5.7 million tons). Russian officials insist the real figure is far higher: According to the Russian Ministry of Natural Resources and Environment, total reserves of “15 of the 17 rare earth metals in Russia amount to 28.5 million tons”. This would, according to a recent Izvestiya article by the head of Russia’s Security Council, Sergey Shoigu, be the second-largest reserves in the world — with their exploitation, tellingly, a future precondition for “Russia’s very existence as a sovereign state.”

Image: Approximate location of Russia’s major rare earth deposits, on maps of the Kola peninsula (left) and northern Siberia (right) (Source: datawrapper.app)

Russia’s deposits are spread across a range of sites, most of which have been taken over by state corporations in the past two years. Only one is currently operational: The Lovozersky Mining and Processing Plant on the Kola peninsula, bought by state company Rosatom’s dedicated mining arm, Rosatom Nedra, in 2023. It supplies loparite concentrate to the Solikamsk Magnesium Plant near Perm, also taken over by Rosatom Nedra in 2024. Together they account for all Russian output of rare-earth compounds, niobium, and tantalum, as well as most domestic magnesium and a portion of titanium.

Also on the Kola Peninsula are the undeveloped Khibiny massif and the Afrikanda cluster, where JSC Arkmineral-Resource is exploring perovskite, titanium dioxide, rare-earth concentrates, and niobium and tantalum pentoxides.

The Tomtor field in Anabar ranks among the world’s most significant rare-earth deposits, notable both for concentration and sheer scale. Tomtor is the world’s largest undeveloped niobium project. One section alone contains an estimated 11.4 million tonnes of ore with roughly 700,000 tonnes of niobium oxide and 1.7 million tonnes of rare-earth oxides. The deposit was transferred to Rosneft in May 2025 after Putin complained that the previous, publicly traded owner had failed to invest on schedule.

Further to the south, Sergey Shoigu in October announced plans to establish an integrated rare earths supply-chain cluster around the Angara-Yenisei region, including multiple refinement plans to service Rosnedra’s Chuktukon rare earth-niobium deposit in the Krasnoyarsk krai.

Kolmozerskoye, Russia’s largest lithium deposit, is located in the Murmansk region. It reportedly contains 18.9% of Russia’s lithium reserves in 75 million tonnes of ore. In 2023, Polar Lithium LLC, a new joint venture of Rosatom and the nickel giant Nornickel, acquired the rights to exploit the field. The joint venture later partnered with a Chinese firm to jointly explore resources. Nornickel owner Vladimir Potanin announced in 2025 that the corporation would diversify towards rare earth mining, a remarkable step for a corporation that most closely resembles its gigantic, Soviet-era mono-industrial predecessor.

Finally, other northern Russian districts are also looking to be acknowledged as metals hubs: The Arkhangelsk oblast, for instance, highlights the future exploitability of the Pavlovskoye deposit on Novaya Zemlya, while the Bering strait region of Chukotka has been dangled to U.S. negotiators as a potential site for U.S.-Russian cooperation on rare earth mining.

Image: A pit at the Lovozerskoye Mining and Processing Plant (Source: M. Apleshin)

4. What could possibly go wrong?

In spite of its rich endowments, Russia faces countless roadblocks on its way to becoming a truly independent rare earths producer. This is because its planned extraction of rare earth ores will only be the easy part: Like other countries (bar China), Russia is lacking the mid-stream separation and refining capacities to produce final products, such as magnets. Russia’s legacy refinement plants from the Soviet era are obsolete. They would need to be dismantled and completely rebuilt for refinement to proceed in Russia, but at globally competitive cost levels. This would, in turn, require massive amounts of capital investment, as well as state-of-the-art technologies, both of which are currently out of Russia’s reach due to international sanctions and lacklustre support from its international partners:

Firstly, while much noise has been made by Russian negotiators about the potential for American investments in Russian rare earth mining, the reality is that the Russian state companies involved in that project — including several Rosatom subsidiaries and Polar Lithium LLC — remain under crippling international sanctions. Even if those sanctions were to disappear overnight, however, international investor confidence in Russia — a country that is waging an illegal war of aggression, has incurred sanctions, and nationalised “dozens of foreign investors’ assets in the last three years with little or no compensation” — is likely to remain low. The billions needed to build modern refineries will not be raised domestically or internationally. Serious American or Chinese investment is, realistically, a pipe dream.

Secondly, in spite of its proclamations of “technological sovereignty”, Russia lacks the equipment required for large-scale rare earth refinement. Ironically, the Russian authorities have turned to Beijing — and even India — for help: In September, Prime Minister Denis Manturov admitted that Russia had been in talks with China to gain access to the necessary technologies, but that the Chinese side — much like the U.S. — had so far been unwilling to supply them.

Thirdly, many of Russia’s major deposits lie in extremely remote areas with almost no supporting infrastructure. The Tomtor field, for example, is only accessible by helicopter, and in the winter months. While appropriate logistics would be achievable on the Kola peninsula, many of Russia’s deposits in polar Siberia or the Far East remain effectively out of reach. This may explain, to a certain degree, why various Russian ministries have recently developed plans to link the Siberian river systems to ports along the Northern Sea Route. But the financing for these projects is all but guaranteed, and in particular the port town of Tiksi, near the Tomtor field, can look back at a lengthy history of development failures.

And finally, even in the hypothetical scenario that Russia scales production, its domestic demand would grow faster than output. Moscow’s rare earths dependency on China would stagnate rather than decline, a situation that mirrors the challenge faced by policymakers in Washington and Brussels.

5. Are Russia’s mining strategies at all realistic?

None of this has deterred, or is likely to deter, the Russian regime from pursuing expansive plans for metals and rare earths production. Extractivism remains a core organising principle of Russian politics, and natural-resource production will continue to underpin the country’s economic model for the foreseeable future. Combined with Vladimir Putin’s paranoid anti-globalism, entrenched sovereigntism, and the mounting financial demands of Russia’s comprehensive remilitarisation programme, state corporations will keep searching for ways to generate revenue through the development (osvoenie) of the country’s resource base. Environmental concerns — or the livelihoods of Indigenous communities in Anabar and beyond — will not restrain a state elite intent on extracting strategic advantage at all costs.

As global fossil-fuel consumption declines, Russia’s long-standing reliance on hydrocarbons will erode. Minerals, metals, and rare earth appear to offer a viable continuation of its extractivist model. This is why many of the country’s flagship strategic plans — including the “Geology: Revival of a Legend” programme announced in 2023 or the “Strategy for the Development of Russia’s Mineral Base until 2050” of 2024 — focus squarely on these materials.

Although deposits within Russia’s territory remain the primary focus, Moscow has increasingly trained its sights on resources beyond its borders. The 2024 “Strategy for the Development of Russia’s Mineral Base until 2050” explicitly identifies targets not only on Russian soil and the continental shelf, but also “[…] in Antarctica, the Arctic, the Svalbard archipelago, and the World Ocean.” In keeping with this quasi-imperial posture, Putin convened his Security Council on October 17 to discuss the “development of seabed mineral resources” — both within, and increasingly also beyond Russia’s national jurisdiction.

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On 22 October, the U.S. Treasury placed sanctions on Lukoil and Rosneft, Russia’s two biggest oil companies. The new measures aim to compel Putin to budge on his maximalist conditions for a ceasefire in Ukraine, and were announced only a day after Trump had angrily shelved plans for a meeting with the Russian president in Hungary. While the Kremlin was quick to proclaim its “immunity” to U.S. sanctions, independent experts highlighted that they would likely make a significant dent in Russia’s oil exports to India, as well as the success of overseas ventures by Lukoil and Rosneft. Whether their deterrent effect endures — and also extends to China, Russia’s other major oil client — will depend on whether Washington also opts to impose and enforce secondary sanctions on banks and other intermediaries handling payments.

Image: Prirazlomnoye, Russia’s only offshore oil field in the Arctic, is operated by Gazpromneft and has been under U.S. sanctions since January 2025 (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

In any case, Trump’s announcement has put a halt to a six-month period of quasi-détente in U.S.-Russia relations. Both Moscow and Washington had hoped to entice the other side to make concessions over Ukraine by temporarily dispensing with sticks, and offering essentially identical carrots: A range of deals on joint fossil fuel extraction, especially in the Arctic. Symbolically, those discussions had culminated in a visit by Putin to Alaska on 15 August, which failed to produce meaningful results. But Trump’s decision to sanction Rosneft and Lukoil, in spite of the associated risks to global oil markets, likely marks a realisation on the part of the U.S. president, which will probably also soon take hold in Moscow: that while Trump and Putin have overlapping views on the desirability of Arctic fossil fuel extraction, this overlap is in itself insufficient to compensate for remaining disagreements between the two countries on the war in Ukraine and the future of the European security order.

1. Moscow reckons with Trump’s oil sanctions

During the summer and early autumn, Russia’s government officials engaged in near-endless chatter about a possible resumption of cooperation with the U.S. in the Arctic. In late August, for instance, president Putin proposed “cooperation with American partners” on Alaskan energy projects during a meeting with employees of Russia’s nuclear sector. On the sidelines of the Eastern Economic Forum in Vladivostok in September, Russia's Ministry of Foreign Affairs spokeswoman, Maria Zakharova, called the development of mineral resources by Russia and the U.S. in the Arctic “one of the most promising areas of ​​cooperation [on the bilateral agenda].” Kirill Dmitriev, the head of the Russian Direct Investment Fund, excitedly mused about the possibility of building a tunnel under the Bering strait, and confidently announced a window of opportunity for U.S.-China-Russia joint ventures in Russian Arctic hydrocarbon projects.

The Russian press was similarly awash with rumours: Allegedly, according to Reuters, the White House had mulled using Russian icebreakers in Alaska ahead of Trump’s summit with Putin. Russia’s state news agency, TASS, in September relegated the war in Ukraine to a “secondary issue in the larger picture of how to improve relations between Russia and the United States,” which could supposedly be achieved through cooperation in “space and the Arctic.” Aleksey Fadeev of the St. Petersburg Polytechnic University told the same outlet that the U.S. could consider co-financing the Northern Sea Route (NSR). And Alexander Vorotnikov, an associate professor at the Russian Presidential Academy of National Economy and Public Administration, even proposed “[the joint] creation and development of data management centres for the development of artificial intelligence, including in the Arctic.”

The Russian rumour mill quietly shut down in late October, as commentators came to realise that their country would perhaps not, in fact, be able to have its cake and eat it. Russia craves an end to the Western efforts to isolate it internationally, a lifting of sanctions, as well as its recognition as a “great power” and equal partner by the U.S., especially in Europe and the Arctic. But the country’s elites will need to live with the fact that they likely cannot achieve these goals without also making painful concessions on Ukraine, in spite of Trump’s sympathies for Russia’s official worldview. But beyond all the talk, in what ways might the new U.S. measures, as well as the EU’s 19th sanctions package, actually impact Russia’s development plans for the Arctic?

Image: Russia’s planned and current Arctic hydrocarbon projects (Source: Russian Arctic Commission via The Barents Observer)

For one thing, the American oil sanctions are not entirely unprecedented. Trump has not, so far, been willing to rescind a last-minute sanctions package levelled against Russia’s Arctic oil operations by the Biden administration in mid-January, which targeted Gazpromneft’s “Prirazlomnoye” field near the Yamal peninsula, as well as Rosneft subsidiaries involved in the development of the Vankor cluster in Krasnoyarsk Krai. As summarised by Atle Staalesen in the Barents Observer, the new sanctions package in addition now means that all planned Russian hydrocarbon projects along the country’s Arctic coastline are under some form of international sanctions.

Lukoil, for example, will see increased scrutiny by international clients on its oil products from the Timan-Pechora area of the Yamalo-Nenets Autonomous Okrug, where local production is handled for shipping at the large Varandey terminal on the coast of the Pechora Sea. U.S. measures will also throw doubt on Rosneft’s ability to complete works on the Vostok-Oil project, and connect several new oil fields on the Taymyr peninsula to a planned new oil terminal on the coast of the Yenisey bay by pipeline. The crisis surrounding Gazpromneft’s plans for further Arctic offshore fields, including in the Gulf of Ob, is likely to deepen. Key Russian upstream projects will likely not receive high levels of international investment. And Novatek will have to rely even further on Chinese goodwill for the continued operation of Arctic LNG 2 on the Gydan peninsula, as the EU now officially aims for a complete cessation of Russian LNG purchases by 2027.

Various loopholes do, however, remain. Their persistence highlights just how difficult it has been for Western states to deny Russia the revenue streams it needs for its war, while also following their own energy security imperatives. Novatek, for instance, has continuously been able to escape broad sanctions from the EU and U.S., thanks in part to the involvement of French energy company Total Energies in the Arctic LNG 2 project. But the paradoxical usefulness of Russian LNG in cushioning the economic blow of Europe’s post-2022 turn away from Russian pipeline gas clearly also played a role. In 2025, the EU once again imported record-breaking amounts of Russian LNG, due mostly to purchases by France, Belgium and Spain. And Rosneft, which retains links to some of its former subsidiaries in Germany, as well as Lukoil, a major supplier of oil to Hungary and Slovakia, have so far escaped blanket sanctions from the EU.

2. Russia to overhaul Arctic strategy documents

Beyond the oil sanctions, the Russian media also debated a wide range of other Arctic problems. Most notably, Alexey Chekunkov, the head of the Ministry for the Development of the Russian Far East, announced in September that president Putin would soon sign off on a major overhaul of Russia’s economic development strategy for its Arctic regions. In early October, Nikolay Patrushev, presidential aide and head of Russia’s Maritime Collegium, confirmed Chekunkov’s statement, and also announced that a new version of the more security-oriented “Fundamentals of Russian State Policy in the Arctic up to 2035” would be prepared by the government. The last iteration of the “Fundamentals” was put together in 2020, and substantially revised in 2023. The new version will likely cover the period up to 2050.

Both of the new Russian strategy documents can be expected to reflect the country’s increasingly hawkish reading of the geopolitical environment of the Arctic, as well as its rapidly evolving domestic priorities. Recent soundbites by Russian authorities foreshadow the probable tone of the updates: In September, Vladislav Maslennikov, director of the Russian Foreign Ministry’s Department of European Affairs, complained to RIA Novosti that the other Arctic Council members were “sitting around, waiting for the weather to change”, adding that Russia was growing impatient to advance “Arctic cooperation with interested non-regional states.” In October, Maslennikov doubled down, telling a conference audience that “the political climate in the Arctic [was] changing for the worse.” In July, Deputy Prime Minister Yuri Trutnev had already proclaimed that Russia was headed for a “serious struggle between countries for Arctic territories.” And at a meeting of Russia’s Council for Strategic Development of the Navy in August, Nikolay Patrushev declared that the “West has long been implementing political, legal, military, and economic measures aimed at thwarting Russia’s plans in the Arctic, including challenging Russian sovereignty over the NSR.”

In late October, Murmansk governor Andrey Chibis posted on Telegram to share “Arctic in Numbers 2025”, a research report by the State Council of the Russian Federation Commission on the NSR and the Arctic, the body tasked with drafting Russia’s Arctic development strategy. The report contains details on Russia’s planned investments into sixteen “node settlements” across its Arctic regions, which the government plans to link up with NSR infrastructure and new resource production sites. The report also features an interview with Vladimir Panov, Rosatom’s special representative on questions of Arctic development, which highlights plans to develop “independent national” solutions for the satellite monitoring of Arctic waters, where the country currently depends “too heavily” on “foreign partners” (read: China).

Image: The sixteen “node settlements” earmarked for increased state investments (Source: State Council of the Russian Federation Commission on the NSR and the Arctic)

In summary, the upcoming revamp of Russia’s Arctic strategy documents can be expected to follow several guiding themes. Politically, the documents will articulate an explicitly antagonistic stance toward the West and place an even greater emphasis on military metrics. They can also be expected to signal either the abandonment — or further downgrading — of Russia’s engagement with the Arctic Council, while formalising intentions to develop alternative cooperation mechanisms with BRICS+ partners. At the same time, the strategies will probably also highlight Russia’s goal of achieving “technological sovereignty”, that is, replacing critical foreign technologies, such as weather satellites and offshore extraction systems with domestically produced alternatives. In developmental terms, the new documents will likely seek to better integrate demographic and investment policies with infrastructure projects along the NSR.

But as is usually the case with Russian policy documents, a reminder is due of how they have consistently overstated the country’s capacity to meet self-imposed targets. While Russia’s aspiration to achieve “technological sovereignty” is well-known, its scientific and industrial base continues to lag far behind those of China and the West, hampering the development of state-of-the-art technologies (for instance, in the offshore energy sector). Similarly, although Moscow would indeed prefer to move beyond the paralysis of the Arctic Council, the BRICS+ states — and China in particular — have shown little enthusiasm for supporting Russian initiatives that could undermine the circumpolar governance framework and jeopardise their observer status within the organisation.

3. China makes Arctic shipping history, India fears being frozen out

On October 15, the Chinese-owned container ship Istanbul Bridge made Arctic shipping history by completing the first commercial container journey by a regular vessel from China (Ningbo-Zhoushan) to Europe (Felixtowe) via the Russian-controlled NSR. The journey took twenty days, around half of the transit time commonly accumulated on more southerly routes, and thus fulfilled long-standing predictions of commercial shipping becoming possible as a result of retreating Arctic sea ice.

Video: CCTV clip on the arrival of the Istanbul Bridge at Felixtowe port (Source: YouTube)

While container voyages between Russian and Chinese ports along parts of the NSR have become more common in recent years, with twenty planned for the 2025 summer season alone, the first complete Arctic journey from China to a major European port marks a milestone in Sino-Russian efforts to turn the NSR into a commercial shipping artery of global standing. The journey also served as a pilot for plans by the ship’s Hong Kong-based operator to establish a regular “China-Europe Arctic Express Service” of container ships during the Arctic summer season.

The trip to the U.K. of the Istanbul Bridge sparked a buzz of global media attention, which was not always able to accurately capture the longue durée of Sino-Russian cooperation on Arctic logistics. More critical voices pointed to the ship’s lack of ice navigation reinforcements, and the likely violations of the legally binding Polar Code it occurred on the NSR.

Both Russian and Chinese state media tried to downplay the importance of the event, attempting to reassure international audiences that China would “not seek to dominate international shipping routes.” But the underlying tone of triumphalism was hard to conceal: In late October, China and Russia convened their annual joint committee on cooperation on the Northern Sea Route to announce the signing of a new deal to “jointly develop and commercialise shipping along the Northern Sea Route in the Russian Arctic.”

Meanwhile, India, which has itself jockeyed to become Russia’s partner of preference in NSR shipping, accelerated its efforts to buy in on the development of the route. In September, Rosatom’s Vladimir Panov gave an interview to India’s NDTV channel, in which he underlined that New Delhi could “become an important factor in the NSR’s future development.” In late August, India and Russia had convened the India-Russia Intergovernmental Commission on Trade, Economic, Scientific, Technical and Cultural Cooperation, an annual forum which in recent years has turned increasingly towards maritime cooperation along the NSR and the Chennai-Vladivostok Maritime Corridor, and which concluded with a joint pledge to cooperate on the NSR despite sanctions, and for India to construct more ice-going vessels for Russia.

The Economic Times, one of India’s biggest newspapers, reported that Vladimir Putin’s planned state visit to India in December will focus on Arctic cooperation, hinting at some form of Indo-Russian Arctic pact and quoting unnamed government sources that Russia would want for India to “play a more significant role at the Arctic Council”.

4. Will the EU come up with a new Arctic policy?

On 28 October, EU Commission President Ursula von der Leyen held an Arctic-themed speech at the 77th session of the Nordic Council in Stockholm. According to a review by Malte Humpert, the speech drew “connections between the impact of climate change in the Arctic and the changing geopolitics in the region”, mentioned the Arctic twelve times and announced that the EU “was in the process of reviewing its Arctic policy to make it fit for our time.”

The European Union last released an official Arctic policy document in 2021, but that document predates Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine and has been criticised for being out of step with the denigrating geopolitical environment of the region. The EU has traditionally been hesitant to involve itself in Arctic security discussions, partly due to opposition by non-member Norway. But the EU has also increasingly found itself obliged to formulate shared opinions on issues including Russia’s Arctic military modernisation, China’s regional assertiveness, or the U.S.’ threats to Greenland.

Experts consulted by 66° North were unsure what, exactly, would become of von der Leyen’s initiative once it made its way through the EU’s Babylonian bureaucracy. As was pointed out by Arthur Amelot, a former External Expert at the EU Commission, conflicts of interest between EU agencies over priorities to be set a new Arctic policy are likely to persist. Andreas Raspotnik, director of the High North Center for Business and Governance at Nord University, similarly had more questions than answers about the matter. Raspotnik pointed to the EU Commission’s 2026 Working Plan, a bureaucratic master key of sorts for the upcoming year, in which no review, update or consultations on Arctic policy are currently foreseen. He also wondered why no official conclusion on Arctic issues had yet been taken on the all-important level of the Council of the European Union, and whether intra-bureaucratic coordination would currently even be possible given under-staffing in the relevant EU agencies.

Whether von der Leyen’s address will be followed up by concrete action will thus remain to be seen, but the Stockholm speech clearly signals a growing awareness on the EU’s leadership level of the importance of the Arctic for the continent’s wider security.

5. Arctic islands back in the focus of Russia and the U.S.

The international status of various Arctic and sub-Arctic islands continued to fuel the geopolitical imagination of pundits and politicians in the United States and Russia alike. In the late summer, the Russian newspaper Kommersant’ picked up on an article by active-duty US Army Lieutenant Colonel Jeffrey Fritz in Breaking Defence. In his essay, Fritz proposed for Washington to “purchase” the Komandorski Islands from Russia for “$15 billion”. The Komandorski Islands, or Commander Islands in U.S. diction, is a series of islands off Russia’s Kamchatka peninsula that forms the westernmost end of the Aleutian Island chain in the northern Pacific. Such an offer could be justified, according to Fritz, by the strategic advantage the Aleutians would afford in monitoring Chinese nuclear attack submarine traffic through the Bering strait and into the Arctic Ocean. During a press conference, RIA Novosti confronted Russia’s MFA spokeswoman Maria Zakharova with the article. Zakharova denied the possibility of such a purchase, and suggested that “instead of purchasing Arctic islands, the American lieutenant colonel use the money to pay off the U.S. national debt.”

Image: The position of the Komandorski Islands and approximate location of the U.S.-Russia maritime boundary across the Aleutians (Source: Google Maps)

The Russian media also discussed a recent National Interest article, in which Brandon Weichert had suggested that the U.S. government should “reassert” a historical claim to Wrangel Island off Russia’s Chukotka region. 66° North published a detailed critique of the piece in September, warning that such claims could undermine the fragile sovereignty consensus of the Arctic.

Throughout the late summer, Russia also gradually abandoned its stance of neutral disinterest on U.S.-Denmark squabbles over the future of Greenland. In a series of Russian-language interviews, Russia’s ambassador to Copenhagen, Vladimir Barbin, complained about Denmark’s alleged “militarisation of the island of Bornholm [in the Baltic]”, but also weighed in on debates over Greenland. In September, Barbin criticised the Arctic Light 2025 exercise on the island, which had assembled forces from France, Sweden, Germany, Norway and Denmark in an attempted show of European support for Nuuk against threats from Washington. Barbin stated that the exercises may have been addressed at the U.S., but that Denmark was unable to make this fact explicit, instead “preferring to discuss the need to contain Russia in the Arctic”, a decision which would require “appropriate military-technical responses” from Moscow. Danish officials, perhaps rather wisely, abstained from responding.

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Image: Vladimir Putin and Xi Jinping toasting in front of an Arctic landscape (Source: OpenAI)

It has become common for analysts in the West to refer to relations between Russia and China in the Arctic as a ‘partnership’, and with good reason: for one thing, the Russian and Chinese governments themselves use this term. Ever since Russia’s last-minute acceptance of China’s application to become an observer state at the Arctic Council in 2013, Moscow and Beijing have pledged to expand their cooperation on Arctic affairs. Starting in 2018, Russia and China institutionalised their Arctic cooperation dialogues in the form of a regular bilateral consultations mechanism. In September 2021, the Ministries of Foreign Affairs of Russia and China announced that they would pursue Arctic cooperation in the ‘spirit of a comprehensive strategic partnership’. In February 2022, Beijing and Moscow labelled their overall relationship a ‘comprehensive strategic partnership without limits’ - and promised to further improve their cooperation in the Arctic. Many similar declarations followed.

At first glance, China’s and Russia’s interests in the region do indeed appear to be complementary. Most importantly, Moscow plans to expand the extraction of oil and gas in the Russian Arctic. China, in turn, sees Russia as a reliable supplier of hydrocarbons, and has consistently expanded its imports of these products from Russia. China aims to meet its decarbonisation targets by replacing much of the coal it consumes with Liquefied Natural Gas (LNG), which it deems a ‘bridge’ to cleaner renewable energies. A majority of Russia’s current and planned Arctic extraction projects produce LNG. All of these projects target the Chinese market, and they have long offered attractive investment deals to Chinese banks and partner companies.

Russia also wants to turn the Northern Sea Route (NSR) into a year-round shipping corridor. It hopes to benefit from passage fees and to position itself as a key node in global maritime logistics. China supports this ambition. A successful year-round operationalisation of container shipping along the NSR would allow Chinese shipping firms to cut delivery times on the benchmark Shanghai-Rotterdam route by more than a quarter. The route could also enable the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) Navy to circumvene U.S.-controlled maritime chokepoints, such as the Malacca strait and Suez canal, in case of an armed conflict. In a series of official documents including the 14th Five-Year Plan, the Chinese government even floated the idea of financing a ‘Polar Silk Road’ - an offshoot of the Belt and Road Initiative along Russia’s northern coastlines. Sino-Russian maritime cooperation also has a military component: The navies of China and Russia have recently held joint exercises in Arctic and adjacent waters - including in the Bering strait and close to U.S. territorial seas.

Lastly, China has also backed Russia in some disputes over the future of the Arctic governance system. Russia maintains that the suspension of regional cooperation by the ‘Arctic Seven’ in the wake of its assault on Ukraine was unjustified. China has publicly declared that it would not recognise the Arctic Council without Russia. In official statements, Beijing and Moscow have both called for ‘disagreements’ over the war in Ukraine to be bracketed out of cooperation dialogues in the Arctic.

Taken in sum, this overlap of interests should indeed have laid a solid groundwork for a Sino-Russian Arctic ‘partnership’. In practice, however, China and Russia have often struggled to convert their Arctic announcements into action, with many attempts altogether stalled. A discrepancy has thus emerged between the promises of Arctic coordination contained in both countries’ public statements, and the reality of Sino-Russian Arctic cooperation on the ground. All debates on whether to classify Sino-Russian Arctic cooperation as a ‘partnership’, as well as how to respond to it, must take this discrepancy into account. While Russia and China proclaim to have established a ‘partnership’ in the Arctic, a more detailed examination makes it clear that their cooperation in the region is bounded.

Image: Yamal LNG (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

For one thing, China’s appetite for Russia’s Arctic hydrocarbons is large, but not unlimited. After Russia’s 2014 annexation of Crimea, Sino-Russian energy cooperation in the Arctic initially expanded fast. In January 2014, the China National Petroleum Corporation (CNPC) acquired a 20% stake in Novatek’s Yamal LNG project, which matched a share held by France’s TotalEnergies since 2011. The Silk Road Fund became the consortium’s fourth-largest partner in 2015, securing a 9.9% stake. The Yamal LNG project developed the Yuzhno-Tambeyskoye natural gas field on the Yamal Peninsula, with production of natural gas and gas condensate commencing in 2017. In May 2014, Gazprom and CNPC concluded a US$400 billion contract for gas supplies via the Power of Siberia 1 pipeline. The rapid conclusion of this agreement following protracted negotiations was widely interpreted as a reflection of China’s implicit support for Russia in the wake of the 2014 war in Ukraine. Shortly thereafter, the China Import-Export Bank and China Development Bank extended an emergency loan to Novatek to alleviate the effects of Western financial sanctions on the Yamal LNG project. This turned China into the largest foreign stakeholder in Russian Arctic energy projects.

After Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022 and the exit of Western companies from the region, however, no similar buy-up of abandoned Russian Arctic energy assets by Chinese companies occurred. Chinese funding did enable Novatek to continue operations at Yamal LNG, while also keeping the financing of its Arctic LNG 2 site on track. But plans for future LNG sites in the Russian Arctic, such as Obskiy LNG and Murmansk LNG, failed to attract new Chinese investment, and had to be postponed indefinitely.

The Chinese government has also been dragging its feet over negotiations regarding the Power of Siberia 2 pipeline, which Russia hopes might soon link its Yamal peninsula to China via Siberia and Mongolia. Given several significant delays, it is currently unclear whether the pipeline will ever be built. In August 2024, Mongolia decided to omit any mentions of the pipeline from a new national energy action plan. In April 2025, China then publicly considered whether to support a more recently proposed alternative pipeline through Kazakhstan. The reasons for the delay of Power of Siberia 2 are partly commercial: China already buys much natural gas from Russia, and considers itself to be in a position to demand domestic gas pricing from Moscow. This would, however, render the pipeline financially unsustainable from the Russian point of view. But Beijing also pursues an energy security strategy that heavily prioritises diversifying the range of its oil and gas suppliers. China wants to avoid entering into any over-reliance, including on Russia, on national security grounds.

China has also shown much sensitivity to Western-imposed sanctions on Russian technology purchases. In 2023 and 2024, Chinese suppliers were approached to substitute critical technologies required by Russia’s Arctic LNG sites. Western sanctions curtail the export of deep water and Arctic offshore oil extraction technologies, LNG liquefaction technologies and modules, and ice-class shipping and infrastructure components. The highest-quality versions of those technologies are still produced by European and U.S. companies, as well as firms in South Korea and Japan - all countries that have placed sanctions on Russia. The exit of these companies from the country following the imposition of the sanctions created supply bottlenecks for Moscow, especially at the Arctic LNG 2 construction site. And while Chinese companies were asked by Russian partners to fill the resulting technology gaps, these overtures were not always successful.

As an illustrative example, Novatek's Arctic LNG 2 site relies on the assembly of large, prefabricated gravity-based LNG modules abroad, and their subsequent shipment to Russia. The state-owned China National Offshore Oil Corporation (CNOOC) and China’s Wison New Energies took over the fabrication of these modular structures and processing technologies after European contractors left Russia. But U.S. sanctions increasingly deterred Wison from fulfilling its contractual obligations to Novatek, and in February 2025 the company quit the Russian market. And while CNOOC did not fully withdraw from Russia, reports in 2023 indicated the company’s hesitancy to deepen its engagement, for example, by slowing down the dispatch of executives to Russian sites and delaying certain joint technology ventures. The company appeared to focus on fulfilling existing commitments without new expansion. The launch of Arctic LNG 2 at full production capacity was delayed on multiple occasions.

Generally, large and state-owned Chinese companies with significant exposure to global financial markets have tended to retain their operations in Russia. But they have also become reluctant to further deepen cooperation with Russian partners after the launch of its full-scale invasion of Ukraine, and instead have focused on sanctions-proofing existing agreements. Reportedly, the Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs in 2022 issued guidelines for energy conglomerates to reevaluate their activities in Russia. Smaller Chinese companies have often fully abstained from cooperating with Russian partners, due to payment processing difficulties or fear of secondary sanctions. And although Russia and China in 2024 launched a regular container shipping service along the NSR, many of the joint infrastructure projects in the Russian Arctic that were planned by the two countries have stalled in recent years: In 2016, for example, the state-owned China Poly Group and the regional government of Arkhangelsk signed a Memorandum of Understanding to develop a deep-sea port in Arkhangelsk. The plan envisioned a US$78 million Chinese investment and a link between the new port and the proposed Belkomur railway. However, both the port and the railway project failed to materialise under unspecified circumstances. A notable exception to this trend, however, is the shipbuilding industry, where Chinese yards have expanded their expertise in constructing Polar Code-compliant ice-going vessels, and fulfilled many Russian orders for LNG tankers and other vessels used to service Arctic energy sites.

Image: Sino-Russian joint manoeuvres during the Vostok 2018 exercise (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

Secondly, while military cooperation between Russia and China in the Arctic has expanded over the past decade, it remains limited in overall scope and beset by mutual distrust. The PLA has participated in, among others, Russia’s 2018 and 2022 Vostok exercises, with the aim to increase the general interoperability between the two forces. While exercises were only staged in Arctic-adjacent regions of eastern Russia, it can nevertheless be assumed that Sino-Russian joint operations in the region would today be easier to conduct in principle.

In the naval realm, China and Russia have conducted annual joint maritime patrols in the Pacific Ocean since 2021, with increasing proximity to the Arctic Ocean. Notably, in 2023, both countries’ naval forces conducted a patrol near Alaska, marking a significant demonstration of their growing ability to jointly operate in Arctic-adjacent waters. ​In October 2024, Chinese and Russian coast guard vessels carried out their first-ever joint patrol in the northern Pacific Ocean, traversing the Bering Sea and entering the Chukchi Sea, which is a marginal sea of the Arctic Ocean. This operation arguably showcased readiness for cooperative maritime operations in high-latitude environments. However, these exercises have remained irregular, and their relevance is largely symbolic, with manoeuvres often conducted by coast guard vessels involved in fishing patrols or rescue missions. Exercises like Vostok or joint Sino-Russian bomber patrols have further been conducted close to Arctic lands, rather than in the Arctic Ocean or the Russian Arctic territories. They should best be seen as demonstrations of political solidarity, and not necessarily as evidence of a sustained joint military posture within the Arctic region.

The likely reason for this limitation is enduring mistrust: Russia considers the Arctic to be a vital national security frontier. In its Arctic policy and military doctrines, it presents the region as being critical to its national security interest. In comparison to China, Moscow holds vastly superior Arctic capabilities. It operates nuclear-powered icebreakers, Arctic-adapted brigades, advanced radar networks, and the various assets of the Northern Fleet. Moscow has also historically opposed any dilution of its military primacy in the Arctic by external actors, including friendly ones. By comparison, China has a minuscule military footprint in the Arctic. The PLA-Navy has little sway over supporting infrastructure in the region. China's five research icebreakers are, by definition, dual-use in nature, and offer limited operational relevance for hard-power projection. China's strategic outlook on the Arctic is also heavily influenced by economic considerations, and its strategic involvement in the NSR remains a function of its historically fickle political relations with Russia as opposed to a strategic asset that could be taken for granted.

While Arctic security cooperation between Russia and China might still accelerate, especially in the space domain, coast guard and coastal security operations - the persistent lack of deep strategic trust between Moscow and Beijing is likely to continue hampering such projects. Russian strategic thinkers have expressed significant scepticism in regards to China’s assertive 2018 ‘Arctic White Paper’. They have generally welcomed rumours that Beijing might ameliorate the document’s assertive tone. In 2020, Russia arrested a leading Arctic researcher on charges of spying for China. Pavel Ivankin, the President of Russia’s National Research Center for Transportation and Infrastructure, in March 2025 cautioned against China’s icebreaker construction, flagging the country as a potential future rival. And concerns about the security implications of the heavy demographic imbalance between Russia’s east and far north and China continue to attract the attention of Russian policy-makers.

Image: Vladimir Putin and Xi Jinping on February 4, 2022, ahead of releasing a ‘Strategic Partnership Without Limits’ agreement that promised enhanced cooperation in the Arctic (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

Finally, Russia and China have also come to diverge on one of the most important aspects of Arctic international relations, the region’s multi-layered governance system. While superficially, the Russian and Chinese governments have supported each other in disputes with Western states over the future of the Arctic Council, their strategic visions for the future direction of the Arctic governance system do not fully converge.

China’s involvement in the Arctic is curtailed by the fact that it is not an Arctic state. Beijing’s official strategy for the region has therefore prioritised the diplomatic and economic engagement of Arctic states. This general direction has not changed much since 2018. In order to ‘earn a place at the Arctic table’, Beijing wants to continue conducting scientific research, especially on climate change and rising sea levels, which it perceives to be a threat to its coastal regions. China also hopes to carry out maritime and commercial activities wherever possible, participate in conserving the region’s ecosystems, and to claim a greater stake in multilateral Arctic governance formats. China has consistently expressed a desire to continue cooperating with all Arctic countries, and likely perceives growing reliance on Russia as a strategic disadvantage hampering that pursuit.

Ideally, China would want to mend regional ties with the European Arctic states, as well as Greenland. In the 2010s, the country pursued cooperation projects with Finland, Sweden, Norway, Greenland and Canada, including in sensitive areas such as satellite operations and space research, rare earth mining projects, and infrastructure development. The loss of these links, as well as the perception among NATO states that China increasingly acts as a supporting force for Russia’s aggressive Arctic policy, is often complained about by Chinese observers. In a militarised Arctic, the interests of China and other outsider states would be sidelined - an insight which has spurred China to advocate for a return to ‘peaceful conditions’ and ‘cooperation’ in the region.

Russia, on the other hand, sees itself as an Arctic primus inter pares. Since 2023 at the latest, Moscow has claimed for itself a right to act unilaterally in the region. Dismayed by the Western Arctic states’ suspension of Arctic Council cooperation in March 2022, Russia suspended its payments to the Council, threatened to leave the organisation, and in 2023 deleted all mentions of multilateral cooperation from its most important Arctic strategy document. Russia has also invested significant diplomatic capital into the exploration of alternative Arctic governance formats. In 2023, Russia announced its intention to found a joint BRICS+ research station on Svalbard. Throughout 2022 and 2023, Moscow attempted to gradually introduce an Arctic governance element to cooperation among the BRICS+, and especially the organisation’s Ocean and Polar Science and Technology Working Group. These attempts failed to bear fruit, however, in part because Norway worked hard to preserve the Arctic Council during its 2023-2025 presidency - but also because China likely obstructed Russia’s attempts to politicise the Arctic activities of BRICS+.

Today, Russia and China both want to engage in multilateral cooperation in the Arctic, but the two sides disagree on who to cooperate with, and how. China would like to see the Arctic Council - and with it its observer state prerogatives - restored, and for taboos over its economic and scientific involvement in the western half of the region to fall. Russia, on the other hand, has entertained the idea to ‘globalise’ the Arctic on its own terms. Recently, Moscow has tried to involve a growing range of external countries from the Global South - including India, Vietnam, the United Arab Emirates, Türkiye, and even Indonesia - in its Arctic territories, as well as Arctic governance issues. Russia’s proposals for alternative Arctic governance structures involving these countries would bifurcate the Arctic into two blocs: one composed of NATO states, and one led by Russia and centred on the BRICS+. For China, this scenario would be unattractive. Beijing would be relegated to the role of an Arctic helper to Russia, in a much-diminished regional setting characterised by military confrontation. China's main Arctic interests - to conduct research, extract economic value, make Arctic shipping viable for commercial operators, and gain a seat at intra-regional governance tables - would all fall flat under these circumstances..

As in other aspects of its relations with Russia and the West, China often attempts to ‘sit on the fence’ over Arctic disputes. While it supports Russia economically and publicly proclaims solidarity with its viewpoints, in practice China often refrains from supporting Russia’s more assertive initiatives. From Moscow’s perspective, this creates a policy dilemma: ideally, Russia would want to replace lost access to Western governance forums, technologies, and markets by expanding Arctic cooperation with China, but also with India, the United Arab Emirates, and other non-Western states. Russia envisions this new grouping of Arctic partners as being centred entirely on itself. However, China is the only member of Russia’s ‘new’ Arctic partners with the capacity to provide the investments, technologies, and diplomatic clout needed to offset, at least partially, the loss of Russia’s former collaborators in the West. This gives Beijing leverage to influence the trajectory of Russia’s Arctic policy. Meanwhile, the respective strategic outlooks of Russia and China on the Arctic’s future remain contradictory. But under any circumstances, China will remain a key source of revenue, technologies, and resources for Russia, with little to no strings attached. Thus, while Russia cannot currently advance its Arctic ambitions with full backing from China, it is equally unable to do so without.

For Western decision-makers, this setup presents several opportunities. First, it would be fair to conclude that the ‘stick’ of economic sanctions has demonstrated effectiveness in slowing, or even derailing, Sino-Russian Arctic cooperation projects. A complementary ‘carrots’ approach - allowing Beijing to resume certain forms of scientific or economic cooperation with Western Arctic states while continuing to exclude strategically critical sectors - could entice China to distance itself even further from Russia’s diplomatic positions. It is therefore worth considering how China might be selectively reintegrated into certain aspects of Arctic cooperation with the West.

Second, if Russia succeeds in establishing alternative Arctic cooperation platforms with states from the ‘Global South,’ this could bolster its leverage vis-à-vis both China and the Western Arctic states. However, Western governments cannot simply block the participation of external actors in the region in response. Whether Arctic states like it or not, the region will continue to open up, especially in the maritime domain. Instead, Western Arctic states should reclaim the initiative in shaping and guiding that process. They must avoid ceding the discursive high ground on ‘globalising’ the Arctic to Russia and should continue to incorporate outsider states, such as India, into their own Arctic cooperation frameworks wherever feasible. The decision to hold a first Arctic Circle Forum in India in May 2025 is a promising step in this direction. The Greenlandic-Danish chairmanship of the Arctic Council should continue engaging India, as well as other third countries, wherever possible.

Third, the United States should urgently reconsider its plan to unilaterally re-engage Russia in the Arctic, particularly regarding its apparent aim of pulling Moscow away from China’s influence. While Russia and China may never form a true Arctic ‘alliance,’ this does not mean that their relationship in the region will stop being cooperative. In all foreseeable scenarios, China will likely remain a key Arctic partner for Russia, particularly in LNG trade, infrastructure development, and shipbuilding. Moreover, the single most effective factor that is currently preventing Sino-Russian Arctic relations from deepening further are Western sanctions against Russia, and specifically the threat of secondary sanctions emanating from the U.S. Any unilateral lifting of these sanctions would not pull Russia away from China, but rather lift most of the barriers that currently stand in the way of China assuming an even greater role in Russia’s Arctic economy.

Russia’s preference, on the other hand, would be an expansion of its Arctic cooperation with both the United States and China. Moscow would then hope to play both actors out against one another, and thereby to position itself as the key arbiter of the Arctic regional order. Meanwhile, any remaining coherence in Arctic policy between the United States, Canada, and the European states would crumble. Canada, Greenland and the European Arctic countries would continue to view Russia’s regional ambitions with scepticism. The resulting fragmentation - where Russia wold face a divided ‘Arctic Seven’ while maintaining strong ties with China, India and other interested outsiders - would ultimately benefit Moscow, without delivering Washington’s hoped-for outcome of weakening Russia’s ties with China.

Should the U.S. seek to reintegrate Russia into cooperation while also wanting to curb China’s influence in the region, a more promising strategy would be to build on the approach initiated by Norway’s Arctic Council presidency. This would involve maintaining a unified Western stance on Arctic affairs while investing significant diplomatic capital in keeping Russia engaged - even within a partially paralysed Arctic Council. Such a strategy would discourage Russia from attempting to establish a bifurcated Arctic governance structure, thereby helping to ensure that stewardship of the region remains the exclusive domain of the Arctic states themselves, and all without relinquishing sanctions as the West’s most important instruments of leverage over Russia.

Note: The final draft of this chapter was submitted in July 2025. It does not take into account more recent developments, including the latest SCO summit, the Putin–Xi meeting in Tianjin, China’s resumption of LNG imports from Russia, or its more recent dispatch of icebreakers into the Chukchi Sea. I nevertheless stand by the overall thrust of my analysis as well as the policy recommendations.

Image: The shores of Wrangel Island (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

On September 3, Brandon J. Weichert published the article “Russia Is Quietly Building a New Arctic Military Base—on American Land” in the National Interest. The piece quickly proliferated across national security platforms, and was republished in a modified version by Arctic Today.

Mr Weichert’s essay recycles decade-old reports about Russian military facilities on Wrangel Island and inflates them into a supposedly new threat. By presenting these facilities as something novel, Mr Weichert manufactures a sense of urgency to justify reviving an alleged U.S. claim to the island. In doing so, he distorts both the history and the legal realities of that claim, echoing a long-running conspiracy theory promoted by fringe groups - one that successive American administrations of both parties have consistently dismissed.

Several of the claims made by Mr Weichert in his article are inaccurate. His essay misquotes source materials, contains demonstrable falsehoods and violates basic standards of journalistic and academic integrity.

If implemented, Mr Weichert’s recommendation for the U.S. to assert a territorial claim on Wrangel Island would further undermine the complex, yet robust territorial and maritime sovereignty regimes of the Arctic. Instead of challenging Russia’s imperialist pretensions and militarisation of the Arctic, a U.S. territorial claim on Wrangel Island would essentially replicate the Russian behaviours decried in Mr Weichert’s article.

A ‘new’ Russian base?

The headline to Mr Weichert’s article states that Russia is "quietly" building a "new" base on Wrangel. Both of these claims are misleading. The Russian military base in question, Ushakovskoye (Ушаковское), has been in place for more than a decade. It was established as an expansion to a border guard post in 2014, as is acknowledged in this High North News article referenced by Mr Weichert’s piece. The Sopka-2 radar system mentioned by Mr Weichert was set up in 2016, and has been an acknowledged and widely known feature of military installations on Wrangel Island for ten years. Russian media outlets have been reporting on the system since 2014. These reports were reviewed for an English-speaking audience by Sergey Sukhanin in a 2020 piece, which is also referenced in Mr Weichert’s article.

Arctic security experts have also extensively discussed the rule of Ushakovskoye for close to a decade, as part of Russia’s 2007-2015 remilitarisation of its Arctic territories, which included the establishment and modernisation of military bases. Nowhere in Mr Weichert’s text is his claim of a “new” base on Wrangel, or even any planned expansions or modifications of the existing base, substantiated by appropriate references or additional information.

UNCLOS, the Baker-Shevardnatse line, and the 1980s debate on Wrangel Island

But Mr Weichert’s article also understates, and at times misrepresents, the legal and historical complexities underlying historical disputes over Wrangel Island. Sovereignty rights over the island have been subject to a long and inconclusive scholarly debate. The only reference to this literature provided by Mr Weichert is an 1981 paper constructing a case for a U.S. claim, which presents a 1881 U.S. Coast Guard landing on Wrangel Island as grounds for an assertion of U.S. sovereignty.

Image: Wrangel Island highlighted on a map (Source: Google Maps)

But prior to the early 1980s, the time of publication of the paper in question, the American public was still largely indifferent to the fate of Wrangel Island. Debates around a potential claim only heated up when the U.S. State Department entered into the first round of preparatory negotiations over an official delineation agreement for the maritime boundary between Alaska and the USSR in 1981. Before then, the international legal basis for the boundary had been the 1867 “United States-Russia Convention providing for the U.S. purchase of Alaska”. The original maps of this 1867 agreement had by 1981 been lost by both sides, however. During most of the Cold War, the U.S. and USSR saw no need to negotiate precise delimitations between the sparsely populated and militarised islands around the Bering Strait.

The looming entry into force of the U.N. Convention on the Law of the Sea in 1982 - and its provisions for extraction rights awarded within 200-mile Exclusive Economic Zones - made it necessary for Washington and Moscow to hash out a modern, and more sophisticated, agreement on a shared maritime boundary. As a technical matter, these negotiations were entrusted to professionals in the U.S. State Department. Anticipating the likely Soviet position, the State Department decided to base its negotiating position on the rough demarcation lines inherited from the 1867 agreement, excluding Wrangel and four other historically disputed islands occupied by the USSR.

A conspiracy theory that won’t succumb

This decision by the U.S. government inspired the resistance of Carl Olson, a teacher from Los Angeles, and Mark Seidenberg, an employee of the U.S. Agriculture Department. Seidenberg had been friends with the Alaskan businessman Carl Lomen, who had attempted to purchase Wrangel Island in 1924, and sought reparations for the “loss” of the island to the USSR until his death in 1965.

Olson and Seidenberg were convinced that the U.S. held a valid legal claim to the island, and that Washington was about to surrender oil and gas deposits worth billions of dollars to the USSR, should a maritime boundary agreement be signed. The two men partnered to found the NGO “State Department Watch”, which organised its members to lobby high-ranking politicians to challenge the State Department’s executive authority on the issue. Olson also claimed that Wrangel Island harboured a gigantic, secret Soviet prison, in which he believed the Swedish wartime hero Raoul Wallenberg had been imprisoned, a claim that was never substantiated after the fall of the USSR.

Image: A letterhead of the NGO “State Department Watch” from 1988

The Reagan administration responded to requests and letters by Olson and Seidenberg, as well as “State Department Watch”, on multiple occasions. The Reagan Presidential Library holds a collection of the exchanges, as well as relevant articles published in the U.S. media at the time. In 1988, the National Security Council prepared a dedicated Fact Sheet for “State Department Watch”. In the Fact Sheet, U.S. diplomats described the American government position as follows:

“Allegations that the United States is engaged in a "give-away" of [Wrangel and other islands] are unfounded. Each of the islands was formally claimed by Russia in 1916 and by the U.S.S.R. in 1924 and 1926. Wrangel, the largest, has been occupied by the Soviets since 1924. Extensive research has produced no evidence of U.S. protests of the Russian or Soviet claims to the islands or of the Soviets' occupation of Wrangel since 1924. Although American citizens were involved in the discovery and exploration of several of the islands and attempted to claim them for the United States -- and despite the listing of several of the islands in some early publications such as the U.S. Geological Survey' s 1906 Dictionary of Alaska -- there is no evidence that the Government of the United States ever formally asserted a claim to any of these islands.”

The Fact Sheet also argued, correctly, that “under international law, mere discovery is not sufficient to establish a right to sovereignty”, and pointed out that “[...] to establish definitive territorial sovereignty, discovery must be combined with effective occupation by which the claimant nation exercises the actual, continuous, and peaceful display of the functions of a state over the territory.” The U.S. never exercised effective control over Wrangel Island, and therefore never established a legal basis for later sovereignty claims.

Image: A letter attached to the Fact Sheet sent to Carl Olson by the NSC in 1988 (Source: Reagan Presidential Library)

Undeterred, Olson and Seidenberg continued to contradict the official U.S. government position, at least until “State Department Watch” seized its operations around the time of Olson’s passing in 2015. The conspiracy theory of a “giveaway of Arctic islands” briefly resurfaced in 2012, when it was peddled by the Republican Texas House candidate Wes Riddle as potential grounds for an impeachment of Barack Obama. In the same year, a Republican U.S. Senate nominee, Joe Miller, also proliferated the theory in an article. Miller later acknowledged having written the piece with the assistance of “State Department Watch.”

But from the official American point of view, the U.S. has never staked a claim to Wrangel Island. Russian sovereign control over the island was, moreover, solidified de facto in the 1991 Baker-Shevardnatse line agreement, which established a maritime boundary between the U.S. and Russian Federation.

Legal arguments over Russia’s sovereignty over Wrangel Island may want to address not the fictional past U.S. claims, but the ongoing lack of approval of the agreement by the Russian Duma. While fringe voices in Russia have criticised the Baker-Shevardnatse agreement for “giving away Russian lands to the United States”, the Russian government provisionally applies the agreement and has defended it publicly, for the last time in 2024. Mr Weichert’s decision to root his argument for the “validity” of a U.S. claim on Wrangel Island not in these considerations - but in false assertions long disputed by the U.S. government - should be viewed as an effective restatement of Olson’s and Seidenberg’s conspiracy theory.

American land?

Mr Weichert’s arguments are not only flawed in a legal sense, however. His article also misrepresents the history of explorations, attempts at settlements, and political claims to the island. In particular, Mr Weichert distorts the chaotic history of attempts by the Canadian explorer Vihjalmur Stefansson to explore and claim Wrangel Island in the first two decades of the 20th century.

In 1914, Stefansson had organised a maverick expedition to Wrangel and other Siberian islands with the goal to claim them for Canada. The operation turned into an unabashed disaster. Stefansson’s flagship, the Karluk, was crushed by the treacherous waves of the East Siberian Sea. Survivors of the expedition made it to Wrangel Island, where they survived until being rescued by two American vessels. When Stefansson resolved to relaunch his mission to colonise Wrangel Island in 1921, Canada refused to fund it in light of Stefansson’s prior incompetence. Stefansson remained stubborn, and raised his own funds to dispatch four young men and a young Inuit woman to the island.

Image: An ice party in the Canadian Arctic led by Vilhjalmur Stefansson, “the greatest humbug alive” according to Roald Amundsen (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

Mr Weichert writes about this doomed adventure that “America’s claim on [Wrangel] island was bolstered by American expeditions to the island, including Vihjalmur Stefansson’s 1921 venture, which established a provisional government and raised the US flag.” This statement is demonstrably false. Firstly, the 1962 New York Times obituary referenced by Mr Weichert makes no mention of the planting of a U.S. flag by Stefansson’s 1921 expedition. That is because no such planting occurred at that time. The flag raised in 1921 by Stefansson was that of the British Empire, an instance in response to which the American State Department issued the following protest statement: “Wrangel Island, claimed by the explorer Stefansson for Canada, is in reality the property of Russia.” And even the British government, whose flag had been raised by Stefansson’s crew, protested the action, keen to avoid an international incident with Russia.

And secondly, nothing resembling a “provisional government” was established on Wrangel Island in 1921. Out of the five members of the second crew dispatched by Stefansson, only Ada Blackjack, the Inuit woman, survived. To rescue her, Stefansson again raised funds from private British donors to dispatch a mission to Wrangel Island in 1923. The ship collected the lone survivor, and in turn left twelve Alaskan Inuit and one white U.S. person behind on the island. Outraged by the settlement, Moscow dispatched a gunboat to Wrangel in 1924, arrested the settlers, and deported them to the USSR.

Mr Weichert decries this expulsion by the Soviets of “American and British settlers” on the island as an “illegal act of aggression”, but without mentioning the facts that the U.S. and British governments did not recognise the settlement as theirs at the time, and that the presence of the settlers had been sponsored by private individuals from Canada and Britain. The Americans in question, and in particular the Alaskan Inuit, were further also abandoned by the U.S. government after their abduction to prisons in the USSR. The U.S. didn’t deem it necessary to provide funds for the repatriation of imprisoned indigenous folks, none of which it recognised as U.S. citizens. It relied instead on the Red Cross to do so.

To recover the costs of his doomed missions, Stefansson eventually resolved to try and “sell” Wrangel Island. He offered it first to the Canadian government, which ignored the offer, and then to the United States government, which also did not respond. Stefansson was given the cold shoulder by both governments because he was in no position to sell Wrangel, as the island was not his personal property. Nonetheless, the Alaskan businessman and reindeer magnate Carl Lomen eventually agreed to “buy” the island off Stefansson. Unable to convince the U.S. government to assert his “property claim” against Russia, Lomen eventually tried to gift Wrangel Island to his friend, Mark Seidenberg, before his death. Seidenberg, in turn, went on to co-found “State Department Watch” following Lomen’s death, and constructed the conspiracy theory that is now being resuscitated by Mr Weichert.

Time to bury the Wrangel Island dispute

There are therefore no historical or legal grounds for Mr Weichert's argument, which instead represents the woeful continuation of a longstanding conspiracy theory rooted in a private U.S. citizen’s efforts to establish property rights over Wrangel Island.

As has been pointed out regularly by the State Department since 1988, neither Stefansson’s explorations, nor the U.S. geographical explorations that preceded it, ever sufficed as a legal basis for an American sovereignty claim. This is in spite of Mr Weichert’s assertion that such a claim exists and is “[...] valid, unextinguished by time or acquiescence.” Ironically, Mr Weichert backs up this statement with a reference to a 2003 State Department Fact Sheet, which states clearly that Wrangel Island has “never been claimed by the United States.”

It is difficult to determine the degree to which the conspiracy theory created by “State Department Watch” has shaped perceptions of Wrangel Island among the American public. But for context, here is an excerpt from a 1967 article by the U.S. Naval Institute, which illustrates how U.S. military analysts viewed the 1924 Soviet takeover of the island before the debates of the 1980s:

“In 1921, Canada had tried to colonize Wrangel Island in the East Siberian Sea, with Canadian Eskimos, but they had died of starvation on the 2,000-square-mile island. In 1923, new attempts to colonize were made by the Canadians. Canada claimed sovereignty over the island in 1924. The Soviet Union responded quickly by (1) informing Canada that the Czar’s 1916 decree remained very much in force, and (2) dispatching an icebreaker from Vladivostok to Wrangel to evacuate the Canadian Eskimos and hoist the Soviet flag on the island. So ended the Wrangel dispute.”

It is high time for public discourse to return to a clearer understanding of Wrangel Island’s history and legal status and to lay to rest the conspiracy theory promoted by “State Department Watch” and recently revived by The National Interest. Russia holds sovereignty over the island; and even if that control were somehow questioned, any hypothetical U.S. claim would be weaker than those that could conceivably be advanced by either the United Kingdom or Canada. American public figures should therefore cease urging the U.S. government to assert a claim to Wrangel Island.

Such a decision would, of course, not be about appeasing the Russian government or accepting the militarisation of the Pacific Arctic. Russia has repeatedly spread conspiracy theories about Arctic sovereignty arrangements and proclaimed supposed “historical rights” over places that belong to others, such as Norway’s Svalbard archipelago. While not “illegal” in the strict sense, the Ushakovskoye base sits inside a UNESCO-protected nature reserve and breaches the spirit and procedural requirements of the World Heritage Convention, as Russia has failed to provide assessments of its environmental impact. The base also contributes to the militarisation of the entry point to the Northern Sea Route, which several countries, including the United States, do not recognise as Russian internal waters. These developments warrant criticism and, where appropriate, opposition.

But rather than fighting fire with fire, the United States would do better to issue an explicit confirmation that it does not claim Wrangel Island. Such a statement would strengthen the Arctic governance system and help preserve regional peace and stability in the region. The Arctic’s sovereignty landscape is complex yet remarkably effective: there are no unresolved territorial disputes, and maritime boundaries are typically settled peacefully. This framework has underpinned decades of stability. Neither Russia nor the United States should jeopardise it by resurrecting nineteenth- or twentieth-century claims to territory. Arctic lands may be remote, but they are not up for grabs - whether on Greenland, a U.S. ally, or on Wrangel Island, the territory of a U.S. adversary.

1. The U.S. and China trade barbs over icebreakers

In a show of naval strength, China for the first time dispatched five ice-capable polar vessels to the Arctic, ostensibly for scientific purposes. This marks a major expansion of the country’s Arctic presence compared to last year, when three Chinese icebreakers made the voyage through the Bering strait. Again, China’s flotilla was spearheaded by the Xue Long 2 (雪龙 2), the country’s homegrown polar research vessel (and, with its Polar Class 2 classification, one of its two ‘real’ icebreakers). The Xue Long 2 had just returned from a trip to Antarctica, as the flagship vessel of China’s 41st Antarctic Expedition.

As reported by veteran reporter Malte Humpert, the Xue Long 2 was joined in late July by the Shen Hai Yi Hao (深海一号), an “[…] ice-class research vessel specialised on Remotely Operated Vehicles and Autonomous Underwater Vehicles owned by China Ocean Mineral Resources R&D Association.” The China State Oceanic Administration’s Ji Di (极地), floated in Guangzhou last year, and Sun Yat-Sen University’s Zhong Shan Da Xue Ji Di (中山大学极地), reached the region in August. And the Chinese Academy of Sciences Institute of Deep-Sea Science and Engineering’s Tan Suo San Hao (探索三号), which is the youngest among the five vessels and equipped with manned deep-sea submersibles, crossed the Bering strait in late July. China’s Ministry of Transport also began broadcasting daily Arctic ice charts and other sea ice monitoring products in mid-August, as was noted by Trym Eiterjord of the University of British Columbia.

Image: The Xue Long 2 as photographed in August by a USSCG long-range surveillance aircraft (Source: USCG Arctic District on Facebook)

China’s deployment of these vessels triggered long-standing anxieties in Canada and the United States. U.S. President Trump recently pledged around US$ 8 billion for expanding the American icebreaker fleet (for details, follow the excellent Peter Rybski on Sixty Degrees North). But China’s collection of icebreakers is already now larger than that fielded by the U.S. Coast Guard. It is also expanding at a much quicker pace. Combined with the more than forty icebreakers of its Russian partners, the Chinese navy may already be commanding greater strategic depth in some ice-covered waters than the U.S., even close to the latter’s northernmost shorelines.

Territorial defence is thus an immediate concern. But Washington would also want to cement its 2024 claim to the outlines of an Extended Continental Shelf in the Arctic through a more robust naval presence in waters above the claimed area. Besides, U.S. policymakers are also gradually waking up to the diverse strategic links between the Arctic and the Indo-Pacific theatres. Further reinforcing the sense of alarm in Washington D.C. are ever more regular Sino-Russian joint coast guard exercises in the North Pacific, including one in late August near the Aleutian islands. And the ability by Chinese submersibles, including those fielded by the Tan Suo San Hao, to operate at the bottom of the Arctic Ocean (where the U.S. keeps a watchful eye on its critical underwater cables, nuclear attack submarines, and seabed mining interests) is also seen as a strategic liability.

Unlike in 2024, when the U.S. Coast Guard’s Arctic presence was hampered by technical faults and engine fires, the 2025 summer season saw a more assertive U.S. approach to the shadowing of Chinese vessels in waters near Alaska. In early August, the USCG’s Arctic District announced on Facebook that it had dispatched a C-130J Hercules long-range surveillance aircraft to monitor the Chinese flotilla. The USCG Cutter Waesche followed the Zhong Shan Da Xue Ji Di as it transited north in the Chukchi Sea after passing through the Bering Strait. And the USCG’s newly-commissioned icebreaker Storis was expected to immediately head north to contribute to the monitoring operations. U.S. efforts were also supported by the Canadian military.

In China’s state media and blogosphere, these deployments sparked a somewhat predictable buzz. The South China Sea Strategic Situation Probing Initiative (南海战略态势感知计划), a Beijing-based (and government-aligned) think tank, published an analytical article complaining about U.S. “double standards” regarding the freedom of the seas. China is, of course, itself ironically no stranger to hypocrisy when it comes to maritime laws. Still, the think tank article makes a valid point. Under the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS), Articles 56 and 58, Chinese (and other) vessels are indeed entitled to operate in waters above other countries’ Exclusive Economic Zones, and even more so in waters above their Extended Continental Shelves (with a few exceptions). This point stands, even when legal uncertainties about the U.S.’ unilateral ECS claim are brushed aside (the U.S. Congress has never ratified UNCLOS, thus technically excluding the country from procedures for the delineation of ECS).

The USCG’s portrayal of Chinese research vessels entering waters above the U.S.’ claimed ECS as a reason for shadowing may thus be understandable from a strategic point of view. Its legal foundation, however, is somewhat shaky. In any case, the argument tragicomically echoes aspects of China’s own approach to militarising international waters in the South China Sea.

Other reaction pieces from China ranged from indignation to mockery, and are therefore harder to reasonably engage with. The Beijing Ribao (北京日报) quoted Zhuo Hua (卓华), an analyst at the School of International Relations at Beijing Foreign Studies University, who suggested Canadian authorities had “stretched international law” by tracking the Xue Long 2. The Yangtze Wanbao (扬子晚报) accused the USCG of “premature complaining”, but also wrongly stated that “[…] the Arctic Ocean and its surrounding waters belong to no nation,” thus being open in theory to exploration by China (this would only be true for a chunk of unclaimed seabed in the middle of the Central Arctic Ocean sometimes nicknamed the “donut hole”). In the Global Times, a researcher from Shanghai’s Center for RimPac Strategic and International Studies (上海环太国际战略研究中心) pointed to alleged instances of U.S. “militarisation” of the Arctic, accusing Washington of “hegemonic behaviour” in the region. The Renmin Ribao (人民日报), meanwhile, argued that the U.S. would not be able to achieve its stated objectives in constructing icebreakers. And a microblogger on the Guancha platforms jested that it might take the U.S. “two reincarnation cycles” for its shipyards to finish current government orders.

Meanwhile, Chinese civilian shipping continued to expand its footprint in the Arctic. Chinese importers reportedly resumed accepting LNG deliveries from Russia’s embattled Arctic LNG 2 site, and on the 15th of August, the Russian port of Arkhangelsk received its first container vessel from China in the summer season of 2025.

2. South Korea looks to Arctic shipping to reinvigorate southern ports

But China is not the only country looking to gain a stake in polar shipping, although the port of Shanghai has by now emerged as a quintessential regional hub for Arctic operations. South Korea, a country with long-standing interests in the Arctic, has recently rejoined the ranks of nations jockeying to become transit centres for the Northern Sea Route. In May, during a heated election campaign, the country’s future president Lee Jae-myung pledged to revive South Korea’s struggling southern port cities, including Busan, by turning them into gateways for Arctic shipping. In August, the new government announced the establishment of a “dedicated Arctic shipping mission and piloting operations to launch next year.”

Image: The port city of Busan in South Korea (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

The announcement does not only reflect South Korea’s confidence in the future viability of commercial shipping on the Northern Sea Route. It also, importantly, marks a shift in official relations between Seoul and Moscow. Before Russia’s full-scale onslaught on Ukraine, South Korea and Russia enjoyed tight bonds, especially in the Arctic. Korean shipyards built most of Russia’s Arctic LNG fleet, and Korean suppliers provided indispensable technological assistance to Russia’s key Zvezda yard. Seoul is among the world’s major importers of LNG, and in 2018 signed a Putin-brokered Memorandum of Understanding between Novatek and the Korean Gas Company on future LNG deliveries. South Korean logistics firms, including Hyundai Glovis, also ran some of the earliest commercial pilot sailings on the Northern Sea Route, including in 2013 and 2017.

These ties unravelled in 2022. Under the alliance-centric leadership of the Biden administration, Seoul aligned with Western sanctions on Russia. It further tightened its Russia sanctions in 2023 and 2024, hitting shipbuilding and LNG logistics. Relations deteriorated further when Russia revived its Cold War-era military ties with North Korea, drawing on Pyongyang’s ammunitions industries to supply its brutal land war in Ukraine.

Image: South Korea’s position in Arctic Destinational Shipping (Source: Map created by Mia Bennett and published her excellent 2014 Strategic Analysis paper on South Korea in the Arctic)

By comparison to his disgraced predecessor, Yoon Suk-yeol, Lee has taken a softer stance on Russia. On the campaign trail, Lee went on the record criticising Ukrainian government policies and opposing arms sales to Kyiv on economic grounds. Lee’s public revamping of interest in the Northern Sea Route, a Russian project, can be seen as a further softening of Seoul’s edge on Moscow. Domestic reasons, including concerns over the demographic decline of Busan, are the main drivers of this development. But Lee is also likely to have been riding the tailwinds of the new U.S. administration’s recent turncoating on Russia policy and trade attacks on its East Asian allies.

3. News from the European Arctic and NATO

In northern Europe, the integration of the Nordic countries’ militaries continues at pace. Sweden, Norway, Finland, Denmark, and Iceland (all of which are members of NATO and the Arctic Council) share threat perceptions vis-a-vis Russia, as well as concerns over the wavering commitment to NATO by U.S. President Trump. Their militaries have pursued a path of integration since the founding of NORDEFCO in 2009, but efforts were expanded to include the strategic level, parts of command and control, and a collective strengthening of defence industries after Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine.

The Nordics are a group of relatively small countries, but their combined economic weight matches that of Russia. It is hoped that integration will position the group as a sufficient deterring force, which Moscow will be loathe to attack even in the absence of a credible NATO Article 5 guarantee. The process is also hoped to provide the Nordics with a bolstered position in intra-alliance negotiations within NATO, as well as, tangentially, the EU.

Image: The Nordic flags (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

The Nordics’ new prominence in European defence diplomacy has attracted much attention from countries located elsewhere on the continent, some of which have referenced NORDEFCO as a model for European defence integration. As a corollary, the Nordics have been required to dial up strategic communications with the outside world, and manage more complex networks of alliances and partnerships. A focal point of discussions have been the Arctic policies of the five states.

In August, the Norwegian government established a full new land brigade in Finnmark, signalling a shift away from Cold War-era plans that would have foreseen surrendering the northern region to Russia and withdrawing behind fortified defence lines further to the south. Oslo also released a much-anticipated update of its official Arctic strategy. The document highlights the need for a “total defence concept” and improved Arctic cooperation with Sweden and Finland. It also parts with long-standing descriptions of Russia as a desirable Arctic partner, in favour of casting Moscow as the region’s most formidable security threat. The government also admits, however, that the implementation of its ambitious defence plans will require a demographic and economic revitalisation of the Norwegian north. Despite Oslo’s attempts to bring about improvements in the past, the region still suffers from relative peripherality, limited economic diversification, depopulation, and infrastructure gaps.

While it is hoped that Norway’s defence-minded refocussing on northern regions could provide developmental stimuli, critical voices were quick to highlight potential shortcomings. In the High North News, Arne O. Holm pointed out that the population of the region has continued to decline since the pandemic, in spite of government incentives. In a piece for the Arctic Institute, Alexandra Middleton of the University of Oulu poked holes into the assumption that Arctic militarisation will improve northern regions’ demographics and economic performance, pointing instead to the environmental degradation caused by military exercises.

Andreas Østhagen of the Fridtjof Nansen Institute, on the other hand, welcomed the strategy and published a detailed discussion of the document’s implications, including a more restrictive approach to Arctic interactions with China. And Marc Lanteigne of the University of Tromsø pointed to Norway’s upcoming national elections, arguing that their results would be unlikely to bring about a renewed revision of a Norwegian Arctic strategy now driven primarily by structural factors.

In Denmark, meanwhile, rumours of covert U.S. intelligence activities in Greenland were finally confirmed by the government. On the 28th of August, Danish Foreign Minister Lars Løkke Rasmussen summoned the American chargé d’affairs to present Copenhagen’s official complaint. Several U.S. individuals in Nuuk were accused of, among other activities, drawing up a list of “pro-American, pro-Trump” voices in Greenland. This comes before the official appointment of Peter Thiel protégé and PayPal co-founder Ken Howery to the ambassadorial post in Denmark. Howery has been linked to ultra-libertarian techie networks, including Praxis, a neofascist-leaning group aiming to build “deregulated libertarian network cites on a terraformed Greenland”, as well as cosmetics billionaire Ron Lauder, whose well-documented obsession with Greenland reportedly inspired Donald Trump to go after the territory.

In light of the threat posed to Greenland by the Trump administration, Denmark’s European allies have worked to increase their militaries’ visibility on the island. In August, both the German and French navies paid official visits to Nuuk. While the Bundeswehr’s readout on the event focused squarely on NATO obligations and the defence of supply lines and the GIUK gap, the French Ministry of Defence was more explicit in proclaiming Paris’ solidarity with Copenhagen and Nuuk against U.S. threats. The two visits have shed a light on France and Germany’s divergent approaches to Arctic security. While Berlin remains attached to collective defence via NATO, involving the United States at any cost, France sees the Arctic as a region of both collaboration and potential tensions with Washington.

Following the dismissal of Denmark’s spying allegations by Washington, accompanied by a suggestion for Danish officials to “calm down”, French Foreign Minister Barrot visited Nuuk on the 29th of August. France has also been keen to highlight its newly published Arctic Defence Strategy. The publication of the strategy squarely settled a long-lived intra-bureaucratic squabble over the priorities of French Arctic policy, which was waged between defence-oriented officials and the country’s environmentally-minded Minister for the Oceans and Polar Regions. Surprisingly, the French strategy was discussed at length in Chinese outlets, including the Renmin Ribao (人民日报). Chinese authors highlighted the strategy’s focus on legitimacy building for non-Arctic states as a prerequisite for regional defence activism.

In Finland, NATO launched its new Northern Land Command Headquarters on the 2nd of September, one of the first official structures of the alliance to appear on the territory of its second-newest member. NATO is increasing its institutional presence in northern Scandinavia, with a designated Combined Air Operations Centre (CAOC) in Norway’s Bodø, Forward Land Forces (FLF) in Finland’s Rovaniemi, and a planned Joint Logistics Support Group Headquarters (JLSG HQ) in Sweden’s Enköping. The Finnish Air Force also helpfully decided to finally remove a historical swastika from several of its flags, likely to avoid irritations that might arise when Finnish forces participate in joint operations with NATO allies from Germany, Poland or France.

In the maritime domain, NATO scientists launched a combined research mission from Tromsø in June. The researchers measured how the transformation of the Arctic affects sonar performance in the region. The data collected is expected to help adapt technology for submarines, non-crewed underwater vehicles and other capabilities operating in fast-changing Arctic conditions.

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As a corollary of Olsen’s new mandate, but perhaps also the challenging diplomatic environment now faced by Greenlanders, “Q’s Greenland” has slowly given up on its self-imposed politics embargo. For instance, Olsen has recently used her channel to share her views on Donald Trump and Greenlandic statehood.

1. Why did the French president visit Greenland?

On June 16, “Q’s Greenland” released a short video comment on a historic event: The first ever official visit to Greenland by a non-Danish head of state. France’s president Emmanuel Macron stopped by in Nuuk on June 15, en route to the G7 summit in Canada. According to a readout published by the Élysée, Macron met with Jens-Frederik Nielsen, Greenland’s newly-minted premier, and his Danish counterpart, Mette Frederiksen. They discussed “security in the North Atlantic and Arctic, climate change and the energy transition, and the secure supply of rare earths and minerals.” At Nuuk’s new airport, Macron received a stately welcome. During a press conference, the president announced that France would open a consulate in Nuuk and participate in more joint Arctic exercises. But Greenland’s opposition MPs widely questioned whether Macron’s visit had been planned in good faith. Naleraq’s leader Pele Broberg, for example, took offence at the presence of Danish officials at the meetings, asking for Greenland to be allowed to conduct its foreign affairs independently. In a fiery press release, Broberg addressed Mette Fredriksen directly: “Stay home, Mette. We don't need Danish espionage in [our] conversations.” Olsen also struck a critical, but on balance more careful tone in her video message, asking: “Is Macron here for the Greenlandic people or Denmark?”

Video: President Macron of France speaking in Nuuk, 15 June 2025 (Source: Élysée Palace on YouTube)

But for Greenland’s unity-oriented four-party government coalition, as well as for the government of Denmark, Macron’s visit represented a coup. The president’s stopover had been preceded by a quiet, but highly effective tour of European capitals by Vivian Motzfeldt, Greenland’s new Minister of Foreign Affairs. After visiting Brussels — where Motzfeldt met the E.U.’s HRVP Kaja Kallas and teased a rare earths partnership with the bloc — the Greenlandic delegation headed further south to Paris. There, Motzfeldt met with representatives of the Élysée, France’s Minister of Foreign Affairs, the country’s polar ambassador, and members of the local research community (including the humbled and grateful editor of 66° North).

For the Greenlandic delegation, Paris was an obvious first stop. France had been the first allied state to speak out against the annexation plans pitched by Donald Trump. In January, the French Minister of Foreign Affairs rebuffed Trump’s advances on the island, warning the U.S. against “threatening E.U. sovereign borders” (Note: Greenland is not a full member of the European Union). Later that month, president Macron met with Mette Frederiksen, and joined Germany’s former chancellor Olaf Scholz in backing the Danish position. But in the spring, Macron’s positions on Greenland were still characterised by caution, as the president attempted to placate the mercurial U.S. president through flattery and extraordinary amounts of one-on-one time. By late spring, France’s patience with the new U.S. administration seemed to have worn thinner. At the U.N. Ocean Conference hosted in Nice in early June, Macron told delegates that “Greenland [is not] up for grabs, nor are the Arctic or the high seas for sale.”

Motzfeldt used her time in Brussels and Paris to capitalise on this momentum and shore up international support for Nuuk, while also presenting Greenland’s European partners with economic opportunities. In doing so, she attempted to hit two birds with one stone: Involving E.U. partners in Greenland’s rare earth and mineral mining projects could help deliver on a central promise of the island’s new government, the delivery of economic growth as a basis for future statehood. On the other hand, European investments might also demonstrate to U.S. officials that Greenland is capable of withholding access to resources (and, apparently, even make them available to China instead). In late May, the Greenlandic government already awarded a 30-year exploitation permit to Greenland Anorthosite Mining (GAM), a Danish-French consortium.

From the point of view of Nuuk and Copenhagen, Macron’s visit delivered on several fronts. It signalled deepening European support for Greenland’s positions, and consolidated an emerging E.U. stance which will imply more muscular support for Denmark. A more united E.U. is very unlikely dislodge Trump’s ambitions. But Denmark and Greenland were, at the very least, able to convince the E.U. states not to throw Nuuk under the proverbial bus (as had been done earlier by NATO head Mark Rutte). This is especially notable in the context of Europe’s increasingly desperate pursuit of American reassurances over the mutual defence guarantee of the North Atlantic alliance. France’s motivations, on the other hand, are more difficult to decipher. Why did Macron take time out of his schedule to visit remote Greenland, a territory that has hitherto never figured in French strategic discourse?

The answer is multi-layered. One part of the explanation lies in France’s traditionally larger-than-life foreign policy ambitions. Now in the waning days of his ten-year presidency, Macron has amassed significant experience on the international stage, as well as much recognition value among foes and friends alike. Aghast at France and Germany’s failure to appease Vladimir Putin in early 2022, Macron remodelled France’s historically south-facing strategic outlook, and reoriented his country’s defence posture towards the east and the north. Slowly, but with growing determination, Paris has acknowledged Russia as the predominant security threat for Europe. Macron also sidestepped German phlegmatism to create “a nascent EU defence nucleus [with Poland and the Nordics and the Baltics, and] work on robust European security guarantees for Ukraine.” This has required Paris to engage more deeply with Warsaw, but also its partners in northern Europe.

At the same time, doubts over the U.S.’ continued commitment to NATO’s Article 5 have validated Paris’ long-standing desire for “European strategic autonomy”. Charles de Gaulle’s deep mistrust towards U.S. intentions in Europe never much abated under France’s subsequent post-war leaders. Macron first formulated his own vision for strategic independence, albeit one rooted in E.U. integration, in 2017. For a long time, the president’s vision was stonewalled by staunchly transatlantic European countries, including Germany, Denmark or Poland. But no longer: the reelection of Donald Trump has forced even hesitant European leaders to support self-sufficient defence in Europe. As the major military power of the E.U., France has been able to capitalise on this shift. This is in spite of Macron’s domestic political woes, which, paradoxically, have pushed the president to dedicate even more time to the domaine réservé, the exclusive sway held by French heads of state over foreign and defence policy.

Image: A recruitment poster for the French navy, spotted in a Parisian metro station in early 2024. The poster reads: “Getting up to see the Aurora Borealis might be hard, but it’s worth the effort.” (Source: Author, private)

The Nordic countries have thus featured prominently in France’s efforts to establish itself as a leading actor in Europe’s collective defence, to be reshaped along the historical lines of preference of its eastern and northern ‘frontline states’. Given that the European Arctic is mostly a maritime theatre, and France arguably possesses Europe’s most powerful navy, Paris has been a particularly sought-after partner for naval exercises in the region. The French Navy conducts joint NATO exercises in Arctic waters, as well as independent patrols and missions. Recent docking visits by French vessels in Norway and Iceland have been explained by reference to a need to “gain better knowledge and control of maritime zones located in northern Europe.”

Viewed through the lens of French ‘grand strategy’, Macron’s activist stance on Greenland thus makes a good amount of sense: The president’s dedication to furthering European integration, especially in the security realm, requires Paris to back its fellow E.U. member Denmark in a sovereignty dispute. ‘Strategic autonomy’, or military independence from the U.S., requires standing up to Washington in defence of European interests. And collective European deterrence against Russia requires France to redirect resources not only to eastern Europe, but also the Nordic states — and, by extension, the Arctic. This is reflected in multiple policy documents published by French ministries, including the Ministry of Defence and Ministry of Europe and Foreign Affairs.

Qupanuk Olsen is right, however, to question whether France’s recent engagement is rooted in considerations of Greenland’s own preferences. On balance, the French perspective on the Arctic is shaped by first-order strategic considerations, the country’s shifting network of alliances and agreements in Europe, and significant commercial interest. In this regard, France is no different from other outsider states in the Arctic. But as Arthur Amelot, an expert consultant at the European Commission, pointed out in a piece for The Conversation, Greenland has made it abundantly clear that it does not want to become a platform for extractivism and militarism. As for other friends of the island and its people, respect for this desire should be the yardstick of all French policy, both in theory as well as in practice.

2. The U.S. military reassigns Greenland from EUCOM to NORTHCOM

Meanwhile, the U.S. government reassigned responsibility for Greenland within the command structure of its military. The move was widely interpreted as a bureaucratic nod to Donald Trump’s desire to gain control over the island. On June 17, the Pentagon announced that it would shift Greenland to the US Northern Command (NORTHCOM), which is responsible for domestic defence, and away from the military’s European command (EUCOM). The command structure of the U.S. military is subdivided into eleven unified combatant commands, seven of which are designated as geographical, and four as functional. Despite its geographical location in North America, Greenland’s allocation to EUCOM had historically represented an acknowledgement on the part of the Pentagon that the island remains politically tied to Denmark, and thereby to Europe.

Image: The U.S. military’s Unified Combatant Command’s Area of Responsibility before June 17, 2025 (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

Iris Ferguson, who served as the Pentagon’s Deputy Assistant Secretary of Defense for Arctic and Global Resilience under the Biden administration, commented: “Unified Command Plans don’t make foreign policy, but they do shape how strategic attention and resources are directed. So, yes—these shifts matter.” Ferguson expressed hope that the move could reaffirm Greenland’s critical role in the defence of the North American “homeland”, and “elevate Greenland’s visibility in U.S. defence planning.” At the same time, she recalled Article 1 of the NATO charter, which commits member states to refraining from the threat or use of force. Ferguson also called on the Trump administration to refrain from “sabre rattling” over Greenland and to stop marginalising Denmark, a “key Arctic and NATO ally.”

Reactions out of Denmark and Greenland were cautious, but acknowledged the on-the-nose symbolism of Trump’s decision. Denmark’s defence minister, Troels Lund Poulsen told TV2 that “how the United States divides responsibilities within its own military command structure is, of course, an American matter." Jon Rahbek-Clemmensen, a professor at the Royal Danish Defence College, told Berlingske that while the move might make “good military sense, the symbolism is hard to ignore.” And Sermitsiaq, a Greenlandic paper, commented: “On a political level, the American president has a burning desire for Greenland to come under the United States. But since that cannot happen, Trump still has the option of taking the military route to bring Greenland closer to him, which he is now doing.”

3. Patrushev’s growing clout, Ukrainian drones in Murmansk, and a charm offensive towards Chinese investors

On 9 June, the chairman of Russia’s new Maritime Collegium, Nikolay Patrushev, announced in an interview with Argumenty i fakty that Vladimir Putin had “approved the final version of the Russian Navy Development Strategy for the period up to 2050”. The aim of this new strategy document would be, according to Patrushev, to “restore Russia's position as one of the world's greatest maritime powers.” The document follows on Russia’s hawkish Naval Doctrine of 2022, which declared an “age of competition” in the Arctic and framed Western states as Russia’s main maritime adversaries. While details have not yet been published, the strategy is likely to further militarise Moscow’s outlook on the oceans, and in particular its approach to the Arctic. New construction goals for ice-going vessels and icebreakers are expected to be part of the programme — an indication for this may be the most recent order for a nuclear icebreaker placed by oil giant Rosneft’ on 18 June. In a congratulatory address on the occasion of Russia’s ‘Northern Fleet Day’, Patrushev called on mariners to “contain growing threats from unfriendly states [in the Arctic].” Since his presumably involuntary transfer to the Maritime Collegium, Patrushev has become a predominant voice on Arctic matters within the Russian regime — surpassing even president Putin in terms of visibility, according to a recent in-depth study by the NGO Arctida.io.

On Monday, June 2, Ukraine launched a highly successful, coordinated drone attack against strategic bombers parked on airfields across the entirety of the Russian Federation. Among the bases most severely hit by “Operation Spiderweb” was the Olenya air base in the oblast of Murmansk, where a number of long-range bombers and surveillance aircraft were reportedly destroyed. The attack represents the single largest ‘spillover’ incident of the war in Ukraine into a territory above the Arctic circle.

Video: Footage of Ukraine’s drone assault on Russia’s Olenya air base (Source: Forbes, YouTube)

In Norway, the Russian embassy led by the country’s former Senior Arctic Official, Nikolay Korchunov, released a slew of vitriolic statements in response to comments made by Norway’s foreign minister that Oslo would be interested in increasing NATO's military presence on its northern territories. One such proclamation by the embassy read: "The increasingly obvious deployment of NATO forces to the Norwegian North and the Arctic region is taking place to the accompaniment of empty assurances from Oslo about its alleged continuing interest in maintaining regional stability, avoiding misunderstandings and unintentional escalation.” But in a separate Telegram post on the occasion of ‘Russia Day’, Korchunov also noted that “Russia [would be] open to joint projects in the Arctic, is ready to share experience and develop cooperation in the interests of the development of the region and its residents.”

Meanwhile, major Russian outlets launched a coordinated charm offensive to attract Chinese investors to Northern Sea Route (NSR) projects. The media campaign might provide an indication that Moscow’s plan to replace fledgling Chinese investments with Indian and Emirati money has not worked out as planned, thus requiring a renewed effort to win over Beijing . On 23 May, Izvestiya ran a hopeful-sounding long-read on Chinese interests in Arctic shipping routes. Russia’s, minister for the Far East and Arctic, Alexey Chekunkov, announced “China’s growing interest in the NSR,” highlighting linkages between “Arctic security issues and the Indo-Pacific”. Various experts were interviewed by Izvestiya on the benefits China might accrue through investments in Russian Arctic projects. And although Rosatom and China's New New Shipping announced on 18 June that they join forces to construct container ships for their expanding operations on the NSR, and Yamal LNG announced its first seasonal gas shipment to China, Russia’s Arctic and Antarctic Research Institute publicly warned on June 19 that “ice conditions will continue to significantly complicate navigation along the Northern Sea Route in the coming decades.”

Russian Arctic energy projects hit another rough patch in May. Due to a shortage of LNG tankers, Novatek’s Arctic LNG 2 plant was forced to stop operations at its first production line on May 23. The company remains determined, however, to complete the plant’s planned third construction line, and to launch construction of the Murmansk LNG project by 2027. Whether it will be able to do so, however, depends on factors that lie largely outside of Novatek’s control.

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This interview features Anurag Bisen, a Senior Fellow at the Vivekananda International Foundation, a New Delhi–based think tank with close connections to the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party and the Indian government. A veteran submariner in the Indian Navy, Anurag previously served as a Senior Defence Specialist at India’s National Security Council Secretariat. He played a key role in drafting and steering the approval of India’s Arctic Policy, released by the Government of India in March 2022. A Russian speaker, Anurag regularly travels to Russia to engage in Arctic policy dialogue.

Image: Anurag Bisen at a symposium in Moscow, November 2024 (Source: Anurag Bisen’s profile on X)

66° North: Anurag, many thanks again for agreeing to this interview. Let's begin with the first question. You’ve just explained the close links between the Vivekananda Foundation - your current employer - and the Indian government. From your biography, I understand you served as a submariner in the Indian Navy for many years. That would give you deep familiarity with the policymaking processes within India’s Ministry of Defence and other government bodies.

My first question concerns India’s Arctic policy of 2022, which I understand you helped draft and coordinate. This document has drawn considerable interest in other parts of the world. What were the main motivations behind India’s decision to articulate a formal Arctic strategy? What interests and concerns drove the initiative?

Anurag Bisen: Thank you. I was indeed part of the government when the policy was drafted. I joined the Vivekananda Foundation only in January last year, and I retired from the Indian Navy on the last day of 2023. At the time of the policy’s development, I was on deputation to the National Security Council Secretariat, where I coordinated aspects of the Arctic policy. It was not a solo effort - it involved multiple ministries, institutions, and think tanks in a whole-of-government approach.

India has held observer status in the Arctic Council since 2013, and by mid-2020, we had been observers for seven years. During that time, our activities and interest in the Arctic increased. In 2018, China released a white paper laying out its Arctic policy. While the document was well formulated, it attracted criticism - particularly for China’s self-designation as a "near-Arctic state." This sparked debate internationally, notably in a 2019 speech by then–U.S. Secretary of State Mike Pompeo in Rovaniemi, where he rejected the concept of near-Arctic states, stressing there are only Arctic and non-Arctic states.

This sharp geopolitical focus of the U.S. raised the profile of Arctic affairs more broadly. At that point, India was one of just four observer states without a formal Arctic policy. Our only articulation of interest consisted of a short paragraph or two on the Ministry of External Affairs website. It was felt that a formal policy would help express our views, outline our strategic interests, and lend coherence to India’s engagement with the Arctic.

Beyond science and environmental concerns, we also recognised the importance of resources - hydrocarbons, rare earth elements, and other minerals - as vital components of the Arctic’s relevance to India. A formal policy would enable us to clearly communicate our interests and intentions to the world.

66° North: That’s a very clear explanation, thank you. You mentioned hydrocarbons and rare earths. I find India’s Arctic Policy notable for how it sidesteps sensitive questions around geopolitics and security. But it does include a section on economic policy. Could you outline India’s commercial interests in the Arctic?

Anurag Bisen: Certainly. The policy highlights that the opening up of the Arctic also means greater access to its resources, and India has expressed interest in those - provided they are exploited sustainably.

If I were to prioritise, hydrocarbons come first. India is the world’s second-largest importer of oil, after China. We import over 85% of our oil needs, and Russia has, over the last three years, become our largest source. In 2023, 38% of our oil imports came from Russia. The Arctic’s vast oil reserves have the potential to contribute significantly to India’s energy security.

The second area is gas. About 45% of our gas is imported, making us the world’s fourth-largest gas importer after China, Japan, and South Korea. The Arctic’s reserves could also help address this dependency.

Beyond hydrocarbons, rare earth elements are another priority. Greenland alone holds a quarter of the world’s rare earths, and there are significant deposits in Russia and Canada. As the Arctic becomes more accessible, India is exploring how to tap into these resources, including coking coal and timber - both of which we already import in large volumes from Russia.

That said, India’s policy clearly states that any engagement with Arctic resources must align with principles of sustainability. Responsible exploration and exploitation is the baseline for any Indian involvement.

66° North: Let’s turn to aspects not included in India’s Arctic policy - specifically, the geopolitical dimensions. The Arctic Policy avoids addressing these issues directly, yet India is an increasingly prominent global maritime and political actor with a well-defined security profile. How does India view the evolving security landscape in the Arctic, and did these developments influence its Arctic Policy, even if not overtly?

Anurag Bisen: Before I respond, let me add a caveat: the views I express here are my personal opinions and do not reflect the official position of the Government of India. In fact, some of what I say may not align with the government's current stance. That said, you’re right - the policy deliberately steers clear of geopolitical and security concerns, though strategic intent is subtly embedded within it.

The second-last pillar of the policy, for instance, discusses governance and international cooperation. India expresses its commitment to promoting peace and stability in the Arctic in accordance with international law and established treaties. We explicitly uphold the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS) and affirm our active participation in global climate and environmental frameworks relevant to the Arctic.

At the Arctic Circle India Forum in early May, India’s External Affairs Minister, Dr S. Jaishankar, was interviewed by Iceland’s former president Ólafur Ragnar Grímsson. Asked a similar question, Dr Jaishankar stated that India would engage with the Arctic as it does elsewhere: by working with all stakeholders, and always in line with its national interests.

Personally, I see the Arctic today as the site of an intensifying strategic triangle involving the United States, Russia, and China. India’s two most important strategic partners - Russia and the United States - are deeply engaged in the Arctic. We have high-level strategic partnerships and conduct 2+2 dialogues with both. At the same time, China - our principal adversary - is expanding its footprint in the region. In my view, this makes Indian engagement in the Arctic essential.

India should be present to understand and navigate these dynamics. It could, I believe, position itself as a bridge - between the West and Russia, or between the West and the broader “Global South.” Later in our conversation, we can discuss how this bridging role might be developed in practice. But at its core, this is how I understand the geopolitics of the Arctic: India needs to be engaged, not only for environmental or economic reasons, but also to make sense of and influence the emerging security architecture.

66° North: Since you brought up China, I’d like to follow up. How do Indian policymakers view China’s growing involvement in the Arctic - especially from a maritime standpoint? What are the main concerns?

Anurag Bisen: The concerns go beyond the maritime domain. India and Russia share a long-standing and multifaceted relationship, but since the imposition of Western sanctions in 2014, Russia has found itself increasingly isolated. This isolation has pushed Moscow closer to Beijing - something China has capitalised on.

Take the Yamal LNG project as an example. Chinese entities such as CNPC and the Silk Road Fund hold nearly a 30% stake. Reports suggest that around 60% of the equipment used in the project is of Chinese origin, and Chinese labour has been heavily involved.

From the Indian perspective, this Sino-Russian closeness is driven less by mutual affinity and more by necessity. Many in Russia are uncomfortable with their junior position in the relationship. There are also longstanding Russian concerns about the Far East, which remains sparsely populated and vulnerable to demographic and strategic pressures from China. Historical grievances persist in Chinese strategic thinking regarding how the borders were settled.

In contrast, India presents no such challenge to Russia. In fact, Russia has actively courted Indian engagement. At the 2019 Eastern Economic Forum, India was the official partner country, and Prime Minister Modi was the chief guest. That’s when India launched its "Act Far East" policy and extended a US$1 billion line of credit to Russia.

India also enjoys strong bilateral relationships with other Arctic states. With Canada, for instance, people of Indian origin make up around 8% of the population. Despite a temporary diplomatic strain under Prime Minister Trudeau, the relationship remains robust. India has held two Nordic summits and planned a third with Norway, which was postponed due to a terror attack in Kashmir.

Strategic competition with China is a more important long-term challenge for the West than the conflict with Russia. In fact, it would not be in the West’s interest to see Russia and China close ranks in an Arctic partnership - with their forces combined, the two countries would be too strong to balance. So my argument is that Russia is being driven into China's embrace, since it is increasingly isolated and sees no alternative because of Western sanctions. The West should encourage India to become Russia’s Arctic alternative to China.

But to be clear, India’s Arctic engagement is not driven by what China does. We do not compete with China, nor do we replicate its methods - be they economic inducements, coercion, or opaque investments. India’s engagement is transparent, based on national interest, and carried out with limited resources. China’s involvement in the Arctic is far ahead of ours, but India’s policy stands on its own merits.

66° North: It is interesting you raise the possibility of India as an Arctic “alternative” to China from a Russian point of view. I’ve also observed this argument in Russian writings. You recently took part in the International Arctic Forum in Murmansk. What’s your impression - do Russian stakeholders genuinely want deeper Arctic cooperation with India, in part to reduce reliance on China?

Anurag Bisen: Absolutely. I can give you several examples. Over the last ten years, nearly every India–Russia summit joint statement has included a line welcoming India’s participation in the Arctic. Despite that, we’ve seen limited concrete follow-up - likely due to a lack of coordination on the Indian side.

But things may be shifting. The joint statement from the 2023 summit was the most substantive yet on Arctic cooperation. It included an agreement to establish a joint working group on cooperation along the Northern Sea Route (NSR). Personally, I would have preferred broader wording - such as Arctic cooperation in general - but the NSR is a start.

Russia has also made strategic overtures. Last year, it offered India the opportunity to build icebreakers. That was a significant signal. China, with its dominant shipbuilding capacity, could have fulfilled that role more efficiently. But Moscow chose to publicly offer it to India - perhaps to balance its over-dependence on China.

More broadly, I argue that India and Russia are natural partners in each other’s strategic theatres. The Indian Ocean is to India what the Arctic is to Russia - vital and deeply strategic. Neither country poses a threat to the other in these regions. I’ve argued this in my writing: we should facilitate each other’s presence, rather than allow it to be constrained by external tensions.

Russian stakeholders are clearly interested. But for this potential to be realised, India must bring more cohesion and follow-through to its Arctic engagement.

66° North: You've spoken about India’s strong bilateral ties with all Arctic Council states, and about its status as an observer since 2013 - the same year China was admitted. How does India currently assess the state of the Arctic Council, especially in light of the Norwegian presidency’s recent efforts to revive cooperation? And what is India’s perspective on Russia’s suggestions to explore alternative governance mechanisms, perhaps under the BRICS+ format?

Anurag Bisen: Credit must be given to Norway for attempting to revive the Arctic Council’s functions. Through virtual working group meetings, the Norwegians have managed to restore a semblance of cooperation - but it remains limited.

This is despite the 2017 binding agreement among Arctic states to enhance scientific cooperation. Currently, nearly half of the INTERACT climate monitoring stations are located in the Russian Arctic. Since 2022, the absence of Russian data has led to discrepancies. Scientists are unsure whether these are caused by gaps in data or actual shifts due to climate change. Either way, this impairs climate research with global ramifications.

In my view, at the very least, scientific cooperation should be restored immediately. Even in the United States, there are now voices calling for the resumption of this area of collaboration. When Kenneth Høegh from the Danish-Greenlandic presidency visited Delhi in May and outlined their five priorities, I asked him directly: if Russia accounts for more of the Arctic than the other seven members combined, how can these goals be met without its participation?

Arctic Council cooperation should focus on sustainable development and climate change, not be paralysed by geopolitics. If politics cannot be kept separate, then the Council’s mandate should be revised to reflect that. But under the current charter, we should strive to resume practical collaboration, especially scientific.

Looking ahead, if a political settlement emerges between Russia and Ukraine - or if a potential Trump administration pursues rapprochement - this could unlock renewed cooperation in the Arctic. The future of the Council hinges significantly on U.S.–Russia relations.

As for India, we’ve long prioritised the Arctic Council in our official policy. But with the Council currently constrained, we’ve shifted towards bilateral engagements. Since 2021, India has signed Arctic-related agreements with Norway and Russia and is on the verge of signing one with Finland. These are led by our National Centre for Polar and Ocean Research (NCPOR) in Goa.

On the question of alternative governance platforms such as BRICS+: I have a somewhat contrarian view. If, as the often-cited phrase goes, "what happens in the Arctic affects the entire planet," then the rest of the world - especially the “Global South” - deserves a more meaningful role in Arctic affairs. I’m not advocating for territorial claims, but rather for a more inclusive governance framework.

To illustrate, consider India’s climate-linked interests. India and China together represent nearly half of humanity. One critical issue is the monsoon. Around 70% of India’s annual rainfall occurs between June and September. Nearly 60% of our farmland is rain-fed, not irrigated, and monsoon performance is directly tied to India’s GDP and food security.

Studies have shown a teleconnection between Arctic climate dynamics and the Indian monsoon. Yet under current Arctic Council rules, if India wants to research this, we must partner with a Council member, and we cannot contribute more than 50% of the resources. But why would an Arctic state be invested in researching the Indian monsoon? This reveals a structural limitation.

Another example is sea level rise. India’s extensive coastline and vulnerable coastal cities make us acutely exposed. Yet our participation in Arctic climate research remains constrained by current governance structures.

In that light, I believe additional research platforms should be welcomed. Russia has offered to host a BRICS+ scientific research station in Svalbard. In my view, the more opportunities for scientific collaboration, the better.

Among BRICS+ members, China and India are the only ones with significant polar interests - Brazil to a lesser extent. But this initiative could still play a role in democratising Arctic science. I support India’s involvement in such efforts, provided they promote stability and transparency.

Finally, there’s also a legal argument for more inclusive research governance. The Svalbard Treaty contains a provision that calls for an international convention to regulate scientific activity in the region. I’ve argued, including in a paper for India’s Institute for Defence Studies and Analyses, that we need an ATCM-style framework for this - similar to what exists in Antarctica. India, as a self-proclaimed voice of the “Global South”, should push for such mechanisms.

So, to summarise: as long as alternative platforms foster scientific research and stability without exacerbating geopolitical tensions, India should participate - and in fact, should take a leading role in building them.

66° North: Thank you, Anurag. I’d like to turn now to India’s maritime interests in the Arctic. You've spoken about cooperation with Russia and the associated opportunities - but what about the risks? India operates a vast network of ports and has growing shipping interests. How does it view the possible year-round opening of the Northern Sea Route (NSR) and Russia’s broader Arctic infrastructure ambitions?

Anurag Bisen: Connectivity is a key pillar of India’s Arctic policy, and we have explicitly referenced not only the NSR, but also the International North–South Transport Corridor (INSTC) and Russia’s Unified Deep Water System (UDWS).

Image: Map of the “International North–South Transport Corridor (INSTC)” (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

For context, the UDWS carries around three-quarters of Russia’s internal cargo and connects major maritime zones - the Black, Baltic, and White Seas - with inland waterways. It’s designed for a depth of 4.5 metres and guarantees navigability to 3 metres. This makes it integral to Russia’s internal Arctic access.

Now, the NSR itself is not of direct commercial benefit to India. If you look at the map, India lies directly south of the Arctic. Whether we send cargo through the Suez Canal to Russia’s western ports or via the east to the Russian Far East, the distances are comparable. In contrast, the NSR offers a clear benefit to ports in northern China, Japan, and South Korea.

Image: Map of Russia’s Unified Deep Water System (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

That said, India has two connectivity projects that can provide viable Arctic access. The first is the INSTC, which runs from the Indian subcontinent through Iran and into Russia. Studies have shown that this route is up to 30% cheaper and 40% faster than the conventional Suez route. The second is the Eastern Maritime Corridor - also known as the Chennai–Vladivostok route - which links India to Russia’s Pacific coast.

These two corridors anchor either end of what Rosatom has termed the “Greater NSR” - extending from St Petersburg to Vladivostok. So, although the NSR may not be transformative for Indian shipping, these broader interlinked corridors could open up new strategic and economic opportunities.

Image: Map of the proposed Chennai-Vladivostok Eastern Maritime Corridor (Source: VisionIAS)

Energy remains a major driver. In 2023, India sourced 38% of its oil from Russia. Most of that supply comes from Russia’s western ports, like Primorsk and Ust-Luga. Similarly, our major refineries are concentrated on India’s western seaboard. But over the next two decades, we may see greater relevance for the Eastern Maritime Corridor - particularly for liquefied natural gas (LNG), metallurgical coal, and timber.

However, there are challenges. The first is the fear of Western sanctions. India has about $15 billion invested in Russian hydrocarbon projects - our largest such investment globally. Although there’s long been talk of India acquiring a stake in Arctic LNG 2, Indian oil companies are wary of running afoul of Western restrictions. Unless some form of sovereign guarantee is offered, investments will remain cautious.

Second, there’s the language and systemic barrier. India’s trade systems are more harmonised with the West, and Russian business processes can be more difficult to navigate. Third, there’s the absence of a robust trade settlement mechanism. Despite decades of strong political ties, India–Russia trade has lagged. Our 2022 trade target was just $25 billion, in stark contrast to Russia–China trade at over $250 billion.

So, while the opportunities are real, execution will require structural fixes on both sides - particularly in trade facilitation and financial risk mitigation.

66° North: Thank you. You touched on sanctions and other impediments, which brings me to another issue - Russian raw diamonds. India, especially Gujarat, has long been a major buyer. But with the G7 moving to ban Russian diamond imports, how is India approaching this politically and commercially?

Anurag Bisen: That’s an important question. India is the world’s largest processor of diamonds. Around 90% of the world’s diamond cutting and polishing takes place in India. In 2023, we exported approximately $21 billion worth of cut and polished diamonds, making it our third-largest export category.

However, when you look at our export destinations, Russia is not among the top five. Our biggest markets are the United States (about $8 billion), followed by Hong Kong, Belgium, the UAE, and Israel. On the import side, India is the world’s third-largest importer of rough diamonds. Our major suppliers are the UAE, Belgium, Hong Kong, Angola, and Botswana - not Russia.

This means that, surprisingly, the G7’s ban on Russian diamonds may not affect us as much as people think. That said, I have long argued that we should source more rough diamonds directly from ALROSA, Russia’s state-owned diamond producer, rather than through intermediaries.

There are mixed assessments of the ban’s impact. Some believe it will significantly disrupt India’s diamond sector; others argue that alternative supply chains can cushion the blow. What is clear is that the government is taking it seriously. Prime Minister Modi has raised the issue directly with the Belgian Prime Minister, and Foreign Minister Jaishankar has also been active on this front.

Unlike the G7 or EU states - where diamond processing is not a major source of employment - in India, it’s a livelihood issue. Hundreds of thousands of workers in Gujarat depend on this trade. So our approach has to be different. The government is actively pursuing a solution that protects both trade flows and employment.

66° North: That’s a helpful explanation - thank you. One last question. India and Russia were reportedly close to signing a Reciprocal Exchange of Logistics Agreement (RELOS), which would have included Arctic port access for the Indian Navy. Ultimately, it wasn’t signed. What were India’s strategic goals behind this agreement, and why do you think it stalled?

Anurag Bisen: That’s a tough one. I won’t speculate too much about why it wasn’t signed. But India has already concluded logistics support agreements with several countries: the United States, Japan, Australia, France, Singapore, South Korea, the UK, and Vietnam. So we are not new to such arrangements.

A RELOS with Russia has been under discussion since 2019. It was on the agenda during our Defence Minister’s visit to Moscow that year and again during Prime Minister Modi’s visit to the Eastern Economic Forum. The Indian media had widely expected it to be signed in 2023, and there were even reports it might be signed during a reciprocal Russian visit to India. Perhaps that could still happen - especially if President Putin visits India this year.

As a former naval officer, I believe the Indian Navy would benefit significantly. The agreement would grant us access to Russian Arctic ports and allow for logistical support. In return, Russia would gain access to Indian facilities in the Indian Ocean - a region vital to its long-term trade and naval reach. It’s a win–win proposition.

I don’t see any insurmountable obstacles to signing it. My hope is that we will still see the agreement finalised in the near future.

Please note: The views and opinions expressed in this interview are those of the Anurag Bisen alone. They do not necessarily reflect the views or positions of the editorial staff of 66° North, or the Government of India.

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Image: The Arctic Council’s ceremonial gavel on the day of its presentation in 2013 (Source: Linnea Nordström, Arctic Council Secretariat)

More importantly, however, the gavel has also prominently figured in historical photo-ops, often to signal Arctic unity in times of escalating geopolitical tension. In May 2021, for instance, Russia’s Foreign Minister, Sergey Lavrov, and his then Icelandic counterpart, Guðlaugur Þór Þórðarson, beamed into the cameras while letting the gavel pass between their hands. The snapshot marked the official commencement of Russia’s two-year period at the Council’s helm.

While Guðlaugur and Lavrov toasted with champagne, however, the Russian Armed Forces were already busy amassing thousands of soldiers and military equipment near the Russian-Ukrainian border. According to a much-cited 2023 investigation by Verstka, president Vladimir Putin by May 2021 had already taken the decision to launch military action against Ukraine, in near-total secrecy and after consultations with his “personal banker”, Yuriy Kovalchuk. An international crisis preluding Russia’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine, which involved naval confrontations in the Sea of Azov and the mutual expelling of diplomats, had unfolded. NATO states, including Iceland, gradually awoke to the growing risk of war with Russia over Ukraine.

It would be amiss, however, to accuse Guðlaugur of political blindness or cynicism, especially in retrospect. In 2021, the spirit of ‘Arctic exceptionalism’ — the near-mythologised alleged ability of Arctic states to cordon regional cooperation off conflicts in other parts of the world — was still alive and kicking. As in 2014, when the Arctic Council weathered the diplomatic fallout of Russia’s annexation of Crimea, it was assumed that this crisis would also pass, without disrupting Arctic ‘business as usual’.

Image: Screenshot of an X post by the Arctic Council marking the handover of the Council’s chair in May 2021 (Source: X)

1. Greenland and Denmark take over the Arctic Council chairmanship

But alas, the conflict did not pass. In February 2022, Russia invaded Ukraine. Weeks later, the ‘Arctic Seven’ suspended all Arctic Council cooperation with Russia. Russia came close to quitting the organisation, deleted all mentions of it from its core Arctic strategy document, and suspended regular membership payments. Observers widely doubted whether the Arctic Council would survive the planned handover of the presidency from Russia to Norway.

In May 2023, at an austere online meeting marking the occasion of that handover, the ceremonial gavel did not feature. Much like the concept of ‘Arctic exceptionalism’ itself, its most representative token had vanished from the scene. Norway’s remarkable chairmanship from 2023 to 2025 effectively saved the Arctic Council from the brink of demise, partly through Oslo’s efforts to keep Russia just about involved enough in the Council’s remaining activities. But the underlying quagmire — the moral impossibility of collaborating with Russia in the Arctic while it wages a war of aggression elsewhere — was not resolved in the slightest. And when the Arctic Council reconvened for its 14th meeting, on 12 May, challenges to Arctic unity from without had aggravated even further.

While the Russia-Norway handover of 2023 had been complicated primarily by the war in Ukraine, the passing of the chairmanship from Norway to the Kingdom of Denmark in 2025 in addition stood under the sign of Donald Trump’s incessant threats to annex Greenland. The island, which is one of the Kingdom’s three composite countries, has since denounced the United States’ threats, as have Denmark and most of the European Arctic states. But Trump, characteristically, has not budged - and instead doubled down on insinuations that he might use military force to bring Greenland to heel. Meanwhile, the March 2025 election in Greenland reaffirmed the island’s desire to — even if with great prudence — eventually achieve territorial independence.

Copenhagen, Nuuk, and Tórshavn — the capital of the Faroe Islands, the realm’s third constituent country — thus faced a threefold challenge in crafting a unified approach to chairing the Arctic Council. First, they have to decide whether to continue Norway’s cautious reengagement with Russia. Oslo’s approach was never met with automatic approval in Denmark, which remains one of the EU’s staunchest hardliners on Russia and a firm supporter of Ukraine. Yet the Norwegian strategy may have resonated more intuitively with Greenland, where Arctic multilateralism is seen as a priority of primary importance. Second, both Denmark and Greenland strive to maintain good relations with the Arctic Council’s historically foundational power — the United States — while also pushing back against Washington’s challenges to their territorial sovereignty. Third, the very identity of the Kingdom of Denmark as an Arctic state is under renegotiation, as Greenland — the source of the realm’s Arctic status — moves gradually toward independent statehood.

In regards to the first two points, indications of future direction have remained elusive. The May meeting of the Arctic Council occurred behind closed doors, and while Russia participated, details on the Danish-Greenlandic position on future engagement have not been leaked. Arne O. Holm, editor-in-chief of the High North News, reported that the concluding statement prepared by Norway, which came in at twelve pages, had to be cut back by more than half — apparently under pressure from Moscow and Washington. And although officials in Copenhagen and Nuuk suggested that the U.S., Denmark and Greenland remained “aligned” on security issues and Arctic policy, Greenland’s Minister of Foreign Affairs, Vivian Motzfeldt, admitted that Trump’s continuing threats on Greenland would “maybe” complicate the Council’s political work.

Image: A map of the Danish realm, with Greenland, the Faroe Islands and Denmark highlighted in red (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

The outcome of years-long negotiations between Copenhagen, Nuuk, and Tórshavn over the division of Arctic Council roles was, by contrast, more readily discernible. In an insightful commentary for the Arctic Institute, Marc Jacobsen and Svein Vigeland Rottem noted that Nuuk had successfully “[…] used the fact that Denmark’s status as an Arctic state depends on Greenland’s geographical location and membership of the realm to expand its foreign policy room for manoeuvre.”

As Denmark’s relationship with Greenland comes under strain from the assertive rhetoric of the new U.S. administration, Greenland has been able to gain internal leverage over Copenhagen. After initially insisting that key Arctic Council positions remain in the hands of Danish diplomats, Denmark ultimately conceded the post of Arctic Ambassador to Kenneth Høegh, a Greenlandic career diplomat. Høegh previously served as the head of Greenland’s representation office in Washington. He will maintain offices in both Nuuk and Copenhagen and will hold the prerogative of chairing Senior Arctic Officials (SAO) meetings. Gunvør Balle, from the Faroe Islands, has been appointed vice chair—likely a nod to the islands’ own assertion of a sub-Arctic identity, a claim that has reportedly drawn criticism from Greenland. The SAO representing the Danish realm as a whole will be Torsten Kjølby Nielsen, a Dane.

Most notably, however, the post of Arctic Council chairperson did not go to Denmark’s Foreign Minister, Lars Løkke Rasmussen, but to his Greenlandic counterpart, Vivian Motzfeldt. A seasoned politician and high-level diplomat, Motzfeldt has played a central role in articulating Greenland’s evolving positions on independence and relations with the United States — frequently affirming that Greenlanders wish to be “neither Danes, nor Americans.” Her appointment underscores the extent to which Denmark now defers to Greenland’s growing diplomatic autonomy. It also serves as a subtle signal to Washington, particularly in the wake of Donald Trump’s overtures, that Greenland is capable of assuming state-like responsibilities on the international stage.

Although many disputes among the Danish realm’s constituent countries remain unresolved, the new division of labour among Greenland, Denmark, and the Faroe Islands within the Arctic Council highlights how external pressures on Arctic states can drive significant internal change — and even foster compromise. Unlike two years ago, when the Council’s ceremonial gavel remained symbolically buried beneath Tromsø’s frozen ground, it reappeared in photographs from this month’s handover ceremony. While not a sign of the return of ‘Arctic exceptionalism,’ the gavel’s reemergence may yet mark the beginning of a successful Danish-Greenlandic chairmanship — one in which internal diplomatic concessions might help inspire diplomatic achievements in relation to the outside world as well.

2. The U.S. mulls spooks and special association agreements

Beyond the upbeat spectacle of the Arctic Council meeting, however, relations between the Kingdom of Denmark and the United States have continued to spiral over the issue of Greenland. On May 6, the Wall Street Journal reported that the U.S. Director of National Intelligence, Tulsi Gabbard, issued a ‘collection emphasis message’ to intelligence agencies, directing them to “learn more about Greenland’s independence movement and attitudes on American resource extraction on the island.” Gabbard then — by lashing out at the paper in public — essentially confirmed the order’s existence.

Unsurprisingly, Danish officials reacted with fury. On May 8, the Danish government summoned the American ambassador to Copenhagen to express its displeasure over the reports. Denmark’s Prime Minister, Mette Frederiksen, told the Associated Press that “you cannot spy against an ally.” Lars Løkke Rasmussen told the New York Times that he would want to be “absolutely clear” that Denmark was upset, emphasising that efforts to “drive wedges into the unity of the kingdom” would not be tolerated by Copenhagen. Meanwhile, sources inside the American intelligence apparatus admitted to being befuddled by the order. The sources also admitted to their difficulties finding specialised staff, as intelligence operations of the kind ordered by Gabbard were “typically pointed toward perceived threats, not allied countries.”

The leak demonstrates just how seriously Trump’s staff are taking the president’s desire to ‘get’ Greenland. Behind the diplomatic stage — on which vice-president JD Vance has recently been allowed to strike a slightly more restrained tone on Greenland— U.S. authorities are preparing multiple scenario options to increase their country’s political control over the island. On May 9, Reuters reported that the U.S. planned to “propose to Greenland's leaders that the island enter into a so-called Compact of Free Association, or COFA, with the United States.”

Image: Map of the Compact of Free Association states (Source: Congressional Research Service)

COFA agreements have been a tool of U.S. foreign policy since the 1980s. They were originally developed to replace the U.S.-U.N. Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands. Upon gaining independence in the late 1970s, the former Trust territories of Palau, Micronesia and the Marshall Islands soon began to negotiate association agreements with Washington. Signed in the early 1980s, the COFA agreements oblige the U.S. to provide economic assistance and many essential services to associated states. In exchange, the U.S. military operates freely in their territories, trade with the U.S. is generally duty-free, and borders are open for labour migration in both directions. Citizens of COFA countries are also free to enlist in the U.S. military - in 2008, for instance, the Federated States of Micronesia had a higher per-capita enlistment rate than any of the U.S. states, and its citizens suffered more than five times the U.S. per-capita average of casualties in Iraq and Afghanistan.

U.S. support for the COFA agreements in the Pacific is generally bipartisan, in recognition of the strategic value of the Pacific island territories. The cost of COFA assistance to U.S. taxpayers is outweighed by the strategic benefits provided by the islands. Moreover, the agreements stop short of conferring any form of U.S. territorial status to signatories. Unlike the unincorporated U.S. territories — American Samoa, Guam, the Northern Mariana Islands, Puerto Rico, and the U.S. Virgin Islands — the COFA states retain independent statehood. Their status does therefore generally not trigger complex constitutional debates over political representation within the U.S. system — or the type of debates waged over the neo-colonialist nature of, say, the current situation of Puerto Rico.

From the point of view of America’s bureaucrats, offering a COFA agreement to Greenland might thus provide an elegant solution to the pressure exerted by president Trump. Should Greenland accept, the U.S. military could operate even more freely on the island. All remaining economic barriers to U.S. investments in Greenland’s much-coveted resource deposits would fall. Migration - always a hot button issue in Washington - would be negligible. And as Greenland would not have to become a part of the U.S.’ national territory, questions of political representation or the electoral impact of Greenland’s becoming a U.S. state could safely be sidelined.

On the other hand, the first COFA agreement concluded beyond the Pacific would break with historical precedent. It is also unclear whether it would actually satisfy the U.S. president: Trump’s desire for Greenland is likely driven by concerns of personal legacy as much as by strategic considerations. And most importantly, signing a COFA agreement would require that Greenland gain independence from Denmark first — a process that faces numerous roadblocks, and which has again been delayed by the outcome of Greenland’s national election in March.

Be that as it may, support for a merger between Greenland and the U.S. remains minuscule both on the island and among U.S. citizens. Recent polls have shown that an overwhelming majority of Greenlanders oppose becoming a part of the U.S.. Similar scepticism would likely also apply to the conclusion of a COFA agreement. And Trump’s plans are deeply unpopular among his compatriots as well — less than 20% of Americans think that an acquisition of Greenland by their country should be pursued, and only about 11% of U.S. voters would welcome an annexation of the island by force.

3. What do the Russians actually think about the Arctic?

In a survey published in early April, Nail Farkhatdinov of the Russian NGO Arctida.io (click here for a recent interview by 66° North with Ilya Shumanov, Arctida’s co-founder) accomplished an increasingly rare feat: The provision of independent survey data from inside Russia, and on a politically sensitive topic to boot. For his survey, Nail cooperated with an independent Russian field research company. Together, they contacted 1,600 respondents inside Russia by phone. The resulting study is “[…] representative by gender, age, and federal districts across Russia, as well as by types of settlements based on population size.” In the aggregate, the survey data puts a finger on the pulse of Russian public opinion on Arctic issues. Intriguingly, it offers glimpses of Russia’s Arctic realities that are comparatively undiluted by regime propaganda. With Nail’s and Arctida’s permission, here is a link to the survey, as well as summary of its findings.

Image: Nail Farkhatdinov in his office (Source: Private)

When asked about their views on military activities in the Russian Arctic, more than half of respondents (53%) said they supported the deployment of troops and military infrastructure in the region. However, since Nail’s last survey in December 2023, the share of Russians opposing the militarisation of the Arctic has grown by 4%, now reaching around 39% in total. Support for military expansion is particularly strong among older, wealthier Russian men, and weakest among young women. Meanwhile, 58% of respondents agreed that NATO’s presence in the Arctic is fuelling tensions with Russia, while 19% explicitly disagreed.

Support is also high for the view that the Arctic is Russia’s main resource treasure trove and that the country’s future growth will primarily stem from the exploitation of Arctic mineral resources. This belief is shared by 58% of respondents, especially those over the age of 60. Additionally, 68% support oil and mineral extraction in the Arctic, although opposition to these activities has increased by 4 percentage points.

In stark contrast to the Russian government’s environmental track record, a vast majority of Russians support efforts to reduce pollution in the Arctic. A full 86% strongly back such initiatives — an increase of 9 percentage points compared to the previous survey in December 2023. Concerns about global warming are also growing: 62% of respondents expressed worry about its effects on the Arctic, up 7 percentage points over the past two years.

Views on international cooperation in the Arctic remain divided. While 55% believe the region should be “a place for dialogue, stability, and constructive cooperation,” nearly one in five disagree. Support for developing cooperation with other countries in the Arctic has risen significantly — to 79%, up by 10 percentage points from 2023 — with especially high support among respondents under the age of 30. However, Russians are more divided than their government on who to cooperate with: 37% favour partnerships with friendly countries such as China, India, and other BRICS+ nations, while 31% prefer collaboration with other Arctic states like Norway or Canada. Russia’s Arctic partnership with China is supported by 63% of respondents, while 29% oppose it.

When it comes to who should decide the future of the Russian Arctic, public opinion is clear: 63% believe that indigenous peoples should determine the region’s fate, compared to just 18% who favour giving that role to security agencies and the military. Business interests are seen as least legitimate: only 12% of respondents believe commercial entities should have the greatest influence over Arctic policy.

Overall, the survey casts a revealing light on the gap between Russian public opinion and the Kremlin’s strategic direction for the Arctic. Many Russians are not fully convinced by official narratives portraying the Arctic as a military flashpoint. They are deeply concerned about environmental protection and support greater political representation for indigenous communities. While new Arctic partnerships with countries like China and India enjoy substantial support, Russians also still express hope for a return to cooperation with Western Arctic states. Finally, while expectations for economic development in the region remain high, the public prefers to see this growth balanced with environmental considerations.

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1. Quo vadis, Groenlandia?

So when Greenlanders headed to the polls on March 11, in a snap parliamentary election called in early February, the Electoral Commission of Greenland came under immense pressure to get things right. Among U.S. President Trump’s cascading threats of annexation and military subjugation, long-standing efforts to seek amends for Greenland’s colonial past, and efforts to achieve formal statehood, the Greenlandic election was unanimously perceived as - in the words of Prime Minister Múte Egede - a “fateful choice” for the island.

Image: Protesters march to the U.S. Consulate in Nuuk on March 14, 2025 (Source: Free Malaysia Today, CC BY-SA 4.0)

Greenland’s outgoing government coalition was led by Egede’s Inuit Ataqatigiit (I.A.), a socialist, green and pro-independence party. In 2021, I.A. had come first in a national election by harnessing widespread public opposition to mining projects in the south of the island. I.A.’s coalition partner, Siumut, is Greenland’s historically dominant social democratic party. It lost its hold on government four years ago when it threw its weight behind the controversial mining plans. But Greenland’s main political cleavage has not historically run along environmental lines. Rather, the island’s parties are divided on how the island can achieve independence from Denmark under the 2009 Greenland Self-Rule Act.

Ahead of the 11 March election, the question of when and how to break with Denmark acquired new urgency. In his New Year’s address, Prime Minister Egede rebuffed Trump's offers for Greenland to become a part of the United States. He then suggested that his government could pursue independence on an accelerated timeline, hinting at a possible referendum in conjunction with parliamentary elections scheduled for spring. But under the impact of Trump’s increasingly perspicuous overtures, Egede by late January rolled back his government’s drive for quick independence - and instead appeared to seek out improved relations with Copenhagen.

Following this move, Egede’s government was rocked by prominent defections, most notably of Aki-Matilda Høegh-Dam, Siumut’s representative in the Danish parliament. Høegh-Dam is a popular advocate of Greenlandic independence. Last October, she caused a stir in Denmark by refusing to live-translate a parliamentary speech held entirely in Greenlandic. The Folketinget’s rulebook would technically have required such a translation. But Høegh-Dam dismissed this rule as an outdated, colonial and racist imposition.

After Egede’s turn on the independence timeline, Høegh-Dam ditched Siumut to join forces with Naleraq - a nationalist-populist opposition party favouring quick independence and greater foreign policy cooperation with the United States (although it mistrusts Trump). Siumut’s leader, Erik Jensen, subsequently tried to mend fences with Høegh-Dam by announcing his support for an immediate activation of the §21 “independence clause” of the Greenland Self-Government Act. But the damage to the government coalition was already done. I.A. and Siumut’s stance on independence now looked incoherent at the most decisive moment of the election campaign.

In the early hours of ballot counting on 12 March, Naleraq initially appeared set for a landslide victory. But as Marc Lanteigne recounts in his write-up of the election, the opposition Demokraatit party gradually nudged past Naleraq towards the late afternoon. By the evening, Demokratiit had claimed 30% (10/31 seats) of the votes, and was awarded a mandate to negotiate a government coalition. Naleraq trailed behind at 24.5% (8 seats). The historically dominant Siumut dropped to a record low of 14.9% (4 seats), which led chairman Erik Jensen to resign from his post. I.A. were reduced to 21% (7 seats), and the centrist, formerly unionist Atassut gained 7% (2 seats).

The election winners, Demokratiit, are a moderate social-liberal party. Having advocated for Greenland’s continued membership in the Danish Realm in the past, Demokratiit experienced a change of heart: The party now wants a measured transition to independence, but also ensure that stable economic foundations are in place before self-determination procedures are triggered. A rash break with Denmark could leave Greenland economically underprepared for statehood. This could, in turn, make the island even more vulnerable to outside coercion. Paradoxically, the desired end goal of independence might therefore best be obtained by thwarting any attempts to achieve it quickly - at least according to Demokratiit. This position appealed to the more risk-averse parts of the Greenlandic electorate. But the election result should - in the words of Naleraq parlementarian Kuno Fencker - equally be interpreted as a reaction to domestic concerns over “business, fisheries, pensions, livelihoods and healthcare”.

On 12 March, Demokratiit’s chairman, Jens-Frederik Nielsen, swiftly announced the start of coalition talks involving all other parties. Nielsen stressed the need for national unity during a moment of crisis. Two days later, all five of Greenland’s parliamentary parties released a joint statement, in which they condemned Trump’s annexation plans and called for a closing of ranks. The parties then started their negotiations for a national unity government. After ten days of negotiations, Nielsen on 24 March announced that Naleraq had abandoned the talks. While all five parties had found much common ground, they remained divided on when to activate §21 - with Naleraq insisting on an immediate launch of independence procedures, whereas other parties preferred to proceed with caution.

Hours before an uninvited visit by U.S. vice president JD Vance (which was condemned as a “provocation” and “unacceptable pressure” by the Greenlandic and Danish Prime Ministers), Demokratiit, Siumut, I.A. and Atassut announced their successful conclusion of a four-party government coalition. The new coalition will account for 75% of the total electorate and prioritise broad representation over partisan divides on independence timetables.

A comprehensive review of the coalition agreement was published by Sermitsiaq, one of Greenland’s two national newspapers. The new government foresees a gradual progression towards independence, a renegotiation of relations with the Danish state, and sustainable and growth-oriented economic policies with a focus on attracting foreign capital and intensified mining efforts. In the foreign and security policy realm, the coalition wants to reaffirm its commitment to the Western alliance, while also rebuffing foreign encroachments on its fledgling independence. However, the new government also acknowledges that Greenland’s “large geography and small population mean that [it needs] international cooperation to maintain sovereignty.”

These lines were likely addressed at the American president, whose threats to Greenland have not abated in the slightest. Different members of Trump’s administration have, however, lately diverged on the specifics of how to “get” Greenland. While Trump has consistently, and with little discrimination, threatened to subjugate Greenland by force if necessary, his Vice-President JD Vance has come to pitch a more subtle approach.

On 29 March, Vance spoke to U.S. military personnel at the Pituffik Space Base. While he unsurprisingly berated Denmark for being a “bad ally”, Vance also affirmed Greenland’s right to self-determination. Having faced protests by Greenlanders against his visit, the Vice-President scaled back the threatening language employed by Trump, and ruled out any immediate expansion of the U.S. military presence in Greenland (the U.S. currently retains only one of its 17 historical bases on the island). On the issue of Greenlandic sovereignty, Vance signaled the U.S.’ encouragement for the island to seek independence - but likely only for it to join the United States after, out of its own “free will”. Although Vance played down the likelihood of immediate military coercion, he remained deliberately vague on whether the threat or use of force could be used to bring a newly independent Greenland to heel.

Video: JD Vance’s remarks to military personnel at the Pituffik Space Base, 29 March (Source: YouTube)

Vance’s approach is likely driven by three interlinked objectives: By allowing for Greenland to seek independence before strong-arming it into closer ties with the U.S., the Vice-President could avoid breaking international and domestic legal constraints on the use of force, while also increasing the U.S. security oversight on the island and fulfilling - in his own words - “the president’s desires.”

The success of Vance’s approach will probably hinge on Trump’s continued goodwill. Within the administration, Vance has emerged as the main backseat driver on foreign policy issues. While his assertiveness has served the Vice-President well until now, he may at some point come to overstep one of Trump’s political boundaries. Should Vance be asked to step back from the Greenland portfolio, the U.S.’ military threats to the island could quickly grow louder.

2. We're living in Putin’s world

In Russia, official reactions to Trump’s position on Greenland provided a fascinating case study: they have laid bare two contradictory strands in contemporary Russian foreign policy.

On the one hand, Russia’s diplomatic establishment is hard-wired to promote a deeply sovereigntist reading of the U.N. Charter. Russia never tires of reminding the rest of the world that the U.N. system was co-created by the Soviet Union. Moscow is keen to preserve this system as a monument to its previous superpower status, as well as its bygone ability to shape the structure of the international order. Russia’s demonstratively orthodox interpretation of basic Charter principles, such as the non-interference rule, is certainly hypocritical. But it aligns with that of China, and has permitted Moscow to rally against the “rules-based order” and other alternative concepts promoted by the West. Violations of international legal principles by NATO states have also regularly been cited by Russia in defence of its own, and typically more egregious breaches - from South Ossetia and Abkhazia, to the annexation of Crimea, and even the full-scale invasion of Ukraine.

On the other hand, Putin has also spent much of the past three years elaborating an alternative, and much more sombre vision for the international system - one rooted not in international law, but in neo-imperial revanchism, 19th century concepts of great power politics, zones of influence, sovereignty as an exclusive prerogative of large, nuclear-armed states, and preemptive force as a legitimate tool in the pursuit of national interests. This vision stands in contradiction of the very principles of the U.N. Charter that Russian diplomats so frequently cite.

Image: Vladimir Putin speaks at the International Arctic Forum in Murmansk, 27 March (Source: Free Malaysia Today, CC BY-SA 4.0)

In an exercise of postmodern bricolage, and depending on the audience and objectives at play, Russian officials flip-flop between two mutually exclusive portrayals of their country: One as a conservative bulwark against the erosion of the U.N. system by “liberal imperialism”, and one of a a revanchist empire crusading against sovereign equality. This two-faced approach has also characterised Russian reactions to Trump’s threats against Greenland.

In January, Kremlin speaker Dmitry Peskov pointed to Greenland as an internal matter of Denmark and the United States, calling for the “self-determination” of Greenlanders to be respected. Russia’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs echoed this interpretation later that month, adding that “[…] international law is not selective and is not the ‘right of the strong,’ and its norms are binding on everyone.” In March, Leonid Slutsky, the head of the State Duma Committee on International Affairs and leader of Russia’s hyper-nationalist ‘Liberal Democratic Party’, proclaimed that “the people of Greenland should resolve any issues of territorial affiliation themselves”, and that “the right of nations to self-determination is guaranteed by the U.N. Charter and must be accompanied by compliance with international law”.

On the other hand, the leader of ‘A Just Russia’, Sergei Mironov, in February called for Norway’s Svalbard archipelago to be renamed ‘Pomorsk Islands’, and the Arctic Ocean to be rebaptised ‘Russian Arctic Ocean’ - all ostensibly in the spirit of Trump’s expansionist designs on Greenland and Canada. And Putin himself, in late March, gave a nod to the “long historical roots” of America’s interest in the island. The Russian president compared Trump’s efforts to Andrew Jackson’s 1868 purchase of Alaska, which, in his words, was “ridiculed at the time” but is “probably viewed very differently in the United States today.” Putin warned against dismissing Trump’s plans as “preposterous talk by the new U.S. administration.”

The latter remarks likely point to the actual nature of Russia’s interest in Greenland - which is not material, but abstract. In spite of Trump’s and Vance’s vague talk of “Russian ships” near Greenland's shores, Russia’s military interest in the island is limited - and would not change much after a hypothetical U.S. takeover. The GIUK gap - a naval choke point in the North Atlantic, which constrains the area of operation of Russia’s Northern Fleet - would remain in the hands of actors hostile to Moscow under any conceivable scenario. Russia also has no direct stake in the disputes over shipping rights in the Northwest Passage. Unlike China, it lacks the wherewithal and interest to become involved in business ventures on Greenland. And while Russia would reflexively oppose any expansion of the U.S.’ military activity on Greenland, this opposition would be embedded in its wider Arctic military posture - which remains defensive on balance.

A U.S. takeover of Greenland could therefore only be advantageous to Moscow for a less practical reason: If ordered in breach of international law, it would upend the U.S.’ commitment to legal safeguards against territorial expansionism. After its annexation of Crimea, the Kremlin presented flawed legal justifications for its actions. Russia’s annexations of Ukraine’s Donetsk, Kherson, Luhansk, and Zaporizhzhia oblasts in late 2022 were, on the other hand, more overtly imperialistic.

Putin assumed that other nations might initially oppose the annexations, but that they would ultimately accept them as irreversible—along with a reshaped global order where great powers are entitled to gradually encroach on the territories of smaller countries within their ‘historical spheres of influence.’ By replicating Putin’s approach, Washington would provide legitimacy to Russia’s conquests in Ukraine in hindsight - as was implicitly pointed out by Dmitry Peskov in January.

3. Russia’s Arctic elites between Riyadh and Murmansk

Aside from the Greenland question, Moscow and Washington reportedly also found common ground on other Arctic issues during their talks on the war in Ukraine, which were held in in Riyadh last month. On 12 March, the head of the Russian Direct Investment Fund, Kirill Dmitriev, first let slip that the two sides’ delegates in Saudi Arabia had discussed potential joint projects in the Arctic. While Russia craves sanctions relief for its Arctic oil and gas sites, Vedomosti cautioned that the U.S. might be interested in “weakening Russia’s ties with China” by replacing Beijing as Russia’s major Arctic business partner. The Kremlin on 12 March confirmed that talks on the Arctic had indeed occurred in Riyadh. On the same day, the Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs issued a statement that Russia was “ready to cooperate on Arctic issues” as well as a “normalisation of Arctic Council work.” Russian oil and gas experts, on the other hand, dismissed the idea of joint Arctic energy development between Russian and American companies as “unsubstantiated rumours.”

Meanwhile, Russia’s Arctic policy elite descended on the International Arctic Forum, a high profile talkshop held in Murmansk at the end of March. In a video message, Morten Høglund, the Chairman of the Senior Arctic Officials Committee, graced the Russian audience with reserved niceties, which was much in keeping with Norway’s efforts to keep Russia involved in Arctic cooperation. In a droning speech, president Putin spoke of Russia’s intention to develop the Arctic economy - but refrained from making any more concrete announcements. Nikolay Patrushev, the head of Russia’s Maritime Collegium, ambitiously declared Russia the sole arbiter of Arctic globalisation. Patrushev then philosophised about the strategic value of the Northern Sea Route in “escaping maritime blockades imposed by the West in the Baltic and Black Seas.” Russia’s Deputy Prime Minister, Yuriy Trutnev, mused that the International Arctic Forum could become an alternative platform to replace the paralysed Arctic Council. And Andriy Chibis, the governor of Murmansk, spoke of Russia’s need for more Arctic partnerships - both with “friendly countries”, but also - in the future - possibly the Western states.

Among the “potential Arctic partners” for Moscow, India stood out as the most coveted: Maxim Dankin, the Director General of Russia’s Arctic Development Project Office, gave an interview to TASS in which he described India’s interests in the Arctic as being rooted in “climate change, energy and shipbuilding.” Dankin also announced that scientific cooperation between Russia and India in the Arctic would be expanded. Russia’s ambassador to India spoke of his belief the India’s presence in the Arctic could be a “stabilising factor” for the region. And Anurag Bisen, a prolific Indian expert on Arctic security, discussed India’s rising interest in Russian rare earths and metals.

4. Will China revise its Arctic strategy?

But while India’s delegates commanded much media attention, as well as much room on the conference stage, China’s delegates at the Forum played only a comparatively marginal role. On the one hand, this may be due to China’s diminishing appetite for Arctic policy adventures. But on the other hand, China's silence in Murmansk may also have been a consequence of Russia’s growing unease over China’s Arctic ambitions.

Hong Kong’s South China Morning Post on 16 March reported that China would soon revise its official Arctic policy, probably in light of the foreseeable U.S.-Russia “rapprochement”. China’s first Arctic policy white paper, which was published in 2018, sparked a backlash among Arctic states - the paper defined China as a “near-Arctic state”, outlined ambitious plans for the “Polar Silk Route”, and claimed a greater role for China in the future of Arctic governance. Following hefty criticism from the Arctic states, Beijing rowed back - and has since mostly focused on scientific diplomacy in the region, but also naval exercises with Russia and container shipping projects. A revision of China’s Arctic policy strategy would thus be overdue, in order to reflect the country’s altered strategic outlook.

Reactions in the Russian media to the SCMP article were mostly benevolent: Vedomosti welcomed the possibility of a revised Chinese Arctic strategy, arguing that the assertiveness of the white paper had upset even China's Russian partners. But in a comment on president Trump’s recent promise that Washington would “order 48 icebreakers”, Russian expert Pavel Ivankin penned an op-ed for an official government portal, in which he grouped the “USA, Canada and China” together as states that could pose a strategic challenge to Russia in the Arctic, due mostly to their advanced icebreaker capabilities.

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Our first interview is with Ilia Shumanov, a Russian journalist, lawyer and former Executive Director of Transparency International Russia. In 2023, Ilia co-founded Arctida, an NGO dedicated to producing evidence-based analyses and investigations on the Russian Arctic.

Image: Ilia Shumanov (Source: Private)

66° North: Hello Ilia! Thank you for agreeing to speak to us about your work. What inspired you to co-found Arctida back in 2023?

Ilia Shumanov: I became interested in the Arctic during my time at Transparency International Russia. In 2021, when I was still based in Moscow, I travelled to the Russian North. I visited the European part of the Russian Arctic — regions like Karelia — and what I saw left a deep impression. These areas are extraordinarily rich in natural resources, culture, and history. Yet, rather than prosperity, I saw enormous degradation. Many northern regions have lost up to 20% of their inhabitants over the past decades. This human exodus contradicts the Russian government's narrative of the Arctic as a strategic region undergoing massive state-led investment. The trajectory on the ground is one of decline — not development. I believe that this situation is unacceptable.

We started Arctida as a voluntary project with a few like-minded individuals conducting small-scale research and sharing information through social media channels. Today, Arctida has become a more stable organisation with full-time staff, although the political situation remains precarious. I am a designated 'foreign agent' in Russia and also on the country’s wanted list, so I am forced to work from exile, and funding is always a challenge. Despite these obstacles, we have carved out a niche by addressing three interconnected issues that no other organisation combines in the same way: climate change, kleptocracy, and indigenous rights.

Climate change is the central force reshaping the Arctic. Rising temperatures and melting permafrost threaten ecosystems and human communities. Yet, instead of responding to these challenges, the Russian state uses the climate crisis as a pretext to accelerate resource extraction. Vast industrial projects — often linked to the military-industrial complex — are being pushed forward with little transparency or regard for environmental or social costs. Our organisation brings together experts from disbanded Russian environmental NGOs to document how these extractive projects contribute to both environmental degradation and human suffering.

Kleptocracy is the second pillar of our work, and it is an issue that I have carried over from my anti-corruption background. The Arctic is not just a remote frontier — it is one of the biggest black holes in Russia's political economy. Major industrial projects are dominated by state-affiliated oligarchs and their networks, who siphon off resources with impunity. What makes this problem truly global is the involvement of foreign partners — from Chinese companies to Western corporations — who participate in these opaque deals. In one investigation, we traced how gold mining operations in Chukotka involved not only Russian oligarchs but also former Ukrainian officials tied to the Yanukovych regime. These kinds of cross-border kleptocratic networks often go unnoticed in mainstream coverage of the Arctic.

The third pillar — indigenous rights — ties the other two issues together. Indigenous communities are disproportionately affected by both climate change and corruption. Yet their voices are systematically excluded from decision-making processes. Russian authorities often instrumentalise indigenous groups to promote state-backed agendas, such as lobbying for sanctions relief. But when it comes to issues like environmental degradation or land rights, these communities are ignored. At Arctida, we work closely with indigenous activists and researchers to ensure their perspectives are included in every publication we produce.

In essence, our vision is to promote what we call the concept of 'many Arctics' — an approach that rejects the simplistic image of the Arctic as a homogenous resource frontier. We want to challenge the top-down, extractive model imposed by the Russian state and its corporate partners.

66° North: Do you think of yourself as an organisation in exile that prepares to bring perspectives on the Russian Arctic to Russian internal debates if the political situation changes? Or do you see yourself as an organisation primarily focused on advocacy abroad, speaking to international audiences about the Russian Arctic?

Ilia Shumanov: We try to reach both audiences, Russian and international. Around half of our staff remain in Russia, which allows us to stay connected with the realities on the ground and the everyday struggles of people in the Arctic regions. At the same time, there's a growing demand from international stakeholders – both Western countries and the Global South – for independent expertise on the Russian Arctic. Since the war began, Russia has become a kind of black box, but we know how to access data and explain what is happening in the region.

66° North: Alright, then let’s talk about one of your recent projects – your stakeholder map of the Russian Arctic. This project lays out the key players shaping policy and power structures in the region. In Western academic and policy discussions, Russian Arctic governance is often seen as highly centralised, with most directives flowing downwards directly from the Kremlin. But your report shows a much more complex picture of intersecting power networks. Could you walk me through this project and explain how power actually works in the Russian Arctic today?

Ilia Shumanov: It's a vast and intricate system – you could easily spend two or more hours explaining all the details. Since 2022, we've been systematically mapping key players in the Russian Arctic and the connections between them. This year, we're updating our research with an interactive diagram that visualises these networks across multiple layers, covering thousands of individuals and organisations.

Our research is based entirely on open data, which remains a crucial resource even as the Russian authorities restrict information. We map out major business groups, particularly mining companies, alongside regional and federal authorities, security agencies, and state-affiliated NGOs.

One of our key findings is the rising influence of Nikolai Patrushev, a long-time Putin ally. We were the first organisation to identify Patrushev's growing role in the region. Our research also traces how businesses in the Russian Arctic are tied to Putin's inner circle – figures like Sergey Chemezov of Rostec – and how these networks operate through both formal channels and informal relationships.

Another crucial aspect of our work is exposing the role of GONGOs – government-organised NGOs – which pose as independent civil society groups while advancing the interests of the state and extractive industries. One example is RAIPON, a state-backed indigenous organisation that receives government subsidies and lobbies against sanctions at international forums like the Arctic Council and the United Nations. We’ve documented how RAIPON works closely with the FSB and the presidential administration to neutralise independent indigenous voices and support business interests like Nornickel.

Finally, we've uncovered surprising connections, such as links between Arctic regional governments and figures from Ramzan Kadyrov's Chechen networks, which are involved in controlling financial flows in the region. These kinds of hidden alliances show how the Russian Arctic is governed not just through top-down directives but through a web of competing interests and opaque relationships.

66° North: And how has the political landscape in the Russian Arctic evolved for people on the ground, especially for indigenous folks? Has it deteriorated due to the war in Ukraine or the Russian government’s increasing use of Arctic resources?

Ilia Shumanov: The political situation in the Russian Arctic is complex, especially when we talk about demographics. The region has a unique challenge: despite the federal government's attempts to increase the population—through initiatives like the “Arctic Hectare” program, which offers free land in the Arctic to Russian citizens—the population is still declining. Regions like Komi and Murmansk have lost about a fifth of their population in recent years. Even though there are some exceptions, like Yamal and the Sakha Republic, which have seen slight growth due to oil and gas industries, the broader trend is one of depopulation. And the programs meant to counter this aren’t really working; in a survey we conducted, about half of respondents hadn’t even heard of the Arctic hectare program, and many who did didn’t think it was successful.

When it comes to the indigenous groups in the region, the situation is equally tricky. To be recognised as a “small-numbered indigenous people” (коренной малочисленный народ) under Russian law, their population has to be under 50,000. This recognition gives them some legal protections for their land, traditions, and identity, but it’s not enough to counter the real challenges they face. The pressure from state policies and corporations, like big energy companies, is constant. These groups have been fighting for meaningful rights for decades, but it’s a tough battle.

Since the war in Ukraine began, things have only gotten worse for indigenous activists. Many of them, like Andrei Danilov and Mark Zdor, who were prominent voices advocating for indigenous rights, have had to flee the country due to safety concerns. These are the people who are at the forefront of the fight for indigenous communities, but they are now exiled because of the increasing repression.

Another major issue is that many organisations that were once independent, like RAIPON, the Russian Indigenous Peoples’ Organisation, have been co-opted by the government. They’ve even endorsed Russia’s so-called “special military operation”. This is the price they pay for continuing to exist under the current regime. Just recently, reports surfaced showing RAIPON's ties to the Russian government and its connections to industries like Nornickel, one of the biggest extractive companies in the country. It’s become clear that these organisations no longer represent the real interests of indigenous peoples; instead, they’re part of the state’s propaganda machine.

Things escalated even further in 2024 when the Russian government officially labeled several independent indigenous organisations, like the Aborigen-Forum and Indigenous Russia, as extremist or even terrorist entities. This is a part of a broader crackdown on civil society in Russia. Hundreds of regional and indigenous organisations have been blacklisted, and any individual associated with these groups is now at risk. If you're connected to a group that's been labeled terrorist, it means you’re at risk too. It's a dangerous time for anyone fighting for indigenous rights in Russia.

And when it comes to the war, it’s been especially devastating for indigenous communities. There has been a disproportionate mobilisation of indigenous people into the military, with entire communities seeing large numbers of their men conscripted. This has put some of these communities in a perilous position. There have been cases where entire villages lost half of their male population, which is a direct threat to their survival as a community. The war isn’t just a political issue; it’s also a matter of life or death for some of these indigenous groups. The mobilisation rates in places like Tuva, Buryatia, and the northern regions have been much higher than in Moscow or St. Petersburg, and it’s leading to the real possibility of extinction for some of these small, vulnerable communities. The UN has raised concerns about this mass mobilisation and the long-term impact it could have on the survival of these groups.

66° North: So what you're saying is that indigenous males from the Russian North have been disproportionately affected by recruitment for the war, much like those from, say, Tuva, Buryatia or the North Caucasus?

Ilia Shumanov: Yes, exactly. But if you compare the situation in Tuva, for example, with, say, the Dolgans in the Russian North, the difference is one of scale. You have populations in Tuva that number in the hundreds of thousands, while indigenous groups like the Dolgans are much smaller—only a few thousand. Losing even a small number of men from these tiny communities can have devastating consequences. If, say, a dozen or more men are taken from a community, it could very well threaten the survival of that group. It's not just a matter of losing people; it's about losing the very foundation of the community.

The comparison with more southerly regions makes sense in terms of the vulnerability of certain minority groups, especially in terms of low income levels, which make people susceptible to army recruitment. But there’s also a darker side to this: the government uses certain stereotypes in its propaganda to target indigenous groups for recruitment. There's this perception that indigenous people are great hunters—this kind of imagery is used to paint them as capable soldiers, which, of course, is an incredibly reductive and harmful view. The government taps into these stereotypes, suggesting that indigenous men have the skills needed for warfare, when, in reality, it’s just a manipulation of their image for military purposes. It’s quite depressing, to be honest. But, yes, it’s a real issue.

66° North: You mentioned earlier that the Russian Arctic is vital for Russia's economy, especially in regards to the large energy projects in the region. Given the international sanctions on Russia, how do you see the future exploitation of these resource deposits play out?

Ilia Shumanov: Well, it’s important to remember that the Arctic is seen by Russia as a treasure trove of resources, a critical element for their future economic survival. But even with all that wealth beneath the surface, there’s a clear tension right now. You have the resources, but sanctions and the broader geopolitical situation are really starting to affect Russia’s ability to access and exploit those resources effectively. Since 2017, there’s been a noticeable decline in Russia’s share of Arctic gas production, from 90% to 85%. Now, that might seem like a small drop, but it’s still a significant hit.

With the war, and the global sanctions that have followed, that 5% drop has come at a massive cost. We're talking about trillions of Russian rubles that could have been reinvested into the country, but are instead being lost. The oil and gas sector, which is central to Russia's economy, has been particularly hard hit. The sanctions have caused a real slowdown in production, especially since 2022. The decline in production is about 2.8% for oil, and about 4-5% for gas, which is not insignificant.

And yes, we might see a slight recovery, particularly because Russia is redirecting its oil and gas to Asia, but even that’s a patchwork solution. The infrastructure isn’t fully in place to support this shift, and that's going to take years to build, if not decades. The ability of Russia to sustain its energy industries in the Arctic, especially with the shrinking ability to access international markets and limited investment opportunities, is under serious question.

66° North: So, in light of all these difficulties, what’s the outlook for the major energy projects like Arctic LNG 2 and Vostok Oil? How do you think these projects will evolve under sanctions, particularly with the push from Russian officials to partner with foreign companies like those in the UAE and China?

Ilia Shumanov: Novatek’s Arctic LNG 2, for example, has been one of the big hopes for Russia in terms of becoming a major player in the global liquefied natural gas (LNG) market. But it’s struggled with technological shortages from the very beginning, especially after the sanctions hit.

But the biggest issue here is the infrastructure challenge. The gas produced in the Arctic is not even accessible for the domestic Russian market, which complicates things even further. The entire infrastructure was built to serve the export market, so creating a domestic distribution system could take decades. This is a huge bottleneck.

Then, looking at the oil sector, Rosneft’s Vostok Oil project has been postponed until 2026. The oil services that are needed to actually get this project off the ground are still heavily dependent on foreign technologies, especially those from the U.S. and Europe. Without them, it's hard to move forward. And, of course, you have the issue of the shadow fleet. A lot of vessels that were previously used to transport Russian oil and gas have been sanctioned. This means the entire logistics system for getting these resources out of the Arctic has been severely disrupted.

66° North: I think I share your pessimistic view on these projects. On a related note, how do you assess Russia’s progress on developing the Northern Sea Route?

Ilia Shumanov: The North Sea Route is another area that Putin had high hopes for, with official targets saying that by the end of last year, they wanted to see 80 million tonnes of cargo transported via this route. But the reality is far from that target. And the reason for this is quite simple: logistical bottlenecks, especially with the specialised vessels needed to navigate the route, have made it very difficult to reach those targets.

Rosatom, which is in charge of the route, has seen its projections fall short, and while there has been some growth, it’s been small and not as substantial as the Kremlin had hoped. There’s no doubt that this logistical route could become more important in the future, particularly if sanctions are eventually lifted and Russia can reestablish ties with Europe and other global markets. But right now, the North Sea Route is falling short of its potential.

66° North: And what about the role of Chinese and UAE-based companies in shipping on the NSR? You mentioned earlier that these countries are hesitant to get involved in Russian Arctic energy projects because of the risk of secondary sanctions. Do you see any potential for cooperation with them on the NSR?

Ilia Shumanov: It’s clear that both the UAE and China are waiting to see how the geopolitical situation unfolds. If the war in Ukraine comes to an end and sanctions are lifted, then we could see more active involvement from these countries. But right now, I don’t see much movement. A lot of Chinese and UAE-based companies are in a holding pattern, hesitant to make any significant moves until there’s more clarity on the global sanctions landscape.

66° North: Let's wrap up with a final question on renewable energy in the Russian Arctic. This region is typically associated with fossil fuel production and high per capita fossil fuel consumption. However, Arctic territories have significant potential for renewable energy. How do renewables and the green transition factor into the present and future of the Russian Arctic?

Ilia Shumanov: Despite its reliance on fossil fuels, Russia still promotes a climate agenda on some levels. Most Russian Arctic regions have adopted climate adaptation plans, acknowledging climate risks such as floods, hurricanes, heatwaves, permafrost thaw, and wildfires. Our research at Arctida found that these regions are beginning to estimate the economic impact of climate extremes. For instance, the Republic of Karelia reported $8.5 million in damages from natural disasters between 2005 and 2020, about 1% of its annual budget. In the Khanty-Mansi Autonomous Okrug, climate-related damages amounted to over 4 billion rubles, exceeding 1% of the regional budget.

A major concern is permafrost thaw, which affects infrastructure stability. Over 80% of buildings and engineering structures in the Russian Arctic have experienced deformation due to permafrost melting. This poses a significant risk, as a large portion of Arctic infrastructure could become structurally unsound. The 2020 fuel spill in Norilsk—one of the worst environmental disasters in the Arctic—demonstrated the consequences of neglecting these risks.

Regarding renewable energy, our research indicates that the current renewable capacity in Russian Arctic regions is hundreds or even thousands of times lower than the total installed capacity of regional energy systems. In some areas, it is close to zero. However, there are exceptions. The Republic of Karelia and the Murmansk region have small-scale hydropower plants, many of which date back to the Soviet era. Some regions, such as Krasnoyarsk, are implementing energy efficiency measures and promoting electric public transport.

That said, Russia's energy strategy still prioritises large-scale fossil fuel extraction. Major industry figures like Mikhelson, Timchenko, and Sechin—who are closely tied to President Putin—favor expanding fossil fuel production over investing in renewables. While critical minerals extraction is growing in the Arctic, particularly in the Murmansk region, this is more about resource exploitation than a true energy transition.

Although small-scale renewables exist in some Arctic regions—such as wind and solar projects in the Sakha Republic—these efforts remain limited. Some regions are experimenting with hybrid energy systems that combine solar and diesel generation to reduce fuel costs, but such projects are rare. Overall, only a handful of Russian Arctic regions are genuinely invested in renewable energy and the green transition, and without stronger federal support, these efforts may remain insufficient and too late to make a meaningful impact.

66° North: Ilia, one last question before I let you go—how can my readers support your work?

Ilia Shumanov: We have a donation programme. But more importantly, we are a small, young organisation, and we value engagement. We maintain social media accounts in Russian and English, where we expose corruption and kleptocracy schemes—not just in the Russian Arctic, but also involving intermediaries in the UAE, India, Europe, and the Middle East. We also cover environmental destruction, indigenous rights violations, and sanction evasion.

If your readers could follow us on social media, that would be incredibly helpful. I’ll send over the links. And, of course, for those who would like to donate, we would greatly appreciate any support.

You can follow Arctida’s work on X, LinkedIn, Instagram, or Telegram. If you would like to support the work of Arctida with a donation, please click here.

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Before entire arsenals of amateur fireworks are launched into the capital’s starry skies, however, at six p.m. the streets of Copenhagen fall silent as people gather to watch the New Year’s address of the Danish monarch. This year’s speech had been widely anticipated: Not only was it held for the first time by Frederik X, the new King of Denmark, who in 2024 took over the throne abdicated by his mother, but guests at the party I attended in the modern Sydhavnen neighbourhood also expressed hope that the King might—in one way or another—provide some form of royal guidance on Denmark’s newly precarious international situation.

Image: Screenshot taken from King Frederik’s first new year’s address, 31 December, 2024 (Source: DR1 TV)

As I discussed in my last post for 66° North, U.S. President Donald Trump announced on the 22nd of December that he considered acquiring “ownership and control of Greenland […] an absolute necessity.” By reiterating his desire to bring Greenland under U.S. control before having taken office, Trump set off alarm bells across Nuuk, Copenhagen and Brussels.

While Frederik X did not explicitly mention the United States in his New Year’s address, he stated that “[…] we are all united and each of us committed to the Kingdom of Denmark, from the Danish minority in Southern Schleswig all the way to Greenland. We belong together". A week later, the royal family also ordered a modification of the Royal Arms of Denmark - which now features the insignia of both Greenland and the Faroe Islands in a more prominent position.

Image: The Royal Arms of Denmark, before and after 7 January 2025 - with Greenland represented by a white polar bear (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

The Trump team, meanwhile, seemed entirely undeterred by rebukes from the King of Denmark, the Prime Minister of Greenland or various Danish government figures. After Erik Jensen, the head of Siumut, Greenland’s social democratic party, invited Trump to visit the island, the President’s eldest son, Donald Jr., took his father’s Trump Force One for a much-publicised blitz visit to Nuuk. On January 7, Trump Jr. and his entourage handed out MAGA hats to a group of passengers in the Greenlandic capital, which reportedly included several homeless folks. The group then took pictures in front of a previously vandalised statue of the island’s original Danish coloniser, Hans Egede, and threw an impromptu party in a local pub - before heading back to the United States.

At a Florida press conference held the same day, Donald Trump announced that he would issue “very high tariffs” against Denmark, should Copenhagen refuse to go along with a U.S. purchase of Greenland. As Denmark is a member of the European Union - which has largely collectivised trade policy - this announcement immediately put both Brussels and major EU member states, such as Germany and France, on notice. Trump also refused to rule out the use of military force in the pursuit of control over Greenland - thereby triggering surreal discussions over legal obligations set by the mutual defence clause (42.7) of the EU’s founding treaty.

On 15 January, Danish Prime Minister Mette Frederiksen held a long phone call with Trump on the subject, which the Financial Times reported as having gone “very badly.” Two weeks later, the U.S.’ Secretary of State, Marco Rubio, confirmed to TV host Megyn Kelly that Trump’s Greenland overtures were “not a joke.” In mid-January, the Republican lawmaker Andy Ogles introduced a “Make Greenland Great Again Act” to the U.S. House of Representatives, which is intended to create a legislative basis for an eventual acquisition of the island.

The Greenlandic Prime Minister, Múte Egede, and all five parties in the Inatsisartut, Greenland’s parliament, have emphatically refused to entertain Trump’s overtures, and the Danish government has consistently pointed to Greenland’s right to choose its own future. Still, the U.S. government is now seemingly preparing steps towards a takeover of the island. This situation begs the question of how - if at all - such a takeover scenario could be justified to the international community. Typically, and even in the case of grave violations of international rules on statehood and territorial titles, states make reference to international law in justification of their actions. This is because, according to Martti Koskenniemi, a legal philosopher, international law functions as the “grammar of international relations” - a discursive practice and shared language through which states try to frame their behaviour as lawful, legitimate, or just. Presumably with this goal in mind, Donald Trump openly questioned Denmark’s legal right to sovereignty over Greenland in his press conference on 7 January.

1. Can the United States “buy” Greenland according to international law?

Contrary to Trump’s comments, however, Denmark’s sovereignty over Greenland is a well-established legal fact. As Ekaterina Antsygina summarised for the European Journal of International Law, the world’s other states have collectively acquiesced to Denmark’s authority over the island ever since Copenhagen fought off a Norwegian claim to Eastern Greenland in 1925. The United States has also consistently recognised Danish sovereignty over Greenland, including through declarations issued in 1916, and supplementary defence agreements concluded in 1941 and 1951. The U.S. and other countries again did so in recognising Denmark’s 2014 submission to the CLCS, and foundational documents of the Arctic Council, including the 2008 Ilulissat Declaration.

At the same time, the fact that Denmark certainly holds sovereignty over Greenland does not imply that its sovereignty is absolute - quite the opposite: In the 18th century, Greenland was forcibly colonised by Denmark. This was acknowledged by the rest of the world when the U.N. General Assembly included the island in its Resolution 1541 - a decolonisation regime negotiated throughout the 1950s, which defines the procedures for colonised territories to gain independent statehood by reference to the principle of self-determination.

Greenland undeniably has the right to self-determination, as a recognised entity separate from Denmark. But while this is true, it is also important to consider the technical modalities of how the island could exercise this right in practice: As Greenland received full constitutional status within the Kingdom of Denmark in 1953, it was taken off the UNGA’s List of Non-Self-Governing Territories, which lists all colonised territories for whom the right to self-determination automatically equates to a right of territorial secession and statehood.

Video: The UNGA of 1960, during which Resolution 1541 containing the rules governing decolonisation was accepted

Unlike in the cases of New Caledonia, Montserrat or Guam, eventual changes to Greenland’s territorial status would not be governed by the UNGA Resolution 1541. Under international law, Greenland’s right to self-determination thus only creates an automatic entitlement to internal autonomy and self-government — but not necessarily full independence. Changes to its territorial status, including either independence, mergers or cessions, would need to be pursued through the domestic legal system of Denmark - which luckily already provides for precisely this eventuality. In 2009, Denmark and Greenland agreed on the Act on Greenland Self-Government, which lays out provisions to specify how the island can claim independence.

As Jure Vidmar explains, Greenlanders would first need to approve an independence agreement negotiated between their government and Copenhagen by referendum. Then, the parliaments in both Nuuk and Copenhagen would have to consent to the agreement. Following independence, Greenland could then - out of its own free will - explore a potential merger with the United States. In absence of Denmark’s consent, however, international law could not be cited in justification of a merger of Greenland with the United States. A “purchase” of territories in the style of the 19th century is clearly not accommodated by the U.N. Charter. And - most importantly, in light of Trump’s recent comments - any coercion on the part of the U.S., the threat or use of force, or outright occupation, conquest or annexation - would render any attempt to absorb Greenland into the United States illegal.

For the United States to “acquire” Greenland in a manner consistent with international law, the island would thus first need to achieve independence - a process for which Denmark will need to be involved, and for which there is significant political support among Greenlanders, but which is also still obstructed by a number of practical roadblocks - including the inability of Greenland’s small economy to generate enough revenue to sustain a capable state apparatus.

While Donald Trump is not known as an ardent supporter of the international order and its rulebooks, he would be well-advised to respect this basic procedural process. This is because not doing so would go against the U.S.’ long-term strategic interest in stable relations with rival ‘great powers’: Any open abandonment by Washington of these most basic principles of international law would throw open the Pandora’s box of territorial irredentism that Vladimir Putin’s Russia already peeked into by means of its territorial conquests in eastern Ukraine.

Should the United States continue to violate the prohibition on the threat of force (UN Charter Article 2.4), or attempt to change the territorial status of Greenland or other entities in contradiction of international principles, this would essentially validate Russia’s nibbling away at Ukraine’s Crimea, or China’s bullying of its smaller neighbours in the South China Sea, in retrospect. This would spell the end of post-war international law as we know it, and thereby wreck one of the most important assets the United States has held in its history as a modern power: an international legal order created in its own image.

Meanwhile, Greenland’s newfound fame has thrown the island’s politics into disarray. In early February, Greenland’s Prime Minister Múte Egede announced snap elections for March 11. The elections are seen as an opportunity for Greenland’s roughly 56,800 citizens to respond to their new circumstances - and will pitch the socialist and pro-independence ruling party, Inuit Ataqatigiit, against its social-democratic coalition partner and rival, Siumut, within one of the most famously left-wing democratic party systems on the planet. Should Greenland ever become a U.S. state with voting rights, it would thus be interesting to imagine the possible impact this would have on the U.S. House and Senate - with the island’s hypothetical representatives likely to push for policies far to the left of those of Bernie Sanders, as was cautiously acknowledged by a report by the conservative Heritage Foundation.

Image: Current distribution of seats in the Greenlandic parliament (Source: Wikipedia)

2. Alaska’s Mount Denali and the 19th century roots of Trump’s love for tariffs

In another piece of Trump-related Arctic news, the President announced during his inaugural address that Alaska’s Mount Denali would be renamed “Mount McKinley”. The mountain had held that name until 2015, when the Obama administration finally accepted a name change instigated forty years prior by the State of Alaska. The name “Denali”—meaning “Great One”—comes from the language of the Koyukon people, who inhabit the lands around the mountain and have referred to it as “Denali” for centuries.

Image: Mount Denali, now - probably - Mount McKinley (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

William McKinley, on the other hand, was the 25th President of the United States. He served from 1897 to 1901 and was a territorial expansionist, as well as a major proponent of trade tariffs. During his first term in office, Trump often expressed his admiration for Andrew Jackson, a pioneer of American isolationism. Nowadays, the President seems more inspired by the protectionist legacy and territorial conquests of William McKinley.

On the campaign trail, Trump often pointed to McKinley’s era, the 1890s, as an alleged golden era for the United States, promising that he would seek to emulate the political leadership of the period upon his return to power. In Trump’s reading of McKinley’s economic philosophy, tariffs at the time made America the “proportionally richest country” on earth, and the lives of Americans “sweeter and brighter.”

Image: William McKinley seated in his cabinet room in the White House in 1901 (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

Historians of the U.S. economy have mostly pushed back against the rosy picture Trump paints of the late 19th century. In a conversation with Conor Lynch of Truthdig.com, the economic historian Jonathan Levy pointed out that McKinley’s era was characterised by devastating economic circumstances, high unemployment and the bankruptcies of small businesses. The “Gilded Age” of the U.S. was—according to Levy and Lynch—marked by “titanic inequalities”, as well as robber barons and other plutocrats.

Corporate and income taxes - which later replaced tariffs as the major source of the U.S. federal budget - were virtually nonexistent at the time. As were most business regulations, environmental standards, or the globalised economy with its complex, integrated supply chains. It is thus not difficult to discern why the McKinley period would appeal to Trump and his inner circle - and why Trump would feel the necessity to restore the 25th President’s name to a major public monument.

The Republican senators of the State of Alaska meanwhile expressed their strong opposition to Trump’s plans: Senator Lisa Murkowski, an avowed opponent of the Trumpian wing of her party, told the press that “[you] can’t improve upon the name that Alaska’s Koyukon Athabascans bestowed on North America’s tallest peak, Denali: the Great One.” Alaska Native organisations have also lodged complaints, and various experts and lawmakers squabbled over whether Trump had the authority to implement the proposed name change.

3. Canada First?

In another major political development on the North American continent, the political parties of Canada are gearing up for the federal elections. After nine years at the helm of the Canadian government, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau is set to step down, leaving behind a shaky legacy, a divided Liberal party, and a country threatened with territorial annexation by its largest neighbour and ally.

A major bone of contention within the Canadian election campaign has been the defence of the Canadian Arctic territories, which I discussed in the December post for 66° North. Candidates have also disagreed over how to deal with Donald Trump’s tariff threats or the U.S. President’s proposal to turn Canada into the “51st state” of his country.

Image: Aggregate opinion polling in Canada as of mid-February (Source: Undermedia - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0)

Among this uncertainty, the Conservative party has emerged as the favourite to lead the next Canadian government. The party’s leader, Pierre Poilievre, is a conservative populist, who wants to crack down on crime, reinvigorate Canada’s sluggish economy through cutbacks on government expenditures and regulations, and stand up to Donald Trump—promising to “put Canada first” in response to Trump’s public jabs.

Speaking in Iqaluit on 10 February, Poilievre announced that he would acquire icebreakers and build a permanent military base in the Nunavut region if he were elected, which would be financed through a drastic reduction of Canadian foreign aid. Canada’s government published a new Arctic Foreign Policy in December, which aims to address the country’s underdeveloped Arctic military capabilities. According to Poilievre and the document’s many critics, the Trudeau government’s plans do not go far enough - especially in light of Donald Trump’s loud criticism of Canada’s low defence expenditures.

Meanwhile, Canada’s Arctic expert community has begun a soul-searching exercise that seeks to understand the implications for the Canadian Arctic of severely degraded U.S.-Canada relations. Frédéric Lasserre of the Université Laval in Quebec published a thoughtful essay, in which he suggested that the dispute between Washington and Ottawa over sovereignty in the Northwest Passage could become much more severe over the coming years. As elsewhere, the national mood in Canada is thus increasingly consumed by trepidation and concerns over basic national security issues.

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1. Greenland and Trump in the Russian and Chinese media

On the 22nd of December, Trump took to Truth Social to announce his pick of Ken Howery as U.S. ambassador to the Kingdom of Denmark. In 1999, Howery co-founded PayPal - alongside Elon Musk, and with funding from Peter Thiel. Thiel is a venture capitalist and avid Trump supporter, who acts as a bridge builder between Silicon Valley’s aspiring oligarchs and the American far right - including for Ken Howery. During Trump’s first term, Howery had already served as the U.S. ambassador to Sweden. In his Truth Social post, Trump praised the businessman’s commercial accolades. Bar that, the future president made no mention of Howery’s future responsibilities - U.S.-Denmark relations - in all but one aspect: His desire to - for purposes of “national security” - bring the island of Greenland under the “ownership and control” of the United States. Under Howery’s acceptance post on X, Musk commented “Congrats! Help America gain Greenland!” alongside a crying-with-laughter emoji.

Photo: Aerial view of the Pittufik Space Base on Greenland, the U.S.’ northernmost military outpost (Source: U.S. Government, published on Wikimedia Commons)

In 2019, Trump became the fourth president to propose a U.S. purchase of Greenland. In my November post for 66° North, I explained the reasons behind these attempts - and predicted that Trump might soon try again. As in 2019, the Prime Minister of Greenland, Mute Egede, quickly stated that the island was not for sale. A few hours after Trump’s post, the Danish defence minister, Troels Lund Poulsen, announced a defence package for Greenland worth $1.5 billion. The timing of the announcement, which had been planned beforehand, was referred to by Poulsen as an “irony of fate.” While Denmark’s ‘fate’ - the ramifications of Trump’s return to the presidency of its main security provider - needed not be laid out in black and white, the ‘irony’ should perhaps best be located in the undeniable effectiveness of Trump’s megaphone diplomacy.

It is not clear whether the president-elect’s plans for Greenland (and, apparently, Canada and the Panama Canal) should be viewed as irredentism - or a crude holiday prank played on a supposedly ungrateful NATO family. Either which way, Trump will likely be able to bring about his actual main goal - the increase of defence expenditures by America’s allies - through similar intimidation tactics alone. As Denmark’s recent spending hike illustrates, these tactics quickly give rise to anticipatory obedience, at no cost whatsoever to the American treasury.

In the case of Greenland, the U.S.’ now bipartisan desire to improve its military presence of the island is rooted in preoccupations over the Arctic policies of Russia and China. This fact - while still played down in most government statements in Nuuk and Copenhagen - has not been lost on Moscow or Beijing, and has been discussed at length in both countries’ propaganda-laden media spheres.

Photo: On a side note, “The Irony of Fate” (Ирония судьбы) is a classic Soviet screwball comedy traditionally aired on New Year’s Eve - to be watched! (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

In Russia, the TASS news agency ran an interview with Nikolay Korchunov - Russia’s ambassador to Norway, and long-time Senior Arctic Official. Korchunov declared that “Trump's proposal […] cannot but bring uncertainty and tension to this region. In recent years, we have seen an increase in the U.S. presence in Greenland, accompanied by a line on pushing China out of there.” Komsomol’skaya Pravda, on the other hand, suggested that Trump should not be taken “too seriously” and that his proposal should be seen as a “prelude to some more mundane agreements that he wants to squeeze out of these countries.”

Izvestiya published an analysis in which Greenland was depicted as a “bargaining chip” of little value to “Europe”. The paper suggested that Trump wanted to control Greenland in order to add military capabilities, which would then be directed against Russia or China. But the paper also mused that the “direct accession of the island to the United States as a state or territory” was “not the only option for the island to come under Washington's control” - and that Greenland “could be granted a treaty of free association [with the U.S.], which is already in force for Micronesia, the Marshall Islands and Palau.”

Ekho Nedeli, and a host of other outlets, referred to a YouTube appearance by Richard Wolff, an economist at UMass Amherst, who proclaimed his theory that America’s own pretensions to the “territory of a European state” might make it more difficult for EU countries to continue to justify their support for Ukraine by reference to “an imaginary [territorial] threat from the Russian Federation.” Accordingly, Trump’s overtures to Greenland were portrayed by Elektorat.info as having handed “an unexpected advantage” to Russia’s war efforts in Ukraine.

Gazeta.ru quoted Konstantin Blokhin, a researcher at the Russian Academy of Sciences' Center for Security Studies, who believes that talks between Washington, Nuuk and Copenhagen will not be “about a purchase, but about reaching an agreement with Denmark on favourable conditions for the deployment of American military infrastructure” on Greenland. These could then be used against Russia in a “21st century struggle over the Arctic.” Argumenty i fakty shared a post on X by Dmitry Medvedev, in which Russia’s former president suggested that Greenland could simply be “bought privately by Elon Musk.” Vesti, one of Russia’s TV propaganda behemoths, ran a long evening segment on Greenland, in which it echoed a quote in the New York Post by an unnamed source close to Trump. The source had disclosed the president-elect’s ostensible “belief that empires that don’t grow start to fail.”

In China’s comparatively more censored mediascape, reactions to Trump’s post were less colourful. In the Global Times, Cui Hongjian 崔洪建, a professor at Beijing Foreign Studies University, expressed his view that Denmark’s increase of defence expenditures on Greenland were still motivated primarily “by the Russia-Ukraine war.” The Renmin Ribao (人民日报) reminded its readers that, in 2019, Trump’s proposal to buy Greenland had been dismissed by Danish Prime Minister Mette Frederiksen as “ridiculous'.“ The Jingji Ribao (经济日报), on the other hand, proposed that Trump’s proposal was sincere, and motivated by a U.S. interest in strategic waterways, resources, and military advantages.

Guangdong’s Nanfang Ribao (南方日报) called Trump’s advances “absurd” and pointed to them as “evidence” that Washington was stuck in “Cold War thinking”, with “hegemony” inscribed deep in the country’s “bone marrow.” A commentary in the Beijing Ribao (北京日报) suggested that Trump was serious about the proposed territorial expansion, which would turn the U.S. into the world’s largest country by territory, and that the West would be “fuming at the mouth” if China were to “disregard international law” in a similar manner. Referring to Denmark as the “United States’ little follower”, the paper concluded that “being an enemy of the United States is dangerous, but being an ally of the United States is deadly.”

Within China’s slightly more dynamic blogosphere, however, commentary on Greenland was slightly less monotonous - and often drew comparisons to Ukraine. For example, Dongyu Ji (东域记), a defence microblog run by a self-declared “former PLA Air Force Lieutenant Colonel Officer”, wrote: “In a sense, Trump and Putin are similar as heads of state, that is, they both have an irresistible greed for key foreign territories. Trump's greed comes from the family business spirit inherited from American real estate developers, while Putin's greed comes from the plundering tradition of the Russian Empire. […] No wonder Trump is always so fascinated by Putin. Maybe it’s because these two people like to seize other people’s land in their bones. Trump, at 78 years, is really too old. Even in this era, he is still obsessed with land.” A blogger from Hubei expressed surprise that “Trump’s appetite [was] even larger than Putin’s.” And a technology blogger from Chongqing suggested that Trump may even be “jealous” of Russia’s land grab in Ukraine, and thus incentivised to expand the American landmass by all means necessary.

2. Canada announces its new Arctic foreign policy

Russia and China also figured prominently in the Canadian government’s new Arctic foreign policy published on the 6th of December. The document is the newest such strategy paper released by a NATO state, and follows on those of the United States (Department of Defence), Germany, Italy, and the United Kingdom.

The Canadian policy update is different from its 2019 predecessor in that it is not a chapter in a policy framework, but a standalone strategy document. In line with recent trends, the policy emphasises security and military challenges. Notably, in military terms, it linked the Canadian Arctic to the Northern Pacific. This illustrates to what degree Western planners now view both the Pacific and European Arctic as potential theatres of confrontation. But while the Canadian document acknowledges tensions with Moscow and Beijing, it also expresses hope that the Arctic could be retained as a territory of general peace and stability.

Video: CTV News interview with Canada’s Foreign Affairs Minister, Melanie Joly, on the new Arctic Foreign Policy, 8 December 2024

Ottawa has long been anxious about its assertion of control over its Arctic territories, and the new foreign policy makes sure to restate its uncompromising approach to Arctic sovereignty. However, the documents also attempts to balance these sovereignty claims made in the name of the Crown against a need to respect indigenous rights to self-governance. Inuit make up a significant proportion of the population in the Canadian Arctic, especially in Nunavut, the Northwest Territories, Yukon, and northern regions of provinces like Quebec and Labrador. Much of what Ottawa considers to be its sovereignty over Arctic territories is exercised in practice through historically complex-laden partnerships with Indigenous governments. From Ottawa’s point of view, upholding these rights in the Arctic territories is no question of political altruism, but political necessity. Without a permanent population, sovereignty claims can be difficult to assert. The Inuit population of the Canadian Arctic strengthens Canada's claim to northern lands, especially around contested areas like the Northwest Passage.

Photo: The Inuit and Arctic indigenous presence in the North American Arctic (Source: The Canada Encyclopedia)

But whereas Canada’s 2019 policy framework emphasised sovereignty before security, the new update reversed these priorities: To improve its military posture in the region, Canada wants to modernise its segments of the NORAD radar- and early warning chain, to expand the Canadian Armed Forces’ presence through joint exercises, new infrastructure, and improved mobility for Arctic operations, and to strengthen bonds with NATO allies. The latter goal is supposed to be realised not only through a bolstering of cooperation with the United States, but also the Nordic countries.

Funding for these endeavours is supposed to come from a CA$72 billion package announced for the defence of the Canadian Arctic in April. The earmarked funds are not guaranteed to come through, however, as was pointed out by Keith Halliday in a commentary for the Yukon News. And even with increased spending, many measures announced by Canada, such as the expansion to two of its polar icebreaking fleet, the regular deployment of F-35 jets in the north, or the promised NORAD upgrades, may not be realised until the 2030s - far too late, given the “urgent” defence challenges in the region, or Donald Trump’s notorious impatience with the low defence spending of the U.S.’ northern neighbour.

With Arctic military capabilities on the line in Canada as in other Western states, the diplomatic initiatives announced by the new Arctic foreign policy could yield a more impressive outcome by comparison. Most importantly, Canada plans to reactivate the post of its Arctic ambassador, which will be held by an indigenous person from the North. The country will open new consulates in Alaska and Greenland. While the Arctic Council remains paralysed, Ottawa wants to cooperate on Arctic issues in other fora, such as the UN, the Arctic Coast Guard Forum, or the Central Arctic Ocean Fisheries Agreement. Canada will also increase its donations to the still-functional Arctic Council working groups, and continue negotiations with the United States on maritime boundaries in the Beaufort Sea.

While these initiatives will amplify Canada’s voice in the Arctic, they also sidestep the most thorny diplomatic problems Ottawa faces in the region. Under Trump, relations with the United States will inevitably become terse, especially on matters of security and defence in the north. The Arctic Council remains dysfunctional, and Canada and other Arctic states are lacking the means to salvage it. For the foreseeable future, the Canadian Arctic will remain insufficiently protected against attacks. And while the new foreign policy accommodates Washington’s focus on China as an Arctic security threat, the Canada-China Business Council only in November travelled to Beijing to discuss potential energy and other business deals - in conscious contravention of Ottawa’s security policies. This again laid bare the widening schism between the focus of Western metropolitan elites on security competition with China in the Arctic, and the perception of Chinese companies as valuable economic parters among many Western Arctic communities.

3. December in the Russian Arctic

Russia in 2024 again managed to increase the volume of cargo shipped across the Northern Sea Route. This occurred in spite of significant sanctions, such as the EU’s upcoming transshipment ban or its recent measures against the ‘Christophe de Margerie’ LNG Carrier. Western sanctions remain effective in curtailing the further expansion of production capacities of Russia’s Arctic energy projects, however: Due to a shortage of ice-capable oil tankers, and as a result of the sanctions, Rosneft recently had to delay the commissioning of its Vostok Oil site until 2026. Shortly before, Rosneft had concluded a deal to supply 500,000 barrels per day of crude to Reliance, an Indian private oil refiner, in the biggest ever energy deal between Russia and India.

As Western sanctions throw sand into the machinations of Russia’s energy projects, Moscow hopes that the pressure on its companies will ease after Donald Trump’s inauguration - and a possible “peace deal” for Ukraine. In this spirit, Novatek in December quietly dispatched a group of representatives to Washington DC. The visitors were met with little good will from the outgoing Biden administration - but possibly convened with other contacts of value. Meanwhile, Nikolay Korchunov, Russia’s ambassador to Norway, expressed his view that Trump’s return to office could facilitate a “return to cooperation” in the Arctic - presumably through a lifting of sanctions, and a subsequent increase in Russian cooperativity.

In the shipbuilding domain, Russia experienced a somewhat more successful month. On the 4th of December, the country’s newest nuclear icebreaker, the Yakutia, began sea trials - one month after the official release of the Chukotka. Russia’s nuclear icebreakers now number eight in total, and if production targets are met, its fleet will briefly peak at around ten vessels in the early 2030s. Russia is the only country to operate nuclear-powered icebreakers, and aims to complete construction of the world’s largest such vessel, the Rossiya, in 2030. Russia’s first domestically-built LNG carrier was also able to begin sea trials in December. Nevertheless, due to sanctions, the servicing and repair of ships along the Northern Sea Route is expected to run into problems in 2025.

Russia’s new Maritime Collegium under the leadership of Nikolay Patrushev convened on two occasions, in late November and December. The body is tasked with the deliberation of Arctic policy decisions. Hawkish as ever, Patrushev blamed Western states for the tensions in the region at the gathering’s press conference, and called on Russia to “develop [thoroughly unspecified, LW] breakthrough technologies”. At around the same time, Nikolay Korchunov complained about the installation of NATO’s Northlink satellite network, which was followed by an announcement that Russia would expand its own satellite services in the Arctic. The Russian army’s general chief of staff, Valery Gerasimov, promised a further increase of Russia’s Arctic military presence to “ensure dominance in the region” - without, however, providing any more specific information.

In the implementation of Russia’s development objectives for its Arctic territories, the country’s northern regions play an increasingly important role. The Russian media in December indulged in an amusing squabble between Aleksandr Tsybulsky and Andrei Chibis, the governors of the Arkhangelsk and Murmansk oblasts, over which city could claim the title as Russia’s “Arctic capital.” According to Dmitry Elovsky, a political scientist, Tsybulsky’s “breakthrough idea” of building deep-sea water ports for the Northern Sea Route in Arkhangelsk earned him Putin’s ear - and a slight edge in the leadership contest. In a very Russian assessment of power, the fact that Tsybulsky meets with Putin on an annual, as opposed to a less regular basis, was also taken by Elovsky as evidence for the governor’s growing political stature.

Photo: “Царь хороший, бояре тоже хорошие” - Tsybulsky and Putin in 2023 (Source: Kremlin.ru)

Finally, in hyperlocal news from the Russian Arctic, the Yamalo-Nenets Autonomous Okrug had to install AI-powered surveillance cameras near its new heated indoor bus stops, to prevent “vandals” from dismantling the stops for scrap metal and electronic components. During his dreadfully boring four-hour annual hotline conference with Russian citizens, Putin was made to promise that he would look into setting up cinemas in small Russian Arctic villages. And “Arctic Trophy”, a moderately successful food supplement business from Arkhangelsk, has struck gold: After the benefits of the protein tablets it produces for the nutrient-deprived inhabitants of Russia’s northernmost latitudes were discovered by exhausted Russian soldiers in Ukraine, the country’s military graced the company with a large batch order.

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Image: A somewhat gloomy AI-rendering of Donald Trump standing on the Arctic ice sheet

1. Climate change

While much about Trump II remains hard to predict, and dependent on the president-elect’s mood swings, personnel choices, and unforeseen events, one thing can be said with relative certainty: Donald Trump spells terrible news for the fight against climate change. In 2017, Trump put a halt to U.S. participation in the Paris Agreement. In 2020, the United States - the world’s second biggest polluter - briefly withdrew from the treaty. Trump will want to instigate a second withdrawal, this time much faster and with less restraint. The Arctic, a region that has been warming at four times the global average, will inexorably be headed for an environmental catastrophe, as the 1.5 degree target is consigned to the realm of fantasy.

To add insult to injury, Trump reportedly also plans to give the green light to oil drilling in Alaska’s ‘Arctic Refuge’, a wildlife reserve covering 80 million km² in the northeastern part of the state. Alaska is home to diverse indigenous populations, most of which - but not all - have consistently opposed drilling projects in their ancestral homelands. Alaska’s Republican governor in October dished out $1 million in state support to the Voice of the Arctic Iñupiat, a small collective of indigenous Alaskans that lobbies in favour of oil production in their region. Fossil fuel production in Alaska is likely to go ahead next year. Should Trump further take inspiration from the Heritage Foundation’s now-infamous ‘Project 2025’, the U.S. can also be expected to dismantle various climate and maritime science organisations, such as the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA). In regards to environmental protection in the U.S. Arctic territories, there is little ground left for optimism.

Image: Mars Ice Island, a 60-day offshore exploratory well off Cape Halkett, near Nuiqsut, Alaska (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

2. Arctic governance

Then there is the brittle Arctic governance system. For one thing, the idea that the U.S. might finally join the U.N. Convention on the Law of the Sea - a cornerstone treaty for the Arctic - is now even more of a distant pipe dream. The opposition to a ratification of UNCLOS among newly strengthened Senate Republicans remains firm. There is less clarity, on the other hand, over America’s future approach to the Arctic Council: From its very inception - and long before the body-blow dealt to it by Russia’s war - the Arctic Council has relied on the support of the United States. When Canada’s prime minister first pitched the idea of establishing an Arctic Council in Leningrad in 1989, most other Arctic states made it clear that such an organisation would depend on America’s support and participation. But in spite of its important role, Washington’s engagement with the Arctic Council has often been lacklustre.

In a fascinating study of the history of the Arctic Council, Douglas C. Nord describes how the Canadian government fought valiantly between 1990 and 1996 to win over first Bush Sr., and then Clinton, to the idea of establishing a multilateral organisation for the Arctic. Bush, in particular, did not want a new Arctic governance club to distract the U.S. from its traditionally security-minded perspective on the region. As the world’s only remaining superpower, Washington could not see much value in pooling regional responsibilities with Russia or Scandinavian states.

By the time the U.S. finally agreed to co-found the Arctic Council in 1996, it had succeeded in watering down Ottawa’s original proposals almost beyond recognition. At Washington’s behest, the Arctic Council stopped short of being a fully-fledged multilateral organisation. Instead, it initially became a small problem-solving club with no headquarters or permanent staff. There would be no Arctic Treaty, and the Council’s work would be project-oriented, with a preference for environmental issues. Membership would be restricted to states, and military matters were bracketed out of the Council’s purview at the Americans’ request.

Video: Documentary on the 1996 signing ceremony of the Ottawa Declaration, which established the Arctic Council after years of negotiations with the U.S.

During the U.S.’ first-ever rotating chairmanship of the Council from 1998 to 2000, most practical work related to the organisation’s work was delegated by federal authorities to the State of Alaska. The lack of U.S. engagement with the Arctic left much space for Nordic states to shape and advance the regional agenda. Washington only begun to seriously involve itself in the Council when, in the 2010s, shifts in international security and the deteriorating climate catastrophe brought the region back into the focus of U.S. voters. Significantly more diplomatic capital was allocated to the Arctic Council by Washington thereafter.

Still, even within more multilaterally-minded Democratic administrations, enthusiasm for the Arctic Council could not always be taken for granted. This will clearly also be the case for Trump, who so openly disdains multilateral setups that do not cater to U.S. interests in a straightforwardly transactional manner. During his first term, Trump withdrew - or threatened to withdraw - his country from many an international organisation, including the WHO. At the time, the U.S. mostly made use of Arctic Council summits to put forward its case against China’s growing presence in the region. Still, the U.S. continued to participate in the Council’s activities. Unlike in other fora, environmental cooperation under Trump continued with more limited, but ultimately assured U.S. involvement.

Five years later, the Council still reels from Russia’s invasion of Ukraine and the subsequent suspension of its activities. It seems unclear whether the format will be able to offer Trump enough of immediate interest, and motivate his administration to make any efforts to salvage it. While the Council’s survival has recently been assured through the hard work of the Norwegian chairmanship, it is unclear whether the upcoming Danish-Greenlandic stint at the head of the organisation will be able to continue those efforts, especially given a possible lack of backing from the U.S. State Department after January 2025.

But history teaches that an Arctic Council without participation by the United States - or Russia - is not feasible, and will not marshal the support of other states in the region. In 1996, the U.S. was convinced to support an organisation it deemed broadly unnecessary through a clever mix of diplomatic insistence, flattery, and pandering to America’s hegemonial idiosyncrasies. The benevolent U.S. disengagement that followed was exploited by the smaller Arctic states to advance a multifaceted regional cooperation agenda. With a little luck, a similar approach could function once again, thirty years later.

Image: Brian Mulroney, Canada’s Prime Minister, speaks on his country’s original proposals for an Arctic Council during a state visit to the USSR in 1989 (Source: Screenshot taken from the Soviet Television Archives, net-film.ru)

3. China, Russia and Arctic security

Donald Trump is effectively the architect of the U.S.’ current Arctic strategy, which identifies China as America’s greatest strategic challenge in the region. Given that China is not an Arctic state, and that it has a limited military presence in the area, this has not always been the case. China was not mentioned once in the 2013 U.S. Arctic strategy, brushed upon briefly in the 2016 iteration, but suddenly identified as a major threat in the 2019 version, which was released during Trump’s first term. Following the handover to Joe Biden, the focus on China did not diminish, but expand. In the recently published Arctic strategy of the U.S. D.o.D., China was identified unambiguously as the U.S.’ major Arctic threat.

As Jo Inge Bekkevold has argued in Foreign Policy, the U.S. has reverted to thinking of Alaska - and, by proxy, the Arctic - as a strategic flank in great power conflict, this time with China. There are two reasons for this: For one thing, China’s Arctic engagement did indeed become more assertive during Trump’s first term, culminating in the 2018 publication of China’s infamous ‘Arctic white paper’. The U.S. has historically considered the Arctic a strategically sensitive area, and would have reacted to a near-peer competitor’s efforts to gain a foothold in the region under any circumstances. But, secondly, U.S.-China relations also deteriorated on a more global level after 2018, when the Trump administration unleashed a trade war against Beijing. Ties have not recovered since, and anxieties over China’s rise, as well as agreement over the need to contain and deter China, are now underwritten by a bipartisan consensus between Democrats and Republicans.

Opposing China is a popular cause among U.S. voters of all backgrounds. Trump is almost certain to double down on his confrontative approach to the country. For the Arctic, this will have two consequences. Firstly, the ‘China question’, as well as hard security issues, will become an even more crucial facet of Arctic diplomacy. In 2017-2022, U.S. diplomatic pressure on allied countries in the region brought about a wide economic disengagement with China. Today, it is likely that other Arctic countries will again be asked to “do their part” in containing China in the region, or face Washington’s costly ire. This may become especially important in efforts to keep the U.S. on board with salvaging the Arctic Council.

But secondly, the U.S.’ reinforced hyper-focus on China will probably be accompanied by a reduction of pressure on Russia, at least at first. In an interview with Tucker Carlson, Trump spoke of his grandiose ambition to 'un-unite’ the partnership between Beijing and Moscow. In this - potentially misguided - Kissingerian mission, Trump could try to win over Moscow to the U.S.’ efforts at containing China. This would require making concessions to Russia over the war in Ukraine, which Trump seems unsettlingly keen to promote. In its public communication, the Kremlin played down the importance of Trump’s victory. On the morning of Trump’s election, Kremlin speaker Peskov even declared that the launch of Russia’s new icebreaker was a “more important” event for his country than the U.S. election. But in reality, Trump’s inauguration is likely awaited eagerly in Moscow. Russia anticipates the U.S. to relent to its some of its key demands and lift sanctions, especially on Arctic LNG production sites. While Washington may soon try to dial down its pressure on Russia, the European Arctic states are unlikely to follow suit, as they view Moscow’s exterminatory onslaught on Ukraine as an existential security threat. Within NATO’s northern flank, the allies’ priorities might thus come to diverge.

Should Trump’s hopes to lure Russia away from China fail, however, it is likely that NATO’s current approach to Arctic security will continue. For now, the alliance (somewhat awkwardly) frames Russia and China as a joint regional threat - an assessment perhaps less grounded in the reality of Sino-Russian Arctic relations, and more in intra-NATO efforts to reconcile the differing security priorities of European and American allies.

4. Buying Greenland

Greenland has long been considered a keystone in the northern defensive flank of the North American continent. During WWII, security tutelage over the island was effectively transferred to the U.S., in line with the Monroe Doctrine and to keep it out of the reach of the Wehrmacht. When the Cold War kicked off, Greenland was integrated into the Distant Early Warning Line (DEW), a chain of radar stations intended as a first line of defence against incoming Soviet bombers. There have been discussions of making NORAD, the DEW’s successor structure, stretch to Greenland. Today, there are concerns that the island may act as a weak link in the defence of the continent against incoming ICBMs. To add to this, Greenland holds vast treasure troves of natural resources of great importance for current and future industries. It is therefore no surprise that American policy-makers have traditionally paid a good deal of attention to the island.

Image: The Distant Early Warning Line (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

In 2019, Donald Trump proposed to buy Greenland off the Kingdom of Denmark after discussions with Republican Senator Tom Cotton and being briefed by an American geologist on the island’s rare earths reservoirs. The proposal was rejected by the Greenlandic government, the Danish government, and the entire spectrum of Denmark’s and Greenland’s political parties. With characteristic maturity, Trump cancelled a planned state visit to Copenhagen out of annoyance over the rebuttal. But Trump’s move was not the first American attempt to buy the island, and probably won’t have been the last. In 1867, 1910 and 1946, various U.S. administrations negotiated with Denmark over a transfer of Greenlandic sovereignty (see this great Wikipedia article).

And while plans over the purchase of Greenland were shelved under Joe Biden, especially among parts of the Republican Party, the idea has continued to enjoy high currency. For example, the Georgia House Republican and Trump friend Mike Collins on November 7 implied in a post on X that Trump should have another stab at gaining control of Greenland - and that the island’s inhabitants might, presumably out of gratitude, throw their votes behind a future Republican presidential candidate as the 52nd U.S. state. In an opinion piece for the Wall Street Journal, Alexander Gray of the American Foreign Policy Council suggested that Trump should disregard the island’s ambitions for independence, the responsibilities of which it was “ill-equipped to handle.”

Image: Screenshot of the 7 November X post by Mike Collins, a Republican lawmaker from Georgia

Within the U.S. Arctic policy community, the resurfacing of the Greenland debate was widely dismissed. In a LinkedIn post, Marisol Maddox, an analyst at the Wilson Center and Dartmouth College, wrote: “Please stop with this ill-informed nonsense.
There are many great ways the US could further engage in the Arctic to secure our interests but this isn’t one of them.” Is it likely, however, that parts of America’s foreign policy and security establishment will continue to pursue the idea, especially as Greenland moves further and further towards establishing independence from Denmark.

5. What fate for America’s Arctic ambassador-at-large?

Lastly, Trump is likely to axe the newly-minted U.S. ambassador-at-large for Arctic affairs, Mike Sfraga. Sfraga is an academic geographer from Alaska, and the first U.S.-American ever to hold his post. He was first put forward by Republican Senator Lisa Murkowski, a staunch internal opponent of Trump’s MAGA wing of her party.

Within a Republican Party firmly in Trump’s hands, the breaking of MAGA lines does not normally go without punishment. This circumstance - as well as Sfraga’s controversial past appearances at Arctic events and discussions involving high-ranking participants from Russia and China - led to his nomination being blocked for close to a year by MAGA-affiliated Senate Republicans. Prominently, one of the Republicans who voted against Sfraga’s appointment was Marco Rubio, Trump’s designated Secretary of State. In his announcement regarding the placement of a “hold” on Sfraga’s nomination, Rubio referred to the Ambassador as “unqualified” and a political appointments of President Biden. It thus looks likely that Sfraga will be out of his job after only a few months in office. Who, if anyone, will succeed him is thoroughly unknown.

Image: Marco Rubio tweeting on Russia and China in the Arctic, July 2024

Rubio, meanwhile, belongs firmly into the camp of Arctic China hawks. On X, he has expressed his belief that Russia-China cooperation in the region is a direct threat to American national security, albeit with a strong focus on the activities of “Communist China”. Pete Hegseth, the former Fox News commentator nominated by Trump to become the next U.S. Secretary of Defense, has not gone on the public record over Arctic matters - but has spoken much about his belief that climate change is, essentially, an anti-American hoax of global proportions. Experts on the ‘climate resilience’ of the American military (which, if a nation state, would be the world’s 47th biggest polluter, ahead of Peru, Norway or Switzerland), including in the Far North, have rung the alarm bells over this lack of care - given the fact that in the Arctic as elsewhere, a warming planet will produce manifold challenges to keeping military systems operational.

Regardless, the U.S. military is likely to pursue its expansion of Arctic capabilities. The acquisition of new icebreakers - a pet project of Donald Trump - will stay high on the presidential agenda, potentially aided by his scrapping of the Jones Act. A first sign in this direction was Trump’s early congratulations call with the Finnish President, Alexander Stubb, during with a continuation of the Biden administration’s ICE Pact was reportedly discussed.

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