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The Arctic, scientists warn, displays an intensified version of how climate change plays out elsewhere on the globe. Geopolitically, too, temperatures could heat up faster in the region without careful statecraft.
On the face of it, conditions are ripe for a scramble for the Arctic: as diplomatic tensions rise and climate change improves access to natural resources and shipping lanes, more governments are trying to advance their interests or prevent others from doing so. In its most tabloid form, the fear is that as Donald Trump insists on his country taking over Greenland, Vladimir Putin will seek an opportunity to dominate Svalbard, the Norwegian high north archipelago.
Experts dismiss worst-case scenarios as far-fetched. The intensifying geopolitical interest in the region is, however, undeniable. US envoy Steve Witkoff recently mused about the benefits of Washington and Moscow working together in the Arctic. China has declared itself a “near-Arctic” state. Turkey recently acceded to the century-old Svalbard Treaty, which recognises Norway’s sovereignty but grants non-discriminatory access to signatory states’ nationals for residence and certain commercial activities. Ankara’s reasoning is that it matters strategically to be present in the region (its concrete interests are so far limited to research and icebreaker shipbuilding).
That judgment is shared by many. Svalbard is a key piece of the puzzle being laid in the Arctic. Its location is significant: the shortest path for a missile between the Russian and US mainlands is over the north pole; it is near Russia’s Kola Peninsula nuclear submarine base; it is a convenient platform from which to monitor subsea activity and communicate with satellites over the Arctic.
Locals and officials express pride at how Norway has discharged its obligations under the Svalbard Treaty — by which they mean they have given Russia no excuse for provocation. Norway may indeed have been even-handed to an excess: in 2022 it denied a US-Turkish venture use of a satellite ground station because of the companies’ military connections (the treaty proscribes the islands’ use for “warlike purposes”). In contrast, some in Norway grumble about whether Oslo has the same control over how Russia may be using data it is allowed to download.
The most immediate geopolitical risk is not military conflict but weakening international consensus on how the Arctic is governed. Here both the US and Russia are at fault. Trump’s taboo-breaking musings about Greenland cast doubt on the inviolability of international law in the region. Russia (and the USSR before it) has consistently issued bad-faith challenges of Norway’s compliance with the Svalbard Treaty.
On paper, the dividing lines should be clear and stable. Of five Arctic littoral states, four are in Nato: Norway, Denmark, Canada and the US (Nato members Iceland, Finland, and Sweden also have territory inside the Arctic Circle). Russia is the fifth. But that means much of the region is governed by two small countries whose sovereignty, though legally unassailable, is politically exposed by unusual regimes: Greenland’s autonomous status in Denmark’s case, the Svalbard Treaty in Norway’s.
Neither country enjoys the full-throated backing from allies that would cement stability in the Arctic. Should the status quo, while legally solid, prove politically brittle, it would threaten security — including, arguably, for Russia.
It is incumbent on both Norway and Denmark not to rely solely on international law but to shore up their sovereignty politically. This means devoting more resources to their Arctic territories. Denmark is vulnerable to the kernel of truth in American accusations that it has not treated Greenlanders well. Norway has declined to pursue a larger settlement in Svalbard, whose coal mining is being wound down and whose tourism is often staffed by foreigners.
Both countries could also seek a more assertive geopolitical role for the rest of Europe. European attention to the Arctic has often focused on environmental and resource issues, which easily become zero-sum squabbles. Elevating the geopolitical dimension would instead highlight the commonality of interest for the entire European Nato family.
Denmark and Norway have preferred to keep this dimension discreet — sensibly enough when rules-based multilateralism was the order of the day. Today, however, both need their control to be seen as a matter of shared concern. That would be easier if Norway’s — and Iceland’s — simmering EU membership debates led both countries to join the bloc. When big powers are on the prowl, the most committed multilateralists must combine their power to buttress their rules.
martin.sandbu@ft.com