Tag Archives: international law

Mathieu Landriault, Jean-François Payette and Stéphane Roussel (eds.), Mapping Arctic Paradiplomacy – Limits and Opportunities for Sub-National Actors in Arctic Governance (Abingdon and New York: Routledge, 2022)

The book is an anthology covering the concept of paradiplomacy and other forms of diplomacy in 10 chapters focusing on the North America and Russian Arctic with some example cases also from Scotland and China. The introductory chapter is a typical state-of-the-art chapter going through the literature in the field of Arctic paradiplomacy and is setting the stage for the rest of the book. The book is divided into three overall sections, where the first section is focused on the Arctic subnational governments or administrations. The second section is focusing on the Arctic civil society and Indigenous Peoples and the third section seeks to highlight how paradiplomacy can serve global actors in redefining Arctic governance. The last chapter in the book is a concluding chapter with some future perspectives.

The book is overall a good contribution to the debate about paradiplomacy and is covering interesting case studies, which normally would not be covered in an anthology of Arctic relations. The cases are scattered from Québec, Yakutsk to Arctic cities, Greenland, Indigenous Peoples, Scotland, China, and Bering Strait. The book tries to give a holistic view of the complex relationships between various actors involved in Arctic governance. However, in doing that it might lose its coherent structure and sometimes the reader finds himself/herself a little bit confused over what kind of paradiplomacy that the authors actually are trying to investigate. In the first chapter for instance the authors Payette and Roussel is using the concept of “identity paradiplomacy” and in the second chapter the authors are using “transborder regional microdiplomacy” and in other chapters we are introduced to “public diplomacy” and so on. It would have been better if the authors would have used a clear definition of which kind of paradiplomacy that the book is trying to illustrate. The various theoretical concepts and theories which are introduced in various chapters make maybe sense for the case study as such, but not for the overall framework. It would have been better if the authors would have agreed to a definition about Arctic paradiplomacy in the beginning and then framing the case studies according to that or outlining in the end how we can understand Arctic paradiplomacy. Another critical point is that a few chapters are more directed towards the national level and not the subnational level, which paradiplomacy is about. Here the chapter by Minkova about the cooperation between Canada and Russia illustrate this example and the chapter by Meek and Lovecraft focusing on the Bering Strait can also be seen as such an example. The chapter by Payette and Sun focusing on China’s role in the Arctic is also seen merely from a national, top-down view.

The multilevel approach by using various actors on different levels of government illustrates, of course, the complex reality of Arctic governance, but sometimes it is hard to get grips on which relationships that the authors are referring to. The relationships between the national and regional levels down to the local levels are not clearly outlined in each chapter.

The book gives a good overview of current developments in the Arctic and is therefore a valuable contribution to researchers, teachers, and students of Arctic politics, international relations, comparative politics and foreign policy and governance. The book could be used as literature at universities where Arctic relations and Arctic studies are in focus.

Karen N. Scott and David L. VanderZwaag (eds.) Research Handbook on Polar Law (Cheltenham/Northampton: E. Elgar, 2020)

The Research Handbook on Polar Law by Edward Elgar Publishing is part of the series of Research Handbooks that the British publishing house offers as a research focus in different disciplines and properly indexed in particular themes. In the case of the Research Handbook in Polar Law, the collection of 22 articles attempts to offer a comprehensive view of what constitutes the dimension of Polar Law: biodiversity, culture, politics.

The tome is edited by Karen N. Scott and David L. VanderZwaag, who try in the introduction to invite readers to reflect on the existence of a Polar Law and on the need to have this legal exceptionalism. Polar Law arises from the need to accommodate the regional demands of a part of the Planet that historically responds to various natural, economic and cultural claims. For this reason, inserting the term of Polar Law in the nomenclature alone is very difficult, considering the multidisciplinary nature of the subject.

Although the Polar law recalls a rationalistic legal structure, the two Poles, Arctic and Antarctic, require a different treatment as they are two geologically and politically distinct areas. If in the Arctic speaking of cultural diversity is possible, research in Antarctica focuses more on the protection of nature and the correct management of human activities, such as research and tourism.

For this reason, the authors opened the analysis with a historical excursus on polar geology, explaining the effects of the Anthropocene and its developments in the era of climate change. As far as the Poles may seem far and remote areas, they are in fact strongly interconnected with the rest of the Globe. The high temperatures and the sudden melting of glaciers caused an unstoppable rise in sea levels and the sinking of lands and river deltas. But not only. It is interesting to discover how the disappearance of the glaciers has made the polar future increasingly dark, without solar reflection and greater absorption of radiation.

The effects of Climate Change also unfold on traditional and non-traditional human activities in the Arctic, bringing out new priorities and new actors in the political and administrative dimension of the polar areas. After Seck and MacLeod attempt to group the polar population based on activities, Nengye Liu analyses China’s emerging role in Arctic politics, comparing the Chinese situation to the presence and competence of the European Union in both the Arctic and Antarctic. Although Chinese influence is still minimal in Polar Law, China is increasingly present in issues such as fisheries, shipping and tourism, especially in the Southern Ocean.

In fact, fisheries and tourism activities in the Southern Ocean have increased dramatically in the last decade. In his article, Haward traces the salient points of the history of fishing in the Southern Ocean up to the Convention on the Conservation of Antarctic Marine Living Resources (CCAMLR) part of the Antarctic Treaty System (ATS). Haward underlines the importance of conserving marine biodiversity, recalling when even the smallest element (krill) is indispensable for polar biodiversity. From the very beginning, CCAMLR has faced several resistances. Even today, it is hypothesized how this Convention can be integrated in the management of natural resources, especially in the policies regulating fishing.

A different approach is that explained by Hoel, who explains how fishing in the Arctic is managed, in particular by the Arctic Five, the five coastal Arctic states (Canada, United States of America (Alaska), Denmark (Greenland), Norway, Russia). Fishing in the Arctic has an additional meaning of sustenance for all the communities that live there. For this reason, the coastal Arctic countries have implemented tools to better manage this activity, such as moratoriums (US and Canada) and restrictive measures (Norway).

Natural resources are not just about flora and fauna. The Arctic is a region very rich in minerals and interest in developing these resources has grown over the years. The melting of the ice and the increasing number of fires in the Arctic has uncovered much of the covered land and has allowed further exploration.

Johnstone and Joblin talk about the limitations that Indigenous peoples still suffer in the enjoyment of territorial rights. Indigenous peoples, they points out, are not necessarily opposed to mining but would like to be able to participate more actively in decision-making processes involving the lands they have inhabited since time immemorial. Clearly, the connection sustainable development and extractive activities is not applicable in the Antarctic, as this continent is not permanently inhabited even if the growing presence of new actors (as previously argued by Liu).

Another important human activity in the Arctic and Antarctic is undoubtedly tourism. Again, global warming has opened up new avenues of communication, both by sea and by land, requiring greater controls and monitoring systems (Chapter 15; Chapter 16). Liggett and Stewart explore the regulatory framework of maritime tourism in the Arctic (Nunavut) and Antarctica, questioning whether this is sufficient to promote the diversification of the polar tourism sector. As pointed out by the authors, the non-ratification of some important international instruments (UNCLOS) and the difficult implementation of the International Code for Ships Operating in Polar Waters (Polar Code), has weakened the domestic legal system that guarantees the harmonization of international law on the matter. As everyone knows, the COVID-19 pandemic has had devastating effects on the tourism sector in general, causing a total shutdown in the polar areas. The cessation of maritime routes has considerably reduced the economic income of the local communities increasingly involved in the sector. The advent of COVID-19 has prompted governors and academics to reflect on the environment, society and the economy. Three strongly interconnected dimensions that make up the concept of sustainability, now at the centre of global policies.

During the pandemic, the media often referred to the “resurgence of Nature”, telling stories of how the fauna and flora have regained the spaces occupied by man. Nature that still struggles to be the holder of rights, but passively undergoes the rules imposed by man to manage itself in order not to be damaged by the environment that it manipulates and transforms. For these reasons, I think it is really interesting and important to read chapter 16, in which Warner traces the international principles of environmental law in both polar regimes, weaving a profound analysis on the precautionary principle and the importance of drafting Environmental Impact Assessments (EIA) now implemented in many legal systems (thanks also to international influence and European directives in support of greater monitoring of human activities in the environment).

At the 26th UNFCCC Conference of the Parties (COP26) in Glasgow, global sustainability was one of the topics that drove the climate discussions. In fact, governments have talked about the policies to be adopted to lower the levels of carbon emissions, the primary cause of climate change. There continues to be some concern that the measures adopted, especially legal ones, do not take the vulnerability levels of the Poles seriously. In fact, the legal instruments are often of a soft-law nature such as the bodies that issue, albeit important, guidelines and policies in this regard (Arctic Council and containment measures for the levels of Mercury and POPs, especially in Antarctica). In addition, there is also a substantial inconsistency among polar regimes that tend to jeopardize policies relating to climate change (Chapters 16 and 20).

The same perplexities are shared by Suzanne Lalonde, regarding the establishment of marine protected areas (MPA) and other effective area-based conservation measures in both polar regimes. Despite the legal instruments on the matter, the Arctic and Antarctica encounter the same coordination problems. If in the Arctic we find eight countries that manage MPAs according to their own legal system, in the Antarctic there is experience of logistical and regulatory overlaps (ATCM and CCAMLR). The author suggests the strengthening of inspection and monitoring systems in the Arctic (beyond the legal areas of state competence) by supporting cooperation between agencies and local communities.

Since the 1990s, the Arctic Council (AC) has referred to a further consequence of climate change: the acidification of the waters, which affects both the Arctic Ocean and the Southern Ocean. After the Arctic Council states recognized the problem of water acidification in 2015, the Arctic Council immediately adopted pro-active initiatives to combat the damage and risk factors, such as the Enhanced Black Carbon and Methane Emissions Reduction Framework for Action (EBCME Framework), with the commitment of member states to reduce black carbon and methane emissions.

The approach to the South Pole, according to Stephens, would be completely different. If in the Arctic we can speak of regionalism, the problem of acidification of Antarctic waters is treated in a more conservative way. Although the members of the Antarctic Treaty System (ATS) are more numerous than those of the Arctic Council, the regulatory framework is based only on the UNFCCC and the Paris Agreement and to date the ATS did not demonstrate the same dynamic response as the AC.

The volume ends with an examination of the position of Polar Law as a discipline, hypothesizing the factors that led to the creation of a branch of law. According to Rothwell and Hemmings, climate change, the effects of which are very evident in the polar regions, and the exploitation of resources are the main causes of the growing international interest. As mentioned previously, the polar legal framework is very complex and is the result of the first explorations and the first hypotheses of sovereignty of those lands. The fight against sovereignty and, consequently, the management of resources has resulted in conflicts and new theories that have spilled over into what we call “Polar governance” and the decision-making systems that affect the economy, society, and the polar environment. The purpose of Polar Law, as suggested by the authors, is to respond to geopolitical and environmental challenges (p.473), and for this reason it will continue to adapt in an uncertain future marked by climate change.

After this brief and general overview of the volume, I would like to conclude my review with some personal reflections. First of all, I I firmly believe editorial series of this kind are of absolute importance both for those who work in the sector and also for amateurs of Arctic themes. Sustainability and the environment were the two pillars of this book which constituted the common thread through all the articles. Also appreciated the references and postscriptum on COVID-19 which has been an undeniable unknown for the past two years. I really appreciated the variety of disciplines proposed and the themes that the authors selected. Excellent Arctic-Antarctic dichotomy in each contribution that allows the reader to compare the two polar regimes in each field. The only thing that I personally have not fully approved is the order of the articles, poorly organized by argument. I would have preferred to find the scientific and humanities articles in separate sections or in a different group. For these reasons, I invite those interested in Polar Law to read this volume, hoping not to wait too long for a new issue.

 

The Legal Protection of Sea Ice Areas and the Triple Bottom Line Approach to Mining Management in the Arctic

2020 is the year when 40% of the 4,000-year-old Milne Ice Shelf, located on the north-western edge of Ellesmere Island, caved into the sea. 2020 is the year when the Greenland Ice Sheet has already passed the point of no return. 2020 is the year when human presence in the Arctic Ocean fell dramatically due to the COVID-19 outbreak. And at the same time, 2020 is another year when the dispute between the economic profit from mining in the Arctic and environmentally sustainable future was not resolved. Environmentalists are afraid that, as the sea ice melts, the Arctic Ocean will become more available and accessible for mining and navigation. Economists are afraid that mining activity in the Arctic Ocean will become less available as shrinking sea ice areas get international protection measures. Existing legal measures are not able to address the problem of melting in the Arctic adequately. The common problem of environmental protection measures and mining regulation measures is considering sea ice as “part of something.” There are no ice protection regulations as a separate natural object, only as a Natural Park as in Canadian and the United States legislation, and there are no international protection measures that consider sea ice as “sui generis”. Initiatives to invent glaciers protection legislation meet the strong opposition of mining supporters, as it was in Chile and Argentina. The main question of our research about potential sea ice protection legislation concerns the concept of “sui generis”: is it possible to create legal measures based on the fact that sea ice areas are “one of a kind” that require their own, unique, protection? We will check existing legal protection systems and analyze current mining practices through the triple bottom line approach to answer this question.

Sea ice and the environment

Nowadays, Polar vortex-increased heat waves, and the unpredictability of weather caused by ice loss are already causing significant damage to crops on which global food systems depend (Hancock, 2020). Furthermore, but no less critical, the melting of the Arctic ice pack affects sea level in the Arctic Ocean, sea surface temperature, and wildlife populations, like beluga whales, narwhals, and bowheads. Moreover, these species would require additional protection measures and flexible measures adapting to the consequences of melting. In the first section of our research, we would like to pay attention to the significance of sea ice protection from the environmental perspective. Melting Arctic sea ice opens up this once frozen frontier to new interests, such as fishing, shipping, and resource development. Increased human presence in the Arctic Ocean could potentially affect many sea ice patterns and local marine biodiversity. We will answer the following questions to understand how to make shrinking ice areas environmentally safe: Who has the rights to “sea ice”? Who has the rights to fish and tap the minerals that potentially may be found underneath of sea ice areas? And is it possible to protect flora and fauna?

Who has the rights to sea ice? Sea ice areas located within national jurisdiction are regulated by the legislation of the coastal state. Coastal states may adopt non-discriminative legal measures to protect these areas from pollution, according to Article 234 of the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS) (United Nations, 1982). In the case of sea ice areas located beyond national jurisdiction, we need to define the legal concepts of res and terra, communis and nullius. The main feature of the nullius concept is that something belongs to nobody and can be taken by the first taker, and terra can be occupied in a real or effective way. The concept of communis means that something belongs to everybody and cannot be occupied by somebody. In the case of sea ice, we question whether it is possible to effectively or really occupy and establish sovereignty over sea ice. The most common opinion is that it cannot: sovereignty can be established over the territory possible to transform for further effective use. So, those Arctic sea ice areas, located beyond national jurisdiction, may be considered as res communis: territories belonging to everybody and exploitable by those who wish to and are capable of doing so. However, fish located underneath sea ice is res nullius and appropriated by taker in the amount of completed catch.

The situation with mineral resources that potentially may be discovered underneath is different. Extraction of minerals explored underneath the sea ice areas, potentially on the seabed and ocean floor, is regulated by Part IX, Section 2 of UNCLOS, since the seabed and ocean floor located beyond national jurisdiction falls under the definition of “Area” provided in Article 1 section 1 of UNCLOS and in Agreement relates to the implementation of Part XI of the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea of 10 December 1982. Article 136 of UNCLOS and annex to Agreement reaffirm that all mineral extraction on the seabed and ocean floor is implemented under the principle of the common heritage of mankind (Agreement, 1982). Following legal regulations mentioned above, we can conclude that the most applicable legal concept for minerals underneath is res communis. Notwithstanding, we need to pay attention to the fact that the United States (US) is not a member-state of UNCLOS and Agreement, so the linkage of mineral extraction with the concept of the common heritage of mankind would be ineffective from the US’s perspective.

Access to fish and mineral resources may be limited, but limitations should be justified by reasonable ground. Today, the most reasonable ground for imposing limitations on access to natural resources is global warming and sea ice melting. Consequences of melting, which is especially fast-paced, will lead to Arctic marine ecosystem changes. These issues need to be addressed. Protection measures from human activities would apply to sea ice areas with an average thickness less than 1.5 meters or ice temperature from -20 to -10℃, since human activities can accelerate shrinking (see for example: polarportal.dk/en/sea-ice-and-icebergs/sea-ice-thickness-and-volume/). As an example of existing biodiversity protection measures of areas where sea ice will probably melt and increase accessibility and availability, we would like to point out the Agreement to Prevent Unregulated High Seas Fisheries in the Central Arctic Ocean. Thinking of fishing as two types – for commercial and exploratory purposes – would protect those affected by sea ice melt and changed ecosystem species and allow commercial fishing to be beneficial at the same time. How will it work in case of fragile aquatic ecosystems? It is possible to declare exploratory fishing, which according to Article 1 section e), means fishing to assess the sustainability and feasibility of future commercial fishing, only applicable for threatened species (Agreement, 2019), the list of which would be possible to put into the annex. Commercial fishing would apply only to species who may have an advantage from global warmings, like Polar (Arctic) cod, and krill. At the same time, we would like to point out that the mentioned international fishing regulation will apply only to high sea areas without sea ice. Currently, massive commercial fishing is not taking place on the Central Arctic Ocean sea ice, plus, sea ice-associated species have no substantial commercial value nowadays. Nonetheless, sea ice-associated species are the most vulnerable to ice melt and their extinction can affect the food web, for example, ice algae that form the base of the food web (Barry, 2011). Some algae stay attached to the bottom of the ice, some fall into the water column, and some fall to the bottom of the sea to provide food for species that feed at different depths (Barry, 2011). Protists (single-celled organisms) and zooplankton eat the algae which are then eaten by, for instance, Arctic cod and sea birds, which in turn act as the primary link to other fish and birds, seals, and whales (Barry, 2011). So, the extinction of sea ice-associated species will make “commercial” species vulnerable. Yet commercial fishing would increase the vulnerability of such commercial species.

To limit human interference into fragile ecosystems around sea ice areas, we need to pay attention to the Marine Protected Areas approach. Example of provisions regulating the issues of Protected Areas can be found in the Antarctic Treaty System. Antarctic Treaty System is effectively recruiting human activity limitations in the most fragile areas. Annex V to the Protocol on Environmental Protection to the Antarctic Treaty regulates the establishment of specially protected and specially managed areas in the most fragile environments. Such regulations make it possible to limit human presence in such areas (Annex, 1991). In addition to the tool mentioned above, article 9 section 2 of the Convention for the Conservation of Antarctic Marine Living Resources (CCAMLR) provide an opportunity to designate the quantity of any species harvested, regions, and sub-regions based on the distribution of populations of Antarctic marine living resources, opening and closing of areas, regions or sub-regions for purposes of scientific study or conservation, including special areas for protection and scientific study (Convention, 1980). Moreover, the article of CCAMLR makes it possible to regulate harvesting methods, including fishing gear, with a view, inter alia, to avoid undue concentration of harvesting in any region or sub-region (Convention, 1980). To use the analogy of the above-mentioned legal instruments, the Arctic Ocean’s sea ice areas may be defined as areas kept inviolate from human interference so that future comparisons may be possible with other localities affected by human activities, such as representative examples of major marine ecosystems, or potentially, areas of particular interest to planned scientific research (Annex, 1991). However, as the Arctic does not have its hard-law treaty system, it would be almost impossible to analogize this situation to the Antarctic Treaty System. In the Arctic, the Marine Protected Areas establishment is in International Maritime Organization and Regional Fisheries Organizations’ competence. In our opinion, the best way to define the type of protection regime for the sea areas with accelerated ice melt is to use the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) Protected Area Categories System. According to their guidelines for applying protected area management categories, there are seven categories of the Protected Areas, and we would like to pay attention to the most suitable regimes for vulnerable ecosystem after sea ice melt. By implementation of the Category IA: Strict Nature Reserve, protection areas may achieve preservation of ecosystems, species, and biodiversity features in a state that is as undisturbed by recent human activity as possible, while still procuring examples of the natural environment for scientific studies, environmental monitoring and education, including baseline areas from which all avoidable access is excluded, and minimizing disturbance through careful planning and implementation of research and other approved activities (IUCN Ia, 2018). The Category IV: Habitat/Species Management Area usually helps to protect or restore: 1) flora species of international, national or local importance; 2) fauna species of international, national, or local importance including resident or migratory fauna; and/or 3) habitats (IUCN IV, 2018). The size of the area varies but can often be relatively small. Category IV will be the best protection regime if locations around the shrinking sea ice area have threatened species. Nevertheless, IUCN has no power to establish protected areas and can only provide recommendations and assessments to existing protected areas. Nowadays, the most powerful categorization of the marine protected areas is the Marine Environment Protection Committee’s (MEPC) of the International Maritime Organization (IMO) division of protected areas on particularly sensitive sea areas, special areas, emission control area designation, areas to be avoided, and no anchoring areas. The most suitable protection regime, according to MEPC categorization, is a particularly sensitive sea area. IMO’s Resolution A.982(24) Revised Guidelines for the identification and designation of particularly sensitive sea areas regulate the criteria of adopting such a regime, including the one mentioned in section 4.4.1-4.4.11 ecological criteria (Resolution, 2005). Adoption of a particularly sensitive sea area regime will oblige parties to adopt ships’ routing and reporting systems near or in the area, according to the International Convention for the Safety of Life at Sea (SOLAS) and following the General Provisions on Ships’ Routing and the Guidelines and Criteria for Ship Reporting Systems, and to limit navigation through such areas that should protect the environment from navigational harm (Resolution, 2005). However, we think that procedurally it is hard to demand the adoption of such a regime. It is difficult to prove scientifically that some Central Arctic Ocean area meets ecological criteria for adopting particularly sensitive sea area regimes. Besides, in the case of IMO, the navigational issue will always prevail over the ecological one, but it is definitely a subject of disputes. The question remains, who will be responsible for the control and assessment of environmental protection, prevention, and response in connection with navigational and industrial issues? The most likely organization for such responsibility is IMO, since it is the specialized agency of the United Nations (UN) and is responsible for the safety and security of shipping and the prevention of marine and atmospheric pollution by ships, the main reason why the imposition of strict environmental protection measures may become necessary in the future. Such control and assessment of IMO can cooperate with the Protection of the Artic Marine Environment (PAME), a working group of the Arctic Council, the main interest of which is mentioned in this section on environmental protection.

In conclusion to this section, we would like to draw attention to Category VI: Protected area with sustainable use of natural resources: the primary objective of this protection regime is to protect natural ecosystems and use natural resources sustainably when conservation and sustainable use can be mutually beneficial (IUCN VI, 2018). To understand if conservation and sustainable use of natural resources can be mutually beneficial, we need to answer the question: would it be possible to promote sustainable use of natural resources, considering ecological, economic, and social dimensions (IUCN VI, 2018)? The answer to this question is the subject of the next section of our research. We summarize that sea ice areas located within national jurisdiction are protected following domestic legislation rules from the environmental perspective. Regarding sea ice located beyond national jurisdiction, we would like to assume these ice areas res communis. However, resources located inside this territory, except resources that can be extracted only from seabed and subsoil, are res nullius. Resources that can be extracted only from seabed and subsoil, due to UCLOS’s existing regulations, are res communis, thus extending to them the principle of the common heritage of mankind. Nonetheless, due to existing legal practices and regulations, especially on the international level, we can conclude that through increased adoption of the protection areas regimes, it seems possible to protect sea ice from increased human activities. The question remains, how will these protection measures affect the economic consequences of melting? And how will they affect navigational? It’s worth mentioning that the consequences of sea ice melt may be seen from the indigenous perspective also. As the brightest example, we would like to point out the Canadian and Greenlandic Inuits located around Pikialasorsuaq, where the North water plynya connects the Canadian and Greenlandic settlements of Inuits. The accelerated melt of local sea ice makes communication difficult and creates risks that could cause dog sledding to become extremely dangerous. That may lead to crucial changes in Inuit’s lifestyle.

Ice Melt and the Resulting Industrial Opportunities

Promoting comprehensive legal protection regimes for non-jurisdictional Arctic sea ice and the Central Arctic Ocean will naturally face opposition due to the potential industrial economic value of the region. The Triple Bottom Line (TBL) sustainability approach demands that when implementing strategies or sustainability practices, three prongs be analyzed and balanced: 1) people, 2) profit, and 3) planet. As discussed above, there are numerous factors and considerations present to support that a protection regime for Arctic sea ice is beneficial from an environmental lens. However, a proper TBL analysis will also require an in-depth inquiry of the benefit that the utilization of resources in the Arctic can bring to the pillars of profit and people.

The melting of Arctic sea ice and the opening of access to greater portions of the Arctic have important economic consequences for a number of industries. There is a wealth of highly valuable resources that are being made accessible due to Arctic sea ice melt. Untapped within the Arctic, there is an estimated 1,670 trillion cubic feet of natural gas (30% of the planet’s untapped gas), 44 billion barrels of liquid natural gas, 90 billion barrels of oil (13% of the world’s undiscovered oil reserve), and reserves of gold, zinc, nickel and iron (Bryce, 2019). The opportunity to exploit these new resources is of great interest not only to Arctic states, but to other world powers as well, and has led to a greater politicization of the Arctic in recent years (Rosenthal, 2012). As more ice melts, more of these resources will be available for extraction and nations will be vying for increased access. For non-jurisdictional Arctic areas, which are open to all for exploration, the opportunity for access to these resources is not only of interest to the surrounding Arctic states, but of global interest as well. A concern here from an environmental perspective, is that the economic incentive of exploiting these resources, particularly for Arctic nations with sovereignty over them, may weaken resolve to mitigate Arctic sea ice loss.
Oil & Natural Gas

As more sea ice melts, it is anticipated that vast reserves of oil and natural gas, which have remained mostly undiscovered, will become accessible. As of 2015, the United States Geological Survey (USGS) had predicted that there could be approximately 90 billion barrels of available oil in the area above the Arctic Circle, which equates to 13% of the world’s undiscovered and accessible oil (US Energy Information Administration, 2012). As for natural gas, it is estimated by the USGS that 1,670 trillion cubic feet of natural gas and 44 billion barrels of recoverable natural gas liquids are stored in the area beneath Arctic sea ice (US Energy Information Administration, 2012). This is equivalent to 30% of the world’s undiscovered natural gas reserves. The economic potential of these resources is vast and, as a result, the world is enticed by the opportunities that melting sea ice presents. These resources only become available when, in the eyes of some environmentalists, there has been failure to adequately protect and prevent the melt of Arctic sea ice. As sea ice melts, the potential to capitalize on the wealth of resources below increases and countries are poised for when that happens.

Oil and natural gas companies have already begun to develop agreements with Arctic countries for access to their reserves. Russia in particular has taken initial steps to advance their exploration and extraction efforts. However, other states have certainly shown interest in capitalizing on these opportunities.

Navigation and Shipping in the Arctic
One of the significant impacts from Arctic sea ice melt that will lead to global economic implications and power struggles is the opening of shipping lanes across the Arctic. These passages were previously inaccessible but, because of sea ice melt, there is potential for mass-scale commercial shipping through shipping lanes made accessible with additional sea ice melt. The first new sea route is the Northwest Passage, which connects the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans through the Canadian Arctic Archipelago (Sharma, 2019). Since the turn of the twenty-first century, that passage has experienced relatively ice-free conditions multiple times, though it’s not yet a dependable pathway for commercial ships (Struzik, 2019). The other path, the Northern Sea Route, is along the coast of Siberia and has begun experiencing summertime sea ice declines that may transform it into a reliable shipping route (Sharma, 2019). The Northern Sea Route runs from the Barents Sea to the Bering Strait between Siberia and Alaska and would dramatically reduce the transit time for ships traveling from East Asia to Western Europe (Sharma, 2019). In fact, it is estimated that it would reduce transit time by 10-15 days and that, as a result, a huge portion of Chinese trade would be conducted through this route if it became available (Sharma, 2019).

There are, however, still barriers to using these routes: the ice conditions are unpredictable and there is a lack of rescue teams and support infrastructure (Murphy, 2018). Therefore, it may be several years, if we continue on our current path, before these routes become available for large-scale commercial shipping. However, Arctic states are beginning to address these issues in anticipation of these new shipping routes. For example, in Russia there are plans to construct new ports and roads, and to improve roads between Arctic states for movement of goods (Murphy, 2018). Therefore, some countries may be more prepared for this transition than we think. This new reality will have impacts not only on the environment, but also on the world economy and national security, as nations compete to gain rights to shipping lanes and newly accessible resources in the Arctic.

The “New Cold War”
These resources have sparked a battle over the Arctic, coined “the New Cold War.” Climate change is drastically changing the Arctic, and Arctic states are all staking claims over regions of the Arctic seabed, and the valuable resources within them. Under the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea, coastal states have sovereign rights over their continental shelf for the purpose of exploration and exploitation of its natural resources (United Nations, 1982). The continental shelf typically extends 200 nautical miles (nm) from the baselines of the coastal states (United Nations, 1982). However, under some circumstances, such as when there are unique geological geographical features, states can extend their continental shelf beyond the 200 nm, but not greater than 350 nm from the baseline (United Nations, 1982). The desire to control more of the continental shelf in order to exploit those valuable resources has led to extended claims and significant debate over who has sovereignty over Arctic waters and the continental shelf. For example, in 2001, Russia was the first to claim an extended continental shelf. Denmark followed suit in 2014 (Barents Observer, 2019). More recently, in May 2019, Canada submitted its claim for an extended continental shelf, including 1.2 million square kilometers of seabed and subsoil, with the UN Commission on the Limits of the Continental Shelf, who holds the decision-making power over these claims (Barents Observer, 2019).

The Arctic Council was established by the states with territorial claims in the Arctic in part to help manage the competing interests that arise concerning the Arctic and promote cooperation among different countries and indigenous communities in the region, as well as help manage and discuss plans for sustainable development and environmental protection in the Arctic (Exner-Pirot, 2019). There is both opportunity and hope that the engagement of the Arctic Council can help facilitate any action taken to establish protection regimes among the Arctic states and help balance these competing interests.

The Triple Bottom Line Analysis
The potential for legal protection of these non-jurisdictional Arctic sea ice can be analyzed using the Triple Bottom Line (TBL) approach. The TBL approach is a sustainability framework that attempts to balance the interests of “people, planet, and profit” when dealing with a particular issue or activity. This tool balances the competing interests of an activity and can be used to develop a stable and just regulatory framework. Arctic oil and gas exploration is a perfect example of both the advantages and challenges of using the TBL. On the one hand, it helps all relevant aspects be considered when constructing a new thinking framework for Arctic mining, given there is currently no hard-law regulatory scheme. There is little value in only considering the environmental effects or economic of an activity, as these complex issues cannot be addressed in a silo. On the other hand, balancing the many different interests involved in Arctic oil and gas extraction is a difficult task. The exploitation of resource-based industries in the Arctic is a key economic driver of the region, which makes it complicated to implement strict legal policies that affect not only all eight Arctic states, but impede the global interests of untapped and unexploited potential resources in the Arctic.

Of course, a key factor in this analysis is the profit potential of extracting these resources from the Arctic. The economic value to Arctic countries who have offshore resources within their jurisdictional continental shelf, and then the economic value of resources outside of Arctic state jurisdiction are not to be underestimated. There is global interest in investing in exploration and extraction. In particular, China is looking to expand efforts to the Arctic. They are not only interested in the oil and gas opportunities in the Arctic, but the opening of shipping lanes. China ships vast amounts of goods and the opening of new routes, such as the Northwest Passage and the Northern Sea Route, could substantially reduce their transit times. In fact, in early 2018, China published a white paper dictating the nation’s first Arctic policy and unveiling their vision for a “Polar Silk Road” across the Arctic (Nakano, 2018). This vision included plans to build infrastructure and conduct trial voyages along those new shipping routes (Nakano, 2018). It will be interesting to see how China’s involvement shifts the distribution of power among the other Arctic nations. Offshore extraction in the Arctic could also affect the global market and price point for these resources (Krupnick, 2011).

Important to note are the incredibly significant investment and operational costs. There are hefty financial and logistical challenges associated with offshore exploration, which could slow efforts to commercially and substantially capitalize on these resources (Bergo, 2014). Serious Arctic exploration is predicted to be years, if not decades, in the future, predicated on the further melting of sea ice and the development of adequate infrastructure. The infrastructure dilemma in the Arctic is significant. The harsh environment of the Arctic makes it slower and more difficult to establish the needed infrastructure to make the Arctic an industrial hub of resource exploration and extraction (Bergo, 2014). Naturally, many nations would likely hope to see the Arctic develop into that image. However, as more Arctic states work to capitalize on their resources found within their jurisdictional waters and the continental shelf, coastal infrastructure will be built that will facilitate and expedite exploration into non-claimed regions of the Arctic open to all for extraction (Sherwin, 2019). Therefore, while the upfront time and cost associated with Arctic exploration is great, the barriers to resource extraction will likely diminish exponentially as more infrastructure and newer methods are developed.

However, we also must consider that there is a significant economic benefit from the existing ecosystems, wildlife, and natural resources in the Arctic, even without the exploitation of mineral and oil resources. “Local communities benefit from access to subsistence goods, such as fish, birds and marine mammals, and obtain significant cultural benefits from collectively engaging in subsistence hunting and interacting with their landscapes.” If Arctic exploration and resource extraction is allowed or encouraged to a great extent, coastal Arctic communities may have reduced access to ecosystem services and natural resources that help sustain livelihoods of Arctic peoples merely due to the feedback loops and ripple effects stemming from the exploitation of Arctic resources. As costly as resource extraction may be in the Arctic, future efforts to invest in exploration and develop the necessary infrastructure should be anticipated in the coming years. Therefore, the time is ripe to discuss how these economic benefits can be objectively balanced with the resulting environmental harm.

Finally, we must consider how mining affects the people of the region. Resource extraction in the Arctic has the potential to bring significant sums of money to Arctic states. With the opening of shipping lanes and the potential for the industrialization of the Arctic Ocean, the push to develop infrastructure in coastal Arctic towns may yield entire new industries, create jobs, bring in revenue, and generate tourism for Arctic states and communities. The infrastructure may very well benefit the people by bringing significant economic benefit to the region. However, extraction activities can also run contrary to the culture and heritage of Arctic communities and may bring industry in an undesirable direction. Furthermore, as mentioned above, the degradation of the Arctic environment due to glacial melt and mining may disrupt their way of life and cultural practices.

Given the many factors influenced by mining in glacier areas, it is clear how the balancing of these interests would pose challenges and create great opposition to region-wide protection regimes for sea ice in the Arctic.

Conclusion

From the environmental perspective, sea ice areas should be considered sui generis and require special protection measures. These protection measures should define the status of such areas and resources within and under areas, regulate biodiversity protection, and declare limitations of human activities in the most fragile areas. The most applicable concepts defining the status of sea ice areas and resources are res communis and res nullius. As biodiversity protection measures for sea areas that will lose ice cover, we would like to recommend the separation of fishing activities based on the list of threatened species, as well as the implementation of the Marine Protected Areas approach following IUCN or IMO categorization, which would be a useful tool in limiting human presence in the fragile glacial areas.

There is no doubt that the Arctic still suffers the severe consequences of climate change and the conservation of the Arctic ecosystem is a huge incentive to reduce greenhouse gas emissions and promote sustainable societies. However, the battle over the Arctic will continue as its resources become more accessible. For the sake of the environment and conservation, the hope remains that climate change mitigation practices will reduce the amount of Arctic sea ice loss and therefore the amount of space and resources over which disputes can arise. Organizations like the Arctic Council provide confidence that the efforts to protect the Arctic and promote sustainable management are very much still alive.

References
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Barry, T. (2011). Arctic sea ice associated biodiversity: importance and challenges. Akureyri, Iceland: CAFF. Retrieved from https://www.rha.is/static/files/NRF/OpenAssemblies/Hveragerdi2011/position_papers/barry-sea_ice_overview-nrf_2011.pdf.
Bergo, H. (2014). Arctic Extraction Sees Huge Potential, High Risks. Retrieved from https://globalriskinsights.com/2014/03/arctic-extraction-presents-huge-potential-but-high-risks.
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Exner-Pirot, H. (2019). Form and Function: The Future of the Arctic Council. Retrieved from https://www.thearcticinstitute.org/form-function-future-arctic-council.
Hancock, L. (2020). Six ways loss of Arctic ice impacts everyone. Gland, Switzerland: WWF. Retrieved from https://www.worldwildlife.org/pages/six-ways-loss-of-arctic-ice-impacts-everyone.
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Krupnick, A. (2011). Drilling for Oil in the Arctic: Considering Economic and Social Costs and Benefits. Los Angeles, USA: Resources. Retrieved from https://www.resources.org/common-resources/drilling-for-oil-in-the-arctic-considering-economic-and-social-costs-and-benefits.
Murphy, J. (2018). Is the Arctic set to become a main shipping route? London, United Kingdom: BBC. Retrieved from https://www.bbc.com/news/business-45527531.
Nakano, J. (2019). China Launches the Polar Silk Road. Washington, USA: Center for Strategic & International Studies. Retrieved from https://www.csis.org/analysis/china-launches-polar-silk-road.
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Rosenthal, E. (2012). Race Is On as Ice Melt Reveals Arctic Treasures. New York, USA: NY Times. Retrieved from https://www.nytimes.com/2012/09/19/science/earth/arctic-resources-exposed-by-warming-set-off-competition.html.
Sharma, T. (2019). Melting Arctic Sea Ice Opens New Maritime Shipping Routes. New York, USA: Global Security Review. Retrieved from https://globalsecurityreview.com/arctic-new-maritime-shipping-route.
Sherwin, P. (2019). The Trillion-Dollar Reason for an Arctic Infrastructure Standard. Retrieved from http://polarconnection.org/arctic-infrastructure-standard.
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U.S. Energy Information Administration. (2012). Arctic oil and natural gas resources. Washington, USA: US EIA. Retrieved from https://www.eia.gov/todayinenergy/detail.php?id=4650#:~:text=The%20Arctic%20holds%20an%20estimated,U.S.%20Geological%20Survey%20(USGS).
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L.P. Hildebrand, L.W. Brigham, and T.M. Johansson (eds.), Sustainable Shipping in a Changing Arctic (WMU Studies in Maritime Affairs, 7) (Cham: Springer, 2018)

Sustainable shipping in a Changing Arctic is the 7th book in the series of World Maritime University (WMU) Studies in Maritime Affairs. WMU is a post-graduate maritime university funded in 1983 by the International Maritime Organization (IMO) the United Nations specialized agency with responsibility for the safety and security of shipping and the prevention of marine and atmospheric pollution by ship[1]. Previous books in the series address a diverse variety of shipping and maritime issues, including Piracy at Sea (2013), Maritime Women: Global Leadership (2015), and Shipping Operation Management (2017). The 7th book focuses in particular on the Arctic region and builds on the international conference Safe and Sustainable Shipping in a Changing Arctic Environment (ShipArc2015) held in Malmö (Sweden) in August 2015, convened by WMU, IMO, and the Arctic Council’s Working Group on the Protection of the Arctic Marine Environment (PAME).

 Sustainable shipping in a Changing Arctic brings together multiple perspectives – in a classical as pragmatic structure presenting key current issues, future challenges and next steps – to address matters concerning the development of a sustainable shipping industry in a changing Arctic environment. The Arctic environment is indeed changing, as highlighted throughout the book, in the sense that it is warming twice as fast as the rest of the World due to the effects of climate change. Its most tangible effects are seen on its sea-ice, including multiyear sea-ice, which is undergoing severe transformations regarding its extent, as vast areas once covered by sea-ice are now ice-free especially during warmer months, regarding its thickness, as sea-ice that still endures is often thinner and more easily breakable, and regarding its character, as first-year ice is now found in areas once covered by multiyear sea-ice. In addition, over the last two decades, scientists have recorded earlier break-up and later freeze-up, a trend that worsens every year, implying longer ice-free seasons in vast areas of region. Less, thinner, predominantly first-year ice and longer ice-free seasons also means that access to areas of the Arctic, hitherto inaccessible, become feasible and for prolonged periods, therefore increasing accessibility to technically recoverable natural resources, opening up maritime sea routes, and unveiling new opportunities for commercial sea-transportation. Understandably, interests in the development of such economic opportunities by Arctic and non-Arctic stakeholders is accelerating, and the pressure on the environment due to an expanding marine use is only expected to further increase.

This scenario calls, as the short but to the point blurb of the book anticipates, for the adoption of a forward-looking agenda that respects the fragile and changing Arctic frontier. As a matter of facts, and in the words of Cleopatra Doumbia-Henry,  WMU President  in the foreword, [t]he book series also serves as a platform for promoting and advancing the UN 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development and the marine-related Sustainable Development Goals, particularly goal 14 on oceans as well as the interconnected Goals 4 (quality education), 5 (gender equality),  (affordable and clean energy), 9 (industry, innovation and infrastructure), 13 (climate action), and 1 (partnership)[2].

If you are in the academia dealing with Arctic maritime issues or in the maritime business sector with an eye on the Arctic region, this collection of 23 articles has been compiled especially for you (or so it is announced by the President in her foreword). The aim at becoming a one-stop read, or a comprehensive vademecum of essays and information on Arctic environmental protection and sustainable maritime business development is further underlined by the choice of enclosing in the Conclusions (part 7) full texts of Arctic and shipping relevant agreements and declarations, including the Ilulissat Declaration (2008) and the Agreement on enhancing International Arctic Scientific Cooperation (2017). Interestingly, this section also includes the Declaration concerning the Prevention of unregulated High Seas Fishing in the Central Arctic Ocean and the Chairman’s Statement on the Meeting on High Seas Fisheries in the Central Arctic Ocean (Reykjavík, Iceland, 15-18 March 2017), both document serving as most up-to date information anticipating the imminent end of the negotiations of the legally binding Agreement to Prevent Unregulated High Seas Fisheries in the Central Arctic Ocean, in fact signed in Ilulissat, Greenland, on October 3rd, on the same year of the publication of the book, i.e. 2018. Therefore, if you were eager to read a thorough analysis on prevention of commercial fishing in the high seas of the central Arctic Ocean, I am afraid you may need to wait for a possible updated of the book (or a new issue) or look somewhere else for the moment being.

The multiple perspectives anticipated in the introduction are presented in form of 23 articles, written by more than 40 experts in maritime issues and distributed in 7 thematic parts. The stage is set in Part I, where legal and regulatory frameworks relevant for Arctic marine operations and shipping are presented. As to be expected, the very first article in this part provides an insightful analysis of the International Code for Shipping Operating in Polar Waters, better known by its short name of “Polar Code”, adopted by IMO in 2014/5 (after many years of negotiations and discussions) and entered into force on January 2017. In addition to the analysis of the different requirements set by the Code, including safety, design, crew and environmental requirements, this part also presents key risk factors — including the uncertainty and the human factors — and encloses suggestions for future legal developments. Part II specifically gathers contributions addressing Arctic ship monitoring and tracking, highlighting the crucial role new technologies may play in accidents prevention in the poorly-charted areas of the Arctic. One of the contributions further support this point by presenting case studies of well-known accidents occurred in different parts of the globe, as for instance the M/V Exxon Valdez oil spill accident, M/V Rena, or the M/V Costa Concordia collision, and points out how they could have been possibly avoidable by implementing eg. virtual aids for navigation.

A completely different angle is tackled in Part III of the book. It introduces elements of Arctic Governance, including implications of the legal regime of marine insurance on safety and on the environment and a discussion on the legal status of the North-West passage. The accent is put on joint efforts for developing a sustainable shipping governance in the region, including also non-Arctic States and non-Arctic entities such as the EU. This part also introduces the readers to the following, part IV, which examines more in-depth issues regarding protection and response in the Arctic marine environment, and addresses issues as challenges in establishing Marine Protected Areas. This part includes an interesting discussion on the crucial and positive role of Traditional Knowledge in enhancing the understanding of the Arctic marine environment and the necessity of meaningfully involve  Arctic indigenous communities in the decision-making process regarding Arctic vessel traffic development in the Bering Strait region (Alaska).

Part V bring up the discussion on training and capacity building only hinted at the beginning of the book. Contributions tackle several issues as e.g. education, emergency management or the industry programme improving oil spill response in the Arctic, to name but a few. To the opposite, only one article addresses Sustainable Arctic Business Development (part VI) and provides a contribution on configuration and management of offshore oil and gas operations.

The book is indeed comprehensive and tackle a vast variety of Arctic maritime issues under different angles and perspectives, indeed accomplishing the goal of serving as a “textbook” for academic, practitioners, environmentalist and affected authorities in the shipping industry alike, as described in the blurb. Possibly not all contributions are as detailed and precise, but this has to be expected in collection of essays such as this one. However, the reader needs to arrive to the very end of the book, namely its Conclusion, in order to fully grasp what possibly is the correct reading key for this collection of essays. In fact, when I first got Sustainable shipping in a Changing Arctic in my hands, my mind associated it to the oxymoronic mantra of almost all Arctic policies and Arctic discussions, promoting a (sustainable) development combined with the protection of an environment, the Arctic, already dealing with catastrophic environmental transformations. In other word, my mind was expecting a book fully advocating for the development of the Arctic shipping industry. My initial luckily feeling was wrong.  In the words of Hildebrand and Brigham, two of the three editors of this book and authors of the conclusions, Hope remains. If we can apply this same precautionary approach [as the Agreement to Prevent Unregulated High Seas Fisheries in the Central Arctic Ocean, A/N] to Arctic oil and gas exploration and development, mining, tourism and, especially Arctic marine operations and shipping, we may indeed develop the Arctic in a sustainable way not seen in any of the world’s other oceans.

 

Endnotes

[1] IMO website, retrieved 27 February 2021, https://www.imo.org/en/About/Pages/Default.aspx

[2] Sustainable shipping in a Changing Arctic, Lawrence P. Hinlebrand et al. (ed.), page V.

Donald R. Rothwell, Arctic Ocean Shipping: Navigation, Security and Sovereignty in the North American Arctic (Leiden: Brill, 2018)

The significance of Arctic shipping has long been underestimated because of difficulties associated with navigating through the hostile Arctic environment. This is bound to change for two reasons. Technological advances are giving ships greater capacity to operate in ice-covered waters. Moreover, the reduction of sea-ice is becoming less of a barrier because the hard multi-year ice gives way to thinner first-year ice as a result of climate change. These changes are creating new shipping routes through the Arctic via the Northeast or Northwest Passages and potentially through the central Arctic Ocean via the Bering Strait and the Denmark or Fram Straits. These emerging routes are up to 5,000 nautical miles shorter than alternative routes through the Panama Canal, which explains the growing interest in trans-Arctic shipping and relevant international law.

Arctic Ocean Shipping is a very well written book on important, contemporary, legal and geopolitical issues. It touches upon issues of security and sovereignty but it focuses primarily on rights and obligations relating to navigation in the North American Arctic, and on two state actors, Canada and the United States. Issues are analysed with reference to the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea and other relevant legal instruments.

Arctic Ocean Shipping is logically structured and divided into five sections, beginning with an introduction. Section II provides an overview of the “Arctic Ocean Legal Regime”, discussing the applicable international law, sovereignty, shipping, the “Regime of International Straits” and “Arctic Governance”. This includes a particularly interesting analysis of the special considerations concerning sovereignty in the polar regions and suggests that stricter standards of effective occupation might be applied to territorial claims in the Twenty-First Century, due to increased accessibility.

Section III, entitled “Arctic Navigation”, is very intriguing. It deals with “Arctic Navigation Routes”, the “Northwest Passage”, “Bering Strait”, “Arctic Straits and Trans-Arctic Shipping”, “Navigational Rights within the EEZ and High Seas” and “Canadian and US Arctic Rights and Interests”. This section provides an excellent account of navigational routes through the Arctic and their legal status. The rights, interests and policies of Canada and the US are thoroughly explained, with an emphasis on the Northwest Passage and the Bering Strait. Rothwell addresses a contentious issue in a particularly interesting chapter on “The Northwest Passage as an International Strait” where he explains the different positions of Canada and the US concerning the functional requirement of international straits. Reliance upon recorded number of transits would suggest that the Northwest Passage should not qualify as an international strait but a contemporaneous assessment of potential usage suggests the opposite. Recent transits of US vessels through the passage have been subject to an agreement with Canada, making them consensual rather than an exercise of the right of transit passage. This essentially allows the states to peacefully operate without resolving the disagreement. Rothwell does not definitively answer the question, whether emerging routes can qualify as international straits on the basis of potential use. It is an important question which should be relevant for the classification of other routes, such as the Nares strait. However, it will take further usage and involvement of other states to give an unequivocal answer.

Section IV is entitled “Arctic Maritime Security” and it deals with different aspects of “Post 9/11 Global Security Concerns”. This includes chapters on “Terrorism and Counter-Terrorism”, “Port Security”, “Safety of Navigation” and “Maritime Search and Rescue”. The point of this final section is to provide additional context for understanding Arctic policies of Canada and the US. There is not a lot of literature on maritime security in the Arctic so this is a timely contribution. The section gives an overview of the applicable legal instruments but does not consider particular issues in any detail. The monograph ends with “Concluding Remarks” in section V.

Arctic Ocean Shipping is well organised and well written by an exceptionally competent scholar. Yet, two points of criticism will be raised. First, it might have been relevant to include more information on the positions of other states and related issues in the Russian and Scandinavian Arctic for further context and deeper analysis. Second, issues of Arctic sovereignty arguably deserved further attention, given the title of the monograph. For example, it would have been interesting to learn more about the ongoing sovereignty dispute between Denmark and Canada in the Nares Strait.

In conclusion, Arctic Ocean Shipping is strongly recommended. It thoroughly explains the main issues concerning trans-Arctic shipping and does so in an accessible manner. The monograph provides an extensive and very useful overview of the field and is a welcome addition to the literature. The chapter on “Arctic Navigation” is particularly well written and it intriguingly sheds light on ongoing developments and contentious issues. The book is indispensable for lawyers involved with trans-Arctic shipping. Furthermore, it is relevant for all those interested in public international law and the Arctic, or navigational rights generally, and it is recommended for students, academics and practitioners alike.

Klaus Dodds, Alan D Hemmings and Peder Roberts (eds.), Handbook on the Politics of Antarctica (Cheltenham: Edward Elgar, 2017)

Nordicum-Mediterraneum may not seem like the most obvious title in which to find a review of the Handbook on the Politics of Antarctica. Nevertheless, given the increasing focus on Arctic issues in this journal and the comparisons to the opposite pole that they invariably generate, a review of this large (both physically and figuratively) contribution to polar social science is fitting. Iceland became a party to the Antarctic Treaty in 2015 but Antarctica has long been constructed through the actions, discourse and interpretations of European states, in particular Norway by virtue of the explorations of Roald Amundsen and later as a claimant state.

The edited collection – containing an impressive thirty-seven chapters by leading scholars on Antarctic law, geopolitics, social science, and even art and literature, is one of the latest in an emerging trend of “handbooks” that bring together contributions from different perspectives on topics of wide academic interest. The usual approach is to mix a fairly descriptive account to aid newcomers to the field alongside cutting-edge analysis of contemporary and – for the brave – future developments. On these terms, the Handbook on the Politics of Antarctica does not disappoint.

The Antarctic regime is sui generis. In a certain sense, any region of the World can be considered sui generis to the extent that each will have unique features that are not replicated elsewhere. However, in the Antarctic, the very foundations of international relations since (at least) the Peace of Westphalia are turned on their head. While the rest of the World has been subjected to exclusive sovereignty claims (albeit, sometimes overlapping or contested), since 1959, the sovereignty claims in the Antarctic have been frozen. This is just the first and most obvious difference between the governance of the Poles. Nevertheless, Antarctic governance is not entirely separated from other legal regimes including the United Nations, the law of the sea, and international environmental law. Further, the international regime of the Antarctic cannot be kept entirely insulated from global changes and challenges, including the rise of the Asian states, the collapse of the Soviet Union and the renaissance of Russia, and, closer to the Antarctic continent, the festering sore of Las Malvinas/the Falkland Islands. The Handbook presents Antarctic issue areas in a global light – it is not a simple textbook on the Antarctic Treaty System, isolated from the external international relations that construct it.

Following an introduction that outlines the basics of the Antarctic system and summarises the contents, the book is presented in four parts. The first part, “Conceptualizing Antarctica” presents the Antarctic of the imagination, including political imaginations and constructions. Part Two, “Acting in and Beyond Antarctica,” explores events and participants – how are Antarctic politics performed? “Regulating Antarctica,” the third part, examines the frameworks for governing activities in the Antarctica, with emphasis on environmental norms (both hard and soft law), law of the sea (especially fisheries management), tourism, and heritage. The final part, ambitiously titled “Futures in Antarctica,” considers where current political imaginings of the Antarctica will lead, especially in light of global power shifts.

The Poles are generally imagined as the ends of the World – a vision that only makes sense if you start in the middle. The Antarctic is imagined as an uninhabited wilderness. If there are no people there, then perhaps there is no need for law, let alone political theory. However, this view only makes sense if you assume the Antarctic is a pre-defined natural space, not one constructed by law, politics, selective historic records, and literature. The emphasis on science as one of the tools to maintain the peace in Antarctica has led to an impressive body of natural scientific research in a notoriously hard-to-reach location. However, the extent of natural science, its existence in the first place, can only be understood using political science. Why does the treaty prioritise science and scientific cooperation? Answer: to maintain peaceful relations. Whyare so many countries sending scientific missions down there? Answer: to earn the right to partake in decision-making for the continent and, in some cases, to maintain territorial claims. Social science regarding the Antarctic is lagging behind natural science and this Handbook is a major contribution as well as proof that you do not need a generous fieldwork budget to study the Antarctic.

The Handbook would perhaps best be described as a collection of essays from different disciplines than as aninterdisciplinary work per se – the individual contributions are rarely themselves interdisciplinary. Not only do the contributors come from different disciplines and reflect the different assumptions at the bases of these, but they reach different conclusions. For example, political scientist Anne-Marie Brady portrays China as a threat to the stability of the Antarctic system and casts aspersions on Chinese motivations (Chapter nineteen). Meanwhile, lawyer Alan Hemmings critiques the “us and them” constructions of Antarctic activities and assumptions about the rightful place of peoples of European origin on the continent contrasted against concerns about new actors. “Science is international and value-free until it isn’t one of us doing it” (Chapter thirty-two). In this reviewer’s favourite chapter, Elizabeth Leane explores the implicit racism in Antarctic fiction that assumes the normality of the white, European, male presence and paints the Asians as the “other” (Chapter two).

Notwithstanding the diversity of approaches and views, some general themes emerge. Sovereignty may have been frozen but the original parties to the Antarctic Treaty (including only one Asian and one African state – and the African state at the time of signing being the white supremacist South Africa) still determine whose voices are heard. Colonialism and the image of the white male conqueror of a hostile frontier were and remain bases for contemporary legitimacy in Arctic politics. Science is a ticket to the decision-making table – something that keeps “troublemakers” from developing countries at bay (108). The “old” Antarctic states must find a careful balance between defending their hegemony and accommodating “new” actors so that the latter do not threaten to undermine the system.

It is perhaps harsh to criticise a text of over 600 pages for what is missing but this reviewer was surprised that the Whaling in the Antarctic case and the broader issue of whaling in the Antarctic was not more directly addressed. However, since the handbook’s publication, Japan has announced its decision to leave the International Whaling Commission and to cease taking whales in the Southern Ocean, changing the basic premises of the legal dispute. Tim Stephens’ chapter on the law of the sea left this reviewer wanting more: each of the subsections could have been the subject of an independent chapter. What is the role of the International Seabed Authority in the Southern Ocean? Does it have one? The tension – and snobbery – between science and tourism might have been explored in more depth (though Chapter twenty-three, by Christina Braun, Fritz Hertel and Hans-Ulrich Peter, presents the depressing reality of the impact of scientific missions and the inadequacy of implementation of environmental protection and implicitly argues that it is not the tourists that are the problem). Ruth Davis (Chapter thirty-five) touches briefly on the precautionary principle but the pre-eminence given to “science-based decision-making” in the Antarctic poses a major barrier to the application of a precautionary approach that could have been more explicitly explored. Some leading Antarctic experts such as Jill Barrett and Kees Bastmeister are also missing. These gaps should not be viewed as criticisms of the Handbookbut rather a reminder to interested readers to go beyond itas they continue their research.

Human Rights as Part of the Human Security of Ukraine

The present reality of the European Community requires a complex analysis of international and inter-ethnic crises and armed conflicts. The context of recent events, the military conflict in Ukraine, human security in Europe are the key components in the policy of the European Union and number of democratic countries.

In Ukraine we have problems with the main part of human security as human rights, because of the negative heritage after the USSR as well as a difficult political and economic situation and a low level of legal culture. After the beginning of the conflict in 2014, the interest in human rights started to be in the first row and caught the attention of politics as well as society as a whole in Ukraine. The problem became so intense that the events and popularization of how to solve the existing issues in the country took its beginnings and action followed.

Before we actually get to talk about either human rights or human security, we should ponder on the following questions: What is security? What are its peculiarities? What is personal and international security and what influence does it have on human rights?

Security studies is a research area that has an interdisciplinary nature. It is linked to international relations, history, law, political science, economics, and several areas of military studies. The sources for this discipline are academic research and the monitoring of the behavior of the subjects of international law functioning under different conditions and depending on a series of external and internal factors. Security is divided into national and international according to the subjective criterion, and into military, political, economic, ecological, and informational according to the objective criterion[1]. Human security is among the latter group.

The notion of security has a subjective and politically charged nature, and it can change depending on the subject’s point of view. It can, in turn, generate a so-called security dilemmawhich has to do with conditions of uncertainty. For instance, the increase of military potential in a certain country or the conclusion of military treaties can cause neighboring countries to experience the sensation of a security deficiency[2]. Where does it come from? A couple words about history are needed.

The search for means to establish lasting peace in the international community has found its way through the idea of collective security. This concept of collective security consists in countries joining forces in order to achieve superiority in armaments, impose collective sanctions on the aggressor, and, finally, protect the mutual values of the participating countries and the “sense of international solidarity”[3]. It means that the countries interacting in the international activities accommodate their own national interests to the requirements of international security. Collective security is a shared value for the actors in international relations, it is a global value, and concerns global security (comprehensive security concept by Barry Buzan).[4] Collective security is furthermore a legislative and political system whose aim is to prevent probable conflicts among countries participating in international relations, and keep peace permanent. The institutions of collective security are as follows: The United Nations, the Organization of the Security and Cooperation in Europe, the European Union. The first to verbalize this idea was Woodrow Wilson, the President of the USA. By his initiative, the League of Nations was founded in 1919.

The complicated consequences of the Second World War and the endeavor to find ways to eliminate them urged the international community to found an organization that would unite the activities of the countries in the field of international collaboration and establishing peace basing their actions on international law. Thus, in 1941, the Atlantic Charter was signed, and then followed the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, where 26 countries declared their wish to collaborate and develop human rights. The fundamental document for United Nations activity was the United Nations Charter, also known as ‘the constitution of nations’. At that very moment, human rights became a separate sphere in the international discourse. The United Nations Charter is based on the principles of international law and it is the legal foundation for the United Nation activity. The United Nations Charter describes the aim, structure, bodies and the procedures of its activity, directions tor its activity, and the principles for the United Nations membership. The United Nations Charter also declares the supremacy of law and other international law obligations, which altogether makes the United Nations Charter a basic and essential document of international law. The United Nations are universal system with legal and institutional infrastructure, within whose framework the international community acts in order to solve mutual problems on both regional and global levels. The United Nations are the groundwork for international security. The main United Nations body is the Security Council, which is responsible for keeping international peace and security. According to the United Nations Charter principles, the United Nations has monopoly on using force to resolve various international conflicts (Chapter 7)[5].

The present-day notion of security has altered after the Cold War ended. It evolved from a brief notion of military threat to a multifaceted idea which includes economical, ecological, and social components. Human rights and their part in the legal relations system are another crucially important sphere. Human security relies on countries’ obligations, and the human rights recorded in international documents.

 The need of security is one of the fundamental personal needs that, according to Maslow’s hierarchy, regard all the aspects and spheres of human life. What it involves is not only a threat of armed conflict, but also the risk of losing something particularly valuable to an individual, that is, psychological comfort. The sense of security provides people with an opportunity to survive and live, to have their independence, human dignity, and a chance to grow. It gets them into a state of rest and permits a number of freedoms, such as freedom of thought and speech, the right to identity, including national, religious, and linguistic. The sense of security enables people to exercise their rights and grants them a sense of their rights being respected on both the personal and civilian levels.

By the end of Second World War, the state was still the primary subject of security; however, in present-day international affairs, the role of human being and non-state actors feature instead as ones of the key roles. Human rights are a branch of constitutional and international law that aims at the institutional protection of human rights, people, or larger groups; it’s aims also include control over rights enforcement and protection. By the first half of the 20thcentury recognition or non-recognition of human rights had belonged to the state. Occasionally, it is still true even nowadays. It was thanks to the 1909 Geneva Convention[6] and The International Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement,[7] starting in 1919, that began to draw the international community’s attention to the issues of human rights violations, especially during armed conflicts.

The tool for international community’s action in emergency situations is the international humanitarian law of armed conflicts, which regulates behavior of combatants and defines their status, as well as the status of civilians and prisoners. The turning point for defining human rights was the Proclamation of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights by the United Nations General Assembly in 1948.[8] It was an unprecedented act of the states that proclaimed freedom and equality for all. It was a cornerstone for building the human rights systems on the international level. These positions were consolidated by the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights and the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, defining the state’s obligations towards its residents where their right to strike and right to take part in trade union activity were emphasized.[9]

On the European level, The European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR – formally the Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms) has an important function. It has become a summary of the achievements of the preceding documents in the realm of human rights, in particular due to its mechanisms which can restrict the violation of human rights and sanctioning violations. The ECHR catalog of human rights has constantly been improved in the Supplementary records containing the register of not only state residents’ rights, but also foreign nationals and non-nationals.[10] The important part in the system of preventing human rights violations belongs to the judicial branch, that is the international tribunals and courts.

The process of European integration and the enlargement of European Union has increased its competence in the sphere of civil rights and has influenced the Сharter of Fundamental Rights of the European Union. It is a fundamental compilation of human rights and civil obligations which is based on common values such as dignity, freedom, human equality, consideration of cultural differences and national identities.[11]

The international system of human rights protection would not have survived – without the 1972-1975 Conference on Security and Co-operation in Europe – Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe (CSCE-OSCE) process dedicated to two issues: security and human rights. It was an ideological confrontation between East and West, the United State of America and the Soviet Union, resulting from different ideological grounds.[12] The absence of analogies to the CSCE process is explained by the fact that before it emerged, the East-West relationships had not included the human rights issue due to the fundamental contradiction of views, doctrines, and practices.

The probability of an armed conflict sidelined a human rights sphere. The years of intense discussions resulted in the signing of the Helsinki Accords, which confirmed the nations’ right to self-determination, defined the duties of mutual collaboration in the humanitarian sphere, and included the respect of human rightsas one of the fundamental principles of international relations. Even though the Helsinki Accords did not spell out the control mechanism for human rights enforcement, it still stated that not only state governments but also NGOs are able to maintain the said control.

The strategic meaning of Нelsinki Аccords lied within the fact that 35 states of the post-war Europe signed a treaty making human rights a part of international relations. The institutionalization of the CSCE process into ОSCE, the availability of permanent departments ensured the implementation of standards for the sphere of human rights. OSCE is thus made into the regional system of international human rights protection. The variety of institutions dealing with human rights protection indicates in international law. Also, there are mechanisms which protect human rights but there are problems with implementation it in the states’ practice.[13] Human security handles such cases. Human security cannot exist isolated from the national security; therefore, it depends on how the state structure is functioning, its legal system, the society and human rights enforcement. These factors influence human activity, their opportunities, development, social integration level, and cooperation with the government.

A threat to the personal security can be perceived in different ways, depending on the country and the cultural traditions, the multiethnicity of the country, its religion, system of social values, quality of life, migration etc. The reason for the sensation of personal security is the conviction that one’s own state and the international community stand guard over human rights and fulfill the duty to protect both persecuted – persons and ethnic groups, and that international law is a guarantee and a tool for achieving such a goal. The threats of the present-day world, such as the aggravation of armed conflicts and terrorism pose a new challenge to the world community.

The role of human security in this situation grows significantly. Human security is personal security of the human being in emergency situations such as armed conflicts, catastrophes, famine, poverty etc., that require aid or intervention from international organizations based on international law.

The segregation of human security as an individual sector began in 1982 at the UN session, when Olaf Palme made a report to the United Nations Disarmament Commission concerning the humanitarian crisis in the Iran-Iraq war. In Ukrainian security studies, the interpretation of human security is slightly different from what is found in the general scientific discourse. It is the state of the sense of security of a person, family, ethnic group, nation, and their ambitions, ideals, values, traditions, culture, opportunities of growth and freedom of choice regardless of the race, gender, language, and religion[14]. It has connected with a series of historical factors that affect the sense of security in Ukrainian society, which is firstly centuries without it is own state, then Soviet government, and, finally, the present war in eastern Ukraine.

The idea of human security in Ukraine is developing in the three following directions: security of physical and mental health; free self-definition of residents, social groups and peoples; security of residents in terms of free choice of development path and the general opportunity to choose one’s own future. All these point towards a peculiar sense of security directly connected to freedom and the expression of one’s will, independence of actions and opportunity of choice[15]. This concept is somewhat similar to the United Nations’ concept of Sustainable Development and is closely linked to humanitarian politics; it is also a so-called ‘mitigating element’ of security. It is worth noting that in Ukraine the ethnic and national security is another element of national security, as several models of national identity coexist at the same time in the state as well as the subsequent threats.

Nowadays, human security is facing a number of challenges. There is poverty as a structural failing, epidemics, human trafficking, various kinds of violence (ethnic violence included), and terrorism. The international community is searching for ways to solve these problems. Quite a large number of sectors are covered by the activities of the different United Nations Commissions such as the UN Human Rights Council, Commission on sustainable Development, the UN Entity for Gender Equality and the Empowerment of Women etc. Furthermore, if the state is willing to ensure its residents’ security, more and more often it has to take action outside its borders, for instance, in the form of various missions. Some threats go far beyond conventional threats, e.g. in the cyberspace. The trends in world politics, armed conflicts and humanitarian intervention strengthened the attempts to solve different problems. It was a basic reason why the United Nations Trust Fund for Human Security (UNTFHS)was founded in 1999 and finances activities carried out by UN organizations; they define human security as a “dynamic and practical policy framework for addressing widespread and cross-cutting threats facing Governments and people” and “all individuals, in particular vulnerable people, are entitled to freedom from fear and freedom from want, with an equal opportunity to enjoy all their rights and fully develop their human potential”[16]. The UNTFHS presents strategic ways to solve different challenges based on the “Human Security Unit Strategic Plan 2014-2017”[17] and creating a new interdisciplinary conception about human security activities and their implementation in the politic life of the international community.

Human security is based on 3 aspects: International Humanitarian Law, Human Rights, and the Responsibility to Protect concept. The international law is a so-called ‘law of nations’, and it is a regulator of international community’s activities.

As for the Responsibility to Protect concept, it embodies the idea of a state’s duty to protect its residents. However, as a matter of practice, it is quite often that countries, especially those of the great powers, do not adhere to international law, which causes humanitarian crises in different parts of the world.[18] The task of human security is to generate efficient law mechanisms that would influence states’ actions. The key questions that human security raises are: how to secure human rights? How and when to exercise the right to use force when solving conflicts? The monopoly of the right to use force belongs to the United Nations Security Council, which is supposed to use it in situations of an extraordinary threat to international peace, and when an act of aggression has been committed. Also, the Security Council can delegate authority to undertake repressive actions to regional institutions (Article 53).[19] The ban on one state proffering threats of using force towards another state is one of the basics of international relations.

Theoretically, the states participating in the international sphere should strive for stability and peace on both the local and international levels, yet, when national interests check into the game, the states declare adherence to the international law on the one hand, but just breach the law on the other hand.

It is necessary to consider the fact that every state has a right to the inviolability of its territory, and the right of self-defense, which is stated in Charter UN (Article 5).[20] A problem arises: in what cases does the international community have the right to interfere with the state’s actions? The answer might be as follows: in cases of aggression towards another state, a threat to international peace, and major violation of human rights. Nonetheless, there are no clearly defined limits for the massiveness of human right violations. It’s undermines the authority of and trust in the international organizations, sets precedents that lead to global consequences in the field of international law.

The Situation in Ukraine

Military conflicts which have not been solved become a threat to human security, and point in practice to a certain weakness of the international organizations.[21] A striking example is Russia’s aggression towards Ukraine, the annexation of Crimea and the war in Donbas that has been in progress since 2014. Avoided to be seems extremely one-sideare few comment of those facts are needed.

The aggression of Russia to Ukraine has two sides – military-political and humanitarian. If we compare the principles of International Law and the actions of Russia as for Ukraine we will see that Russia violated the rights of Ukraine as a sovereign subject of international law, that is the principle of the territorial integrity, they interfered in internal affairs, threatened to apply the power, made the act of aggression against Ukraine, that is applied the power by using the armed forces and annexed the part of the territory (Autonomic Republic of Crimea). According to the United Nation Charter, the principle of sovereignty is a customary international right. The annexation of Crimea by using armed forces is the breaking of rights of international law called ius cogens, that is a direct duty of the UN membership. The actions of Russia Federation in eastern Ukraine are the acts of ordinary aggression. The problem is that the example of Russia can be a negative precedent to other countries which will want to review the established borders. For example, for numerous violations Russia can be dismissed from the UN according to the UN Charter norms (Ch.2, Art.6)[22] Іt is clear that this is breaking of the international law (such as The Budapest Memorandum on Security Assurances,among others 10 articles in Helsinki Accords,a, b,c, d, e, g Article3, UnitedNationResolution № 3314, International Humanitarian Law:

 

TheblockadeoftheportsorcoastsofaStatebythearmedforcesofanotherState)

(“The sending by or on behalf of a State of armed bands, groups, irregulars or mercenaries, which carry out acts of armed force against another State of such gravity as to amount to the acts listed above, or its substantial involvement therein.)Art 3 (G) № 3314[23]

Vladimir Putin, the president of the Russian Federation, manipulated peoples’ right of self-determination and called the annexation of Crimea an act of defending the Russian-speaking residents of the peninsula. He referred to the Responsibility to Protect concept as the ground for the intervention of Russian troops into eastern Ukraine, that is the necessity to defend Russian citizens and Russian-speaking residents. It is clear that this is an absolute breach of international law (among others 10 articles in The Helsinki Accords, The Budapest Memorandum on Security Assurances, The Constitution of Ukraine, The Constitution of Crimea and human rights during the conflict), as the membership of a certain linguistic group does not imply state citizenship. Military actions in Donbas have furthermore led to a humanitarian crisis in the Russian-occupied territories.

The key violations on the part of Russia caused by the war are the annexation of Crimea and the violations of Ukrainian – sovereignty, its borders and territories. In the course of Russian aggression towards Ukraine, major violations of human rights have occurred, the following in particular: forced relocation the residents of Crimea and the eastern part of Ukraine; turning residents into refugees, ethnic discrimination (Ukrainians and Crimean Tatars), linguistic discrimination (Ukrainian-speaking people), illegal eviction, appropriation of property, deliberate warfare against civilians, (which caused numerous victims among them) breach of humanitarian law, torturing Ukrainian military servicemen and prisoners, forced acquisition of Russian citizenship under the threat of punishment, acts of violence, crimes, kidnapping, forced labor, violation of the inviolability of journalists and medical staff.[24][25]

 The list can go further, but even now it points to the large scale of human rights violations. In situations like this, imposing sanctions on Russia is not exactly an efficient means to solve the conflict. The Russian-Ukrainian struggle demonstrates how fragile the international law is and how Russia continuously persists in breaking it. The case of the Russian-Ukrainian conflict has been called ‘the war of the 3rdmillennium’ which aims at destroying mental and cultural identity of the territorial community. It is a new challenge for Ukraine as well as for the entire international community. Russia has subverted the international order, which it had previously promised to protect. It is another evidence of the global failure of both human rights enforcement and human security in general.

The conflict between Ukraine and Russia caused a deficit of humanitarian security. To increase the level of the humanitarian security in Ukraine it is necessary to realize a few aspects. First, these are the new legal documents both at the international and state level. They could regulate the issue of applying the power in crisis situations, the prerogative of which belongs to the United Nations Security Council. With this purpose the international community may not create new but review already existing documents in international law. Second, this is the activity of international and national non-governmental organizations, which task is the monitoring of the current situation in Ukraine and informing the international community, attracting attention to the existing problems. The Red Cross, The Maltese Service and other organizations occupy an important place. They conduct important humanitarian actions and promote international humanitarian cooperation. Third, this is the activity of Ukrainian society in the direction of creating and developing civil society. An active part of Ukrainians realize this idea in the volunteer movement, which we can call without exaggeration the key success after the Revolution of Dignity. Yes, the volunteering movement managed to rise the Ukrainian army to combat level, which had been in the decline at the beginning of the annexation of Crimea, which caused the lack of armed resistance. However, already in August 2014, the potential was renewed and the Ukrainian army achieved combat capability. Nowadays there are several public initiatives: the help of settlers and their families, free juridical consultations, courses of the first aid, tactical medicine etc. In total the volunteering movement for the needs of Ukrainian army has 15 thousand people. Only an improved personal position for every Ukrainian and the rise of the legal culture in the country can be a contribution to the rise of the Ukrainian humanitarian level.

Conclusion

Global security in the world can be ensured by means of the development of each and every country through the supremacy of the law in international relations. Human rights have made the human being the subject of international relations. Enforcement of human rights on all levels such as daily-life level, civilian, and international, is the guarantee of human security and stable legal relations. The means of securing human rights in critical situations are human rights enforcement by the states, the military, by stabilization and peace-support missions, and through a search for mechanisms to the implementation of international law into the practice of states. The increase in the level of legal education in the post-Soviet countries, raising public awareness about the value of human rights is of specifically high importance. In Ukraine, these elements are crucial for democratic reforms and the construction of civil society, and voluntary movements and NGOs do make significant steps towards the achievement of these goals.

References

  1. Buzan B., New Patterns on Global Security in the Twenty-First Century, International Affairs, 67.3, 1991
  2. Falk R., Humanitarian Intervention and Legitimacy Wars. Seeking Peace and Justice in the 21st Century, Routledge, London and New York, 2015
  3. Kuźniar R., Prawa człowieka. Prawo, instytucje, stosunki międzynarodowe, Wydanie trzecie, uzupełnione, Fundacja Studiów Międzynarodowych, Wydawnictwo Naukowe SCHOLAR, Warszawa, 2004
  4. Mero, The Humanization of International Law, Martinus Nijhoff Publisher, The Hague, 2006
  5. Walt S.M.n T., International Relations. One World, Many Theories, Foreign Policy No. 110, Special Edition: Frontiers of Knowledge (Spring 1998), pp. 29-30 (Published by the Slate Group, a Division of the Washington Post Company)
  6. Zięba R., Instytucjonalizacja bezpieczeństwa europejskiego. Koncepcje – struktury – funkcjonowanie, Wydanie czwarte poprawione i rozszerzone, Wydawnictwo Naukowe SCHOLAR, Warszawa, 2004, op.cit.

Internet sources 

The United Nations Documentations

The International Committee of the Red Cross, The Geneva Conventions of 1949 and their Additional Protocols

The International Committee of the Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement

The United Nations, The Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR)

The United Nations Human Rights, The International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights

The Council of Europe, The Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms

The European Commission, EU Charter of Fundamental Rights

The National Institute for Strategic Studies, The Social Security: Essence and Measurement

The National Institute for Strategic Studies, The Humanitarian National Security Complex

The United Nations Trust Fund for Human Security

The United Nations Trust Fund for Human Security, The Human Security Unit, Strategic Plan 2014-2017

The United Nations Codification Division Publication, Carter of UN, Chapter 8 – Regional arrangements

The United Nations Codification Division Publication, Carter of UN, Chapter 2 – Membership

The United Nations General Assembly Resolution 3314, Definition of Aggression

The Chapter of the United Nations and Statute of the International Court of Justice

The Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights, Report on the Human Rights situation in Ukraine 17 August 2014

 

Endnotes

[1] Zięba R., Instytucjonalizacja bezpieczeństwa europejskiego.Koncepcje – struktury – funkcjonowanie, Wydanie czwarte poprawione i rozszerzone, Wydawnictwo Naukowe SCHOLAR, Warszawa, 2004, op.cit.

[2] Walt S.M., International Relations. One World, Many Theories, Foreign Policy No. 110, Special Edition: Frontiers of Knowledge (Spring 1998), pp. 29-30 (Published by the Slate Group, a Division of the Washington Post Company).

[3] Kuźniar R., Bezpieczeństwo w stosunkach międzynarodowychW: E. Haliżak., R. Kuźniar, Stosunki międzynarodowe. Geneza, struktura, dynamika, 2006, p. 143.

[4] “Security is taken to be about the pursuit of freedom from threat and the ability of states and societies to maintain their independent identity and their functional integrity against forces of change, which they see as hostile. The bottom line of security is survival” Buzan B., New Patterns on Global Security in the Twenty-First Century, The Royal Institute of International Affairs, Blackwell Publishing, 67.3, 1991, pp. 432-433.

[5] The United Nations Documentations

[6] The International Committee of the Red Cross, The Geneva Conventions of 1949 and their Additional Protocols

[7] The International Committee of the Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement

[8] The United Nations, The Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR)

[9] The United Nations Human Rights, The International Covenant on Civil and Political Right

[10] The Council of Europe, The Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms

[11] The European Commission, EU Charter of Fundamental Rights

[12] Kuźniar R., Prawa człowieka. Prawo, instytucje, stosunki międzynarodowe, Wydanie trzecie, uzupełnione, Fundacja Studiów Międzynarodowych, Wydawnictwo Naukowe SCHOLAR, Warszawa, 2004, p. 12

[13] Ibidem, p. 244-245.

[14] The National Institute for Strategic Studies, The Social Security: Essence and Measurement

[15] The National Institute for Strategic Studies, The Humanitarian National Security Complex

[16] United Nations Trust Fund for Human Security

[17] United Nations Trust Fund for Human Security, The Human Security Unit, Strategic Plan 2014-2017

[18] Meron T., The Humanization of International Law, Martinus Nijhoff Publisher, The Hague, 2006

[19] The United Nations Codification Division Publication, Carter of UN, Chapter 8 – Regional arrangements

[20] The United Nations Codification Division Publication, Carter of UN, Chapter 2 – Membership

[21] Falk R., Humanitarian Intervention and Legitimacy Wars. Seeking Peace and Justice in the 21st Century, Routledge, London and New York, 2015

[22] The United Nations General Assembly Resolution 3314, Definition of Aggression

[23] The Chapter of the United Nations and Statute of the International Court of Justice

[24] The Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights, Report on the Human Rights situation in Ukraine 17 August 2014

[25]The Guardian, Ukraine: kidnapped observers paraded by pro-Russian gunman in Slavyansk

Timo Koivurova, QIN Tianbao, Sébastien Duyck & Tapio Nykänen (eds.), Arctic Law and Governance: The Role of China and Finland (London: Hart Publishing, 2017)

This edited collection of essays is the product of a two-year project to assess and compare Chinese approaches to the Arctic with Finnish and/or EU approaches. These three entities are quite distinctive in population, politics and power and hence are not an obvious triumvirate. Nevertheless, the books’ chapters draw out interesting points of comparison. China is a relative newcomer to international relations and economic development in the Arctic. Backed by both military and economic clout, it triggers concerns amongst Arctic inhabitants and other stakeholders regarding its ambitions. Such worries are not helped by China’s closed political decision-making and limited official statements on its Arctic policies. This project, therefore, aims at increasing knowledge and understanding of China’s interests and expectations in the region.

The introduction to the book provides a good summary of the analyses that follow in the self-standing chapters which are themselves grouped into three Parts: Chinese Perspectives; Comparison between Finland and China; and Comparison between the EU and China. As a collection of essays, the book does not have a single or overarching thesis as such but a number of common themes are identified in the introductory and concluding chapters (by the 4 editors). One repeated them is climate change and pollution. Climate change is not coming to the Arctic: it is already here. China is the World’s biggest fossil fuel consumer and responsible for 29% of global greenhouse gas emissions (the EU, 11%). However, black carbon – a short term climate forcer – in the Arctic comes mostly from Europe. Europe is also a more significant source of the persistent organic pollutants (POPS) that end up in the Arctic (7). Another theme is economic development: even if the rights to exploit natural resources lie with the Arctic States and the peoples within them, the viability of doing so pivots on demand – and that demand is predominantly Chinese and European (8.)

The chapters go a long way to making up for China’s decision not to publish a comprehensive Arctic strategy or make regular and clear statements about its Arctic plans. China is not necessarily to be blamed for this: China is a lot more significant in the Arctic than the Arctic is for China, even if the book demonstrates that Chinese interest (and interests) in the Arctic have grown swiftly in recent years.

QIN Tianbao and LI Miaomiao’s chapter, “Strengthening China’s Role in the Arctic Council” calls for an official Chinese Arctic strategy but is itself rather more candid than an official State policy document is likely to be and as a result, probably more useful. The two authors make a rather bold proposal that China become a fully-fledged member of the Arctic Council (42), which will raise a few eyebrows amongst the more territorially sensitive of the Arctic States. Let’s just say that an official, published Chinese Arctic strategy is the more likely of the two scenarios in the near-term!

Ren Shidan turns to Chinese Arctic research and points to, amongst other things, frustration with Russia regarding access (53). She argues for freedom of research in the Arctic and rejects arguments that Chinese research is a foil for long-term plans to strip the region of resources. However, her concerns regarding Norway’s interpretation of the Svalbard Treaty (concerns shared by a number of European states) turn the chapter back to resource development (55-57).

Julia Jalo and Tapio Nykänen identify Chinese priorities in the Arctic based on World Affairs (a government-controlled magazine and unofficial mouthpiece). Only nine articles on the Arctic have been published since 2004 (indicating that the Arctic is still a relatively peripheral zone in Chinese politics). However, eight of these articles were published in 2008 or later, peaking when Chinese sought and accepted its seat as an observer at the Arctic Council in 2013, suggesting that interest is growing. The authors recognise that China is often viewed as a ‘threat’ in the Arctic, especially by those taking a classical realist approach, but they conclude that either China is indeed playing down its real intentions or that (more likely in their view) China is genuinely concerned about climate change and other environmental problems in the Arctic. In either case, they agree with QIN Tianbao and LI Miaomiao that a published strategy would help to clarify the situation.

Xiaoyi Jiang and Xiaoguang Zhou then consider maritime sovereignty and rights in the Arctic, looking in particular at the potential of the Northern Sea Route as an alternative to (or at least a supplement to) the Malacca route – even if they also note that Chinese shipping companies are adopting a ‘wait-and-see’ approach (96). They comment that China “has virtually no influence on the decision-making process at ministerial meetings” (of the Arctic Council)(90) and, like the other Chinese contributors, note that China is trying to be viewed as a partner in the Arctic rather than a threat (95).

Part II brings us to Finland with Lassi Heininen’s assessment of Finland, the EU and China and the asymmetry between them. Climate change – and China’s potential to take a lead role – is once again a key theme (107). Heininen sees common interests in shipping (Finland builds; China ships) (109); scientific research; resource governance and international cooperation (129). However, Finland and China also have shared interests in resource development in the Arctic (Finland produces; China buys) (118-120).

Tapio Nykänen presents the other chapter in this Part, using critical geopolitics to explore how the Arctic is framed in Chinese and Finnish Discourses. He agrees with the other writers that China is trying to build trust in the Arctic, seeking to present itself as a constructive partner (137). He analyses China’s position as a self-declared ‘near-Arctic state’, pointing out that geographically, it is extremely far from the Arctic Circle but arguing that instead it is geocritically close (140). Nykänen recognises China’s contributions to Arctic science but sees a political undercurrent to this: science is a ‘door’ through which China can claim a legitimate interest in Arctic governance (140).

Chapter Eight (Timo Koivurova, Waliul Hasanat, Piotr Graczyk and Tuuli Kuusama) is based on interviews with participants in the Arctic Council system, Chinese officials and scholars. It produces original, qualitative research on China’s position within the Arctic Council and identifies issues that would be unlikely to be uncovered by looking only at official publications. For example, the authors report that some Chinese officials are unhappy with the Nuuk criteria on observers (169)). They also identify a problem in the delegations which both lack continuity and do not always match the mandates of the working groups (175-177).

On fisheries, Sébastien Duyck sees shared interests in China and the EU – both being major fisheries jurisdictions and being outsiders seeking to ensure that their industries are considered in any new regime for the Central Arctic Ocean (Chapter IX). China, Duyck points out, is a ‘developing country’ and positions itself as a ‘leader’ of the G77 (196). Its policies on fisheries differ from the EU, being more defensive of High Seas freedoms and rational use, compared to a more conservationist (or even preservationist) orientated EU (197-198).

Adam Stepien considers China’s and the EU’s respective engagement with indigenous peoples. China maintains the questionable position that it has no indigenous peoples inside of China (222).  On the one hand, this means that China is not unnecessarily concerned with establishing precedents that could complicate matters at home (cf its position on international straits and Arctic shipping) but on the other hand, means that it has no experience and limited understanding of the stakes for indigenous people. China talks the talk (for example supporting indigenous rights in the UN – as long as it is clear that they don’t apply to or in China! (223)) but its engagement is uncoordinated and inconsistent (216). Environmental impacts are once more brought to the fore as Stepien explains that European and Chinese emissions are a major threat to indigenous communities (210-211). The EU, recognising the Sámi as the only indigenous people within the EU itself, has a more proactive stance on Arctic indigenous peoples and is, in theory, supportive of indigenous rights (218). That does not mean, however, that the EU always gets things right.

Nengye Liu and Kamrul Hossain address navigation in the Arctic and highlight the dependence of China’s economic strategy on shipping (243). The Northern Sea Route (less so the Northwest Passage) holds the promise of faster, cheaper shipping untroubled by the politics of alternative routes but, for now, this is still only a promise. While the shipping companies take things cautiously, the government has published the first Chinese guidelines on Arctic shipping (244). Like Xiaoyi Jiang and Xiaoguang Zhou, they note that China did not get involved in the development of the Polar Code and wonder if Chinese delegates to the IMO could take a more active role (247). They also suggest that China work alongside Japan and South Korea to promote (and defend) its shipping interests at the Arctic Council (249).

The concluding chapter by the four editors draws together the main findings of the contributions, reiterating the centrality of climate change and the consequent expectations of a natural resources boom (253-254). They note the resistance of the Arctic Eight to (too much) non-Arctic State involvement and how the Arctic Council system keeps the most powerful outsiders – like the EU and China – relatively subdued (261). Like most recent academic work on the Arctic, the final conclusion is that the answers are there and can be reached peacefully. International law has the answer to most questions; and for the others, it has processes by which to find, peacefully, those answers.

Although a number of writers call for a Chinese Arctic policy or strategy, this book gives us much more than any state policy every could. The original research and analysis by both Chinese and European scholars helps readers understand the dragon and, hopefully, fear it less. Nevertheless, there are subtle differences in approaches, with the Chinese authors tending to play down China’s resource ambitions and emphasise science and environmental concerns with some of the European contributors implying that China’s scientific contributions are driven by those very resource ambitions. I would wholeheartedly recommend this collection to anyone working on international law, international relations or economic development in the Arctic. Well edited, it is an accessible read for students as well as more seasoned academics. Even were the Chinese government to respond to the call to publish a formal strategy, it will not replace the excellent scholarship in this book.

Human Rights and International Relations. Some Remarks

This special issue of Nordicum-Mediterraneum contains select proceedings from the meeting of the Nordic Summer University (NSU) research circle “Human Rights and International Relations”. The meeting took place in Wroclaw, Poland, from the 24th to the 26th of February 2017, where we were very well received by the University of Wroclaw, for which we thank them warmly.

The program of the research circle, “Human Rights and International Relations”, runs from 2015 to 2017. This circle explores how human rights militancy and more generally the protection of human rights are affected by the international human rights regime and the way this regime enters state relations, and it also examines how the international human rights regime modifies the relations between states and how this is explained in international relations theory.

The contributions from this circle address the issue of human rights implementation. What happens when universal principles are translated into concrete action. Magdalena Tabernacka analyses the political battles surrounding the implementation of the Convention on Preventing and Combating Violence against Women and Domestic Violence. Barbara Gornik shows how the plan to redress the erased residents of Slovenia was derailed. Athanasia Petropoulou demonstrates how visions of European citizenship fail the test of reality. Liudmila Ulyashyna reflects on how human rights law can be rooted into national legislation through education, in order to enhance the implementation. Eyassu Gayim addresses the relationship between human rights law and humanitarian law, and reflects on the nature of the human being and its rights in both of them. If they are based on the same fundamental considerations, why implementing them separately? Mogens Chrom Jacobsen challenges common views about Protestantism as the originator or foremost promoter of human rights. Implementation often depends on how human rights conform to pre-existing ideas about religion and politics, but such conformity can also be constructed to fit the purposes of the moment.

An additional contribution by long-time collaborator of Nordicum-Mediterraneum, Prof. John McMurtry, is also included, in which the worrisome implications of Brexit for human rights in the UK are discussed, given their EU-based emanation, with special emphasis on labour, environmental and financial regulation. McMurtry, who was Honorary Theme Editor for UNESCO’s Encyclopedia of Life Support System, authored therein the encyclopaedia of philosophy called “Philosophy and World Problems”. It is in the same spirit that he offers his contribution to Nordicum-Mediterraneum, in the hope of prompt and wide circulation. Consistently, the text is listed in a new category called “Philosophy and World Affairs”.

The abstracts of the published papers can be found below, as these were submitted by the authors:

Athanasia Petropoulou

On the Margins of Citizenship: The Refugee Crisis and the Transformation of Identities in Europe

Transformations of the notion of citizenship in today’s globalized context brings us closer to what Yasemin Soysal calls a post national citizenship characterized primarily by the erosion of the national identity as the distinctive form of belonging and the generalization of rights to non-nationals that initially were only attributed to members of the polity. While this vision has proven to be rather relevant in analysing changes in contemporary membership formations, it fails in some measure to capture the shortcomings of the universal human rights regime and the inherent tensions between the status of aliens and nationals-citizens. The current so called “refugee crisis” in Europe shows the predicaments of populations seeking to escape from war and deprivation and the uncertain legal status of these populations, whose rights are seriously impaired. Drawing on the notion of the “right to have rights” the study aims to explore how the European responses in this context, based on strong inclusion-exclusion mechanisms, can be pertinent for analysing and capturing current transformations of the notion of European citizenship and its future developments. In this respect, the current shortcomings of the international human rights regime can help us reconsider the foundation and notion of European citizenship. It is further suggested that the institution of European citizenship in its current form needs to be superseded, in order to attain a truly cosmopolitan content and to provide a foundation for a universalistic human rights regime. The main proposal presented in this direction, stresses the need to rethink human rights in terms of political practices and to “rediscover” the revolutionary heritage of human rights from an Arendtian perspective.

Barbara Gornik

The Politics of Victimhood in Human Rights Violations: The Case of the Erased Residents of Slovenia

In 1992, during the process of gaining national independence, the Slovenian government unlawfully erased 25,671 individuals, mainly citizens of other republics of the former Yugoslavia from the Slovenian Register of Permanent Residents. These individuals, who later become known as the Erased, became irregular foreigners; nevertheless, many of them continued to live in Slovenia for more than a decade without enjoying basic human rights. In 2012 the European Court of Human Rights in the case of Kurić and others vs. Republic of Slovenia held unanimously that there had been a violation of the 8th, 13th and 14th Articles of the European Convention on Human rights. Following this judgement the Slovenian government adopted a compensation scheme for the Erased, where it introduced the criteria determining conditions for their redress. Building on this, the article reflects on the political and legal construction of victimhood and reveals the elements that constitute the victims of human rights violations. The article highlights the notions of political loyalty, legal conformity and territorial attachment as one of the most decisive elements of victimhood. In this manner it shows that the subjectivity of victims in the case of the Erased is not defined within the human rights discourse but is grounded in nationalist terms and categories.

Eyassu Gayim

Humanity and Human Rights: The contours of international law

Laws regulate conducts by responding to social and political requirements. This holds true for international law as well, which now follows two separate tracts, one for international human rights law and another one for international humanitarian law. If these two branches of law are intended to protect the dignity and worth of human beings as it is often said, why separate them? Does humanity really exist? If it does, how does it relate to human rights? If the two are distinct where do they converge? This article highlights these questions by revisiting the contours of international law.

Liudmila Ulyashyna

Human Rights Education for lawyers: A Case Study Into the Universality and Its Relativism

Normative universality in the international human rights law shall be rooted into national legal contexts for its effective implementation. Human Rights training for lawyers ensures that lawyers receive appropriate education for the practical application of the principle universality. The case study shows that learners often lack the knowledge of the peculiarities of international human rights law, which differ from the ”classical” public law notions. Human rights training curricula should include topics, which form lawyers´ understanding of international and national legal regimes in their interdependency. Concepts of ”International Human Rights Standards”, ”Implementation and de facto implementation”, ”Status and Role of Individual/Human Rights Defender” being delivered to learners increase their knowledge and awareness of the direct applicability of international human rights norms and make them effective actors of the two-way process facilitating “a cross-fertilization” between national law and international human rights standards.

Mogens Chrom Jacobsen

Protestant Origins of Human Rights Challenged

This paper will challenge common views about Protestantism as the originator or foremost promoter of human rights. The idea of a Protestant origin is launched by Georg Jellinek and disputed by Emile Boutmy. The idea is still current and John Witte can thus claim that Protestantism was in part a human rights movement. The point of departure for this strain of thinking is religious toleration, which is seen as a particularly Protestant achievement. We will argue that a more precise notion of what 18th century human rights were and a closer look at mainstream Protestant political philosophy will tell another story.

Magdalena Tabernacka

The Council of Europe Convention on Preventing and Combating Violence against Women and Domestic Violence in the Polish Social Safeguard System

The ratification of the Council of Europe Convention on preventing and combating violence against women and domestic violence in Poland was preceded by a heated debate. From the very beginning it was the object of political battles between the conservative and liberal circles. Culturally and socially conditioned position of women has influenced its operation and the scope of its implementation. The Convention is a universally binding tool which guarantees the protection of human rights in events of violence against the woman and children. The case of this Convention in Poland proofs the existence of a universal European understanding of human rights protection standards. The Convention thus has a protective function not only for individuals but also, in a broader context, for the common European cultural identity.

John McMurtry

 

Is Brexit a Neo-Liberal Coup against 45 years of Life-Protective Law and Regulation?

The self-maximizing growth of private-money power over all life and life support systems – life capital in a word – to exploit for non-producer profit is not yet recognized as a master degenerative trend built into the ruling meta program of which Brexit and Trump are the latest Anglo-American expressions. Central to this unseen meta trend is the compulsive dismantling of life-protective law and rights whose masking justification has shifted from ‘globalization’ to ‘nationalism’. The Left is befuddled. It sees the anti-Labour implications in both the financialized EU and the de-regulating Brexit with no coherent program to overcome both. The Right blindly follows the inner logic of the ruling economic model while Liberals offer only partial and incompetent market fixes for collective life capital sustainability. All fail to see Brexit’s giant step towards life capital degeneration and eco-genocide at the margins as environmental and civil commons are stripped of their public funding by privatization and de-regulation.  The cumulative carcinogenic conversion of organic, social and ecological life organization into ever faster private money-profit sequences multiplying to the unproductive few is the predictable system result.

 

The Icesave Dispute: A Case Study into the Crisis of Diplomacy during the Credit Crunch

Introduction* 

The legal and political dispute Iceland fought with the UK and Dutch governments over responsibilities of deposits in the fallen cross-border Icesave Bank in wake of the international financial crisis – which hit Iceland severely hard in autumn 2008 when its three oversized international banks fell – not only revealed inhered weakness of the European financial system but also led to profound crisis of diplomacy during the Credit Crunch. The legal ambiguity of responsibilities was testing understandings and interpretations of international law in cross-border finance. Not fitting squarely within EU- diplomatic- or financial law it can be argued that the case in its process illustrates contested and hybrid construction of legality as here is explored. Rajkovic et al, (2016) understand international legality as interrelated processes of social and interpretive contestation in the construction of what is understood as (legal) rule in the world. In this regard the Icesave dispute illustrates how larger and more powerful countries were politically able to pressure a much smaller state in time of crisis into abiding to their own interpretation of law and in doing so rallying behind them support of international organizations like the EU and the IMF.

The Icesave dispute was thus not only a matter of international law, but rather also a case of contestation between cross border actors over determination of authority during the crisis. By empirically studying the Icesave dispute this paper discusses a profound crisis of diplomacy and the political processes of international legality of the financial sector during the Credit Crunch. This can be coined as case of perfect legal storm in international relations; a crisis of public international law, diplomatic law, EU law and finance law. This case study traces the dynamics of how international legality is produced and remade during the course of this particular inter-state crisis and in doing so thus contributes to analysis of political construction of international legality.

The study deals with interpretive contest in international relations on what is considered legal, in this particular instance dispute of responsibility over guarantying deposits of a fallen cross border bank. In this case intersecting practices and expertise were to revolve in a struggle over cross border insolvency law. By pressuring the Icelandic government into accepting responsibility of the fallen bank in UK and the Netherlands this was an international push towards sovereign socialization of private debt through twists of circumstances and practise.

At its core, perhaps, this is a study of struggle over who decides authoritative interpretations, of what in this particular instance is understood as international legality, which is constructed, construed and contested through multi-actor and multi-level interaction of multi-national relations.

The Crisis

Iceland was the first victim of the of the global Credit Crunch when its three international banks came tumbling down in October 2008, amounting to one of the world’s greatest national financial crises. This was a financial tsunami without precedent. Glitnir Bank was the first to run into trouble when planned nationalization was announced on 29. September 2008. On the basis of emergency laws rushed through Parliament, Landsbanki was taken into administration On October 7th. The following day then British Prime Minister Gordon Brown invoked the UK Anti-Terrorism, Crime and Security Act 2001 (passed after ‘9/11’ in 2001) to freeze all Icelandic assets in the UK. Operating with little information and in a climate of confusion this was, he argued, to protect UK depositors in the bank. That act served as the final blow to Iceland’s last and largest bank still standing, Kaupthing. The vastly oversized Icelandic financial system was wiped out. Iceland is one of the smallest countries in the world and borders on being a microstate with just over 300,000 inhabitants. However, this experience ranks third in the history of the world’s greatest bankruptcies (Halldórsson & Zoega, 2010). Iceland also responded significantly differently to the troubles than most other states, allowing its financial system to default rather than throwing good money after bad.

Iceland had few good options. The IMF would not consider Iceland’s loan application until the dispute with the UK and Dutch governments over the Icesave deposits accounts was settled. The fallen Landsbanki had set up these deposit accounts in those countries, leaving many of their citizens without access to their money. Even though the Icelandic government steadfastly argued that it wasn’t legally at fault and that the state would fulfil all its legal obligations regarding Icesave, the IMF wouldn’t budge. Iceland was being pressured by the UK and Dutch governments, which were backed by the whole EU apparatus.

This was a staring contest Iceland could not afford to drag out as the state was running out of foreign currency. Early agreements in October and November 2008, first so-called Memorandum of Understanding with the Dutch government and then a more broad based Brussels Guidelines, which included EU involvement, were signed by Icelandic ministers in order for the IMF to be allowed to be brought in to stabilize the economy, not least through the introduction of capital controls and the co-funding of a loan package with the Nordic and Polish governments. By mid 2009, after change in government, these early agreements were abandoned for bilateral agreements with the finance ministries of the Netherlands and the UK, where Iceland accepted responsibilities for deposits of the fallen bank. In an extraordinary move the President, however, refused to sign the bills, referring them to referendums, in which they were rejected by large majority, spurring one of the greatest international disputes Iceland had ever fought.

Not only was Iceland denied any access to united efforts within Europe to bailout banks but the UK and the Netherlands were able use their position within the EU to pressure Iceland to accept their own interpretation of EU laws Iceland was to follow. Though ambiguity still remained as to who was legally liable for the loss, the UK government was using all means available to pressure Iceland to accept responsibility, as is documented later in this paper.

On 28 January 2013, the EFTA Court finally ruled on the case, concluding that no state guaranties were in place on the deposits and, thus, dismissing the claim of the British and Dutch authorities (Judgment of the Court, 2013). The ruling vindicated the Icelandic state of any wrongdoing. In early 2014 the Dutch and the Brits filed claim against only the privately held Icelandic Depositors Guaranty Fund before the District Court of Reykjavik.

A Systemic Flaw

The collapse of the Icelandic banks clearly revealed a serious weakness in the European banking passport system, a macroeconomic imbalance within the Single European Market. It was a weakness that some of the more established banking nations had warned against when the system was being constructed (for more, see Benediktsdottir, Danielsson, & Zoega, 2011). The main flaw lay in the fragmented nature of supervision on an otherwise common market – European-wide regulation but only state level supervision resulting in a tapestry of schemes and insurance levels across the EU. This had caused a mismatch between access to market and adequate supervision.

There was also an inhered flaw in the setup of Iceland’s link to the EU through the EEA agreement. Being in the Single European Market through the European Economic Area agreement (EEA) but outside the fence of EU institutions left Iceland without shelter when the crisis hit. This neither-in-nor-out arrangement – with one foot in the Single European Market, with all the obligations that entailed, and the other foot outside the EU institutions, and therefore without access to back-up from, for example, the European Central Bank – proved to be flawed when the country was faced with a crisis of this magnitude: The oversized Icelandic banks were operating in a market that included 500 million people but with a currency and a Central Bank that was backed up by only roughly 330,000 inhabitants. As a participant in the EU Single Market, Iceland was inside the European passport system so the banks were able to operate almost like domestic entities throughout the continent.

Landsbanki had in 2002 acquired the British Heritable Bank and in 2005 furthermore opened a separate subsidiary in London. However, when marketing the Icesave deposit accounts in October 2006 Landsbanki decided to bypass both and instead opened a branch from the Icelandic Landsbanki collecting the deposits. This was done to be able to transfer the money upstream to the mother company in Iceland (SIC 2010, Vol. 6, Ch. 18: 8), something the subsidiary system does not allow. Furthermore, branches were under general surveillance in the home country of the parent bank, while subsidiaries were subject to such monitoring in the host country. However, according to this setup, liquidity surveillance should have been in the hands of the British FSA, which also had authority to intervene in marketing of the deposit scheme in the UK. Interestingly, however, when setting up the accounts, Landsbanki had negotiated exemption from the FSA liquidity surveillance until 2011 – liquidity surveillance of Icesave was thus only in the hands of the mother company in Iceland.

At the time no one seemed to even contemplate the risk involved. Without any objections from either Icelandic or UK authorities, the bank quoted the EU/EEA Directive 94/19/EC on Depositors Guarantee Schemes, they insisted was in place in Iceland, which, they said, would protect all deposits up to €20,887. Then they referred to the British top up guaranty for the rest – British authorities were by then promising to cover up to 50.000 Pounds per account. This was however always very ambiguous.

Kaupthing opened a similar high-yielding Internet deposits scheme, named Kaupthing Edge. However, unlike Landsbanki with Icesave, Kaupthing used its subsidiary, Kaupthing Singer & Friedlander, to host the deposits. Edge deposits therefore had to be kept in the UK and were under British banking regime surveillance. At the time, few noticed the difference, which after The Crash left those involved in the two cases a world apart.

Playing on an Icelandic symbol, Icesave was marketed to tap into the trust associated with Nordic economies. Soon attracting the favourable attention of the financial media, the scheme became an instant success. The Sunday Times, for example, wrote enthusiastically about the scheme under the headline: ‘Icesave looks like a hot deal’ (Hussain, 2006). Before the end, Icesave had attracted almost as many savers as there were inhabitants in Iceland. Landsbanki had for a while enjoyed better ratings than the other two because it was able to tap into the Icesave deposits to keep liquidity flowing. This was, however, a mixed blessing, as reliance on deposits leaves a bank much more vulnerable to bad news than if it is funded in the wholesale market. Even a minor issue can result in a run on a bank with avalanche of withdrawals if it is portrayed in the wrong light. Still, all three banks were passing the Icelandic Financial Supervisory Authorities (FME) stress tests with flying colours. In theory, the banks were all doing well. Amongst those buying this story was the Financial Times, which as late as August 2008 wrote that ‘fears of a systemic financial crisis in Iceland have dissipated after the country’s three main banks announced second-quarter results showing that they are suffering amid the downturn – but not too badly’ (Ibson, 2008).

The Central Bank stretched itself to the limit to keep the banks liquid in domestic króna, for example accepting their own bonds as collateral – the so-called love letters. However, to back up the overinflated banking system in such dire straits it needed a sizable sum in foreign currency. The Central Bank thus went knocking on doors in the neighbouring countries asking to open similar swap lines as others were negotiating, that could be drawn on in time of need. This was meant to boost confidence in Iceland’s capacity to back up the financial system. To the surprise of the government, however, apart from earlier limited swap-lines with the Nordics, Iceland met with closed doors in most places. This was at a time when the neighbouring states were still upholding much more extensive currency swapping agreements.

Not only had the banks been pushed out of the international capital market, but the government had as well. For the international financial system tiny Iceland was as a state not thought to be too big to fail. Iceland first approached the Bank of England in March 2008 for a swap-line agreement. Initially, the request was positively received, but with a suggestion that the IMF would analyse the need. A month later, the climate had changed. It had become clear that the central banks of Europe, the US and the UK had collectively decided not to assist Iceland. Later it became known that the governor of the Bank of England, Mervin King, offered instead to co-ordinate a multinational effort to help scale down our financial system. His offer was instantly turned down by the leading governor of the Icelandic Central Bank, Mr. Davíð Oddsson (See for example, Wade & Sigurgeirsdottir, 2010.

UK Concerns

When Northern Rock was running into trouble in late 2007 and taken into receivership in February 2008 worries over further volatility in the banking system were spreading in the UK, raising concerns of health of many other banks. By 2008 Landsbanki had collected around 4 billion pounds through the Icesave scheme. With the International Financial Crisis now blazing and the apparent wide exposure of Iceland’s oversized banking system this was causing increasing concerns in the UK, especially because of the poor state of the Icelandic Depositors Guaranty Fund holding only around 1 per cent of the liabilities of the Icelandic banks now facing headwind (Jónsson, 2009). This caused an avalanche of negative reporting in the UK media on the Icelandic banks. On 5th February 2008 The Daily Telegraph for example asked in a headline: “Is Iceland headed for meltdown?”(“Is Iceland headed for meltdown?,” 2008). Subsequently increased withdrawals were almost amounting to a run on the bank, which the bank was barely able to withstand, before deposits started picking up again in April.

These events lead the British FSA to push for restructuring of the online branch, for example proposing revoking an exemption Icesave had negotiated from liquidity surveillance in the UK. This was raised in meetings between governors of the Icelandic Central Bank and the Bank of England on 3d March 2008 and again in meeting the FSA had with Landsbanki management on 14th March 2008. In these meetings the FSA furthermore proposed moving the deposits to Landsbanki’s Heritable subsidiary and thus entirely under jurisdiction of the British Financial Services Compensation Scheme  (SIC 2010, Vol. 6, Ch. 18: 12, 13). For this, however, demands were made that assets had to follow from the parent bank in Iceland to the UK, which Landsbanki had trouble meeting (Ibid). The liability amounted to half Iceland’s GDP. Additionally such transfer would have to be with depositors consent, though force majeure situation might justify a quicker move. This was the start of increased tension between Iceland and the UK over the Icesave deposits, ultimately resulting in the UK authorities seizing the bank in October 2008 when the parent bank was falling in Iceland.

The tension was heightening in frequent exchange of letters over the coming weeks and months. In a letter dated 29th May 2008 the FSA finally revoked the exemption from UK liquidity surveillance and subsequently demanded that the Icesave deposits be moved to subsidiary (SIC 2010, Vol. 6, Ch. 18: 16). The FSA had concerns that neither the Icelandic Guaranty Fund nor the Central Bank had ability to back up the bank in times of crisis. The FSA also asked that the Icesave deposits would be capped at 5 billion pounds level which they were now reaching close to and that interests would be set below featuring on best buy tables (SIC 2010, Vol. 6, Ch. 18: 17). Landsbanki replied on 15th July 2008 agreeing with the general aim of moving the deposits to subsidiary but refusing both capping the deposits and the request of setting interest below best buy level. In the meantime the issue had been reported widely in the UK, for example discussed in the House of Commons were MPs quoted report in The Times on 5th July stating that collectively the deposits of the Icelandic banks in the UK were amounting to 13,6 Pounds or “twice the country’s entire GDP”  (SIC 2010, Vol. 6, Ch. 18: 19).

On July 22nd 2008 the FSA wrote back saying that Landsbanki’s reply was worrying, that risk of run on the bank was increasing and that the FSA would be forced to consider applying its legal measures against the bank if its requests were not being met. That is; a solid cap, solid liquidity buffer and firm time tabled intention of subsidiarisation. (SIC 2010, Vol. 6, Ch. 18: 19). Though Landsbanki voiced willingness to comply in its letter to the FSA on 28th July it also explained why it might have difficulties in implementing what was being requested unless the FSA would agree on flexibility regarding some of its conditions in the transition period. On these conditions Landsbanki and the FSA were never able to agree on. While the FSA was operating in order to protect UK based depositors the Landsbanki management was rather concerned with saving the mother bank in Iceland. These aims proved contradictory and caused prolonged frictions (see SIC 2010, Vol 6.).

The FSA was not only applying its pressure in letters and meetings with Landsbanki but also in ongoing correspondence with the Icelandic FME and Central Bank. In a letter to Landbanki on August 5th 2008 the British FSA demanded Landsbanki to confirm within a week how the bank would comply with conditions set by the FSA in order to move the Icesave deposits to its subsidiary in London, otherwise it might be forced to apply its formal legal measures (SIC 2010, Vol. 6, Ch. 18: 23). This was the second time the FSA threatened in a letter to directly intervene in the bank’s operations.

The Icelandic Central Bank was now directly involved. Reportedly it considered openly defying the FSA but decided against that approach as it might risk the stability of the entire Icelandic financial system (SIC 2010, Vol 6). On 11th August 2008 the Icelandic FME wrote back to the FSA pleading on behalf of Landsbanki for flexibility while transferring Icesave to the Heritable Bank in London. The two surveillance authorities talked in a teleconference a week later where the FSA suggested that Landsbanki might sell Icesave. In the meantime, the FSA had written Landsbanki once more on 15th August 2008, demanding increasing reserves to 20 per cent of deposits. At the end of the letter the FSA threatened for the third time that it might apply its formal authoritative legal measures against the bank and stop deposit collection into Icesave accounts (SIC 2010, Vol. 6, Ch. 18: 25). The Icelandic actors, that is, the Landsbanki, the Icelandic FME and the Central Bank however believed that would only trigger liquidity crisis – not only for Landsbanki but for all Icelandic banks and indeed also the UK fragile banking system (SIC 2010, Vol 6).

It was now clear that the British FSA considered Landsbanki being in non-compliance with its conditions and that it was already failing. The Landsbanki management pleaded with the Icelandic Minister of Commerce to intervene, who with a team of officials met with UK Chancellor of the Exchequer Alistair Darling in London on 2nd September 2008. Mr. Darling has since reported that he was disappointed with the Icelanders as he felt they did not appreciate the seriousness of the situation (SIC 2010, Vol. 6, Ch. 18: 31, 229). Following up on the meeting few days later, leading official in the British Treasury dealing with the Icelandic case, Clive Maxwell, called the Icelandic Ambassador in London, expressing the Chancellors concerns and explaining how politically difficult the relationship with Iceland had become in the UK. This was perhaps a warning that tougher measure might be taken against Iceland.

In a letter on 3d September 2008 the FSA once again wrote to Landsbanki saying it was considering applying its formal legal measures if the bank would not before 8th September 2008 explain how it would comply with the conditions. Before the deadline Landsbanki replied by again voicing willingness to comply but explaining why it might be difficult to meet all the requests. In wake of several subsequent meetings and correspondence between agencies in the two countries the FSA wrote back on 17th August 2008 announcing that it would apply its legal measures. It was now ordering the bank to fully comply with bringing assets to the UK to underpin withdrawals from Icesave accounts and in order for them being transferred into the British financial space (SIC 2010, Vol. 6, Ch. 18: 33). The state of the international financial system had by then gone from bad to worse when Lehman Brothers collapsed in the US on 15th September 2008.

In a desperate reply on 19th September 2008 Landsbanki indicated that it would comply before turning straight to the Icelandic FME asking for help. The two surveillance authorities were still in correspondence on the issue when further trouble arose for the Icelandic banks, which I turn to next.

Heightening Pressure

When a planned nationalization of one of the three banks, Glitnir, was announced in Reykjavik on Monday September 29th depositors were flocking to nearest branch and withdrawing their savings. When the news travelled abroad, many of the 300,000 Icesave depositors in the UK, also rushed online to withdraw their money from the Icesave accounts. Throughout the continent, central banks and governments were harmonizing their response to the crisis. The ECB and the Bank of England, for example, were providing massive liquidity to European banks, but despite a wide-ranging emergency plea, Iceland would not be allowed access to these funds. The same was also to become true in Washington. Iceland was flatly refused as neighbouring governments collectively opposed a bailout, referring it instead to the IMF. Being the first Western country in four decades to surrender to the IMF was seen as a humiliation and a defeat for the Icelandic postcolonial project (see Bergmann 2014b).

In the UK, worries over the poor state of the Icelandic banks had been growing for some time. Since May, unsuccessful negotiations had been under way to move the Icesave deposits to Landsbanki’s Heritable Bank and thus under the cover of the UK banking scheme. On Friday 3d October the FSA formally announced applying its legal measures against Landsbanki stipulated in the Financial Services and Markets Act 2000 (FSMA). The bank was already by Monday to install funds amounting 20 per cent of the Icesave deposits into the Bank of England, lower free access deposits to below 1 billion pounds by end of 2008 and cap total deposits at below 5 billion pounds (SIC 2010, Vol 6). The bank was also to bring its interest below best buy levels and halt all marketing of free access deposits. As Landsbanki did not at the time have funding available to comply this was in effect equal to killing of the bank.

In the evening Alistair Darling called his counterpart raising concerns that 600 million pounds were illegally being moved out of Kaupthing and back to Iceland. To this the Icelandic authorities had no answer. By close of market the same day The European Central Bank had placed a margin call of 400 million Euros on Landsbanki in Luxembourg, threatening to seize many of its assets. However, on Sunday evening the ESB revoked the call and by doing so releasing some of the tension (SIC 2010, Vol 6).

Thus, while Iceland was desperately trotting the globe shopping for money, the UK authorities and the ECB were not only refusing any funding but indeed pressing it for cash. The firm stand of the Bank of England, the ECB and the US Federal Reserve against Iceland also made the Scandinavian neighbours hesitant to help further (SIC 2010, Vol 6). To stem the bleeding of the Edge and Icesave accounts, both Kaupthing and Landsbanki were frantically selling off assets at rock bottom prices. With the rapidly increasing flow of negative reporting abroad, the run on Icesave in the UK grew stronger. On Saturday 4th October, depositors could no longer access their accounts online. On the website an explanatory note read that this was because of technical problems. Traffic had increased more than fivefold. Really, however, this was not least because the bank was already exhausted by the run; it could no longer honour the withdrawals. Out of the £4.7 billion the 300,000 or so depositors held, more than £300 million ran off the accounts on that day alone. Foreign reporters and government authorities responded by asking whether Iceland would provide the same protection to foreign depositors as it had already announced for domestic ones. Pressure rose when the government struggled to find a diplomatic answer (Jóhannesson, 2014).

Around dinnertime on Sunday 5th October British PM Gordon Brown called his Icelandic counterpart Geir Haarde, urging him to seek IMF assistance. They were old acquaintances, since both had served for years as finance ministers, meeting on several occasions. Brown also voiced concern that money amounting to more than one-and-a-half billion pounds was unlawfully being brought over to Reykjavik out of Kaupthing’s London subsidiary, Singer & Friedlander, which would not be tolerated. The amount had thus grown by billion pounds in only couple of days since the call from Darling (see SIC 2010, Vol 7).

This claim of illegal money transferring out of the UK, which was repeated by many UK officials over these dramatic days, later proved unfounded as was for example stated in report to the House of Commons Treasury committee (2009, April). The UK was in this regard already burned by Lehman Brothers, which prior to its default had sneaked back to the US eight billion dollars from the City of London, and would not allow the same thing to happen again. The call ended without a solution, with Brown all but begging Haarde to call in the IMF rescue team. The message from the UK side in frequent correspondence over the weekend was always the same: no bailout money would be available internationally for Iceland except through an IMF programme (SIC 2010, Vol. 6, Ch. 20: 100).

The UK authorities were threating to seize Icesave already by Monday. To halt the blow the FSA demanded 200 million pounds immediately to underpin Icesave and further 53 million to stabilize the Heritable Bank (SIC 2010, Vol. 7, Ch. 20: 145). All attempts to shift the Icesave accounts into British banking space had thus failed. Negotiations with the British FSA to allow Landsbanki to move the deposits to its London Heritable Bank and thus under the UK banking regime were stuck. The British were asking for more money alongside it than either Landsbanki or indeed the Icelandic state could possibly raise. The Icelandic Central Bank could only bailout one of the three big Icelandic banks. All of them seemed to need around 500 million Euros for only short-term rescue. When it came clear that Kaupthing would win the lottery of which to bail out, as it was deemed to have the best chance of surviving, the light was finally out on Landsbanki.

God Bless Iceland!

When the markets opened on Monday October 6th, the FME had stopped trading the banks’ stocks and the banks themselves froze all fund transactions. To counter the almost inevitable avalanche of withdrawals, the government issued a blanket protection for all deposits within the country. The UK and Netherlands were issuing top-up guarantees for deposits above the €20,887 stipulated in Directive 94/19/EC up to €40,000 in the Netherlands and, by Wednesday, up to £50,000 in the UK. Many European states were also issuing complete guarantees, including Ireland, Germany, Denmark and Austria. Iceland was, however, only guaranteeing domestic deposits but could not explicitly state what would happen in foreign branches, apart from a vague general pledge to the effect that the banks’ Depositors and Investors Guarantee Fund would be ‘supported’. That promise was always very ambiguous and, furthermore, it was always clear that it might anyway be difficult uphold, as deposits in foreign branches of Icelandic banks, most of which were on Icesave accounts, amounted to around £8.5 billion, about 80 per cent of the country’s GDP, whereas the fund held only about 1 per cent of that total amount, which, though, was comparable to other countries. The ambiguity of the statements coming out of Reykjavik was thus worrying neighbours, especially government officials in Whitehall (see Jóhannesson, 2014).

It was clear that Landsbanki would already be defaulting the following day. This was a stark reversal of the bank’s situation from just a few months before, when it seemed to be well funded with a comfortable €800 million liquidity and strong inflow of foreign deposits. Furthermore, redemption of loans was low until late 2009. And even though it was exhausted of foreign cash by the run in the UK, the bank still had enough money in Icelandic króna to survive this storm; the problem was that the króna was no longer tradable for foreign currency. This was thus a double crisis – a banking crisis and a currency crisis – starting already in March (see Bergmann, 2014).

Around noon Monday 6 the UK embassy in Reykjavik reported to London on events over the weekend. Interestingly the ambassador mentioned the Icelandic governments guaranty of domestic deposits but then indicates that the government had sent similar statement to London because of Kaupthing and Landsbankis operations in the UK (Jóhannesson, 2014). This was a misunderstanding but it seems clear that the UK government believed that such a promise had been given, that the Icelandic government would at least protect the minimum of EUR 20.887 (ibid). This proved to be a wrong interpretation of what Icelandic officials meant when stating that the Icelandic Depositors Guaranty Fund would be ‘supported’ (ibid), but given the fact that Iceland officials at the time were avoiding contact with the British and only providing them with as vague responses as possible (ibid) one can understand that there was wide room for such misunderstandings.

In the afternoon on Monday 6 October the Icesave bank was being closed in the UK by formal issue of the FSA. Around the same time PM Geir Haarde was announcing that the Icelandic state would not have the means to bail out the banks. By trying so it ran a risk of being sucked with them into an economic abyss. (Haarde, 2008). An emergency legislation was rushed through parliament, allowing the government to split the banks into a domestic only good bank surviving and bad bank taken into receivership. This method was according to advice of a financial specialist, Marc Dobler, sent from the Bank of England to Reykjavik (SIC 2010, Vol. 7, Ch. 20: 120). The legislation also altered the order of payments of claims out of the fallen banks by moving depositor’s claims to the front. This was a force majeure situation. The government simultaneously wanted to protect domestic depositors in Iceland and the state from claims from abroad. The action was part of the defensive wall being raised around ordinary households. Foreign creditors would simply have to accept losing most of what they had loaned to the Icelandic banks.

This was a time of chaos. UK authorities were desperately trying to get information out of Iceland. It didn’t help when Alistair Darling could get through to neither the Icelandic PM nor the Finance Minister, who he was asked to contact again the following morning. The UK government’s frustration was reported in correspondence throughout the evening by the UK ambassador with Sturla Sigurjónsson of the Icelandic Prime Ministry. He reported a message from London: if convincing explanations would not come out of Reykjavik, that would be negatively interpreted in London and might have serious effect on the bilateral relationship between the two countries. (SIC 2010, Vol. 7, Ch. 20: 147).

Before opening of business on Tuesday morning, a board for a new Landsbanki had been appointed. Meanwhile, in the UK, the FSA issued a moratorium on Landsbanki’s London based Heritable Bank.

With all funding opportunities closed, the situation was growing bleaker by the hour. As planned Alistair Darling called on Tuesday morning to discuss these and other grave matters with Finance Minister Árni Mathiesen. When he could not get a clear state guarantee out of his Icelandic counterpart, an assurance that UK depositors would be protected, at least up to €20,887 according to Directive 94/19/EC, he stated that this would be ‘extremely damaging to Iceland in the future’ and then ended the call saying, ‘the reputation of your country is going to be terrible’ (“Samtal Árna og Darlings,” 2008). Mathiesen could not but agree, but he understood from their conversation that he would still have some time to work things out.[1]

Invoking Anti-Terrorist Act

Seen from the UK and the Netherlands, the situation was simply that Icesave depositors were left without access to their accounts. The website was inaccessible and no trace of the bank was left in the UK or the Netherlands. No one answered the phone and there was not even an address to go to. Depositors were in an intolerable position – the bank had disappeared without a trace from the face of the earth. This caused a seriously strained relationship Reykjavik had with London and The Hague. The British and the Dutch governments decided to compensate their depositors, even beyond the €20,887 mark guaranteed by Directive 94/19/EC. For this they demanded payback with interest from the Icelandic government.

In Whitehall, preparations had been under way for dealing with the Icelandic crisis. Icelanders would not get away with simply cutting off their foreign debt, shutting the doors and leaving British citizens out in the cold. It did not help that UK officials had learned of the message from governor of Iceland’s Central Bank on TV few days earlier, in which he stated that foreigners could only expect between 5 to 15 per cent of their claims. The plan was to be kicked into action. The British claimed that giving preference to depositors in domestic banks over those in foreign branches was a breach of European regulations, which Iceland subscribed to through the EEA.

In the early morning of Wednesday 8th October 2008 Alistair Darling appeared on BBC Radio 4 claiming that the Icelandic government was reneging on its responsibility to UK depositors, and that this would not be tolerated. Referring to his conversation with Iceland’s finance minister Mathiesen the day before he said: ‘The Icelandic government, believe it or not, told me yesterday they have no intention of honouring their obligations here’ (Darling, 2008). In a joint press conference at 9:15 Darling and Gordon Brown announced a massive bailout of UK-based banks, to the tune of £500 billion. As a result of pumping the money into the banks, the British state acquired a majority stake in the Royal Bank of Scotland and steered the merger of HBOS and Lloyds TSB, in which the state had acquired third of the shares. There was, however, not a penny for Icelandic-owned banks in the UK. On the contrary, Brown claimed that Iceland’s authorities must assume responsibility for the failed banks and announced that the UK government had taken ‘legal action against the Icelandic authorities to recover the money lost to people who deposited in UK branches of its banks’ (quoted in Balakrishnan, 2008). Director of the British FSA, Hector Sants, is reported to have told the management of Kaupthing Singer and Friedlander in the UK: ‘Those funds are not for you’ (SIC 2010, Vol. 7, Ch. 20: 171).

Earlier in the morning, the UK FSA had called Kaupthing demanding £300 million instantly be moved from Reykjavik to Singer & Friedlander to meet the run on Edge accounts, which with the Icesave website down also was blazing, and then a further £2 billion over ten days. This was an impossible demand for Kaupthing to meet, and it instead called the Deutsche Bank, asking it to sell off Kaupthing’s operations in the UK. Deutsche’s brokers thought that could be done within 24 hours (Jónsson, 2009).

The legal actions Brown had mentioned in his press brief, however, went much further. At 10:10 in the morning, deposits in Landsbanki’s Heritable Bank were moved to the Dutch internet bank ING Direct for free when the ‘Landsbanki Freezing Order 2008’ took effect (The Landsbanki Freezing Order 2008, 2008). The action was based on the Anti-Terrorism, Crime and Security Act, which had been put in place after the terrorist attacks in the US on 11 September 2001. Not minding that around a hundred thousand people worked for Icelandic-held companies in Britain, the UK government invoked the Anti-Terrorism Act to freeze the assets of Landsbanki in the UK and for a while also all assets of the Icelandic state including the Icelandic government, the Icelandic Financial Surveillance Authority and the Icelandic Central Bank (SIC 2010, Vol. 6, Ch. 18: 40).

Later that day the FSA took control of the Heritable Bank and Landsbanki’s subsidiary in London. The Landsbanki Freezing Order was issued with an explanation reading:

The Icelandic authorities have announced that Landsbanki has been placed into receivership but has not given any indication as to how overseas creditors will be dealt with. The Icelandic Government has also announced a guarantee of all depositors in Icelandic branches. However, overseas depositors have not been covered by the guarantee. This exclusion on grounds of nationality is discriminatory and unlawful under the rules governing the European Economic Area. The UK government is taking action to ensure that Landsbanki assets are not transferred from the UK until the position of UK creditors becomes clearer. The UK authorities are seeking to work constructively with the Icelandic authorities to ensure speedy resolution.

Subsequently, Landsbanki and for a while also Iceland’s Central Bank and Ministry of Finance was listed on the Treasuries home page alongside other sanctioned terrorist regimes, including Al-Qaeda, the Taliban, Burma, Zimbabwe and North Korea.

While Kaupthing’s CEO, Sigurður Einarsson, was in his London office in the late morning discussing with Deutsche Bank over the phone the fastest way to liquidate its assets, he read a banner running on the TV screen saying that the FSA had already moved Kaupthing’s Edge accounts to ING Direct in the Netherlands. Their phone conversation quickly ended, as there was no longer anything to talk about. In the afternoon, the UK authorities issued a moratorium on Singer & Friedlander, showed its Icelandic CEO, Ármann Thorvaldsson, the door and sealed the offices (Thorvaldsson, 2009). This instantly prompted a flow of margin calls and a further run on the mother company. When the dark set in, Kaupthing Bank was itself taken into administration in Reykjavik. Thirty thousand shareholders lost all their investment. Interestingly, both the previously mentioned report to the House of Commons Treasury committee (2009, April) and also the British FSA later found out that no money had illegally been moved from Singer & Friedlander to Iceland (Júlíusson, 2009), which, however, had been one of the main justifications for the UK’s attack on Iceland.

On this same day, Thursday 9th October, Brown told BBC that the actions of the Icelandic government were effectively illegal and completely unacceptable. ‘They have failed not only the people of Iceland; they have failed people in Britain’ he said. Then he said his government was ‘freezing the assets of Icelandic companies in the United Kingdom where we can. We will take further action against the Icelandic authorities wherever that is necessary to recover money’ (quoted in “Brown condems,” 2008). Later that day, Brown told Sky News that Iceland, as a state, was bankrupt and that the ‘responsibility lies fairly and squarely with the Icelandic authorities, and they have a duty in my view to meet the obligations that they owe to citizens who have invested from Britain in Icelandic banks’ (“Brown Blasts Iceland Over Banks,” 2008). Iceland was being completely rebuffed. In fact, in the coming days Brown’s rhetoric against Iceland was only to harden.

With UK depositors holding a stake of £700 million in Icesave, including many charities’ funding, Brown stated that the Icelandic authorities were now responsible for the deposits. Even in the UK, many were stunned by Brown’s harsh response to the Icelandic crisis. Many claimed that by attacking Iceland, a foreign actor, Brown was attempting to divert attention from difficulties at home, perhaps much as Margaret Thatcher had done during the Falklands crisis (Murphy, 2008). Initially it did indeed work. On its front page the Daily Mail declared ‘Cold War’ (2008) on Iceland and the Daily Telegraph screamed across its front page: ‘Give us our money back’ (2008). And these were papers that did not even support Brown or his Labour Party.

With access to the estimated 7 billion pounds the Icelandic government and banks held in assets in the UK no longer being available, the wall finally came tumbling down. Invoking Anti-Terrorist legislation against a neighbouring state and fellow NATO and EEA member was virtually an act of war, as is indicated in the interviews conducted for this paper. This was an unprecedented move against a friendly state, which cost Iceland dearly, in both economic and political terms. Moody’s instantly downgraded Iceland by three full points, to A1. Money transactions to Iceland were stopped not only in the UK but as a result also widely in Europe, where many banks refused to trade with Iceland after it had been listed in the UK with terrorist actors. The payment and clearing system for foreign goods collapsed. In only two days, all trading in króna had ceased outside Iceland’s borders (SIC 2010, Vol. 7).

By Thursday 9 October 2008, almost the entire Icelandic financial system had collapsed in a dramatic chain of events, which later became known simply as The Crash. Ironically, this was a full week before Glitnir’s 15 October deadline – which had started the whole thing.

Explaining the UK Attack

In hindsight it seems clear that the UK authorities went in their actions much further than needed in protecting British interests. Invoking the Anti Terrorist Act was for example in stark contrast to responses elsewhere. Authorities in the Netherlands, for example, saw no reason to freeze assets and in Stockholm the Swedish Central Bank was still trading with Kaupthing’s Swedish branch. In this segment I attempt explaining some of the reasons behind the harsh response of the UK government against Iceland.

First thing to note is that this was a time of utter chaos, frustration and widespread political as well as economical upheaval. Perhaps part of the reason can be found in the fact that Iceland’s economic fragility turned the mirror on the UK and its own volatile financial situation. Economist Willem Buiter (2008) who had studied the state of the economy in both countries, saw the similarity and wrote that it was no great exaggeration to also describe the UK as a huge hedge fund.

From private off-the-record interviews I conducted for this paper in late 2013 and early 2014 with several leading UK officials, within for example the UK Treasury, Foreign Office and the Labour Party, who were at the heart of these events at the time, it seems clear that the UK government finally lost faith in not only the Icelandic banks but also the Icelandic government over the weekend from Friday 3d to Sunday 5th October, 2008. This conclusion is for example also supported in unpublished report Icelandic stakeholders commissioned a leading business investigation firm in London to conduct into the issue.[2] The report states that the UK government believed until October 3d 2008 that a ‘high level political deal’ was in place of fast-tracking Icesave deposits to British banking space. The alleged deal included stipulation of insurance premium to be paid by the Icelandic government, that the ‘Icelandic government [was] to transfer 200 million pounds to the UK’.

How the UK authorities came to believe this deal was in place is not clear as no such understanding is sheared amongst Icelandic officials at the forefront of these events at the time, who also were interviewed off the record for this paper in late 2013 and early 2014. Neither are there any public documents available to support such alleged ‘deal’ at ‘high political level’ as the report claims.

UK officials interviewed for this paper point out that this was a time of great uncertainty and misinformation. Long lasting still ongoing tension at the time between the British Foreign Office (FCO) and the Treasury had weakened British institutions. Under Gordon Browns premiership it is reported that the Treasury was leading all actions against Iceland and that the FCO was hardly involved. Still, the little information that was available on Icelandic politics within the UK government was kept at the FCO. It is furthermore reported in the interviews I conducted that there was a serious communication malfunction between the Treasury, the FSA and the Bank of England. This was unfortunate as reliable intelligence on the Icelandic banks was rather within FSA and the Bank of England than in the Treasury.

In addition to not understanding Iceland, the Treasury was overworked by challenges of the international financial crisis blazing at the time. It is furthermore reported that as relatively young and small ministry in the UK the Treasury was suffering from high staff turnover and thus lack of institutional memory. All of this combined meant that when dealing with little Iceland the Treasury neither had the means nor knowledge to properly contemplate the highly complex situation.

My interviewees concur in saying that when trouble arose Iceland was thus not in focus in the Treasury, in fact it was rather viewed as troubling black hole preventing the UK from dealing with the big picture. Unlike the Foreign Service the Treasury had no room to contemplate political implications cross borders, in dealing with Iceland this was just a financial issue like all others. ‘This was just nuts and bolts finance’ said one of this papers interviewees. While desk officers were of course analysing Icelandic banks like all others, higher-level officials were ignorant about the country.

One interviewee for this paper, senior official in the British Foreign Service said that this was in effect a failure of diplomacy. He said that on both sides there existed surprising lack of understanding between the two governments, that the Icelanders did not know British governance and the UK side was almost utterly ignorant about Iceland. He pointed out that even though Gordon Brown and Geir Haarde were on good terms and for example met at Number 10 after Brown took office, that friendship did not amount to much at time of crisis. ‘To think so was foolish’, he said.

Plan A and Plan B

British officials interviewed for this paper pointed out that repeated references in FSA letters to Landsbanki to its legal authority to interfere with the banks operation in the UK, discussed earlier in this paper, was nothing short of blatant threat of seizing the bank. This warning seems, however, not to have been taken equally seriously in Iceland. According to British officials interviewed for this paper a low level and at first rather vague plan to deal with Iceland was slowly starting to emerge since May 2008, developing in gradual steps until the very end when the UK government finally struck on October 8th 2008 with implementing of the Anti Terrorist Act. The plan consisted of two options. Plan A revolved around getting Icelandic authorities on board with moving Icesave to the UK, which was to include proper insurance premium funds coming with it. If however, that would not work out, plan B was quite simply unilaterally seizing the bank.

As mentioned before, until Friday October 3d, Treasury officials believed a deal was in place with Icelandic authorities. Over the weekend however the UK side lost faith in the Icelanders, resulting in Plan B being kicked into action. The above mentioned investigative report prepared for Icelandic stakeholders also indicates that the UK side feared that the government of Iceland was losing control over to Central Bank governor Davíð Oddson, the country’s previous long standing PM and that he was planning to ‘veto the scheme’ – that is, the alleged deal on moving Icesave against 200 million pound insurance premium. The report also noted an expectation existing in the UK that the nationalized Icelandic banks would be ordered to reclaim their funds from abroad following such an Oddson veto. Furthermore, hints of Russian rescue money flowing to Iceland caused further concerns of Iceland going rogue.

When coming to the conclusion of applying plan B, UK officials interviewed for this paper claim that when dealing with Iceland, Brown and Darling wanted to been seen as being tough on rouge bankers. They pointed out that Iceland was viewed to be small enough to be made an example off; that it might serve as stark warning to others. Thus, when the big bank bailout was announced on Wednesday October 8th 2008, being tough on Iceland set the right political tone domestically, i.e. being tough on bad bankers while also preventing the banking system from collapse. Thus, this was also a balancing act. Applying the Anti-terrorism Act against Iceland was thus purposely used by the UK government to send a strong message and in doing so preventing others from straying off from the right path.

UK officials interviewed for this paper agree that the UK government had no idea what implication their action would have on the Icelandic banking system, that they were not thinking about Iceland as such in their actions, that this was quite simply only about British politics in time of crisis and that they did for example not contemplate Kaupthing collapsing as a result.

This view of events is somewhat supported when examining conversation between Icelandic Finance Minister Mathisen and Lord Paul Myners, the British Financial Services Secretary, on 8th October 2008. Myners said that it had worried UK authorities not being able to get reliable information out of Iceland on whether British depositors would be compensated or not. Lord Myners said that the UK government had thus decided to take action in protecting British financial interests against Iceland (SIC 2010, Vol. 7, Ch. 20: 151). When discussing the issue in the House of Lords on 28th October 2008 Myners cited the same reasons for applying the Anti-terrorism, Crime and Security Act, that is; lack of sufficient commitment from Iceland regarding deposits in the UK but also adding that the actions had been necessary because of volatility on the UK financial market. He said it had been necessary to act vigorously when Iceland seemed to be taking actions hurting British interests (SIC 2010, Vol. 7, Ch. 20: 154).

Quite clearly, we can conclude that these actions were a co-ordinated attack that had been in the making for days, if not weeks. Indeed, it was a bomb, which was to blow up the defensive wall that the Icelandic government was trying to build around domestic households.

When PM Haarde called in the morning on Thursday 9th October to complain about this brutal treatment, Brown did not even answer. Haarde was instead referred to Darling, who in their phone conversation justified the actions of the British authorities by referring to his talk with Icelandic Finance Minister Mathiesen two days earlier. Darling said that Mathisen had not been able to provide guaranty for the Icesave deposits and that he had indicated that obligations of the FME might not be honoured. Records of their 7th October conversation however do not support Darlings recollection from their talk (See SIC 2010, Vol. 7, Ch. 20: 152). Interestingly, when interviewed for this paper a senior UK Foreign Office official pointed out that Mathiesen had made a mistake when agreeing to talk on the phone with Darling that day, by doing so he had given Darling the excuse he needed to attack Iceland. The British official said that the phone call had made it easier for the UK to apply the legislation they had already for some time been preparing to use if the need presented itself.

From correspondence between the UK embassy in Iceland and the Treasury in the UK, now partly made available by the Freedom of Information Act 2000, the UK authorities seem to have felt quite confident of success in their dealings with Iceland. On late October 11th the UK ambassador reported to London that Treasury officials were travelling back from Iceland and that a deal on Icesave was within reach. UK officials discussed imminent ‘quick wins’ in the dispute against Iceland and contemplated ‘lifeline’ to be handed to Iceland after securing their victory (See in Jóhannesson, 2014).

The Icelandic government only made weak attempts to protesting against these actions taken by the UK. On 13th February 2009 the UK Treasury finally provided explanations in a letter signed by Clive Maxwell, claiming that the actions were not taken on grounds of terrorist operations. The letter quoted instead protocol in the law saying that the Treasury can act against those whose actions are construed as being to the detriment of the United Kingdom’s economy. The letter maintained that the British Treasury had believed it to be likely that the Icelandic government was discriminating in favour of Icelandic depositors and against UK and other foreign creditors. The letter quoted the 7th October phone call between finance ministers Mathiesen and Darling, claiming that the Icelandic authorities had failed to issue credible protection to foreign depositors. The letter also stated that the Icelandic government had provided contradictory information and said that the Icelandic actions were threating financial stability in the UK and that there was real risk of contamination (SIC 2010, Vol. 7, Ch. 20: 155). This is somewhat different to the explanation Finance Minister Darling told PM Haarde in their phone call on 9th October 2008.

Forced Agreement

Though ambiguity remained over many legal aspects of this highly complex situation, the UK and Dutch governments were pressuring Iceland to accept full responsibility for the Icesave accounts. While also pressuring Iceland to turn to the IMF, these governments were, with the help of the EU apparatus, lobbying neighbouring capitals to refuse it any loans except through an IMF programme (See in Independent Evaluation Office of the International Monetary Fund, 2014). Iceland’s government, however, was still afraid of the stigma of being the first Western state in four decades to surrender to the IMF (See for example, Mathiensen & Jósepsson, 2010)

Iceland gradually caved under the collective pressure and sought help from the fund. To Iceland’s surprise, the IMF board refused help unless, Iceland was made to understand, first clearing up the Icesave dispute with the British and the Dutch. Initially at the IMF yearly meeting in Washington already on October 11, Finance minister Mathiesen signed a Memorandum of Understanding with the Dutch where he agreed to an arbitrary court ruling on the issue. Only in its wake, on 22d October, was Landsbanki removed from the list of terrorist regimes on the UK Chancellor’s website. This agreement was however abandoned by the Icelandic government upon Mathiesen’s return in Reykjavik and in November it was replaced with a much more broadly based deal, what was called the Brussels Guidelines, which included EU involvement. The deal stipulated that Iceland would indeed accept responsibility, but that its European partners would help shouldering the cost. Holding out for not much more than a month, the government thus threw in the towel and under impossible pressure, accepted to guarantee deposits up to the minimum €20,887 stipulated by EU Directive 94/19/EC.

The EEA connection did not amount to much. IMF assistance was only made available after Iceland gave into the Dutch and the British. The government’s apparent weakness in responding to the UK attack added to the public’s frustration, especially when it had become clear that no money had illegally been moved out of the UK.

The initial forced Icesave agreements (The Memorandum of Understanding and the Brussels Guidelines) angered the public, which in wake of the Crash had taken to the streets in ever-greater numbers. After a series of protests, which later became known as the Pots and Pans Revolution (búsáhaldabyltinging), the grand coalition of the Independence Party (IP) and the Social Democratic Alliance (SDA) was ousted from power in late January 2009, paving the way for a new left-wing government – the first purely left-wing coalition in the history of the republic.

The severity of the currency crisis, which followed the banking collapse, can for example be seen in the fact that Iceland was the only country that had to revert to such extreme measures as implementing capital controls. The economy seemed paralysed. On Friday 10 October, the first of many popular protests started.

While the crisis was tightening its grip leading up to The Crash, Iceland’s neighbours had refused help unless it was through an IMF programme. After the collapse of the banks, the IMF gradually emerged as Iceland’s only viable option as it was still being isolated internationally. The British and Dutch governments had been successfully lobbying both the ECB and other European states not to aid Iceland independently, while at the same time pressuring Iceland to accept responsibility for the Icesave deposits. Iceland’s government, on the contrary, insisted that according to Directive 94/19/EC it was only obligated to ensure that a Depositors Guarantee Fund was in place and not explicitly responsible for foreign branch deposits (Blöndal & Stefánsson, 2008). Referring to a report written for the French Central Bank in 2000, Iceland argued that the Directive did not explicitly dictate that the state had to pick up the balance in the event of a systemic collapse (Banque de France, 2000).

This was, however, a difficult argument to get through in the crisis-ridden climate at the time. In order to prevent a further run on their own banks and to regain enough credibility to keep them afloat, the British, during these same days, led a coalition of G20 and EU states promoting collective international action emphasizing almost blanket depositors protection (see, for example, Pilkington, 2008). Allowing Iceland to leave depositors in foreign branches without such protection was seen as countering these efforts and indeed undermining the entire global financial system. In Whitehall, many feared that the Icelandic crisis was spreading to the UK, which also had approached the brink of widespread banking collapse. As a result, Iceland was being turned into an international villain. Iceland was trapped.

Though Iceland was still stubbornly hesitating, a joint economic programme was informally being negotiated that would include $2.1 billion from the IMF and a further $3 billion from the Central Banks of Denmark, Finland, Norway and Sweden in addition to a separate loan from Poland. Iceland’s resilience was however diminishing by the day. The pressure to accept responsibility for the Icesave deposits grew. According to some reports, Iceland was even threatened with being expelled from the European Economic Area (EEA), its economic lifeline to the outside world (Hálfdanardóttir, 2008). With dwindling foreign reserves and at risk of a serious shortage of, for example, medicine, food and other necessities from abroad, Iceland finally threw in the towel and applied to enter the IMF emergency program on 25 October.

IMF Blockade

Based on informal query the government expected that the IMF board would accept Iceland’s application on 3 November (Sveinsson, 2013). In the meantime, however, the British and Dutch governments, which previously had been pressuring Iceland to go to the IMF, were now lobbying behind the scenes against Iceland being allowed into the program unless first accepting responsibility for the Icesave accounts (Duncan, 2008). The NRC Handelsblad in the Netherlands reported that the blockage was being orchestrated by Dutch Finance Minister Wouter Bos and his British colleague Alistair Darling (Banning & Gerritsen, 2008). Later, the chief IMF representative in Iceland admitted to a block of not only the British and Dutch governments but also the Nordic states (Rozwadowski, 2013).

When Iceland would not concede, the IMF board postponed its decision and made clear that the plea would be blocked until accepting of liability for Icesave. During this time, a senior advisor in the IMF’s external relations department publicly acknowledged that the delay was directly due to unresolved disputes with the Netherlands and the UK (Transcript of Press Briefing by David Hawley, 2008). As Iceland was not a member of the EU and thus not subject to the European Court of Justice, and as the EFTA Court had no jurisdiction in the UK and the Netherlands, there seemed at the time to be no available legal body to rule on the dispute – apart from the previously mentioned initial arbitrary court that Finance Minister Mathiesen had felt forced to agree to on October 11 but the Icelandic government later abandoned on the ground that it was skewed in favour of the UK and the Netherlands through the EU’s involvement.

Iceland was thus caught in a tight spot. It needed money to prevent further deterioration of the already devastated economy but that meant agreeing to liabilities it did not want to accept. According to the Brussels Guidelines brokered by the French EU Presidency the government of Iceland agreed to cover the deposits of depositors in the Icesave accounts in accordance with EEA law. Iceland was to repay the Icesave debt over ten years, starting three years after signing, with 6.7 per cent interest on the loan. The agreement also entailed that the EU would continue to participate in finding arrangements that would allow Iceland to restore its financial system and economy. This was a precondition Iceland set for paying out according to the agreement. A stabilization package of financial assistance from the IMF was an explicit part of the agreement, which was to be discussed at the IMF Executive Board meeting on Wednesday 19 November (Agreed Guidelines, 2008).

Though these early agreements on the Icesave deposits were meant to end the quarrel, the dispute was only just starting. Ambiguity still remained. To keep up the pressure, and even to increase it, the Dutch Foreign Minister, Maxime Werhagen, threatened to veto Iceland’s EU bid in July 2009 (The Hague Threatens Iceland, 2009). The Icelandic government justified the agreements by claiming that it had had no choice. Either it bit the bullet and accepted responsibility or the country would remain frozen out, thus without access to vital imports such as medicine and food. The Icelandic government explained that no one supported us; not even our Nordic neighbours were willing to listen to Iceland’s legal arguments. Without agreement, Iceland would no longer have been considered a modern state, internationally recognized as equal to others, but would rather have been relegated to being an isolated outpost surviving on local agriculture and fisheries alone. The signing was, however, a serious blow to the country’s political identity, as the postcolonial national identity insisted on not giving in to foreign pressure. It thus caused great strain domestically (Bergmann, 2014b).

After Iceland’s concession to the British and the Dutch over Icesave, the general public took to the streets in even greater numbers than before, now not only protesting against our government’s mismanagement of the economy but also against apparent foreign oppression. Frustration grew as businesses closed and more and more people were laid off while inflation rose to 20 per cent. The protest was now spreading around the country.

Icesave II and III

The new left-wing government parachuted in on the canopy of the Pots-and-Pans revolution contested some of the premises of the Brussels Guidelines, which they claimed was unlawfully imposed by foreign forces. Under the leadership of Finance Minister Sigfússon, chairman of the Left Green Movement, the new government abandoned the multinational approach and instead sent their representatives to London and The Hague to renegotiate terms. This result, which in effect was merely a loan agreement with the foreign ministers of the Netherlands and the UK, where Iceland accepted to cover up to €4.5 billion, instantly became one of the most unpopular agreements in the history of the country. Only after it’s signing however was the freezing order on Landsbanki and related Icelandic assets lifted.

Similar delaying tactics within the IMF on reviews, as when entering the program initially, was furthermore confirmed in a report by the Independent Evaluation Office of the IMF into its response to the financial crisis. The report spoke of ‘the active involvement of (at least some) Nordic countries served to delay the first review by several months because […] pressure […] by their European partners not to provide financing assurances in an attempt to influence the outcome of the ongoing discussion on the extent of deposit guarantees for Icesave.’ (Independent Evaluation Office of the International Monetary Fund, 2014)

Parliament reluctantly accepted the agreement, but only after adding to it new preconditions, referring to Iceland’s ability to pay. These the UK and the Dutch refused. A new negotiation committee was thus formed, which was able to lower the interest rate a little further. After a fierce debate, the amended agreement was accepted in Parliament on the last day of December 2009. The new government was now also accused of caving in to foreign pressure and surrendering Icelandic interests to external forces.

The saga took a dramatic turn on 5 January 2010, when the President of Iceland, Ólafur Ragnar Grímsson, denied signing the law necessary to ratify the new agreement after receiving a petition of 60,000 Icelanders asking him to reject the deal. (He had signed the revoked earlier one). This was an exceptional move.

In early 2010, Icelanders once again found themselves in unknown waters. A quarter of the electorate had signed a petition to be put to the President asking him to decline signing the bill, which was thus as a result of the non-signing subsequently put referendum were 90 per cent of voters refused ratifying it. The country was in a mood of defiance. Many felt betrayed by the UK government when it had invoked the Anti-terrorist Act – an action that ultimately drove our last bank into the ground. Icelanders therefore found the idea that they should foot the whole bill alone difficult to swallow. There was also a legal twist. Directive 94/19/EC upon which the British and Dutch had based their claim was rather unclear. It stipulated only that states are obliged to set up special deposit guarantee schemes. It did not speak of a state guarantee. Many Icelanders were thus frustrated by the fact that the British and the Dutch had refused the request for an impartial court to rule on the issue.

The general perception in Iceland was thus that the government had again been bullied by an overwhelming foreign power into signing an unjust agreement. It is generally accepted that the government and Parliament only accepted the initial deals to achieve other ends, rather than because they felt under obligation to pay. It was simply a necessary evil to gain access to the IMF. And then there was the cost. €4.5 billon might have seemed a small figure by UK standards but this was almost half Iceland’s GDP. Divided by Iceland’s small population, the bill amounted to more than €12,000 per head, or just under €50,000 per household. If Landsbanki’s assets deteriorated any further, this would place a devastating burden on an already debt-ridden population.

In addition to the wide-ranging general feeling of frustration, the appearance of leniency towards the British and Dutch spurred a new wave of protest in mid-2010, which heightened when Parliament resumed in the early autumn, to find thousands of protesters surrounding the building, once again.

After twice going back on signed agreements (in addition to abandoning the two initial deals), the government found it difficult to go knocking on doors in London and The Hague asking to renegotiate the deal once again. Headed by a hired American negotiator, the new team was nevertheless in the end able to bring the interest rate down to 3 per cent. This time, a large majority emerged in Parliament when the IP joined ranks with the government in backing the new deal. The Progressive Party (PP) though still opposed any agreement. Yet, to the surprise of most, President Grímsson also refused the third agreement. In a second referendum, on 9 April 2011, the new agreement was refused by a two-thirds majority, illustrating a clear division between Parliament and the public. Now, there was no longer anything to negotiate. The case was sent to the EFTA Court, where the EU was backing the claim of the UK and the Netherlands and the EFTA Surveillance Authority against Iceland. Finally, on 28 January 2013, the court ruled in favour of Iceland, which was vindicated of wrongdoing in its handling of the Icesave deposits (Judgment of the Court, 2013). The court refused the EU’s and the UK and the Dutch governments’ claims of a state guarantee, such as Iceland had been forced to accept in the earlier Icesave agreements. Later UK and the Netherlands filed a much more limited claim before court in Reykjavik, still pending judgment at time of writing.

Conclusion

Internationally the Icesave dispute reveals interesting contestation and political production (and re-production) of constitution of international legality. Development of international legality, as understood by Rajcovic et al (2016), has in this paper been traced throughout the course of this particular crisis. Domestically the issue was dictating politics in the post-crisis period in Iceland. To the surprise of many Icelanders, after the Crash had left Iceland in financial ruin, the Dutch and the British still enjoyed the full backing in the Icesave debacle of our neighbours in the European community. The UK and Dutch authorities were able to use both the EU and the IMF to pressure Iceland into accepting responsibilities that Iceland’s authorities never believed were theirs to shoulder.

 From interviews with UK officials conducted for this paper is seems clear that the UK side believed that a high level political deal was in place with the Icelandic government of fast tracking Icesave into the UK banking space and that the deal included insurance premium injection from Iceland of 200 million pounds. Interestingly, though, Icelandic officials claim not to have any knowledge of such a deal. It is furthermore evident that the UK government lost faith in Icelandic authorities during the weekend of 3d to 5th October 2008, finally kicking into action plan B of attacking Iceland by use of the Anti-terrorist Act, which had for a while been in the making in Westminster. When doing so it served the UK government well to take a tough stand on Iceland, while simultaneously bailing out banks domestically – being tough on Iceland became a balancing act, serving the purpose of sending tough message to others when announcing the massive bank bailout.

The Icesave case illustrates that in time of crisis international muscle power still prevails. In time of need small states have difficulties when defending off larger states sharp attacks. In a European context, being formally a non-EU member made it easier for the UK and the Netherlands to deploy the EU apparatus to pressure Iceland than they would against a fellow member state. The illusion of a shelter amongst the family of Nordic states was furthermore also shattered during Iceland’s Crash, which was therefore not only economic but also political and indeed psychological. Iceland had been frozen out in terms of diplomatic relations. Suffering the deepest crisis in its post-war history, the country was already drained of foreign currency when the IMF finally opened its doors in November 2008, after Iceland had, under coercion, finally agreed to guarantee the Icesave deposits. By use of delaying tactics of reviews within the IMF the UK was, with the help of some of the Nordics, able to maintain the pressure on Iceland. However, after the immediate crisis was over, it was through the EFTA Court, a European institution, that Iceland, as a small state, was finally able to escape the pressure applied by the British and Dutch governments.

 

 

 

References

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Árnason, S. (2007, 02). Lætur aldrei efast um fjármögnun bankans. Fréttablaðið. Reykjavik.

Balakrishnan, A. (2008, 10). UK to sue Iceland over any lost bank savings. The Guardian. London. Retrieved from http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2008/oct/08/iceland.banking

Banning, C., & Gerritsen, J. (2008, 11). Dutch and British block IMF loan to Iceland. NRC Handelsblad.

Benediktsdottir, S., Danielsson, J., & Zoega, G. (2011). Lessons from a Collapse of a Financial System. Economic Policy, 26(66), 183–235.

Bergmann, E. (2014). Iceland and the International Financial Crisis: Boom, Bust & Recovery. London and New York: Palgrave Macmillan.

Blöndal, L., & Stefánsson, S. M. (2008, 10). Ábyrgð ríkisins á innlánum. Morgunblaðið. Reykjavik.

Brown Blasts Iceland Over Banks. (2008, 10). Sky News. Retrieved from http://news.sky.com/story/640086/brown-blasts-iceland-over-banks

Brown condems Iceland over banks. (2008, 10).

Buiter, W. (2008, June 2). There is no excuse for Britain not to join euro. Financial Times. Retrieved from http://www.ft.com/intl/cms/s/0/fa2a465a-30bc-11dd-bc93-000077b07658.html#axzz2UrjoJeFr

Darling, A. (2008, 10). Extra help for Icesave customers. BBC Online. London. Retrieved from http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/business/7658417.stm

Duncan, G. (2008, 10). IMF bailout of Iceland is delayed until fate of UK savers’ frozen cash is resolved. The Times. London. Retrieved from http://www.thetimes.co.uk/tto/business/economics/article2148643.ece

Haarde, G. (2008, 10). Ávarp forsætisráðherra vegna sérstakra aðstæðna á fjármálamarkaði. Ávarp forsætisráðherra. Reykjavik: Sjónvarpið.

Hálfdanardóttir, G. (2008, 11). ESB hefði jafnvel sagt upp EES-samningnum við Ísland. Mbl.is. Reykjavik.

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Hreinsson, P., Gunnarsson, T., & Benediktsdóttir, S. (2010). Report of the Special Investigation Commission 2008. Rannsóknarnefnd Alþingis. Retrieved from http://www.rna.is/eldri-nefndir/addragandi-og-orsakir-falls-islensku-bankanna-2008/skyrsla-nefndarinnar/english/

Hussain, A. (2006, 10). Icesave looks like a hot deal. The Sunday Times. London. Retrieved from http://www.thesundaytimes.co.uk/sto/business/money/savings/article158555.ece

Ibson, D. (2008, 08). Icelandic banks’ results calm fears. The Financial Times. London. Retrieved from http://www.ft.com/intl/cms/s/0/f908fae6-6172-11dd-af94-000077b07658.html#axzz2NtoDOIX0

Is Iceland headed for meltdown? (2008, May 2). The Daily Telegraph. London.

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Lyall, S. (2008, 11). Iceland, Mired in Debt, Blames Britain for Woes. The New York Times. Retrieved from http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/02/world/europe/02iceland.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0

Mathiensen, Á., & Jósepsson, Þ. (2010). Frá bankahruni til byltingar. Reykjavik: Veröld.

Murphy, P. (2008, 10). Who will stand up for Iceland? We will. The Financial Times. London. Retrieved from http://ftalphaville.ft.com/2008/10/10/16900/who-will-stand-up-for-iceland-we-will/?Authorised=false

Pilkington, E. (2008, 11). Gordon Brown heralds progress at G20 financial crisis talks. The Guardian. London. Retrieved from http://www.guardian.co.uk/business/2008/nov/15/economics-globaleconomy1

Rajkovic, N., Aalberts, T., Gammeltoft-Hansen, T. (2016). The power of legality: Practices of international law and their politics. Department of  European and International Public Law. Cambridge University Press.

Rozwadowski, F. (2013, 01). Jákvæð áhrif á lánshæfismatið. Fréttablaðið. Reykjavik.

Samtal Árna og Darlings. (2008, 10). Morgunblaðið. Reykjavik. Retrieved from http://www.mbl.is/frettir/innlent/2008/10/23/samtal_arna_og_darlings/

Sveinsson, S. G. (2013). Búsáhaldabyltingin. Reykjavik: Almenna bókafélagið.

The Landsbanki Freezing Order 2008, Pub. L. No. 2008 No. 2668 (2008). Retrieved from http://www.legislation.gov.uk/uksi/2008/2668/contents/made

Thorvaldsson, A. (2009). Frozen Assets: How I Lived Iceland’s Boom and Bust. London: Wiley.

Wade, R. H., & Sigurgeirsdottir, S. (2010). Lessons from Iceland. New Left Review, 65, 5–29.

 

 

* Acknowledgements: This research was conducted by examining generally available data and through semi-structured off-the-record background interviews with several officials in the UK and Iceland. The interviews are referenced where appropriate in the text but due to anonymity they are not individually listed in the bibliography. The research was financially suported by the Social Science Instute of the University of Iceland, through a project analysing foreing impact on the Icelandic banking collapse. Parts of the paper are furthermore based on my book Iceland and the International Fiancial Crisis: Boom, Bust and Recovery (2014). Basingstoke and New York: Palgrave Macmillan.

Endnotes

[1] Authors interview with Mathiesen in Desember 2013.

[2] I was allowed only reading the unpublished report in Reykjavik on October 21st 2014

Little Fish, Big Pond: Icelandic Interests and Influence in Arctic Governance

Introduction

On pretty much any measure of international comparison, Iceland is a little fish. Nevertheless, its geographical location next to the Big Pond that is the Arctic Ocean has put in a position of influence in a region of growing international importance.

In this paper, I will explore Iceland’s influence in the Arctic region based on international relations considerations such as its political alliances; and based on international law: Iceland’s rights and responsibilities.

The paper presents the Arctic Council and Iceland’s role within it before turning to issues that are governed outside of the Arctic Council system, in particular, Arctic fisheries and maritime boundaries. The paper explains Iceland’s approach to Arctic cooperation in light of its published policy documents and explore the tools available to Iceland to defend its interests.

Iceland as a ‘Small State’

Small States seek shelter: usually on a regional basis.[1] They make alliances to advance their objectives and protect themselves from the lions. On hard security issues, Iceland finds this in the folds of NATO. The Arctic Council does not address hard security issues at all – and despite some heated press coverage, Russia is not posing a military threat in the Arctic, to Iceland or anyone else. But Iceland also needs economic and environmental security which it has fostered through Nordic cooperation, EFTA, the EEA and, of increasing importance, the Arctic Council.

International relations provides a number of objective criteria on which to measure a State as ‘small’: population, territory, GDP and military.[2] States may be small by one measure but not by another – for example, having a very large territory but a tiny military; or having a small population but a high GDP.

In a global context, Iceland is very small. Its surface area amounts to less than 0.07% of the Earth’s land; its population less than 0.005% of the World’s; its GDP is under 0.02%. And Iceland has no military as such.

But States are also big or small in a given geopolitical context: the Kingdom of Denmark is a small State in global affairs but not in the Nordic Council. Being ‘small’ or even ‘very small’ is a relative matter rather than an absolute. Therefore although Iceland is a very small State at the international level, within the Arctic Council system, it exerts an influence that belies its small territory, population and economy.

Iceland’s Relative Size in the Arctic Council

‘The Arctic’ has a number of different definitions for different purposes, even within the Arctic Council system itself. For example, the area covered by the sustainable development working group is based on human interests; the protection of the marine environment working group is only concerned with the seas; conservation of arctic flora and fauna is determined by ecosystems. In all cases, Iceland is included in its entirety even if almost all of it sits below the Arctic Circle. By contrast, for the purposes of the Polar Code, agreed through the global International Maritime Organisation (IMO), Iceland is entirely to the South of the protected area: this is based on considerations of the marine conditions – temperature and ice-cover especially.

The Arctic Council consists of the eight States with territory that stretches above the Arctic Circle: Canada, the Kingdom of Denmark, Finland, Iceland, Norway, Russia, Sweden and the United States of America. In addition, there are six permanent participants: these are organisations of indigenous peoples from around the Arctic. Each is transnational in character. Five permanent participants represent peoples that inhabit more than one State: the Aleut International Association, the Arctic Athabaskan Council, Gwich’in Council International, Inuit Circumpolar Council and Saami Council.  The sixth is the Russian Association of Indigenous Peoples of the North and represents over 40 small-numbered indigenous peoples in Northern Russia.

When thinking about small State theory, how ‘small’ is Iceland in the Arctic Council?

Iceland is still very small when territory is considered: it is dwarfed by the Russian and Canadian Arctics. However, when looking at population, Iceland is not far from the average with a population of approximately 330,000 (see Figure 1).

Arctic populations
Figure 1: Arctic populations

However, these figures are based on assuming that the whole of Iceland is ‘Arctic’. This is indeed the position of the Icelandic government and important to securing its legitimate participation in Arctic governance. Foreign Minister Össur Skaphérðinsson stated in his introduction to the Icelandic Arctic Policy statement in 2009 that: “Iceland is the only state that is wholly within the Arctic area, as it is generally understand international affairs or at the Arctic Council.”[3]

The current draft policy, Iceland’s Interests in the Arctic, goes even further and suggests that Iceland is somehow more Arctic than its neighbours – in which the vast majority of the population and the territory (but for the Kingdom of Denmark) lies well south of the 66th parallel.

 

Iceland is unique when we compare it to other nations that are geographically part of the Arctic. Most other countries, aside from Greenland, are predominantly South of the Arctic according to these definitions and their populations live mostly outside of the Arctic.[4]

If we then stop to consider the observers at the Arctic Council, the Iceland once more disappears – over half the World’s population is now represented in some form at the Arctic Council.

Further, it is not just the observer States and intergovernmental fora that make Iceland look little: WWF, observer at the Arctic Council, has a membership in excess of 5 million people. These are not just people who happen by birth to be affiliated to a particular State; these are people who care enough about WWF’s priorities, including its Global Arctic campaign, to pay an annual subscription.

The History of the Arctic Council

So how can Iceland exert its influence at the Arctic Council? And why was it in favour of the great expansion of observers in 2013? To understand this, we need to explore the Arctic Council’s origins and the way it functions today.

In the 1970s and 1980s, the only international interest in the Arctic was how long it would take to fire an intercontinental missile across it. A diligent doctoral student in the 1980s (now a very well-known professor of law of the sea) was told by his supervisor that he was wasting his time writing about the Northern Sea Route!

Iceland invited Gorbachev and Reagan to meet for disarmament talks in Reykjavík in 1986 and although no agreements as such were agreed, it was sufficient – no pun intended – to break the ice.

It was Gorbachev who then came along with the olive branch: the speech at Murmansk in 1987 in which he identified six areas that he saw as ripe for cooperation:

  • A nuclear weapons-free zone in Northern Europe;
  • Reductions and restrictions on naval activity in Northern Europe;
  • Cooperative development of hydrocarbon resources in the Arctic;
  • Scientific cooperation;
  • “Cooperation of the northern countries in environmental protection”; and developing “jointly an integrated comprehensive plan for protecting the natural environment of the North”; and
  • Opening of the Northern Sea Route to international vessels.[5]

Finland seized on this overture and initiated the Rovaniemi Process which in turn led to the Arctic Environmental Protection Strategy (AEPS) in 1991.[6] Pointedly, this initiative was established at a meeting of 8 ministers for the environment, not foreign ministers. The four original working groups, later joined by Sustainable Development and, under the Arctic Council, Arctic Contaminants Action Program (ACAP), are all environmentally oriented.

The transition to the Arctic Council in 1996 was effected through the Ottawa Declaration.[7] This change indicated a much broader range of interests: this was no longer solely a forum for managing shared environmental threats and clean-up activities – it was now, in theory at least, able to address any shared concerns with the explicit exception of military security. According to the Ottawa Declaration, the Arctic Council is established to “provide a means for promoting cooperation, coordination and interaction among the Arctic States, with the involvement of Arctic indigenous communities and other Arctic inhabitants on common Arctic issues, in particular issues of sustainable development and environmental protection in the Arctic.”[8]

But in 1996, the Arctic Council was still a fairly marginal institution and outside concern with the Arctic did not extend much beyond preservation of polar bears. Even in Iceland, there was little awareness of the Arctic as a geopolitical region as such or Iceland’s place within it. Iceland looked South to Europe and West to North American for trade but it did not really look North.

Between 1996 and 2000, the number of permanent participants rose from two to six and in the early 2000s, there was a slow but gradual increase in the number of observers. Iceland took the rotating chairmanship from 2002-2004; this also happened to be the time when international interest in the Arctic took off. By around 2005, the Arctic was gathering more and more attention in international relations, international law, development, economics and environmental scholarship and activism. The battle lines were being drawn between those that wanted it closed off as an international natural park; and those that wanted to exploit its apparently abundant resources (forgetting, perhaps, that Russia had been exploiting Arctic resources since at least the times of Stalin).

From about 2010 onwards, five rising Asian States, Italy and the European Union were seeking a formal place at the Arctic table: observership at the Arctic Council. This was awarded for the six States in 2013 and effectively for the EU at the same time but followed three years of intense lobbying efforts and heated discussions.[9]

 

The Operation of the Arctic Council and Iceland’s Influence within it

How can Iceland, then, maintain its influence in the shadow of these giants? To understand this, we need to examine how the Arctic Council operates.

The Arctic States are the members of the Arctic Council and the associations of indigenous peoples are permanent participants. This is a unique format for an international body. The Arctic States and permanent participants sit together at Arctic Circle meetings and have equal rights to contribute to the agenda and debate.[10] Decisions are made by consensus between the member States and in practice, usually the consensus of the permanent participants as well.[11]

The Arctic Council operates at a number of levels (see Figure 2). At the top is the biennial ministerial meeting, the location of which coincides with the chairmanship (which changes every two years on a rotating basis). The Senior Arctic Officials (SAOs) are the member States’ ambassadors who meet alongside the permanent participants and observers twice yearly. A number of subsidiary bodies exist, principally the six working groups which are essentially scientific bodies that can present findings to the SAOs and ministerial meeting but whose policy recommendations must be endorsed by the Arctic States. The working groups are standing bodies but there are also time–limited Task Forces which address specific issues and now the Expert Group on Black Carbon.

The Arctic Council
Figure 2: The Arctic Council

Observers at the Arctic Council[12] have much less influence than the members or permanent participants; in short, their role is to ‘observe’ and not to talk. To become and remain an observer, an entity must: bow to Arctic States’ sovereignty; recognize and commit to uphold international law, in particular, the law of the sea in the Arctic; respect the rights of indigenous peoples; demonstrate commitment, including financial commitment, to the work of the permanent participants; and show its capacity to contribute to Arctic interests, including scientific research.[13]

Observers’ have limited rights at Arctic Council meetings and are expected to contribute principally through the working groups.[14] Unlike the member States and the permanent participants, observers may not propose items for the agenda or raise points during Arctic Council meetings (ministerial or SAO meetings) although they are permitted to submit written statements.[15] Even at the subsidiary bodies, the observers are sat apart at the ‘children’s table’, behind the main table and they may speak only after the States and permanent participants have had their say and even then at the discretion of the chair.[16] Observers are also reviewed every four years but can be excluded at any time as their observer status only lasts as long as consensus exists amongst the ministers. In other words, it would require only one member State to exclude an observer.[17] This means that observers cannot exert the influence they have in other international fora within the Arctic Council. To maintain their observerships, they must placate all the Arctic States and most of the permanent participants, most of the time. Iceland might be little but in the Arctic Council it wields a great deal more influence than China.

The Arctic Council punches well above its weight for what is structurally no more than a roundtable for discussion with no law-making powers or compliance mechanisms. Nevertheless, there are two very significant limitations on what it can do. The first is financial: it has no regular funding and seeks contributions on an issue-by-issue basis.[18] This requires States – including observer States – being willing to front cash. Secondly, the consensus model means that it requires only one State to object to anything to take it off the table – whether that be the wording in a recommendation or the initiation of a project in the first place. Iceland can veto anything.

The Arctic Council has also successfully insulated itself from international tensions and disputes that have dampened East-West relations over the past few years such as the crises in the Crimea and Syria. While Iceland ties itself in knots internally over the Russian sanction regime, this is entirely curtained off at the Arctic Council meetings. When tensions have occasionally arisen between Canada and Russia, Iceland can sit back and enjoy the show; it is not forced to take a position. Also, Iceland, having no indigenous peoples of its own, can play the honest broker and be a neutral mediator between the permanent participants and States.

Alliances in the Arctic Council are fluid; there is no obvious ‘Nordic block’ as often occurs at the United Nations and Iceland will defend its own interests on an issue by issue basis. The consensus approach – or the ‘veto’ approach if you prefer – means that fixed alliances are not necessary; no State can be forced into a position that it finds unacceptable.

Beyond the Arctic Council

From Iceland’s perspective, as a very small State, the Arctic Council is a very attractive forum in which to advance its interests. Its official policy, to prioritise the Arctic Council as the key forum, mirrors that of Sweden and Finland, because it is here that the States have the most meaningful influence.[19] A very small State has limited bargaining power in bilateral negotiations with much larger countries; but it also has minimal influence in global fora in which it is outweighed – and outspent – by major powers. Even worse is a forum in which Iceland is not represented at all.

The same consensus-based system that allows Iceland to protect its interests in the Arctic Council allows the other seven States to do the same – and allows them each to keep certain things of the agenda to be dealt with elsewhere. The so-called ‘Arctic Five’ have squeezed out Iceland over two issues: Arctic High Seas fisheries; and the delimitation of the outer continental shelf.

The Arctic Five

Iceland has a small Arctic coastline but it is does not itself border the Arctic Ocean per se. Its exclusive economic zone (EEZ) is met by the Norwegian and Greenlandic EEZ’s in the North. Therefore although Iceland is an ‘Arctic Coastal State’ is it is not an ‘Arctic Ocean littoral State’ – i.e. it does not have a coastline or EEZ that borders the Arctic Ocean.

The Arctic Five – Canada, Denmark, Norway, Russia and the USA – meet occasionally outside of the Arctic Council framework, pushing to one side not only the other three Nordic State partners but the permanent participants as well. The basic justification for this is that the Arctic Ocean is a ‘semi-enclosed sea’ – a debatable claim geographically but one that gives those five States a special responsibility under the Convention on the Law of the Sea to manage the area.[20]

This group met in Oslo in 2007, Ilulissat, Greenland in 2008 and Chelsea, Québec in 2010 to discuss the legal framework for the Arctic Ocean. The Ilulissat meeting culminated in a declaration which was a broad reaffirmation of State sovereignty in the Arctic, an endorsement of the law of the sea as the governing framework for the Arctic Ocean and a message to non-Arctic States that a treaty based on the Antarctic model of environmental protection and internationalization would not be accepted in the North.[21]

Iceland registered its objections and emphasized the importance of the Arctic Council as the principal forum; but the Arctic Council cannot have a monopoly on any topic and nothing can prevent States from meeting and negotiating outside of the Arctic Council system.

The Outer Continental Shelf in the Arctic

The sexy issue in the Arctic today is the grand carve-up of the outer continental shelf. Iceland does not have a stake in this game because it does not have an Arctic coastline. In any case, while it might resemble a colonial land-grab with dramatic flag-planting and grand declarations of sovereignty, the system to resolve and allocate rights over the ocean floor is long settled.[22] It is admittedly slow and laborious but in short: Canada, Russia and Denmark or Greenland will sooner or later sit down and resolve their overlapping map submissions through bilateral negotiations. There is no hurry to do this as all the resources of any near-term commercial interest are far from the contested zones.

In respect of Iceland’s continental shelf, the Dragon Area to the North by Jan Mayen is long settled as a joint development zone with Norway. Iceland has three potential areas of outer continental shelf that are being mapped and of these, the Rockall area to the South is contested as four States (the Kingdom of Denmark (Faroe Islands), Iceland, Ireland and the United Kingdom) jostle for exclusive rights; but this is not an Arctic issue (see Figure 3).[23]

Iceland's maritime zones - The thick black line circling Iceland indicates the boundary of Iceland’s EEZ. The red line to the South indicate Iceland’s maximum potential outer continental shelf around Rockall; the purple, green and yellow lines indicate the submissions of the Kingdom of Denmark (Faroe Islands), the United Kingdom and Ireland respectively.
Figure 3: Iceland’s maritime zones – The thick black line circling Iceland indicates the boundary of Iceland’s EEZ. The red line to the South indicate Iceland’s maximum potential outer continental shelf around Rockall; the purple, green and yellow lines indicate the submissions of the Kingdom of Denmark (Faroe Islands), the United Kingdom and Ireland respectively.

Arctic Fisheries

Fisheries are more interesting but not an immediate concern. Iceland has exclusive rights over fish stocks within its EEZ but it has to manage shared and straggling stocks and highly migratory species in cooperation with neighbouring States (see Figure 3).[24] For the most part, this goes reasonably well though there is an ongoing sore point over the mackerel which has been gradually shifting Northward and Westward and competing with the cod stocks.

There are very good reasons to keep this out of the Arctic Council framework. The European Union is a key player in this dispute and the last thing any of the Arctic States want to do is give the European Union equal standing at the Arctic Council.

More speculative is the future governance of fisheries in the Arctic High Seas (see Figure 4). [25]

The EEZs and High Seas in the Arctic Ocean
The EEZs and High Seas in the Arctic Ocean

Currently, there are no fishing in the Central Arctic Ocean (the High Seas marked dark blue in Figure 4) as it is too far, and mostly ice-covered, to offer commercially exciting fisheries. Existing fisheries are all safely within the 200 nautical mile EEZ of the coasts. They are managed by the Coastal States and various regional fisheries management organisations (RFMOs). The North East Atlantic Fisheries Commission (NEAFC) NEAFC covers a small corner of the High Seas, but otherwise, the Central Arctic Ocean is an international commons.

The Arctic Five have taken the lead – again under protest from Iceland. High Seas are beyond the jurisdiction of any State and under the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea and the Fish Stocks Agreement, to prevent a ‘free-for-all’ and a tragedy of the commons, States with a ‘real interest’ should work together.[26] The difficulty in the Central Arctic Ocean is that there are currently no fisheries and hence it is very difficult to determine who has a ‘real interest’ in the legal sense.

Where the High Seas are concerned, Iceland’s position is that it has just as much interest in the area as the five littoral States; the Arctic Five disagree and began negotiations amongst themselves. This concluded with a moratorium in July 2015 – a temporary ban on Arctic High Seas fishing until such time as scientific studies had evaluated the available stocks and their resiliency.[27]

A moratorium agreed with the Arctic Five cannot bind other States which is why they invited five other entities to a discussion in Washington DC in December 2015 about future governance of living marine resources in the Central Arctic Ocean. The five littoral States attended, alongside five invited participants: The European Union, China, Japan, South Korea and Iceland: the ‘A5+5’.

Russia had expressed scepticism as to the need to include any other States at this point but nonetheless attended the December talks.[28] This indicates the Arctic Five’s recognition that these are all entities with a ‘real interest’ as they are those most likely to have the potential for fisheries in the Central Arctic Ocean. It is also indicative of a view amongst the Arctic Five that no other State or entity has a ‘real interest’ – at least at this time.

Being left on the second tier alongside distant Asian States might be humbling for Iceland but an ‘Arctic Six’ is simply not going to happen. Iceland does have legal interests in the Central Arctic Ocean: but in law, these are no different to those of the EU or China. This is not an urgent matter as there is no immediate economic potential but Iceland nonetheless can be expected to protest any exclusion and to defend the role of the Arctic Council to prevent precedents being set for Arctic governance without its involvement.

 

Arctic Shipping

The last hot topic in the Arctic that is outside of the Arctic Council system is shipping. Freedom of navigation is a fundamental principle of law of the sea that applies right up to States’ baselines. It is a global right that is managed at global fora, in particular, the International Maritime Organization that developed the Polar Code. Iceland has no special legal or commercial interests in the Arctic shipping. .[29] Iceland’s EEZ has no ice-covered waters so it has no extended authority to protect its marine environment beyond that which applies generally under the Convention on the Law of the Sea.[30] But that will not prevent it examining commercial opportunities should commercial shipping develop.

Iceland’s Arctic Policy

The priorities I have identified are reflected in the development of Iceland’s Arctic policies. Increasing governmental attention to the Arctic can be traced at least to the Icelandic chairmanship of the Arctic Council but this section will look only at the official policy formulations from 2009 onwards.

Former Minister of Foreign Affairs, Össur Skarphéðinsson set the ball rolling in 2009 with the report, Iceland in the Arctic.[31] He followed this up by making the Arctic a key theme of his 2010 report to the Alþingi and then sent them a draft to develop into a formal policy (stefna) which the Parliament then took up and agreed with few changes in 2011.[32]

In May 2015, the new government issued a draft for consultation: Iceland’s Interests in the Arctic: Opportunities and Risks, though this has yet to be finalized and the projected date has been repeatedly put back.[33] The current Minister of Foreign Affairs, Gunnar Bragi Sveinsson, put the Arctic once more at centre stage in his 2016 annual report to Parliament.[34]

In all of these, we see an emphasis on multilateral approaches, the importance of the Arctic Council and the assertion of Iceland as an ‘Arctic coastal State’ that is a challenge to the legitimacy of the Arctic Five.

In Skarphéðinsson’s extensive first report, Iceland in the Arctic, international cooperation is the first priority with particular attention on the Arctic Council. However, the Barents-Euro Arctic Council and the West-Nordic region are also mentioned as important fora. In his 2010 report to Parliament on international affairs, the first region to be addressed is the High North and of the ten Arctic priorities, the first is:

to secure Iceland’s position as a coastal state and a key stakeholder in shaping the future development of the High North. Iceland should be considered a full-fledged coastal state on a par with such countries as the USA, Denmark (for Greenland), Canada, Norway and Russia.[35]

 

This repeats an earlier rebuke to the Arctic Five for their exclusion of Iceland but it is also noteworthy that for all Iceland’s talk of the importance of the Arctic Council, it is not unduly concerned about the exclusion of Finland, Sweden or the indigenous representatives from the Arctic Five talks.[36]

Defence of the Arctic Council comes later (Arctic priority 4) but all the priorities point to Iceland’s need for multilateral Arctic governance and the importance of securing of Iceland’s role within it.[37]

Until such time as the current government agrees a new policy, the official Icelandic Arctic policy remains the 2011 Parliamentary Resolution.[38] It largely follows Össur’s 2010 report though one interesting change is that the Alþingi changed the order, placing the Arctic Council first. However, it also highlights Iceland’s special status as a ‘Coastal State within the Arctic Region’ in priority two.[39]

One surprising aspect of the draft of the latest Arctic policy is that it follows much of the previous approaches but makes very little direct reference, perhaps reflecting a desire of the governing coalition parties to present the Arctic as their project.[40] It was these two coalition parties who held the reins when the Arctic first hit the radar of Icelandic politics and who actively pursued increased cooperation and investment in Arctic relations and research. The draft highlights once more Iceland’s Arctic credentials, now suggesting that Iceland is somehow more Arctic than the other States (in which most of the land and population are far South of the Arctic).[41]

International cooperation is still the top priority, especially through Arctic Council.[42] However, other fora are mentioned and special relations with Greenland and the Faroe Islands are promoted.[43]

The opportunities (tækifæri) identified are very much business-focused: new fisheries, hydrocarbons and shipping; climate change is not presented as wholly negative.[44] This is reminiscent of Berit Kristoffersen’s concept of ‘opportunistic adaptation.’[45]

Indigenous peoples are overlooked in the report almost entirely; mentioned only once in the introduction, their rights and interests are ignored throughout, even in areas where proposed Icelandic activities can have serious impacts.

Most recently, in March 2016, the current Minister for Foreign Affairs, Gunnar Bragi Sveinsson, delivered his annual report to Parliament. The Arctic is once more the first region to be assessed. The 2011 Parliament resolution remains the key policy and there is no mention of development of the new strategy document (i.e. Iceland’s Interests in the Arctic).[46]

Sveinsson seeks an increase in Iceland’s contributions to the Arctic Council’s activities, especially at the level of working groups, task forces and expert groups and points to the need to begin preparations for the Icelandic chairmanship that begins in 2019.[47] The Arctic Council’s operations are explained in a fair degree of detail to Parliament (given the habitual nature of such reports) some detail (given the nature of such reports) in the following pages.[48]

West-Nordic cooperation is also given special attention, indicating an interest in promoting further cooperation with the Faroe Islands and Greenland.[49]  This is a region or sub-region that is not given a great deal of attention in international relations but has the potential to grow in importance. In this context, Iceland is the ‘big State’ and the only one of the three countries to have decolonised from the Kingdom of Denmark (so far). However, the West Nordic Council is significantly limited in its activities in the absence of considerable investment: not easy to come by in three very small and cash-strapped countries.

The Arctic High Seas fisheries issue is not addressed directly in the report and no reference is made to the A5+5 December 2015 meeting in Washington DC. (This may have been a matter of the timing of the drafting of the report or it may indicate that the current foreign ministry no longer wishes to continue to fight this battle.) Nevertheless, within the section on Arctic cooperation, Sveinsson obliquely refers to the dependence on marine resources of the Icelandic economy and the importance for Iceland of ‘actively participating in international cooperation concerning ocean affairs’.[50]

Making Sense of Iceland’s Priorities

The official Icelandic approach does not diverge widely from what might be expected from a very small fish beside a very big ocean. Multilateral cooperation is key and the Arctic Council is the preferred forum as it secures Iceland’s influence. Nevertheless, although Iceland objects to the Arctic Five, it would quite happily accept an Arctic Six – as long as it is in it.  Iceland objects to its own exclusion and does not necessarily take a particularly principled stand in defence of broader multilateral cooperation.

However, Iceland has been open to the expansion of observers at the Arctic Council; some of these courted Iceland generously during the application period. Iceland needs its international partners beyond Arctic States but if Iceland can channel them through the Arctic Council, it prevents them from overpowering it.

Iceland continues to assert its interest and demand involvement in fisheries management. Iceland must be practical here and take part in the A5+5 – even if it would prefer an A6+4. The shelf is not so pressing and will be resolved in time. Iceland sees some commercial opportunities in shipping –but this is a very long game and will be managed through the IMO.

The current government’s approach to the Arctic is rather more commercially oriented that its predecessor as it looks to climate change as an opportunity (as well as a risk factor) and seeks to profit from the resources that the receding ice ostensibly presents. Nevertheless, those resources remain very expensive to access and develop irrespective of the state of the ice.

[1] See, eg, Alyson Bailes, Baldur Þórhallsson, and Rachael Lorna Johnstone, “Scotland as an Independent Small State: Where Would It Seek Shelter?,” Stjórnmál og Stjórnsýsla 9, no. 1 (2013).

[2] Ibid, 3.

[3] Össur Skarphéðinsson, Ísland á norðurslóðum, Inngangur, 2009 (translation by present author).

[4] Ministerial Committee on Arctic Affairs, Hagsmunir Íslands á norðurslóðum: tækifæri og viðsjár (draft), March 2015.

[5] Mikhail Gorbachev, Speech at Murmansk, 1st Oct.1987, available at <https://www.google.is/search?q=murmansk+speech&rlz=1C1LENP_enIS499IS499&oq=murmansk+speech&aqs=chrome..69i57j0l3.1838j0j9&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8> (accessed 4 April 2016).

[6] Arctic Environmental Protection Strategy (AEPS), Declaration of the Ministerial Meeting in Alta, Norway, 13 June 1997, available at <http://library.arcticportal.org/1271/> (accessed 4 April 2016).

[7] Ottawa Declaration on the Establishment of the Arctic Council, 19 September 1996, available at < http://library.arcticportal.org/1270/> (accessed 4 April 2016).

[8] Ibid, para. 1a.

[9] Arctic Council, Kiruna Declaration, 15 May 2013, 6, available at <https://oaarchive.arctic-council.org/handle/11374/93> (accessed 4 April 2016).

[10] Arctic Council, Rules of Procedure, as adopted by the Arctic Council at the First Arctic Council Ministerial Meeting, Iqaluit, Canada, revised by the Arctic Council at the Eighth Arctic Council Ministerial Meeting, Kiruna, Sweden, available at <https://oaarchive.arctic-council.org/handle/11374/940> para 19 (accessed 4 April 2016).

[11] Douglas C Nord, The Arctic Council: Governance within the Far North (Routledge 2016) 38 & 70.

[12] United States of America, Department of State, ‘Arctic Council Structure’ <http://www.state.gov/e/oes/ocns/opa/arc/ac/structure/> (accessed 4 April 2016).

[13] Rules of Procedure, supra note 10, Annex 2.

[14] Ibid, Rule 38

[15] Ibid, Rules 12, 19 & 38.

[16] Arctic Council, Observer Manual for Subsidiary Bodies, as adopted by the Arctic Council at the Eighth Ministerial Meeting, Kiruna, Sweden, revised by the Arctic Council Meeting of the SAOs at Anchorage, Alaska, United States of America, October 2015, available at <https://oaarchive.arctic-council.org/handle/11374/939> para 7.3 (accessed 4 April 2016).

[17] Rules of Procedure, supra note 10, Rule 37 and Annex 2, Rule 5.

[18] See, e.g., Nord, supra note 11, 35 & 72-74.

[19] Parliament of Iceland, Þingsályktun um stefnu Íslands í málefnum norðurslóða (2011) 139th legislative session, 28 March 2011.

[20] United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea 1982, 10 December 1982, 1833 UNTS 397 (UNCLOS), Part IX.

[21] Ilulissat Declaration, Foreign Ministers of Canada, Denmark, Norway, Russia, and the United States of America, The Ilulissat Declaration, 29 May 2008, available at <http://www.arcticgovernance.org/the-ilulissat-declaration.4872424.html> (accessed 4 April 2016).

[22] UNCLOS, supra note 20, Part VI and Annex II.

[23] Icelandic Ministry of Foreign Affairs, ‘Viðræðum fram haldið um Hatton Rockall-málið’ 24 November 2004, available at <https://www.utanrikisraduneyti.is/frettir/nr/2472> (accessed 4 April 2016).

[24] UNCLOS, supra note 20, Part V.

[25] Ron Macnab, Olav Loken and Arvind Anand, ‘The Law of the Sea and Marine Scientific Research in the Arctic Ocean’ Meridian Newsletter (2007-2008) 3, Figure 2 <http://www.polarcom.gc.ca/uploads/Publications/Meridian%20Newsletter/MeridianFall2007.pdf> (accessed 6 April 2016).

[26] UNCLOS, supra note 20, Part V; United Nations Agreement for the Implementation of the Provisions of the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea of 10 December 1982 relating to the Conservation and Management of Straddling Fish Stocks and Highly Migratory Fish Stocks, 4 August 1995, 2167 UNTS 88, article 8(3).

[27] United States Library of Congress, Global Legal Monitor, ‘Canada; Denmark; Norway; Russia; United States: Fishing Declaration Covering Central Arctic’ 21 July 2015, available at <http://www.loc.gov/law/foreign-news/article/canada-denmark-norway-russia-united-states-fishing-declaration-covering-central-arctic/> (accessed 4 April 2016).

[28] United States Department of State, ‘Meeting on High Seas Fisheries in the Central Arctic Ocean: Chairman’s Statement’ 3 December 2015, available at <http://www.state.gov/e/oes/rls/pr/250352.htm> (accessed 4 April 2016).

[29] IMO, ‘Shipping in Polar Waters’ available at < http://www.imo.org/en/MediaCentre/HotTopics/polar/Pages/default.aspx> (accessed 4 April 2016).

[30] UNCLOS, supra note 20, article 234.

[31] Skarphéðinsson, supra note 3.

[32] Skýrsla Össurar Skarphéðinssonar utanríkisráðherra um utanríkis- og alþjóðamál, May 2010; Parliament of Iceland, supra note 19.

[33] Ministerial Committee on Arctic Affairs 2015, supra note 4.

[34] Skýrsla Gunnars Braga Sveinssonar utanríkisráðherra um utanríkis- og alþjóðamál, May 2016.

[35] Skarphépinsson 2010, supra note 32, 15-16.

[36] Ibid, 12

[37] Ibid, 16.

[38] Parliament of Iceland, supra note 19.

[39] Ibid, 1.

[40] Ministerial Committee on Arctic Affairs, supra note 4.

[41] See quotation above, supra note 4.

[42] Ministerial Committee on Arctic Affairs, supra note 4, 6-8.

[43] Ibid, 8.

[44] Ibid, Chapters 2 & 3.

[45] Berit Kristoffersen, ‘Opportunistic Adaptation: New Discourses on Oil, Equity, and Environmental Security’ in The Adaptive Challenge of Climate Change, Karen O’Brien and Elin Selboe (Eds) (Cambridge University Press 2015).

[46] Sveinsson 2016, supra note 34, Chapter 2.

[47] Ibid, 12.

[48] Ibid, 13-14.

[49] Ibid, 14.

[50] Ibid, 12.

Rachael Lorna Johnstone, Offshore Oil and Gas Development in the Arctic under International Law: Risk and Responsibility (Leiden: Brill, 2015)

The Arctic is estimated to hold the world’s largest remaining untapped gas reserves and some of its largest undeveloped oil reserves. Developing these resources in the harsh Arctic environment will be complex and challenging and can have far-reaching consequences. Consequently, the prevention of offshore marine pollution from oil and gas development activities is amongst the more important issues that need to be discussed in this context.

Continue reading Rachael Lorna Johnstone, Offshore Oil and Gas Development in the Arctic under International Law: Risk and Responsibility (Leiden: Brill, 2015)

Klaus Dodds & Mark Nuttall, The Scramble for the Poles: The geopolitics of the Arctic and the Antarctic (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2016)

When I begin the writing process, I try to start with a title. I figure that if I get that right, then the rest will fall into place. When I saw the title of this new book by Klaus Dodds and Mark Nuttall, The Scramble for the Poles, my attention fixed on the word ‘scramble’, and it immediately resonated with me that this might be yet another polemic on the actions of polar states to shore up favourable access to polar resources in the future. And then I discovered that the authors actually devote a whole page in the Preface to explaining and justifying their use of this (and similar) terms, which was quite simply because they are in use in the everyday lexicon of polar commentary (p.xiii). So yes, in some respects this is yet another polemic – but at the same time, different.

Continue reading Klaus Dodds & Mark Nuttall, The Scramble for the Poles: The geopolitics of the Arctic and the Antarctic (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2016)

Marlene Laruelle, Russia’s Arctic Strategies and the Future of the Far North (Armonk, NY: M.E. Sharpe, 2014).

 

 

Nevertheless, in scholarship on the Arctic, Russia is very often the weak link. The reasons for this are principally linguistic. While all other seven Arctic States routinely publish (or at least translate) major research initiatives, laws and policies in English, Russia does not. Nordic scholars can usually make their way around all the Scandinavian languages and Finland publishes all governmental regulations and documents in Swedish (an official language). Most Arctic scholars, the present reviewer included, are ashamedly at a loss in the face of the Russian language.

 

Marlene Laruelle has no such problem. Fortunately for the rest of the World‘s non-Russian speaking Arctic scholars, she has combined her linguistic skills with insightful, sensitive and clearly-expressed analysis in Russia‘s Arctic Strategies and the Future of the Far North. This book is long overdue and has no comparator.

 

The title already gives a clue to the subtlety of Laruelle‘s approach: the use of the plural “strategies” in lieu of the more common “strategy” indicates the complexity of Russian interests in the North and the competition between differing priorities at different times.

 

Russia’s Arctic Strategies and the Future of the Far North begins with a succinct introduction to the Arctic and its many players. Laruelle then devotes a chapter to each of the following topics: 1) Russia’s Arctic policy and its balance between domestic and international agenda; 2) The place of the Russian Arctic in Russian identity; 3) Demographics of the Russian Arctic; 4) the impacts of climate change; 5) Territorial disagreements and their resolution; 6) Military security; 7) Resource management; and 8) the Northern Sea Route. Laruelle concludes with a presentation of “four Russian Arctics”: the Murmansk-Arkhangel’sk Arctic (European transborder region); the Central Arctic (mineral and hydrocarbon rich); the Yakutia-Sakha Arctic; and the Bering Arctic (Chukotka and Kamchatka) (203-201).

 

In each of these chapters, Laruelle explains the historical development of the High North through Soviet times, the disastrous years for the people of the Russian Arctic following the collapse of the Soviet Union, and the renewal of interest in economic development in the 2000s. She is sensitive to the history and contemporary challenges facing the indigenous peoples of the Russian North and the difficult balance of power between indigenous communities and “Russian” leadership. In her examination of demographics, she describes Arctic Russia evocatively as “archipelagic”: there are population centres like islands surrounded by wilderness and almost entirely cut off from one another (48-51). Her historical account of the population shifts from Stalin, through Soviet times, and post-1990 is essential if a reader is to understand fully the challenges facing the contemporary North (51-60). Population blips over the 20th Century and collapse post-1990 (attributable not only to low birth rates but also high mortality rates) create intractable problems for Russian development; but Laruelle also notes that these are not uniform through a geographically enormous and ethnically diverse federal republic (54). The North, especially the Far-Eastern North, has been disproportionately affected by internal migration (Southwards): some regions of the Russian Arctic (e.g., Magadan and Chukotka) lost over half their populations, with entire settlements abandoned (57-58).

 

In the account of climate change, Laruelle explains Russian reluctance to commit to mitigation of climate change in light of the perceived advantages to Russia from increasing temperatures (68; 84-85). These advantages will not be equally shared and will be accompanied by many serious problems, not least the melting of the permafrost on which Arctic infrastructure is built, more extreme weather events, fires, invasion of alien species and the end of some ice-roads (77-80). Perhaps reflecting the American discourse by which she is surrounded, she grants a little too much credibility to the “climate change sceptics” and implies that there is a genuine dispute about the causes of climate change, when in fact, the climate science is quite clear about the anthropological contribution to global warming (69).

 

If there is a weakness in Laruelle’s analysis, it is one that is only likely to be evident to pedantic lawyers: sometimes the word choice is insufficiently precise, especially when dealing with law of the sea. For example, in her discussion of the Northern Sea Route, she talks of “international waters” (170) and the right of transit passage, but the technical term is “international strait”. This is important as “international waters” could also refer to the High Seas where there is complete freedom to sail, fish, and conduct research (in addition to “passage”).[1] She also suggests that some States might “bypass” the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea which seems remarkably unlikely given that it is accepted even by the United States (which is not a party) as defining customary international law in this area (198). Nevertheless, her general account and conclusions are convincing: the Northern Sea Route remains ultimately a Russian route for Russian vessels servicing Russian communities and resource developers. The melting of the ice does not necessarily make the route safer: ice is replaced by hazardous and unpredictable weather conditions (high winds and waves), there is still a major shortage in search and rescue and communication services; and harbour infrastructure (for repairs, safe haven in bad weather, etc.) is limited. Similarly, in analysing the respective rights to the outer continental shelf of Norway and Russia, she uses the term “claims” which international lawyers would avoid (99). (The shelf accedes automatically to the coast; it is not “claimed” like terra nullius.) More misleading is her use of “verdict”, “ruling” and “decision” with reference to the recommendations of the Commission of the Limits of the Continental Shelf (CLCS) (101-102). The CLCS is an advisory body composed of scientists. There are no lawyers on it. It is most pointedly not a judicial or quasi-judicial body and issues only “recommendations” and not “decisions”, “judgments”, “rulings” or “verdicts”. The CLCS will simply not consider a submission if any other State with a potentially overlapping area of shelf objects. The CLCS can advise on the outer limits of the CLCS; but it has no power to decide between competing States as to which a particular area of seabed pertains.

 

The book was published on the cusp of 2013-2014: just weeks before the dramatic events in Ukraine, Russian intervention and the consequences for Russian-European relations, Western investment (following the introduction of sanctions) and the manipulated collapse in the oil price which distorts the immediate prospects for offshore Arctic hydrocarbon development. The representatives at the Arctic Council have so far attempted to play down the impact of the Ukrainian situation but the speed at which Russian international relations have deteriorated is a warning that one should be relaxed, but not entirely complacent, regarding the peacefulness of the High North. Certainly, Professor Laruelle will not run out of research material over the next few years.

 

In conclusion, Russia‘s Arctic Strategies and the Future of the Far North is essential reading for all those working on Arctic international relations, law, politics and economies, as well as those interested in Russian governance more broadly. I expect to see it on graduate school reading lists around the World and recommend it without hesitation to all scholars interested in contemporary developments in the Arctic.

 

 



[1] See also, e.g., 198 (discussing two treaties that “have been ratified by the Arctic Council”).