In temperature and politics, the Arctic has never been hotter. As other nations try to get in on the action, Canada is gearing up for a fight.
Ólafur Grímsson, the jovial, globe-trotting president of Iceland, likes to tell the story of his first state visit to Russia 11 years ago, when he asked to meet with Vladimir Putin to talk about the Arctic. The snow-haired Icelander was told that such esoteric matters would be best discussed with local authorities in Kamchatka and Murmansk, thousands of miles from the Kremlin. These days, says Grímsson with a chuckle, Putin himself gives speeches at Arctic conferences—and sends emissaries to Iceland to personally invite Grímsson to attend.
In temperature and in geopolitics, the Arctic has never been hotter. The ice cap is melting rapidly; new shipping lanes are opening up, as are previously inaccessible reserves of oil, gas and minerals. It is estimated that one-fifth of the world’s petroleum reserves lie in the Arctic. Whether these riches will be developed and transported, under what conditions and by whom, are high-stakes questions that are growing in urgency for governments and industry around the world.
Some projections say a nearly ice-free Arctic Ocean could occur by mid-century. “For the first time in human history we will witness the creation of a new ocean,” Grímsson told a conference in Washington last month. And the rest of the world wants in. Last summer, a Chinese-owned icebreaker, the Snow Dragon, sailed from Shanghai to Iceland. The purpose of that expedition was ostensibly to research how the melting of the sea ice creates extreme weather patterns in China. But China is also building cargo ships to sail across a polar route this decade using the ice-free summer months, cutting the distance to Europe and America.
“There’s a long queue of other players—starting with China, India, South Korea, Singapore, Germany and France and others who want a piece of the action and want to sit at the table,” Grímsson said. “And they are coming with a basket of investment finance.”
It’s precisely at this fraught moment of growing global interest that Canada is taking over the leadership of the Arctic Council, a once-obscure gathering of diplomats from eight Arctic countries who met in school gymnasiums of remote villages to discuss Arctic research. Founded in Ottawa in 1996, it is now the leading policy-making forum for the Arctic, producing binding international agreements among Arctic countries.
On May 15, in the northern Swedish mining town of Kiruna, Canada will officially take over the chairmanship. Not a mere formality, the role will allow the Canadian government to set an agenda and shape the direction of Arctic co-operation for the next two years, until it passes the reins to the next country in line, the United States.
Hillary Clinton attended the council’s last ministerial meeting, in Greenland in 2011, the first U.S. secretary of state to do so. Her successor, John Kerry, says he will attend. Interest is so high that 12 non-Arctic entities have applied to join the council as permanent “observers.” They include the European Union, China, India, Singapore, Japan, and groups such as Greenpeace and the Association of Oil and Gas Producers.
Some members favour expanding the tent to include the newcomers. But traditionally, Russia and Canada, who control the majority of the Arctic coastline, have been reluctant to let the world into their backyard. Some 120,000 people live in Canada’s Arctic—and their interests and aspirations do not necessarily align with the agendas of the distant nations who want a say in Arctic affairs. The Harper government sums up its Arctic policy as “development for the benefit of the people of the North.” It’s a vision that emphasizes economic development over conservation, and—as highlighted by the choice of Health Minister Leona Aglukkaq as chairwoman of the council—one that gives priority to Arctic residents.
Aglukkaq, an Inuk who spent her childhood living a traditional seal-hunting, igloo-dwelling lifestyle in remote communities in Nunavut, is the first indigenous person to ever chair the council. She arrives as aspirations for self-determination among indigenous people around the Arctic regions have been increasing along with economic opportunity. A land-claims agreement led to the creation of Nunavut in 1999; 10 years later, the majority-indigenous population of Greenland won increased self-government from Denmark; the Sami people have been seeking greater recognition of their rights in Nordic countries; and the indigenous populations in Russia are still building a political movement.
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