Writing on Snow: The Paradox of Governing the Arctic

The Whales That Broke the Ice

On a frigid October day in 1988, Inupiat hunters near Barrow in Alaska found three grey whales trapped beneath the sea ice. As this news spread, an unlikely rescue effort unfolded. American and Soviet icebreakers, Cold War adversaries at that time, converged to carve a path for the trapped whales to open water. The world watched rapt as Inuit whalers, U.S. Coast Guard crews, and Soviet seamen worked side by side to save “Iceberg,” “Crossbeak,” and “Bonnet”; the names Barrow’s children gave the stranded whales. This “tale of the whales” became an Arctic legend.

It was more than an animal rescue. It was a crystallisation of Arctic exceptionalism – the idea that at the High North, cooperation can overcome conflict even at the time when the world is divided into rival camps. The successful rescue spurred new channels of communication and trust between East and West, helping set the stage for the Arctic Environmental Protection Strategy in 1991 and, eventually, the Arctic Council’s founding in 1996. In popular memory, the Arctic came to be seen as a zone of camaraderie and common cause.

But the story of those trapped whales is also a parable. It offers a veneer of simple heroism and harmony, beneath which lies a far more complex mosaic of power dynamics. Today, as climate change intensifies melting of the polar ice and geopolitical interests sharpen in the region, the Arctic’s governance regime faces tests unimaginable in the whale-rescue era. Great powers and Indigenous leaders, scientists and oil executives, all circle the same table. While the actors profess unity, they quietly advance their own visions.

The region’s much-vaunted spirit of cooperation, its exceptionalism, remains. But it is increasingly a practised performance held together by subtle hierarchies, deft framing of issues, and norms that discipline behaviour without the need for open coercion. In what follows, we peel back the curtain on Arctic governance to see how power really works in this unique international arena.

Beneath the Veil of Arctic Exceptionalism

From the fall of the Soviet Union until recently, the Arctic earned a reputation as a zone of peace, insulated from the disputes of lower latitudes. The Arctic Council was born in 1996 out of this optimistic spirit. The Arctic 8 (the U.S., Russia, Canada, Norway, Denmark (Greenland), Sweden, Finland, and Iceland) united in a forum expressly not about hard security, but about environmental protection and sustainable development. Over the years, ministers and presidents repeatedly declared the Arctic Council as proof that pragmatic cooperation can prevail over zero-sum logic. They point to joint research on climate change, coordinated responses to polar bear conservation, and landmark agreements like the 2011 search-and-rescue treaty – all achieved with consensus and without armed brinkmanship.

Yet even at the height of this cooperation-first narrative, the real picture was more nuanced. Arctic exceptionalism was in many ways a deliberate framing – a story the region’s custodians told to themselves and the world to maintain stability. When Russian submarine MIR-1 planted a Russian flag on the North Pole seabed at a depth of 4,262 in 2007, media cries of a “new Cold War” in the Arctic rang out. Arctic diplomats responded not with sabres but with seminars. Within a year, all five Arctic Ocean coastal states met in Greenland to affirm that UNCLOS (the UN Law of the Sea) would govern territorial claims, pointedly cooling talk of conflict. Far from triggering a scramble, the flag incident spurred a burst of multilateral reassurance. Similarly, after Russia’s annexation of Crimea in 2014, many feared the chill of East–West relations would freeze Arctic cooperation. But at the Arctic Council’s 2015 ministerial meeting in Iqaluit, Canada delegates doubled down on “the Arctic as a zone of peace” and renewed the exceptionalism narrative at the very moment it seemed most in peril.

These moves underscore a key insight: Arctic exceptionalism is not just an inherent regional trait but a carefully maintained veneer. The Council pointedly avoids discussion of security or sovereignty disputes. Diplomatic language is scrubbed of provocations. This doesn’t mean rivalries vanish north of the 66th parallel. The power of exceptionalism lies in setting the boundaries of acceptable behaviour. When the United States, under the Trump administration, blocked any mention of climate change in the Arctic Council’s 2019 joint declaration, the result was a diplomatic shock. For the first time ever, the Council ended without a consensus declaration. Arctic ministers publicly voiced “disappointment” and concern at this breach of decorum. The episode revealed that the code of cooperation could be strained by great-power politics. The Council itself did not break as all members agreed to keep working outside the declaration, implicitly disciplining the outlier by marking its obstruction as illegitimate. Arctic exceptionalism bent, but did not shatter. Beneath the polite smiles and group photos, power was quietly being exercised.

The Power of the Frame – Who Tells the Arctic’s Story?

Power in the Arctic is often exercised not by fiat, but by framing the narrative. In Arctic diplomacy, words shape worlds. Arctic actors frequently toggle between portraying the region as exceptional and local (“what happens in the Arctic is best decided by those who live here”) and as globally connected (“the Arctic is an affair of concern for the whole world”). This global vs regional framing battle came to a head during the observer debates. Arctic states and Indigenous groups often stressed the regional, insider-owned nature of Arctic outside interlopers. Emerging powers like China, which called itself the “Near-Arctic state,” countered by emphasising the global stakes of Arctic melting and international law. This implied they, too, deserved a say.

The regional frame prevailed in institutional terms (only Arctic states can vote in the Council), but global frames are welcomed when they bring resources or legitimacy (e.g., citing climate change as a global challenge to spur action). Arctic politics becomes a dance of framing: each actor amplifies the narrative that best serves its interests. This can be peace, sovereignty, sustainable development, or scientific urgency. These frames are not mere talk; they influence whose proposals gain traction.

When oil prices spiked in the 2010s, resource companies and some Arctic governments framed the Arctic as an economic frontier. This led to the creation of the Arctic Economic Council in 2015 to give business a louder voice. That framing – the Arctic as opportunity rather than sanctuary – was controversial, pushed strongly by Canada and oil interests, and quietly monitored by Indigenous and environmental groups wary of opening the floodgates. A shift in narrative can redistribute power. By legitimising corporate presence, the economic development frame changed the institutional landscape of Arctic governance. Additionally, the Arctic holds 22% of the world’s undiscovered but recoverable resources. As the ice melts to give access to these resources, the power struggle in the Arctic theatre to access them would be a captivating watch.

From Drums to Declarations – The Rituals of Respect

The diplomatic rituals also reinforce certain frames. Consider the Arctic Council ministerial meetings, which conclude each two-year chairmanship. The host country typically stages cultural performances – an Inuit drum dance, a Sámi joik (traditional chant) – before dignitaries. This isn’t mere pageantry. It’s a ritual affirmation that Indigenous heritage is integral to Arctic politics. It reminds state officials that their authority here is morally constrained by much older, non-state forms of belonging. Yet, one might also observe how these rituals can be co-opted: a great power’s delegate dutifully watches the dance, then signs a declaration praising Indigenous knowledge, all the while ensuring it aligns with their capital’s interests. Such theatre, however sincere or cynical, is another performance of power. The form of respect must be paid, even if the substance is negotiable. Power hides in these details of protocol and narrative framing. Through them, Arctic governance remains what one scholar calls a “performance of competence” by its actors.

Arctic cooperation thrives not through raw power but through discipline embedded in norms and rules developed over decades of dialogue. While the Arctic Council lacks binding enforcement power, it commands influence through shared expectations and soft disciplining. Every decision must be agreed upon by all eight Arctic states and Indigenous Permanent Participants. Far from being a recipe for paralysis, this norm compels moderation and compromise. Another vital principle is that Arctic initiatives must benefit the entire region. Whether Russia proposes connectivity infrastructure or Canada champions biodiversity, states frame projects as multilateral. The practice of rotating chairmanship and ceremonial diplomacy ensures that even small states like Iceland or Finland can wield influence by managing process and mediating outcomes.

Expertise further reinforces this order. Scientific working groups produce authoritative reports. The 2004 Arctic Climate Impact Assessment defined the contours of political debate. Though they avoid overt advocacy, experts shape negotiations by controlling information. Disagreements over the public role of science underscore its power: the one who drafts the findings often steers the agenda.

The Land Remembers – Indigenous Power and Moral Authority

the land
is different
when you have lived there
wandered
sweated
frozen
seen the sun
set rise
disappear return
the land is different
when you know
here are
roots
ancestors
– Nils-Aslak Valkeapää, Sámi poet (from The Sun, My Father)

In these lines by the late Sámi writer Nils-Aslak Valkeapää, the Arctic emerges not as a void, a terra nullius to be conquered or managed. The Arctic is portrayed as a living entity suffused with memory, rhythm, and kinship. Such Indigenous perspectives offer a profound counterpoint to conventional notions of authority. In the Arctic governance mosaic, legitimacy is not solely derived from military might or economic GDP, but from belonging to the land itself. Indigenous peoples, whether Sámi, Inuit, Chukchi or Gwich’in, trace their authority in the Arctic to lineages far older than any modern state. Their worldview, embedded in language and art, treats the Arctic as home and teacher, not frontier or resource. This is why Indigenous organisations at the Arctic Council insist on the title Permanent Participants rather than observers. Their seat at the table is not a gracious concession by states; it is an assertion that they co-govern the Arctic by inherent right. An Inupiat elder once addressed a room of policymakers, saying: “We are not stakeholders. We are rights-holders.” That simple reframing carries the weight of generations and the moral power to which states must listen.

Voice Without Veto – How Indigenous Diplomacy Shapes Rules

The inclusion of Indigenous voices has subtly reshaped Arctic power dynamics. This shifts the discourse from state interest to stewardship and responsibility. When debates emerged over Arctic fisheries or new shipping routes, Indigenous leaders invoked not only environmental data but lived experience and spiritual ties to Arctic wildlife, often slowing or stopping profit-driven initiatives. Such influence helped catalyse the 2018 Central Arctic Ocean Fisheries Agreement, a precautionary moratorium on fishing in newly thawed polar waters. This recognises Indigenous coastal knowledge and avoids the ecological disasters seen elsewhere. In the Arctic, might does not make right; legitimacy is earned through respect for land and people. Meanwhile, Indigenous leaders have mastered the art of engaging in global diplomacy, leaving a lasting mark on the Polar Code by lobbying for protections like banning waste in hunting zones. Though they lack formal votes, authority flows from credibility and voice. Their worldview forms the grout of Arctic governance, which quietly binds the mosaic with ancestral wisdom and moral power.

The World Enters the Ice – Embedded Power Meets Global Might

Despite its cooperative image, the Arctic does not exist in a vacuum and is deeply entangled with global forums and power structures. While Arctic Council diplomacy tends to be embedded, marked by consensus and subtle influence, global institutions like the IMO or UNFCCC expose starker, more coercive power dynamics. The development of the Polar Code – a set of international rules for polar shipping – shows this contrast vividly. Arctic states, which are concerned about rising maritime traffic, spent years building research and consensus through the Arctic Council. But the Code itself had to be negotiated by over 170 members at the IMO, where powerful shipping nations and industry lobbies watered down several protections. Yet, the Arctic states’ embedded power gave them leverage. Their unity and expertise helped push the deal through after two decades of effort, translating soft regional diplomacy and hard bargaining into global rules.

Climate change highlights similar contrasts. Within the Arctic Council, rivals like Russia and the US largely agree on the warming Arctic, thanks to shared scientific efforts and communities from Siberia to Alaska facing the effects. But at global climate summits like the UNFCCC, these same countries resume adversarial roles, disputing emissions targets, financial responsibilities and accountability, and hesitating to endorse aggressive global carbon cuts. Even so, Arctic diplomacy influences global outcomes. The Paris Agreement echoed Arctic Council science, and global black carbon pledges trace back to regional efforts.

A telling story of the Arctic Council’s distinct governance style came after 2014, when Russia was isolated elsewhere due to Western sanctions. Remarkably, it remained an active Arctic Council member, cooperating on search-and-rescue and scientific initiatives. But this embedded, disciplined style of governance faces mounting pressure. Melting ice and economic interest are drawing in new actors, from Asian governments to global corporations, who wield growing influence but bear little institutional responsibility. Moreover, the Arctic Council lacks authority over security matters, a major gap as military exercises and posturing increase, such as Russia’s Arctic Command and NATO’s exercises in Norway. Without reforms, overlapping forums like the IMO and UN may create friction or weaken coherence.

The Arctic’s governance model, a mosaic of cooperation and careful framing, has so far resisted the harsher dynamics of global politics. But to endure, it may require new institutional “tiles”: stronger mandates, broader inclusion, and frameworks that better match rising geopolitical realities.

Cracks in the Ice – Can the Mosaic Hold?

In August 2021, a pod of bowhead whales swam through the once-impassable and ice-choked Northwest Passage. This symbolises a rapidly transforming Arctic, which is unfortunately on its way to experiencing the first ice-free summer by 2040. But unlike past Cold War moments of cooperation sparked by shared awe or urgency, today’s Arctic challenges like melting ice, industrial expansion and strategic rivalry demand not gestures but lasting governance. The Arctic Council has long offered that: a collaborative forum where even rival coast guards share rescue maps and Indigenous groups help shape global agreements. China, too, played by the rules, invoking respect and cooperation to be heard.

Yet 2022 exposed the fragility of this exceptionalism. Russia’s invasion of Ukraine froze the Arctic Council, shattering the illusion that geopolitics stops at the ice. Trust must now be rebuilt, not with platitudes, but through renewed norms and pragmatic diplomacy.

The Arctic mosaic endures because power is diffused, not absent. Not all voices weigh equally, but enough are heard to prevent domination. Its strength lies in disciplinary power: the quiet influence of norms, knowledge and shared narratives. Whether this balance holds depends on our willingness to keep tending the mosaic. Each act of cooperation. Each youth council or joint expedition is a tile reinforcing it.

The whales still swim. If humans keep listening to science, to each other, to the land; the Arctic may remain a stage for governance by consent, not coercion. A rare place where cooperation is not just a memory, but a daily practice!