As much as North Norway is in the global crosshairs, I have to admit that I feel a sense of reprieve from not being located within an institution under fire. And a sense of content from being able to say, for the first time in my life, that I skied to work.
The final draft of the book manuscript is finally off to the publisher. In the witching hours of Monday morning, Klaus Dodds, my co-author and political geographer extraordinaire at Royal Holloway, University of London, and I sent off our 100,000-word reflection on the worrying state of geopolitical and ecological affairs to Yale University Press (UK). It was only fitting that I emailed the final draft a couple hours after touching down in the Arctic. The 24 hours I had spent in transit from the West Coast to North Norway allowed me ample time to read over the draft once more while drinking lukewarm in-flight tea and eating Hindu meals.
With the manuscript out of our hands until we receive the proofs, I can finally dedicate a bit more time to this blog. Happily, I’ll be doing so from the self-professed capital of the Arctic, Tromsø, Norway, until the end of May. I’m here for a research visit at the Arctic University of Norway sponsored by the Fulbright Arctic Initiative. The U.S. Department of State partly funds the program, which is somehow miraculously carrying on despite the devastating federal cuts to polar science, climate change research, and global engagement.
While in Tromsø, I’m hoping to research the impacts of militarization on communities in the Arctic and am planning to visit the town of Vardø at some point in May. It’s Norway’s easternmost settlement — farther east than Istanbul, in fact — and has a radar station called GLOBUS jointly operated by the US Air Force Space Command and the Norwegian Intelligence Service.
Commuting by ski
Today, on my second day in the office, I skied to work. I wouldn’t have thought of doing that until my office neighbor mentioned the day before that she skis to and from campus every day. I had brought my cross-country and touring skis to Norway for recreational purposes (in a huge and heavy bag that elicited both encouraging words and astonished remarks in Heathrow, from one woman wishing me, “Good luck in the Olympics!” to a man glancing at me as I was sweating bullets in the elevator and then whispering to his wife, “I’d never do that”). Yet it hadn’t dawned on me to commute by ski.
It was raining steadily when I headed out the door this morning, but I pressed on. Skiing to work was a nice change from my usual biking to work in the rain in Seattle, and surprisingly drier. I suppose that’s because snow absorbs most of the precipitation unlike asphalt, and skis don’t kick up the water that does lie in the surface in the same way as bike tires do.
I zoomed by a gaggle of toddlers learning to ski. They peered up at me with astonishment as I towered over them — a verb which I don’t use often in Norway given the fact that most adults loom a head above me. Once I got to campus, nobody blinked an eye as I walked through the buildings with my skis in hand, even though I did so rather clumsily. I’ve never been able to cooly stride with them the way that people who skied out of the womb do (read: an intimidating percentage of Norwegians).
Skiing for me is a form of meditation. It doesn’t require as much exertion as running, so you can relax a bit more, though it does require concentrating on form and technique. To be able to basically peace out while skiing, however, is a privilege. As far back as the 13th century, as this blog on the History of Skiing and Snowsports recounts, soldiers waging war in northern Europe’s snowy theatres have used skis as a crucial means of transportation.
During the Winter War between the Soviet Union and Finland, for instance, both sides employed reindeer ski battalions, which delivered weapons, ammunition, food, and medicine to the front lines while carrying away the injured. Indigenous reindeer herders from Sámi in Finland to Nenets in the Soviet Union were often made to shoulder this burden with their beasts.
Now, with tensions ratcheting upwards in the Arctic, US soldiers are undertaking cold weather training in Norway to ensure they, too, can ski in battle. The Financial Times ran a story last week documenting a reconnaissance company training in the Norwegian Arctic with exercises such as a 15-day ski march. The Norwegians are key trainers for the Americans, who are out of practice in the north. Vice-Admiral Rune Andersen, chief of the Norwegian Joint Headquarters outside Bodø, expressed, “Events have to be level and predictable…We are going to have that border with Russia forever.” I suppose one’s skis have to be level and predictable, too.
The Arctic in the crosshairs
Given all the recent coverage by mainstream media outlets of the coming battle for the Arctic, from Trump’s greedy designs on Greenland to tensions between NATO and Russia, I was wondering how much things on the ground in North Norway would reflect this militarized narrative. But I realized as soon as I arrived that it would be hard to distinguish perception from reality because my own preconceptions color how I interpret the things I see.
For instance, while waiting at the baggage claim in Tromsø, I saw a glass case filled with drones above the baggage carousel. I immediately assumed this must be some sort of defense-related exhibit showing off the latest and greatest in Norwegian technology until I read the sign explaining that these were all seized drones, which had been used illegally over areas where flying them is prohibited. I guess for the airport, tourists seeking the most Instagrammable vantage are more of a pressing threat than Russian drone attacks. (It is worth mentioning, though, that Russian drones have been discovered spying on numerous facilities in Norway both on and offshore). And, for what it’s worth, Ukrainian drones have struck a Russian airfield at Olenya about 400 miles here on the other side of the Fennoscandian Peninsula).
When I arrived at the Arctic University of Norway, however, I did sense more of a community on high alert. The campus is hosting a couple of events this week alone on security. Today, there was a breakfast for political science students with someone from the Norwegian government on current security conditions in North Norway. On Thursday, there will be a forum on “Global connections of, and to, Arctic security.”
Security is most definitely on the radar in academia here. Of course, this shouldn’t come as a surprise given that a Russian intelligence officer posing as a Brazilian researcher was found to be embedded in one of the departments here not long ago. The IT department is also worried about employees’ computers being hacked, especially people working in international relations. Such malfeasance isn’t unimaginable: in 2020, the email accounts of several Norwegian members of Parliament were allegedly hacked by APT28, a Russian cyberhacking group believed to be associated with the Kremlin.
So, people certainly seem to be keeping their guard at the university in Tromsø. But at least one thing they don’t need to worry about is their own government suddenly cutting research funding, raiding campuses, or shutting down think tanks working on foreign affairs, as the Wilson Center in Washington, D.C. is viciously experiencing. Rumors have it today that the Ted Stevens Center for Arctic Security Studies Stevens Center, a U.S. Department of Defense Regional Center established in 2021 on Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson in Anchorage, Alaska, is about to face the chopping block, too.
As much as North Norway is in the global crosshairs, I feel a sense of reprieve from not being located within an institution under fire. And a sense of content from being able to say, for the first time in my life, that I skied to work.
High alert on campus at the Arctic University of Norway: The two large blue signs advertise a “Spy Lecture” and careers in the military.
