How Russia and China are seizing on Canada's carelessness in the Arctic

Telegraph

29-03-2025

At the end of the pier at the Nanisivik Naval Facility sit three unused jetties.
Ice smothers the remote base for most of the year, encasing its empty helipad, site office and diesel tanks – then melting away as the seasons pass.
When it was commissioned in 2007, Nanisivik was meant to signal Canada's commitment to protecting its Arctic territories.
But cost overruns and design changes have seen the opening pushed back from 2015, to 2018, to 2020, then 2024 – and, now, an unknown date in the future.
Today the silent base on Baffin Island serves as a reminder of Canada's unprotected borders, the product of decades of underinvestment in its military.
Predators scent blood. In the past year, Russia and China have edged their way further into the Arctic, attracted by the shiver of a weak flank in the Nato security alliance.
Here, temperatures are rising four times faster than in the rest of the world. As the ice cover shrinks, it reveals fresh gulfs and gullies from which to threaten North America. It is also gradually unveiling vast natural resources, including 90 billion barrels of oil.
Last summer, Russian and Chinese bombers carried out a joint flight into Alaska's air defence identification zone. Canadian fighter jets were scrambled again in January when Russian aircraft approached during a large-scale Arctic drill.
The pressure comes in more insidious forms, too. Chinese companies have sought to buy up mines in the Arctic north. Its spies stand accused of interfering in Canada's elections to block candidates critical of Beijing.
And Ottawa is frantically adapting to a new threat from its rear. The US, formerly Canada's lynchpin ally, has explicit designs on its sovereignty, with president Donald Trump arguing the nation's failure to invest in its own defence – its over-reliance on the US security umbrella – means the only way it can survive is as the 'cherished' 51st state of the US.
Most of all, Washington fears Russia's nuclear submarines. In the event of war, one could breach and fire a missile over the Canadian mainland before the Pentagon can react.
The numbers paint an uncomfortable picture. While Canada and the US occupy roughly the same amount of territory, the American military is roughly six times the size (at 450,000 troops to 63,000) and its budget 30 times larger ($842 billion to $28 billion). As a percentage of GDP, Canada's military spending has languished around 1.3 per cent, near the bottom of the Nato table and below the expected minimum of 2 per cent.
'Canada has woefully underspent on its military,' says Glenn Cowan, a former Canadian special forces soldier and founder of ONE9, a defence-focused venture capital firm. 'We have neglected our military obligations to Nato... and we've been held to account, not just from president Trump, but from our European allies as well.'
Spurred by the sudden crisis, a political arms race is developing. Ahead of national elections on April 28, both Mark Carney of the Liberal Party and Pierre Poilievre of the Conservatives have promised drastic investments in northern defence on visits to Iqaliut, a city of 7,500 people that is the largest in the Canadian Arctic.
'The world is changing,' intoned Mr Carney, the former Bank of England governor, who was born in the Northwest Territories, on March 18. 'Our enemies are emboldened.'
Standing in front of a giant Canadian flag and a snowmobile, he announced the purchase of a $6 billion over the horizon radar system from Australia. One month earlier, Mr Poilievre promised to build Canada's first permanent military base since the Cold War in Iqaliut, and equip two new ice-breaking ships with missile systems – a design previously rejected on cost grounds by the navy.
Still, Canada is only set to meet Nato's 2 per cent target in 2032. If the federal government is to have a chance of bringing that forward to 2027, as Bill Blair, the defence minister, suggested, it would require a wholesale rethink of government priorities and the slashing of red tape, analysts warn.
Some reject the notion of a simple rise in defence spending as the answer to a problem of this scale. Instead, they call for the construction of a new 'Arctic empire', a network of radar systems, bases, new towns and transport links stretching across the snow-covered tundra.
It is easier said than done, cautioned Mr Cowan. Even for a special forces soldier with 20 years of military service like himself, operating in the Arctic is a 'humbling' challenge.
On a recent trip to Iqaluit to test out a radio communication system – one that would survive a Russian strike on the satellite network – the muscle-bound Afghanistan veteran was struck by his vulnerability without the assistance of indigenous guides.
The ice is vast, it shifts underneath your feet, and even a trip five kilometres outside of the city could kill you if the weather changes.
'The Arctic will humble you'
'The biggest challenge we had was how to use our phones,' he said. In the minus 40 degrees C temperature, his hand went numb within 30 seconds of taking off his glove. 'I couldn't even grip the handlebar on my snowmobile.'
'You can be humbled very quickly,' he added. 'But then humbled again by seeing a local kid walking around in a T-shirt.'
The Canadian Armed Forces face this challenge on a larger scale. Its soldiers are almost entirely based outside of the Arctic. To operate there, they rely on the Canadian rangers, a 5,000-strong reserve force drawn largely from the indigenous population.
Each year, the army holds Operation Nanook, an Arctic training exercise building ties between regular soldiers and their Arctic guides.
In ordinary combat, the risk is usually enemy fire. But in the Canadian Arctic, it's 'about knowing how to survive in extreme conditions' while carrying out your mission, says Dr P Whitney Lackenbauer, a professor at Trent University and honorary Lt Col in the Canadian rangers.
A ranger scout can look at a blue sky and tell you a storm is coming, he said. They read the ice to know when a river is safe to cross. And they can teach you how to drive a snowmobile through powdery conditions, twisting the handlebars against the direction of travel to carve the right path.
In this year's operation, Chinook helicopters carried 650 soldiers from Canada, the US, Britain, Belgium, Sweden and Finland across the ice; rangers led long treks through shifting floats; and white-camouflaged troops buried themselves under the snow to survey faraway targets.
One morning Dr Lackenbauer sped by snowmobile out of the hamlet of Tuktoyatuk to a radar site on the edge of the frozen Beaufort Sea. A helicopter then picked up his team and dropped them 100km forward to carry out a second inspection at another radar system.
On a separate mission, it was 'marvellous' to fly in a Chinook as it carried a giant sling full of soldiers' sleds and other equipment, Dr Lackenbauer said – a delicate operation requiring input from different military branches.
'I would like more time up here,' one private from the southwesterly province of New Brunswick later told him. 'And more time with the Canadian rangers.'
Colour Sergeant Ashley of the British army's 3 ranger regiment was equally impressed. At one point his team was tracked by polar bears.
At another the rangers used 'the prevailing wind to judge a route through featureless terrain'.
Alongside soft skills, Canada needs hardware.
In 2024, Ottawa commissioned eight new ice-breaking ships, required for safe passage around the Arctic coasts. Also on the way are 88 F-35s, a new fleet of tactical helicopters and drones to monitor the landscape for threats. To house the new materiel, three new Arctic operating hubs will be built, at Yellowknife, Iqaliut and Inuvik. And the Department of National Defence (DND) initiated the purchase of 12 new submarines, which it plans to be capable of carrying out missions under the thick Arctic ice sheets.
By providing Canada with the 'kick' to invest in its own defences, Mr Trump's aggressive approach may have a 'silver lining,' said Iris Ferguson, the former deputy assistant secretary of defence in the Arctic under Joe Biden. Politicians now have a clear reason to justify previously unthinkable rises in spending. The recently announced increase of $4 billion in defence spending over the next five years is welcome, she said. But even the $50 billion planned over the next two decades is not an overwhelming sum, given how far Canada has to catch up.
For context, Russia built 475 structures across its Arctic military strongholds from 2014 to 2022. Its prized northern fleet operates 22 submarines, six of which can fire nuclear weapons. Nearly all the vessels are also nuclear powered, meaning they can sneak under the Arctic ice for long distances and reach closer to the US mainland.
On Thursday, Vladimir Putin pointedly toured one such submarine, the Arkhangelsk. He inspected the bunk beds, ate dinner with the crew and climbed a ladder between the decks.
The Russian leader has backed Mr Trump's annexation of Greenland, implying the president's dreams of Arctic expansion are a mirror of his own claims on Ukraine. Moscow could soon work with Washington on joint projects in the region, said his aides, raising the prospect of a great power carve-up.
In the past, Canada has 'had a hard time executing on the things they've promised', Ms Ferguson said, and 'given their limited budget, they need to prioritise effectively'. The submarine fleet clearly requires an upgrade: Canada's four Victoria-class diesel submarines were purchased second-hand from Britain in the early 2000s. Only one can be kept at 'high readiness' at a time. None can fire at land-based targets.
But it will take at least a decade and tens of billions of dollars to fulfil Canada's promise to construct a dozen under-ice submarines. Australia's effort to build nuclear-powered boats, under the Aukus agreement, is bogged down. Quicker, smaller fixes could be found while pressing ahead with other projects.
'I think focusing on domain awareness and trying to ensure that they have the radar architecture where they can see the threats that are coming in.. [and] to be able to have command and control over the assets that they're deploying would be one of the first things I would look at,' Ms Ferguson said. The over the horizon radar is a good start.
And the co-operation with Australia is a sign of another development in Canada's Arctic strategy, noted Dr Neil Melvin of the Royal United Services Institute, a London-based think tank.
Ottowa seeking to open up
Canada has previously shied away from working with Western allies in the Arctic. It feared eroding its claim to sole sovereignty over the Northwest Passage, the fastest route between the Atlantic and Pacific oceans when not frozen over. (In his first administration, Mr Trump declared the claim illegitimate, reiterating the historic American view that the waters are international.)
But now Ottawa is seeking to 'open up with this Australia deal', Mr Melvin said. To hedge against Mr Trump's threats, Mr Carney has sought to establish fresh alliances with Britain and Europe. The EU is considering inviting Ottawa into its military procurement scheme. Britain could bring Canada into the Joint Expeditionary Force (JEF), the alliance of 10 Arctic and Northern nations it leads that is already countering Russian spy ships and incursions by the dozen. 'I think that would make a lot of sense,' said Mr Melvin.
Fresh approaches to international diplomacy are in the offing. In December 2024, Canada's foreign ministry said it would appoint a new Arctic ambassador and two consulates in the region. It will also seek to resolve long-standing border disputes with the US and Denmark, permitting more focus on Russia and China.
Concern over indigenous rights
But there are delicate negotiations that will need to be handled on the home front, too. In the 1950s, Canada resettled thousands of Inuits so it could press its claim for sovereignty of the Northwest Passage, under threat from the US and Soviet Union. Many were removed from their parents. Some ended up in the mass graves found at residential boarding schools, the subject of a roiling scandal and profound shame within Canada.
Today, Ottawa is careful not to simply barge its way around First Nations' lands. As he announced the expansion of Canada's presence in the Arctic, Mr Carney promised $176 million for indigenous reconciliation initiatives. But the construction blitz coming to the region may well come into conflict, once more, with Inuit peoples: a recent editorial in the National Post warned that the critically needed new development 'could have negative consequences – no matter how hard we mitigate – for wildlife and indigenous peoples'.
As it stands, construction projects must go through lengthy, arduous reviews to assess their impact on local communities. One road commissioned in 2019, connecting a mineral-rich area to a proposed port in the North West Territories, is only expected to begin construction in 2028, after the completion of the indigenous review process. 'Projects need to be sped up,' the Post wrote, and assessments 'need to be whittled down'. Mining rights should be opened up, and Arctic drilling too.
Upon learning of Mr Poilievre's plan for expedited Arctic construction, PJ Akeeagok, the premier of Nunavut, sounded the alarm over native rights being trampled once again. 'I look forward to Mr Poilievre's explicit recognition that… his plans for the Arctic will be made in partnership with Northerners to reflect our rights, needs and perspectives,' he said.
Canada's intelligence agencies have uncovered Chinese attempts to woo indigenous leaders, capitalising on discontent with the federal government.
To Mr Cowan, working with indigenous peoples is not a 'charity'. Ottawa might have to move more quickly than before, but 'they need to be our partners… Because I'm telling you, if you try to do anything without them, you're f-----'.
In the Inuktitut language, Nanisivik means 'the place where people find things'. Canada's military appears to be belatedly finding its backbone. Ships, surely, will dock at the disused naval base before the passing of too many more summers.