International Relations In The Arctic: Norway and the Struggle for Power in the New North 9780755620142, 9781784532130

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For Mikkel and Jesper

MAPS

2.1. ‘High North’ as generally conceived in the Norwegian discourse Source: Fridtjof Nansen Institute

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2.2. The Barents Sea region Source: Fridtjof Nansen Institute

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2.3. Jurisdiction of the Barents Sea Source: Fridtjof Nansen Institute

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2.4. Barents Sea continental shelf Source: Fridtjof Nansen Institute

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2.5. Barents Region Source: Fridtjof Nansen Institute

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2.6. Barents Sea Petroleum Source: Fridtjof Nansen Institute

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PREFACE

It would not have been possible for me to write this book without the help and support of the kind people around me, only some of whom it is possible to mention specifically here. I wish to thank my publisher I.B.Tauris, my editor Tomasz Hoskins and production editor Sara Magness for their professional support and encouragement throughout the project. Many warm thanks also to my eminent language consultants Chris Saunders and Susan Høivik, for translating the Norwegian material into English and lifting my text considerably. A big thanks to Maryanne Rygg, whose superb formatting skills have improved the appearance of the text greatly and have ensured that the references are as they should be throughout. Special mention is due to my close colleagues, Geir Hønneland and Pa˚l Skedsmo, who agreed to my revisions of co-authored material in this book. I give sincere thanks also to Claes Lykke Ragner for producing the six maps in Chapter 2. To Fridtjof Nansen Institute (FNI) and its leadership goes a special mention for continued backing in every way possible throughout this book project. I count myself very fortunate to have such a fantastic employer. My thanks also go to FNI librarian Kari Lorentzen, for ferreting out whatever I have needed (and fast!), and to FNI’s Rigmor Hiorth, for always meeting me with a smile and for being pleasantly helpful at all times. This book has become far better as a direct consequence of the help, encouragement and enthusiasm flowing from all these people.

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On the other hand, of course the buck stops with me – any mistakes, flaws or other faults remaining in the text are mine and mine alone. Finally, I would like to thank the three most important people in my life: my wife Katarina, and my two little boys. Mikkel and Jesper, I dedicate this book to you.

NORTH

Look North more often Go against the wind, you’ll get ruddy cheeks. Find the rough path. Keep to it. It’s shorter. North is best. Winter’s flaming sky, summer night’s sun miracle. Go against the wind. Climb mountains. Look north. More often. This land is long. Most is north.1 Rolf Jacobsen (1993), translated by Olav Grinde

INTRODUCTION 1

The Arctic is a barometer of global change, natural and political. As the ice cap recedes, governments are positioning themselves to claim possession of and exploit the massive reserves of fossil energy and the new geopolitical and commercial opportunities. Using Norway – one of the ‘Arctic five’ – as a pertinent case, I interrogate the struggle for ascendancy in the ‘New North’ and how the mixture of contest and cooperation is framed through foreign policy discourse. Policy discourses are understood and analysed as public discursive practices that frame and constrain political thinking and possibilities for action. Despite being a small Arctic state and sharing a border with Russia, Norway produces a good proportion of the world’s oil and gas and has vital interests of its own in this region. It is a central player in international relations (IR) in the Arctic. In 2005, the government launched what it called its ‘High North Initiative’. The Arctic rose to the top of Norway’s foreign policy agenda and became the most important strategic area for the foreseeable future. In exploring this political process, the book analyses the framing of four of the weightiest foreign policy issues: security; Russia; the environment; and natural resources. I hope to show how dominating discourses enable/disable action, and limit what is considered politically feasible and relevant for governments in a changing Arctic. The book also shows how a socially oriented discourse analysis can be relevant to analyses of actual political

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issues, something that has been lacking in the literature. Based on the data, I also advance theoretical and methodological propositions in discourse analysis of use in the analysis of other empirical contexts. Hopefully this book will therefore also appeal to students of IR with an interest in discourse analysis as an analytical tool, as well as people who have an interest in international politics in the Arctic more specifically.

The Norwegian case The Government regards the Northern Areas as Norway’s most important strategic target area in the years to come. The Northern Areas have gone from being a security policy deployment area to being an energy policy power centre and an area that faces great environmental policy challenges. This has changed the focus of other states in this region. The handling of Norwegian economic interests, environmental interests and security policy interests in the North are to be given high priority and are to be seen as being closely linked. (Office of the Prime Minister 2005: 7) In the autumn of 2005, the Norwegian High North2 (New North) initiative was born. The empirical starting point for this book is this political undertaking, understood from a post-structuralist perspective. There existed no such thing as a concerted, coherent High North policy before 2005.3 Prime Minister Jens Stoltenberg explained the approach in his foreword to the government’s High North Strategy (Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2006: 5): This is more than foreign politics, and much more than domestic politics. It’s about our ability to continue the tradition of responsible resource stewardship, recognisable assertion of sovereignty and close co-operation with neighbours, partners and allies. But it is also about a broad, long-term mobilisation of our own capacities and resources to

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promote development of the whole of Northern Norway. This isn’t just a project for the North. It is a project for the whole country and the most northern parts of Europe – of importance for the whole Continent. The Prime Minister captured here some of the essence of what I intend to focus on in this book regarding the Norwegian approach to the New North. It is precisely the complexity, ambition, and almost all-embracing scope of the initiative – what I will term its identity building quality – that I strive to describe, illuminate and analyse here. The initiative was a political undertaking with a multi-generational horizon, according to the government, and ‘will succeed if we can achieve the standard of cohesion that should inform the politics of the twenty-first century: the ability to see across sectors, the ability to work together, public and private, the ability to strengthen our relations with other countries, and to enter into new common ventures and partnerships’ (Støre 2010). What we are presented here with the High North initiative is a grand, almost at times grandiose, narrative. But it is more than an intriguing story. Its discourses materialize through various forms of institutionalization and official policy documents, academic and nonacademic journals. These discourses have very ‘real’ and political ramifications, in addition to being of academic and political interest in their own right. The High North narrative is a story about who Norwegians are, who they should aspire to become and where northern Norway and Norway fit in the wider world. The Norwegian government is seeking to ‘update our mental maps, draw lessons from history – but also adjust our normal ways of thinking, where we have learned to read the signs, the good and the bad omens, so we see a friend where we once saw an enemy, a challenge where we saw a danger, an opportunity where we saw a problem’ (Støre 2010). The initiative tells us much about how Norwegians view themselves, how the government views Russia and how the people of northern Norway should perceive themselves.

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What we know and how we know it4 Most IR literature on the Arctic has tended to emphasize an empirical orientation. In the late 1980s and early 1990s, authors wrote largely descriptive, but also occasionally speculative, work. For instance, while prognosticating the imminent arrival of the ‘age of the Arctic’, they also speculated over what kind of politics it might give rise to and whether it would facilitate bi- and multilateral cooperation in, for example, science and environmental protection (see, for instance, Harders 1987; Stokke 1990; Roginko and LaMourie 1992; Caron 1993). During the 1990s and early 2000s, authors gave accounts of and assessed instances of the new circumpolar collaborations (see, for instance, Scrivener 1999; Young 2002, 2005), and evaluated the performance of some of the (more tangible) forms of regional cooperation in the European Arctic (see, for instance, Neumann 1994; Hønneland 1998a; Aalto et al. 2003). Despite this largely empirical orientation, it is possible to find evidence of all three major theoretical traditions in the study of IR: realism; institutionalism; and constructivism. Not many take matters of theory as the starting point for their contributions, however. Exceptions include constructivist or poststructuralist informed contributions in the fields of identity and region building, such as Neumann (1994); Hønneland (1998b); Keskitalo (2004, 2007); Craciun (2009); and Dodds (2010), although few, if any of these, follow up with extensive, substantive theorydriven analysis of the subject matter. Having said that, most contributions seem implicitly situated in the institutionalist camp by their preoccupation with international regimes. Key contributions include Harders (1987); Hoel (2009); Brosnan et al. (2011); Stokke (2011); and Young (2011). Their focus is on achievements, benefits and whether cooperation rather than conflict is likely to stamp relations among the Arctic states. Many of these early contributions (and some of the later ones) discuss linkages between these new circumpolar arrangements and established global and regional treaty regimes, such as international environmental agreements (see, for instance, Harders 1987; Roginko and LaMourie 1992). Still later,

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authors such as Stokke (2006) have pondered the possibility of raising the political and institutional influence of the Arctic Council (Koivurova 2010) and whether the Law of the Sea can be used to reduce and prevent conflicts between Arctic states. Poised at the intersection of law and politics, concerns about the Arctic Ocean, Arctic shipping and particularly Svalbard-related issues have been raised and discussed by, e.g., Øystein Jensen (2008, 2010, 2011a, 2013), Jensen and Rottem (2010), Pedersen (2008a, 2008b, 2009a), and Pedersen and Henriksen (2009). Various questions arising from the international regimes on issues like protection of the natural environment, law etc. as it applies to the Arctic and northerly areas have been discussed by Stokke (2007, 2009, 2010, 2011) and Stokke and Hønneland (2007). Hønneland (2012a), among others, examines the joint Norwegian– Russian fisheries management regime, a system set up to deal with matters of great importance in the Arctic. Moe (2006, 2010) is among those who have sought to explain Russia’s petroleum ambitions in the North. This literature ranges across a thematically expansive and crucially important area in a High North connection. It also provides many interesting empirical explanations and causal relations. Authors studying the rise of the Arctic in light of its increasing importance as a geopolitical and commercial region often applied a constructivist, and later a post-structuralist, approach (see, for instance, Joenniemi 1989; Heininen and Nicol 2007; Keskitalo 2007; Wilson 2007). Studies of identity, region building and the geopolitics of regional collaborations in the European Arctic include Neumann (1994); Hønneland (1998b); Medvedev (2001); Aalto et al. (2003); and Browning (2008, 2010). Kristoffersen and Young (2010) have considered the concept of ‘security’ in relation to energy in the High North, while A˚tland (2008), A˚tland and Pedersen (2008), and A˚tland and Ven Bruusga˚rd (2009) have focused on securitization theory in relation to Russia and the European Arctic. I would place these latter contributions at a point along a traditional positivist–constructivist continuum, tending towards constructivism, although their basic premise remains the rationalist perspectives common to most social science studies of the High

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North and the Arctic, where the political initiative is taken as given, forming the backdrop or point of departure of empirical studies. With a few exceptions, the literature on the politics of the Arctic has not significantly contributed to the development of theory. Young (1994, 1999) has contributed to the development of institutionalist theory in IR based on empirical material from the Arctic, and Neumann’s (1994) theoretical article on region building in Northern Europe sparked an interesting discussion on region building in the European Arctic (see, for instance, Hønneland 1998; Browning 2010). While IR theory, tacitly or overtly, has structured empirical work on Arctic politics and also informed debates between adherents of more or less well-defined schools, it has not really informed analytical work, although, as mentioned, the constructivist and post-structuralist contributions are possible exceptions.

Bridging the gap It is my hope that this book can round out and inform the literature by providing insights into and understanding of the High North initiative and ‘how we landed here’ (Neumann 2008: 76– 7). I also hope this book can serve as a contribution to the broader IR literature on the Arctic, where my theory-driven understanding of Norway’s political framing of its Arctic politics is seen in light of the larger, international political theatre of the Arctic, and the language that frames it. There is, then, a certain amount of literature on how Norway’s position on the North is affected by external forces, but as yet little has been written on the influence Norway itself brings to bear on matters concerning the North. How do Norwegian constructions of the North affect Norway, the North and the rest of the world? This is what I aim to find out. I propose to shed light on different aspects of this initiative through certain central nodal points of the High North initiative. These are identified through discourse and may be termed security, Russia, environment and natural resources. Each of the chapters presented here deals with one or more of these nodal points. They are all closely connected – often with clear elements of intertextuality and interdiscursivity – and are all pieces

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of the larger High North puzzle and contribute to shape a fuller picture. At the same time, each of the chapters tells its own, unique story and is a novel case study in its own right, uncovering and developing insights – both empirical and theoretical. As to the book’s contribution to the literature on discourse analysis and securitization theory, Chapters 3 and 4 are perhaps the most significant. But although these two chapters may make the most visible theoretical contribution, Chapters 3 –8 all exist at a level above the empirical, seeking to add to the discourse literature either by ‘testing’ a theoretical aspect or empirically showing what a theoretical axiom can look like. For example, the third chapter shows how discourses can be traced historically. In the fourth chapter, I use discourse analysis to illustrate the power inherent in texts in their own right, and how an understanding of discourse is important for a fuller picture of how foreign policy is constructed. I have drawn on a relatively broad and varied literature from a range of disciplines in constructing the chapters as well as this introductory chapter and the analytical framework chapter. Most of this literature has not featured together before, at least not in this shape or form. The way I have ‘created a space’ for the book and situated it in relation to the literature can also be seen as an attempt to open some new angles and perspectives, especially within my own field, political science.

The rest of the book The substance chapters should be read as ‘short stories’, each containing thousands of pages of invisible text. Confined within a very small space, and seeking to portray some kind of truth, these accounts are indeed non-fiction: subjective short stories that bring together events and actions to make them cohere into, or express, an entity – in itself and in relation to the wider narrative about the framing and conceptualization of the High North initiative in the official and public discourses in Norway, and how the struggle for power in Norway’s New North and the Arctic as a whole can be understood through language.

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I start by constructing the analytical framework for this book, followed by the empirical context of the analytical chapters. Chapter 3 presents an overview of the main public debates in Norway that have politically framed and defined the High North since the turn of the millennium. The data stem from a large corpus of texts retrieved through structured searches in the press database Retriever in the period 1 January 2000 to 31 December 2006. For the purpose of this chapter, I undertook a systematic, chronological and extensive qualitative reading of 3,043 articles published in four selected Norwegian newspapers: Aftenposten, Dagens Næringsliv, Klassekampen and Nordlys. The discussion centres on what I identified as three overarching, interconnected narratives, each of which captures the essence of the public discourses in Norway on the High North in the years 2000 –6. I have called these narratives Fragments from the 1990s; The great narrative of the High North; and Mixing cold water with hot blood. I provide a synopsis of the main public debates in Norway and how the newspaper pieces framed and defined the High North, discursively and politically. In the fourth chapter, I identify the various official foreign policy discourses on the European Arctic in Norway and Russia, and how the respective governments perceived, understood, framed and presented the challenges in their respective countries. I set out to discover how the Norwegian government framed its ‘High North’ strategy, and how the Russian government framed its approach to the New North. The empirical data were obtained from a study of primary texts on both sides: white papers, official reports, speeches and strategies. In the fifth chapter, I set out to show how discursive expressions of Norway’s ambition to exert influence in the field of energy in the North manifested itself and sought public legitimacy. This involved, more precisely, studying how certain properties ascribed to Russia in the Norwegian debate were used to justify why Norway should begin producing oil in the Barents Sea at all, and why it should do so ‘as soon as possible’. The data came from an explorative, qualitative review of 1,200 articles in the Norwegian newspapers Aftenposten, Dagens Næringsliv, Nordlys and Klassekampen published between

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1 December 2003 and 4 October 2005. By aggregating the many aspects of the debate into two dissimilar but overlapping positions, it was possible to identify two principal discourses. These two, referred to as the pro-oil production and anti-oil production discourse, were rivals for hegemony under a discourse order whose two pivots were Russia and the environment. In the sixth chapter I examine certain discursive practices that gained traction in the wake of and arguably thanks to the Norwegian government’s 2005 High North Initiative: discursive practices on re-securitization. As explained in greater detail in the chapter, I apply a discourse analytical approach coupled with elements of the Copenhagen School’s securitization theory. I wish to illuminate discursive features ‘arising from an ever-stronger focus on and everwidening conception of security’. Did Norway’s ambitious political undertaking of 2005, the High North Initiative, initiate discursive processes which re-focused attention on the security of the High North and indeed led to its deployment within a growing number of policy areas? I also want to show, in line with discourse analysis and the book’s overarching objective, how current political and security perceptions are informed by the past, and how conceptions and understandings of both policy and security are relational and ever-changing. The seventh chapter fulfils another theory-related ambition of this book. Here, I draw on the co-optation and discourse literature to introduce a new analytical concept for discourse analysis, one I have named ‘discourse co-optation’. Essentially, discourse co-optation means that a discourse reaches into the heart of its opposite number – or counter-discourse – and proceeds to turn its logic inside-out, appropriate the new semantic and use it to re-establish hegemony and muster political support. The one discourse profits from the acquisition of a new, powerful argument; the other is weakened by its loss. This new concept of discourse co-optation is able to describe little-understood things with greater precision in a society-oriented, discourse analytical perspective. In a practical sense, I have identified and conceptualized a particular type of interdiscursivity as defined by Fairclough (1995). It is something which, in analytical terms, is

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capable of revealing powerful discursive processes at a more theoretical level, but also of showing how power is intrinsic to the discourse itself (Foucault 1972), outside the control and purview of any one individual or group. In the final chapter, I discuss how Norwegian foreign policy towards the New North is closely linked to and built upon the concept of national identity, and how Russia is so crucial for Norway as a significant other. The Conclusion summarizes the empirical and theoretical findings and offers some finishing remarks.

CHAPTER 1 DISCOURSE ANALYSIS IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

Discourse analysis I present in this chapter the construction I imposed on the discourse literature which informs both the project as a whole and the book itself. This section sets out the analytical context of each of the chapters. In describing how closely they are intertwined in terms of both theory and methodology, the section offers much more than a simple generic description of discourse analysis and its basis. Phillips and Hardy (2002: 11) describe discourse analysis as a ‘labour intensive’ and ‘time consuming’ method of analysis, about which there is a ‘relative shortage of methodological writings and established exemplars to guide newcomers to the field’. Considerable effort has been made and much frustration undergone to understand and construct a theoretical and methodological framework based on a large, diverse and often confusing, even conflicting, body of literature. In this sense, the book may also help structure and demystify discourse analysis, and make it more accessible, less frightening and more tempting to students and scholars of political science and other social sciences, which are still largely dominated and defined by the rationalist ideal. The ‘linguistic turn’ in the social sciences has been exceptionally successful in attracting the interest of scholars in what we might call

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the conditions for acting and the actions we understand as speech acts (Neumann 2002: 627). The discursive framing of an issue area or phenomenon is instrumental in determining whether arguments are admitted to the discourse as relevant, ‘legal’, or ‘normal’, or thrown out. My theoretical starting point, like that of Ska˚nland (2010: 34), sees discourses as productive: through them, we construct truth, meaning and knowledge. In this project, the discourses identified in the chapters act as lenses through which the world is perceived, and the ground on which thoughts and actions are built. Like many other theories, discourse analysis is preoccupied with power and interests and is as much a study of power as of language – but it looks at power in a certain way. There are reasons why some ideas and views predominate and are reproduced, while others are marginalized. Discourse framing is basically about the power to define a set of circumstances or a situation – the power to define what the discourse will engage with – and it advances or retreats through the political struggle for power. It is also about getting others to accept one’s own definitions, obliging them to formulate reality in the terms of the preferred set of premises, become implicated in a given set of decision-making formulas, in light of which they develop a given set of duties and responsibilities (Græger 2007). Discourse does not explain why things are what they are, but it does tell us that the study of power cannot be divorced from the way language works in society. Discourses are constructed as a result of colliding strategies, and this struggle on behalf of different conceptions or understandings of a subject, problem or issue involves the exercise of power. This power can be conceived as a tight net of ubiquitous relations and processes where the balance of strength waxes and wanes amid constant battles and confrontations. In Chapter 3, for instance, I show how foreign policy in Norway and in Russia was framed in relation to the New North, and certain topics were included and others excluded in the foreign policy discourses of the two countries. Opinions are many and varied about what discourse analysis is and should be. Discourse has become almost trendy, a concept to which

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one refers without necessarily defining or specifying what one means by it. This has severely diluted the content of the concept. Different disciplines– be they linguistics, anthropology, psychology, sociology, political science, etc. – use ‘discourse’ in their own particular ways, and there are significant differences among those who use and define it within one and the same school or tradition. The natural places to start when approaching the field is Michel Foucault and his seminal work The Archaeology of Knowledge (Foucault 1972). Foucault gives discourse a relatively wide definition, extending beyond speech, writing and text. Van Dijk (1988), Fairclough (1995) and Gee (2005), for instance, who are arguably far more text-centred in their methodologies and more ‘linguistic’ in their approaches, than Foucault, advocate a more stringent view. For many, perhaps linguists in particular, ‘discourse’ has often been defined as ‘everything beyond the sentence’. For others, the study of discourses can quite fundamentally be defined and described as the ‘study of language in use’ (Schiffrin et al. 2003a: 1). Discourse can also be understood as ‘a broad conglomeration of linguistic and nonlinguistic social practices and ideological assumptions’ (Schiffrin et al. 2003a: 1). Discourse analysis is – although the name could indicate otherwise – an integrated theoretical and methodological approach to analysis. It is a complete package of epistemological premises on the role of language in the social construction of the world. Foucault’s point of departure in The Archaeology of Knowledge (Foucault 1972) is that there exists a set of rules that decides which statements are accepted as meaningful and true within a specific historical context. He defines discourse in the following way: We will call discourse a group of statements in so far as they belong to the same discursive formation [. . .] it is made up of a limited number of statements for which a group of conditions of existence can be defined. (Foucault 1972: 117) Given a Foucauldian conception then, discourse entails prohibition insofar as it prohibits certain questions from being raised or argued on behalf of a certain position. Here we should note that prohibiting

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expressions arising in the text in connection with discourse and discourse analysis should be understood in a non-literal, non-legal sense. Such rules and prohibitions should be taken as normative constraints or codes assumed to be shared by the involved actors within a given discursive field – a ‘constitutive outside’ (Laclau and Mouffe 1985: 111). Discourse also entails a system of exclusion insofar as only a select number of individuals may legitimately participate. It also enables forms of internal discipline, ensuring the survival of the discursive order. Finally, there are rules regulating when and under what circumstances it is permissible to capitalize on a specific discourse (Hajer 1995: 49). Foucault understands discourse as something in addition to speech, words and text. Discourse is where meaning is constituted and established, as representations of the physical world are negotiated and confirmed. When any given representation is institutionalized, it gains hegemony. Discourse theory is concerned with epistemology, e.g. how meaning and knowledge are created and reproduced, rather than with ontological premises, which concern themselves with the basic nature of things, the essence of ‘being’ itself (Neumann 2001; Schiffrin et al. 2003b). Discourse analysis contains theoretical models and methodological guidelines about conducting research in a given field. Lastly, it offers special techniques for analysing language as data. Discourse analysis combines theory and method, and it is essential to accept its basic epistemological principles outlined above before using it as a method in research (Jørgensen and Phillips 1999). Foucault can be challenging, especially when it comes to operationalizing his ideas. In this book I employ the following general definition of discourse: ‘Discourse is an interrelated set of texts, and the practices of their production, dissemination, and reception, which brings an object into being’ (Parker 1992: 3). This definition is completely in line with a Foucauldian conception, but is slightly more concrete and therefore also more operational. Discourses exist and are enacted in many different texts, but the main point is that the discourse lies ‘somewhere above’ the individual texts that comprise it. The individual texts, under a Foucauldian conception of discourse, are not analytically meaningful in themselves. It is only through their

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‘interconnection with other texts, the different discourses on which they draw, and the nature of their production, dissemination, and consumption that they are made meaningful’ (Phillips and Hardy 2002: 3–4). Discourse analysis offers a range of approaches to data – and, perhaps more importantly, an even wider range of theorizing around these data (Wetherell et al. 2001). Neumann sums it up nicely: Because discourse maintains a degree of regularity in social relations, it produces preconditions for action. It constrains how the stuff that the world consists of is ordered, and so how people categorize and think about the world. It constrains what is thought of at all, what is thought of as possible, and what is thought of as the ‘natural thing’ to do in a given situation. But discourse cannot determine action completely. There will always be more than one possible outcome. Discourse analysis aims at specifying the bandwidth of possible outcomes. (Neumann 2008: 62) Given my ‘Foucauldian’ vantage point, I follow Buzan and colleagues in choosing not to use any ‘sophisticated linguistic or quantitative techniques. What follows is discourse analysis simply in the sense that discourse is studied as a subject in its own right, not as an indicator of something else’ (Buzan et al. 1998: 176). I work on what has actually been written or otherwise articulated to reveal the inherent patterns and likely social impact of discursive representations of the real world. In that sense, it is neither possible nor particularly interesting to search for social laws or how things are ‘in reality’. The discourses themselves provide the scaffolding, the preconditions of change and define the space in which thinking and talking within a given subject area or field can be considered ‘natural’. The documents have been read systematically, chronologically and qualitatively. I have drawn on my ‘cultural competence’ (Neumann 2001, 2008) to look for the basic discourses (Hansen 2006), storylines (Hajer 1995), and national identities on which the political narratives around the New North are based. I have not

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looked for, nor would it have been possible to look for, ‘underlying motives, hidden agendas, or such’. A key premise of this book is that discourses are involved in determining actual behaviour and that they do so by narrowing the definition of what counts as acceptable actions and utterances in society at a given point in time. Against this background, discourses can shed light on political practice by defining the scope for action and which options are taken as politically feasible. Hansen (2006), Ska˚nland (2010) and Græger (2011) share similar theoretical and methodological vantage points and approaches as those applied in this chapter. There are no hard and fast methodological rules that can help us reveal the world as it ‘really’ or ‘objectively’ is. Nor can we in a narrower sense falsify theories, allowing us to progress ever closer to reality. As Hansen (2006: 25) notes, ‘there is no “extra-discursive” materiality that sets itself forward independently of its discursive representation – which to reiterate, is not to say that the material has no importance [or does not exist], but rather that it is always discursively mediated’. ‘[F]or facts to become politically salient and influence the production and reproduction of foreign policy discourse’, she says, ‘there must be human and discursive agency; individuals, media, and institutions who collect, document and distribute them’ (Hansen 2006: 32). The discourses are interesting from the moment they become or come across as politically relevant regardless of ulterior motives or hidden agendas (which we can never observe) that might or might not lay behind them. The purpose of discourse analysis, as Buzan et al. (1998: 176 – 7) note, ‘is not to get at something else’, because discourses themselves produce reality. It is therefore meaningful and relevant to study them as preconditions for actions. Discourses ‘carry with [them] the “memory” of [their] own genesis’ (Neumann 2008: 71). In other words, there are always traces of history in ‘new’, emerging discourses simply because they always draw on already established meanings and conceptions of reality. They do not start from scratch every time. In the discourse literature it is often known as interdiscourse or interdiscursivity. Authors such as Foucault (1972), Courtine (1981) and Fairclough

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(1992) have discussed and used them as analytical concepts in their work, though the meaning they give to them varies according to their analytical focus. When I use interdiscursivity in this book, I mean the implicit or explicit relations between discourses. I want to find out what counted as acceptable, legitimate arguments, scenarios and perceptions of the situation at a particular time and in a particular place. What was included, what excluded under the terms of the debate? What was taken as read, and what questioned? The interesting aspect of a debate is not always or only the main dispute. As I see it, the absence of dissent or disagreement is just as important: that which comprises the unquestioned principles and established truths of the debate (and of political decision making). The most interesting thing, though, is to observe what happens when these assumptions disintegrate and fresh principles emerge that redefine the dispute – providing evidence of the struggle for power in the New North. When we write or talk we adapt our speech and writing to the relevant context but at the same time how we write or say something co-creates the context or situation. So we adapt speech to the set of circumstances the same speech act has helped create (Gee 2005: 10). Discourse analysis comprises a set of theories and methods for investigating language in use and language in social contexts. It sets out new paths in the study of meaning. It provides a means of negotiating dialogues and debates as they constitute social acts and gives us a pattern of symbols and representations that are constitutive of social acts.1 Discourse analysis offers several ways of dealing with data and – if anything even more important – a great deal of theorizing around these data (Wetherell et al. 2001). A discourse can be seen as a relatively homogeneous way of talking about something where a tacit understanding of the situation obtains. There are, conceivably, compatible sets of tacit rules governing the representation of certain issues. Difficult issues are constrained and framed by these rules; they reduce the level of complexity and ease comprehensibility. These simplified representations often go under the name of storylines. I shall be making good use of this discursive-analytical concept in this book. Storylines, says Maarten Hajer, are

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narratives on social reality through which elements from many different domains are combined and that provide actors with a set of symbolic references that suggests a common understanding. Story lines are essential political devices that allow the overcoming of fragmentation and the achievement of discursive closure. (Hajer 1995: 62) Hajer is particularly interested in how environmental issues get defined through discourses, how problems are constructed and represented and how such representation affects policy creation. People draw on simplified representations of the world rather than complex knowledge systems when they want to understand an issue. Not only do storylines help us construe or comprehend an issue, they can also play a fundamental role, Hajer (1995: 64) suggests, in creating social and moral order in different areas of politics because, among other things, storylines are condensed narratives or discourses containing simplified messages supported by metaphors with as much emotional as intellectual appeal. For instance, Norway, in the debate on petroleum and the High North, is often represented as ‘an environmentally friendly problem-solver with the world’s best technology’, while Russia risks definitions like ‘an impoverished, environmental catastrophe with a great appetite for capital’.2 This is more or less typical of how storylines work – complex issues are reduced to simple, easily digestible sound bites. There is, then, a set of tacit rules or norms governing or constraining how issues are represented in, for instance, the debate over the New North or other issues. If you keep to the rules and constraints, and the issue is properly framed, the constituent parts fall immediately into place within the space defined by the recipient’s expectations. It is in this act of compliance that the discourse, we can say, is reproduced. But when the rules are violated, the discourse suffers a breach or dislocation from which a new set of constraints and premises can evolve enabling a new discourse. Discourse determines actions by defining the space for acceptable behaviour in a given society at a given point in time. It follows that discourses shape or govern political behaviour by virtue of determining which options are politically viable. In Lene Hansen’s

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words, ‘[t]o theorize [foreign] policy as discourse is to argue that [identity and] policy are constituted through a process of narrative adjustment, that they stand, in social science terminology, in a constitutive, rather than causal, relationship’ (Hansen 2006: xvi).

A complete package Discourse analysis can be seen as a dynamic set of theories and methods for investigating language in use and in social contexts. Although discourse analysis can be applied in all areas of research, it is not compatible with all kinds of theoretical framework. Crucially, it cannot – or should not – be used as a method of analysis detached from its theoretical and methodological foundations (Jørgensen and Phillips 2002: 3 – 4). It reveals alternative ways and approaches to the study of meaning. It gives us an alternative angle for understanding and investigating the dialogues and debates that constitute social acts, and it shows us the patterns created by the signs, symbols and representations that constitute culture. Understanding can be achieved only by refining an object of analysis in whose construction we ourselves have been involved. There are no hard and fast methodological rules that can help us reveal the world as it ‘really’ or ‘objectively’ is. Nor can we in a narrower sense falsify theories, and take part in a cumulative progress which ideally brings us ever closer to reality – something a classical, idealized Popperian perspective, for example, might take as a basic assumption. As Hansen (2006: 25) notes, there is no ‘extra-discursive’ materiality that sets itself forward independently of its discursive representation – which to reiterate, is not to say that the material has no importance [or does not exist], but rather that it is always discursively mediated’. She further notes that, ‘for facts to become politically salient and influence the production and reproduction of foreign policy discourse there must be human and discursive agency; individuals, media, and institutions who collect, document and distribute them. (Hansen 2006: 32)

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In grounding my perspective on a discourse-analytical premise, I am also endorsing the view stating that there is no way of deciding whether our perceptions of the world are true in the sense of their corresponding with the ‘factual state’ of given phenomena, or with other objective criteria that positivists believe can be established. This is because when we speak of the world, we employ statements which can be compared only with other statements about the world – never with the material or constructed world in itself (Hansen et al. 2005). This and similar contentions do not necessarily lead to cognitive scepticism, because we are in fact able to relate meaningfully to the world and generate systematic knowledge about discourses and the connections of which they are part. Discourse analysis as a theory and method focuses on the terms on which we relate to the world. One corollary of this is that also science can be construed as discursive. In that sense, then, we cannot hope within the discourse to rise above or in some way place ourselves outside our cultural or historical contingencies. As Jackson aptly puts it, to say that scientific knowledge is socially constructed is to say that the knowledge that we presently have is not the knowledge that we inevitably would have had in all possible worlds; contingencies can be identified, branching-points at which alternate pathways could have been taken – alternative pathways that would have led, perhaps to alternate but equally valid forms of physics, chemistry, geology, IR, and so on. It is not, however, to say that physicists, chemists, and so on, would or should assent to this claim; ‘scientific knowledge is socially constructed’ is a proposition of the philosophy and sociology of science, not a proposition of the specific sciences under investigation. (Jackson 2011: 202) Discourse analysis speaks to the processes that create, stabilize and change the discursive context of our utterances, thoughts and deeds. The context is more or less coincidental and in constant flux because various forces are constantly attempting to negotiate and redefine the

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discursive field. This is true whether they concern objective disputes or attempts to stabilize a discursive context, or government policy in one sense or another, involving the exercise of power in one form or another (Hansen et al. 2005). The world, from a discourse-analytical perspective, cannot have a definitive structural meaning, as, for instance, Marxism assumes. On the other hand, the generation of meaning cannot be traced back to the human subject’s personal interpretation of the world. There is, quite simply, no ontologically privileged position from which to understand the creation of meaning and signification. Meaning is installed and constituted in specific historical contexts with mutually constituting elements of signification called discourses. It is a tenet of discourse analysis that social structures and identities are formed by discourses, which thereby become the axes around which the determination of meaning revolves.

This study as a case study Understanding and conducting this project as, in terms of methodology, a discourse-analytical case study firmly anchored in a particular section of the case study literature, has made it easier to work within a scientific paradigm which continues to display a strong positivist bias both in form and substance. My insights and results should be ‘easier to read’ because they are more immediately relevant and interesting and there is no need to compromise discourse analysis as analytical approach and the ‘irreducibility of the narrative’. The case study literature is sensitive to and contains much of the pluralism that obtains within social studies, and it is also willing to discuss these differences pragmatically and look for solutions when the wider literature simply makes a dash for the trenches.3 But what is a case study? What is the lowest common denominator of case studies as a research strategy? What is it they all share? After having read various positivists, constructivists, post-structuralists and critical realists, the point of the case study as a research strategy is to achieve ‘deep understanding of particular instances of phenomena’ (Mabry 2008: 214). This basic purpose is also shared by discourse

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analysis. This general understanding of the case study research strategy can certainly be criticized for lack of precision. The primary qualities of the definition – apart from its simplicity and immediacy – seem to be its focus on ‘understanding’ (in contrast to explaining) and its ability to illuminate with precision ‘particular instances’ of a phenomenon, which itself encourages the formulation of precise research questions and awareness of what one specifically wants to illuminate. The case study is more than just a method, says Hammersley (2004: 93): ‘The case study as a research strategy involves very different assumptions about how the social world can and should be studied’. This could have been taken from an introduction to discourse analysis. The various assumptions to which Hammersley refers replicate the classical cleavages in the social sciences where positivism jostles with constructivism, explanation with understanding. Awareness of these inherent tensions can be traced all the way back to Wilhelm Dilthey (1833–1911) and Max Weber (1864–1920), who ‘shared the conviction that our knowledge of human society is in need of methods different from, although by no means inferior to, those of the natural sciences’ (Bergstraesser 1947: 92). But although logical positivists formulated in the 1950s and 1960s criteria for doing science, although the social science community tended neither to heed nor in the event even satisfy (Guneriussen 1999: 17), the rationalist ideal continues to prevail, especially in political science, and social scientists gradually recognized a need for alternatives to rationalism (Flyvbjerg 1991: 70). Answering this need is one of the main purposes of this book. Researchers who apply the case study technique while simultaneously insisting their work is ‘descriptive only’ or ‘a-theoretical’ are denying or under-communicating, Mabry (2008: 224) argues, their own conceptualizations of the phenomenon they are studying. In sitting down and formulating a research question, an underlying personal theory about ‘the nature of the phenomenon’ has to be implied (Mabry 2008: 224). The case study shows ‘respect’ for the intrinsic complexity of social phenomena, and the context is key to the case’s dynamics and complexity (Mabry 2008: 217). It is not difficult to see the compatibility between discourse-analytical perspectives and

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case studies. As Mabry says: ‘case study researchers recognize that cases are shaped by their many contexts – historical, social, political ideological, organisational, cultural, linguistic, philosophical, and so on’ (Mabry 2008: 217).

The impossibilities of generalization The possibility of generalizing research findings continues to be discussed in many of the social sciences. A clash of opinions excites the fringes of the traditional constructivist–positivist spectrum. As Flyvbjerg (2007: 393) points out, the most substantial and destructive argument against the case study as a scientific method is precisely that a single case does not allow of generalization. That attitude, however, is typical of an idealized notion of natural science, says Flyvbjerg, in which a universal, statistical generalizability, independent of space and time, merely represents an extreme position. But should discourse analysis address the positivists’ methodological critique of these analyses? The exercise is probably impossible, and frankly nonsensical if it has to be done under the terms of a logical, rationalistic scientific paradigm – but it becomes entirely possible and even desirable if the criterion is not to find universal regularities existing independently of the societies and persons that constitute them. This generalization debate can also be seen – if we ignore the most eccentric positions at either extreme of our imagined positivism– constructivism scale – as a question of semantics, with the conscious or unconscious interspersal of pseudo or spurious arguments caused by lack of an established understanding of the concept of generalization. By implicitly distinguishing between formal and informal generalization, Flyvbjerg does much to clarify the field: ‘That knowledge cannot formally be generalized does not mean that this knowledge cannot be included in the collective process of knowledge accumulation in a certain field or society as a whole’ (Flyvbjerg 2007: 394). ‘Formal generalisation’, he says further, ‘is overvalued as a source of scientific development, whereas ‘the force’ of example is underestimated’ (Flyvbjerg 2007: 395).

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Even purely empirical studies with absolutely no pretensions whatsoever to generalization can clearly be of value, he says, in a process of accumulating knowledge such as this. The researcher must work with what has been written down or verbalized in some form or another in order to establish patterns in the statements, as well as the likely social impact of different discursive representations of reality. In this perspective, it is neither possible nor particularly interesting to discover social laws and find out how things are ‘in reality’. It is the discourses themselves that define the conditions of change and the boundaries of a given thematic area or field within which it is natural to think and talk. My study is located in the vicinity of Flyvbjerg’s reasoning here.

The narrative as a way out Under the heading ‘The irreducible quality of good case narratives’, Flyvbjerg (2007: 399) asks whether it is ‘desirable to summarize and generalize case studies. Good studies should be read as narratives in their entirety’ (Flyvbjerg 2007: 402). A narrative (story) tends to be understood as a spoken or written text which explains an event or deed or sequence of events/deeds that are linked chronologically (Czarniawska 2004: 17). That is the definition I use in this book. The use of the narrative approach in the social sciences should not, according to Czarniawska (2004: 136), be seen as a method in a conventional sense; it is rather a loose collection of ideas, sleights of hand and techniques for acquiring knowledge and achieving understanding. As an approach it avoids rigid procedures and methods aimed at generating ‘verifiable’ results. The goal can be said in many ways to be an inspired, and inspiring, piece of writing (Rorty 1992, cited in Czarniawska 2004). Social science needs to exert greater influence in contemporary society. We need to reach readers beyond our own rather hermetic circles. Rather than questioning strict reliability and validity, we should ask whether the issue we are dealing with is interesting, relevant, even beautiful (Czarniawska 2004: 136). Still following

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Czarniawska, I need to enter into a dual contract with you, the reader, by, on the one side, appeasing your sense of doubt and aiming to please you, while at the same time causing that same doubt to flare up by my intention to tell you something novel. I analyse texts that constitute different representations, storylines and narratives of how to understand the world around us. The case is Norwegian policy on the New North, and the units of analysis are official and public discourses on Norwegian foreign policy on the New North. The analysis exemplifies the narrative approach, where textual extracts (data) become constituent parts of yet another narrative of reality (the researcher’s narrative, by nature subjective). A successful narrative makes it irrelevant, says Flyvbjerg, for the reader to ask ‘so what?’ after reading it: the narrative has already provided the answer before the question is put – ‘The narrative is itself the answer’ (Flyvbjerg 2007: 401). I hope you will consider this case study of the Norwegian High North initiative to be relevant, at some level, to your own context, although – as Flyvbjerg (2007: 400–1) and Mabry (2008: 219–20) point out – the final results cannot be summed up neatly in bullet points or in the form of concrete policy recommendations. To the degree that we accept the narrative concepts of Flyvbjerg and Mabry without completely losing faith in the possibility of doing science, it is not only possible to dismiss generalization in the narrow sense, it is almost unavoidable. The job of ‘generalizing’ is not mine as a researcher, it is yours as the reader. First of all, as Jackson (2011: 153) points out, ‘it is critically important not to conflate an analytical general claim’, as I do when introducing ‘discourse co-optation’ as a new analytical term, with an empirical generalization, neo-positivist style. The generality of an analytical claim, he adds, means that its logical form is devoid of specific references to particular instances, but this emphatically does not mean that the relations and characteristics that it instrumentally posits have the same epistemic status as a generally valid empirical law. Keeping these two kinds of claim separate, would, for

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example, clear up the muddled thinking that characterizes the often-heard claim that ‘interpretive’ scholarship cannot ‘generalize’: if this means that interpretive work focused on specific contexts of social meaning cannot produce empirical generalizations, than the statement is quite true, but if this means that such interpretive work cannot utilize or contribute to the formation of analytical ideal-types, then the statement is quite false. (Jackson 2011: 153) Any claims that studies based on this conception have less to offer the cumulative development of knowledge are thus refuted – indeed, as Flyvbjerg (2007) suggests, the opposite is the more likely case.

Authenticity and plausibility Continuing within the realm of storytelling as a way of communicating research, instead of trying to defend some sort of validity or reliability, Martin (2001) proposes as alternative benchmarks: authenticity and plausibility. We can construe authenticity, she says, as the capacity of a text to describe daily life in the field so as to convince you, the reader, that we, the authors, have indeed ‘been there’. This, unlike the expressions ‘accuracy’ or ‘validity’, does not contain an implicit truth-claim. An authentic presentation seeks quite simply to represent as well as the author is capable what he or she has observed. Martin’s (2001) discussion of the concept of plausibility focuses on what she calls the relationship between the ‘community of readers’ and the world as drawn in the author’s rendition. It is important to avoid coming across as too familiar or too detached from one’s readers. While I do not wish to write an account with nothing new in it, it is important that the narrative sparks a sense of recognition in the reader, and helps build and sustain a relationship between the reader and myself as the researcher/narrator. The rhetorical devices I have used to establish this relationship include the targeted use of intertextuality, the drawing of metaphors, pictorial language, and straightforward examples with

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which the reader can readily identify. It helps, says Czarniawska (2004), to make use of the possibilities of language by appealing to the right-hand side of the reader’s brain – by ‘painting’ a reality in words, giving the text a better chance to represent the world around us in a meaningful way. An inclusive and immediate language can also increase the plausibility of a text. Words like ‘you’ and ‘we’, for instance, can create a sense in the reader of being part of the community of professionals and experts to which the author belongs. If the reader has this feeling, it should be easier, Martin (2001) surmises, to persuade him or her to go along with the conclusions that the author draws.

Research setting In this section I review some of the aspects of my practical approach, and how I went about selecting sources, collecting data, etc. This information should make it easier to understand the accounts of procedures and approaches in Chapters 3 – 8 and to see the chapters individually as parts of a coherent story, connected by a consistent approach to the data. Newspapers as data In this project I examine how national identities are given meaning, constructed, in discourses in newspapers and texts of power. ‘As an important social and linguistic site, newspapers have played a particularly important role in imagining the nation and creating nationalism’ (Anderson 1991; Billig 1995, cited from Li 2009: 86). I read several thousand newspaper articles dealing with the High North in the Norwegian papers Aftenposten, Dagens Næringsliv, Klassekampen and Nordlys. The newspapers have different readerships, different political complexions and profile different concerns. Together they serve to broaden the scope and improve the quality of the analysis. Aftenposten is the leading daily in Norway and caters to a mainstream audience. Dagens Næringsliv serves the business and financial community.

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Nordlys is the leading regional paper in northern Norway, and Klassekampen is a radical paper on the left of Norwegian politics. To find the articles I entered search strings into the sophisticated Retriever database. Carefully constructed search strings can result in highly specific hits. Although procedures and search strings are explained in the different chapters, much of the preparatory work of acquiring data-sets involved general searches and reading, improving the precision of the searches and hits by continuously refining the search strings. The final searches were all relatively open to minimize the risk of missing anything of importance during the data collection stage. For instance, the final search string in Jensen and Hønneland (2011) was Nordomra˚de*, which gave me every article containing a variant of the term nordomra˚dene ( ¼ High North, lit.: ‘the northern areas’) – policy, initiatives, issues, minister, optimism, etc. – with any relation to the High North. In comparison, the final search string in Jensen (2012a) was Barentshav* AND (Petroleum* OR Olje* OR Gass*). The addition of the Boolean operators AND and OR improves the precision of the search string and, consequently, the hits. AND means that both or all of the words must feature in the article, whereas OR means that at least one of the terms must occur. The operator ANDNOT requires the term to the left of the operator to occur in the newspaper article, but not the term to the right. I used the wildcard character * to obtain every variant of the terms. By entering petroleum*, I obtained hits including the terms petroleumsutvinning, petroleumsforekomster, petroleum, petroleumsdebatt ( ¼ petroleum extraction, petroleum deposits, petroleum, petroleum debate). I applied the same logic and approach to all the data consisting of newspaper articles. Primary texts as data While the newspaper articles make up the bulk of the data, public documents were of central importance. Discourse analysis gives epistemological and methodological priority to the study of primary texts like presidential statements and official policy

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documents (Hansen 2006). These ‘monuments’ or primary texts are often created in the context of an ongoing discursive battle and have, at least in theory, formed, absorbed and grasped the strongest representations. The following three criteria are central in the selection of primary texts: texts should clearly articulate identities and policies; they should be widely read and attended to; and they should have the formal authority to define a political position (Hansen 2006). In my view, the texts chosen for this book satisfy these criteria very well, and can therefore with relative confidence be termed ‘primary texts’ or ‘monuments’. And equally important, all these texts have been articulated by formal political authority – a crucial point, as they are intended to represent official Norwegian approaches to the High North. The texts can also have or acquire power by repeating, confirming, strengthening and/or qualifying a certain ideological position, and by their context-specific appearance. They both have power and generate power by being perceived as relevant and important enough to participate and take centre stage in such major discourses (Berge 2003). Primary texts set the agenda and shape the issues at hand, and they frame and produce representations of foreign policy. The actors, empowered by their roles as institution or as president, have a certain authority and power to define how reality should be perceived (Berge 2003; Hansen 2006). In addition, the texts enjoy official prestige and authority as speech acts (Searle 1969). Apart from serving directly as data in two of the chapters, primary texts have provided crucial background information, functioning as correctives and as a basis for my own cultural competence (Neumann 2001; Jensen 2012a) throughout this project. These texts have enhanced and deepened my understanding of the High North as a political project. I have read every Norwegian statement, official government report and strategy document dealing with the High North. I have also read a large number of defence policy documents of the same type, and examined numerous speeches by defence ministers and foreign ministers in the period under analysis. Direct references to and descriptions of the sources along

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with considerations of the methodology challenges related to the thesis can be found in the individual chapters.

The sandwich method I have also spent a considerable time considering how to present and discuss the large amount of data in the individual chapters. My aim has been to bring the readers as close to the ‘field of action’ as possible, and I believe I have succeeded in giving them the chance to see with their own eyes what was written, by inserting accurately transcribed passages from the articles and documents. But it is not enough simply to let the ‘data speak for itself and inform us of its importance’: the literary critic Wayne C. Booth (1961: 114, quoted in Golden-Biddle and Locke 2007) draws a distinction between ‘showing’ and ‘telling’. ‘The accumulation’, he explains, ‘of accurately observed detail cannot satisfy us for long; only if the details are made to tell, only if they are weighted with a significance’, will they keep a hold on our attention. I have therefore seen it as part of my mandate to show the data and, not least, talk about what the data, in my view, mean. In writing qualitative research articles, there are several ways to construe the data as ‘proof’ (Golden-Biddle and Locke 2007: 69). The approach used here is described by Golden-Biddle and Locke (2007: 53) as ‘telling, showing, and telling’, or more expressively, the ‘sandwich method’. I present the kernel of what the cited passages express, before reproducing those passages or quotations. I then proceed to tell in more abstract terms what the passage just showed the reader and what it indicated. As a visual technique, I use indentation on either side of the quoted text to separate these textual excerpts from the body text in the chapters. This procedure represents what, according to Golden-Biddle and Locke (2007: 69), the researched object has said and done, and provides evidential information for the storyteller’s interpretations and conclusions. I believe this way of bringing the readers to my data offers a better chance of assessing the

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soundness of my assessments and conclusions, while also enabling the readers to make their own, alternative judgements if necessary.

The invisible author I have also spent some time while writing this thesis poking and prodding the academic tradition of communication into which I, as a social scientist, have been socialized. Both as a reader and writer I have felt a certain discomfort at the anonymized tribal language where ‘one concludes that’ and where it is the ‘data’ which ‘tell us’ this, that and the other. This abstract, and in my opinion artificially passive, approach to communication closes the researcher (we are people, after all) off from the text and makes the writing and reading of academic texts both circuitous and somewhat indigestible (Golden-Biddle and Locke 2007: 10–11). I have tried to avoid this by writing in the first person, despite the objections of my academic colleagues. While working on this book, I decided to engage more with my role as storyteller. For as Booth (1961) and Golden-Biddle and Locke (2007: 62) have noted, we as authors can never choose to remove all trace of ourselves from the text: we are limited to choosing the disguise in which we want to appear. I hope that by writing the thesis in the way I myself have chosen, in form and substance, it adds something to the academic debate on communicating with our readers, and how we can make our academic texts more attractive to a broader audience. Yes, discourse matters!

CHAPTER 2 NORWAY IN THE NEW NORTH: AN EMPIRICAL BACKGROUND TO THE CASE STUDY

Contextualizing the study: Putting the ‘North’ before the ‘High’1 An important part of the context of the substantive chapters of this book relates to the extraordinary commitment in national and regional political circles from the end of the Cold War to 2005 to position and then to re-position Norway’s relationship with the Arctic. This reinstatement of the High North at the top of the foreign policy agenda signalled a decisive break with policy after the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, when references to ‘the north’ were conspicuous by their absence. Given Norway’s geopolitical location on the Arctic rim and at the northernmost extremity of the European mainland, Arctic affairs are an integral part of the country’s foreign policy. Arctic policy has not always claimed as much priority as today, of course, and both perceptions and official designations have changed over the years. Indeed, it is rare to hear the word ‘Arctic’ mentioned at all in domestic foreign policy discourse, and when it is, it is usually in reference to something far more remote in time (such as the polar expeditions in the early part of the twentieth century) or in space (beyond Norway’s immediate sphere of interest, such as the area

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around the North Pole or the American Arctic). No, bureaucrats, academics and politicians have tended to prefer to speak of the ‘High North’ (Norwegian: nordomra˚dene) in connection with foreign policy and international relations (see Map 2.1). In practice, the name pertains essentially to relations between Norway, including the group of islands that make up the Svalbard archipelago, and the other states of the Barents Sea region. Of course, Norway’s relations with Russia are of greatest importance here. When the Cold War ended, ‘the North’ virtually disappeared from Norwegian foreign policy discourse; it was too closely associated with the tense geopolitics of the Cold War, even with Norway’s former reputation as an expansionist polar nation. Norway wanted to reset its reputation as a ‘bringer of peace’. The country grew increasingly involved in peacemaking in various parts of the world (Guatemala, Sri Lanka, the Middle East and Sudan). This does not mean that the European Arctic had no place in foreign policy or politics – it was simply that the focus of attention was on institutional cooperation with Russia, generally referred to as ‘Russia-related strategies’, or ‘neighbourhood policies’. By the

Map 2.1 ‘High North’ as generally conceived in the Norwegian discourse Source: Fridtjof Nansen Institute

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mid-2000s, however, ‘the northern regions’ (which is a literal translation of the Norwegian term, though ‘High North’ is officially the preferred English translation), had emerged as the most important feature of Norwegian foreign policy. It coincided with what the international press called the ‘rush for the Arctic’, though that cannot explain the change in priority. There were divisions in Norwegian politics, and problems in Norway’s relationship with Russia (as we shall see later). Of particular importance in this context, Norway’s new northern policy was a combination of foreign and domestic politics. While policy on the High North has elements of both traditional security politics and ‘softer’ institutional politics of the 1990s promoting collaboration between Norwegian and Russian institutions in different fields to many observers, Norway’s ‘new’ northern strategy was simply a means of boosting the economy, trade, and R&D in those parts of the country. I start with an examination of one of the legacies of the Cold War, the European Arctic as a high-tension zone between East and West. The Kola Peninsula was renowned for being the most heavily militarized region on earth. The final decades of the Cold War also introduced fundamental changes in the law of the sea, one consequence of which was the division of jurisdiction over most of the Barents Sea between Norway and Soviet Russia. The rest would be decided at a later date. These changes in international law also facilitated the creation of a joint Norwegian–Soviet Barents fisheries management regime, a rare example of East and West working peacefully and productively together in the Arctic during the Cold War. This arrangement proved so successful it was used as a template for later joint Norwegian– Russian ventures in the years following Soviet dissolution.

In Soviet times I shall be arguing that there existed no such thing as a concerted, coherent Norwegian High North policy before 2005. Norway certainly had a policy regarding the High North and it was very much alive before this point in time, but it was usually referred to and understood as part and parcel of the wider ‘policy on Russia’

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Map 2.2 The Barents Sea region Source: Fridtjof Nansen Institute

(Russlandspolitikk). Næromra˚depolitikk was usually the term for ‘neighbourhood policy’, or ‘policy relating to Norway’s immediate neighbours’, i.e. islands to the west like the Faroe Islands, Greenland and Iceland, in addition to Russia in the east. After the Arctic council was established in 1996, the term ‘international Arctic politics’ was often used for the activities of that body. The High North was obviously important in Norwegian foreign policy throughout the Cold War, although the term was never used as such. The official focus was all about Norway’s security, narrowly defined, in the north. Norway and the Soviet Union were on opposite sides in the Cold War; indeed, the Kola Peninsula in Murmansk oblast was one of the most militarized areas on the planet. The Barents Sea area had seen both conflict and cooperation between Norway and the Soviet Union. Farthest to the north, the Svalbard

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archipelago had become part of the Kingdom of Norway in 1925, though all subjects to signatory states to the Svalbard Treaty were granted equal rights to settle on the island and harvest its natural resources. For extended periods of the Cold War, more than twice as many Soviet citizens as Norwegians lived on the island, although there was precious little contact between the two settlements. When it was established in 1933, the Northern Fleet, based on the Kola Peninsula, was the smallest of the four Soviet naval fleets. By the 1950s, however, the Soviet Union had become a nuclear power and was pursuing a programme of expansion, resulting in the production in 1958 of the country’s first nuclear submarine. It was stationed at Zapadnaya Litsa on the Kola Peninsula and close to the border with Norway. Six new bases were constructed for nuclear submarines, along with several smaller bases for other vessels. By the late 1960s, the Northern Fleet was the largest of the Soviet fleets. In this situation, Norway adopted a strategy of deterrence and reassurance. NATO membership was the main deterrent, but the Norwegian armed forces were kept at a level deemed necessary to stop the advance of any Soviet attack until NATO allies came to assist. To avoid the Kremlin misinterpreting Norwegian actions as aggressive, Oslo imposed a number of restrictions. NATO allies would not be allowed to take part in military exercises east of the 24th meridian, a line dividing Norway’s northernmost county, Finnmark, almost down the middle. While the Norwegian–Soviet border was peaceful, it was strictly guarded, and while there was no conflict between the countries, nor was there much cross-border interaction. Besides regular diplomatic meetings, the main area of Norwegian–Soviet collaboration lay in the management of the abundant fish resources of the Barents Sea. Moscow and Oslo had been talking since the late 1960s about creating a bilateral system of management. The window of opportunity opened with the adoption of a significantly revised law of the sea at the third UN Conference on the Law of the Sea in 1975. The revised law allowed coastal nations to establish 200-mile exclusive economic zones (EEZs), and gave them the right and responsibility to manage marine resources within the

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zone. On a visit to Oslo in December 1974, Soviet Minister of Fisheries Aleksandr Ishkov and his Norwegian counterpart agreed to set up the joint fisheries management system.2 This was the Joint Norwegian–Soviet (now Norwegian–Russian) Fisheries Commission. It would meet at least once a year, every other year in Russia or Norway. At the first meeting, in January 1976, delegates specified the fish stocks (cod and haddock being the most important) the Commission would manage. Quotas would be shared on a 50/50 basis. In 1978, capelin also became a shared stock at a ratio of 60/40 in Norway’s favour. During the 1980s, a new quota exchange scheme came into force: in return for the right to fish species found exclusively in Norwegian waters, the Soviet Union gave Norway a proportion of its cod and haddock quotas. Although these species, especially blue whiting, were plentiful, they had little commercial interest to Norwegian fishers. In the Soviet plan economy, on the other hand, volumes were more important than (export market) price, so the system suited both parties. The dissolution of the Soviet Union and the introduction of a free market economy in Russia changed all this. Now cod and haddock, both highly prized species on the global fish market, began to attract the interest of fishing companies outside Norway and Russia. The quotas of cod and haddock Russia shared with Norway were cut, and Russian fishing companies began delivering catches to non-Russian landing stations, primarily in Norway, but also elsewhere. Russian fishers now had a real incentive to overfish their quotas, while at the same time, because quota checks were usually carried out at the point of delivery, Russian inspectors lost control of the volumes landed by Russian trawlers. By 1992/3, Norwegian fishery authorities were suspecting the Russian fleet of overfishing. Estimates of total Russian catches based on landings by Russian vessels in Norway and on inspections of Russian vessels at sea by the Norwegian Coast Guard put Russian overfishing at 50 per cent. The Russians did not dispute this figure, and agreed with Norway to include enforcement measures under the joint management scheme. In practice, it meant that Norwegian

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authorities exchanged catch data on Russian landings in Norway with their Russian counterparts. The successful joint enforcement scheme was followed by steps to synchronize the two countries’ technical regulations; other joint measures were also introduced during the 1990s. Around the turn of the millennium, the change in delivery patterns was increasingly apparent. Russian fishing vessels had revived the old Soviet practice of delivering catches to transport ships at sea. But rather than heading to Murmansk with the fish, these transport vessels sailed for other European countries, including Denmark, the UK, the Netherlands, Spain and Portugal. Again, Norway contacted the Russians on suspicions of overfishing, but the latter on this occasion proved less cooperative. Norway therefore went ahead to calculate overfishing in the Barents Sea without Russian data. The estimates indicated a rise in the level of Russian overfishing between 2002 and 2005 of nearly 75 per cent, though it declined gradually to zero in 2009. Both Norway and the Soviet Union established EEZs in 1977 (see Map 2.3). However, Oslo and Moscow were at odds over which method to apply to determining the position of the delimitation line between their respective zones. They had been negotiating the division of the Barents Sea continental shelf since the early 1970s, and the boundaries of their respective EEZs were now included in these discussions. The parties had initially agreed on the principle laid out in the 1958 Convention of the Continental Shelf whereby states may divide continental shelves between themselves. However, if they failed to agree, the Convention proposed the median-line principle, that is, a line extending from the tip of the mainland border, though in some cases, special circumstances might warrant adjustments. For the demarcation of the Barents Sea, Norway advocated the median-line principle, the Soviets the sector-line principle. Following this principle, the line of delimitation would trace the path of the line of longitude from the tip of the mainland border to the North Pole. The Soviets had already claimed parts of the Arctic Ocean as early as in 1928 based precisely on this principle. And there were special circumstances with regard to the division of

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Map 2.3 Jurisdiction of the Barents Sea Source: Fridtjof Nansen Institute

the Barents Sea, not least the large number of people in the area, and the strategic significance of the region, both of which warranted adjustments to the median line. In 1978, a temporary agreement was reached. The Grey Zone Agreement sought to prevent unregulated fishing in the disputed area3 and gave Norway and the Soviet Union responsibility to regulate and control the fishing activity of their own nationals and

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those of any third country licensed by either of them. They would also refrain from interfering in the activities of each other’s vessels, or of vessels licensed by them. It was a specifically temporary deal, and had to be renewed on an annual basis. The established Grey Zone worked well enough for the purposes of fisheries management, but the discovery of substantial hydrocarbon resources (recoverable petroleum volumes) in the area put the parties under pressure to reach a permanent delimitation agreement, which they did in spring 2010.4 Both countries made concessions: the final delimitation line runs midway between the median line and the sector line. A remaining area of contention is the Fishery Protection Zone around Svalbard. Norway believes it is entitled to establish an EEZ around the archipelago, but has thus far refrained from creating one because the other signatories of the 1920 Svalbard Treaty have made it clear that they would not accept any such action.5 The Svalbard Treaty awarded Norway sovereignty over what had been until then a no man’s land in the European Arctic. However, the treaty constrains Norway’s right to exercise this jurisdiction in several ways. Most importantly, the nationals of the signatory powers may extract or mine natural resources on Svalbard. Svalbard may not to be used for military purposes, and finally Norway does not enjoy unlimited authority to tax the residents of Svalbard. The original signatories were Denmark, France, Italy, Japan, the Netherlands, Norway, Sweden, the UK and the USA. The Soviet Union joined in 1935. According to all the other signatories, this non-discrimination aspect of the Svalbard Treaty should be interpreted as having force in the waters around the archipelago too.6 But if we look at the wording of the treaty text, Norway protests, it only actually deals with the land and territorial waters of Svalbard itself. These waters are important feeding grounds for juvenile cod, and the 1977 Fishery Protection Zone represents a ‘middle-of-the-road’ attempt to prevent unregulated fishing of young fish. The zone is not recognized by any of the other countries with fishing quotas in the area since the introduction of the EEZ. In an effort to reduce tensions with other states, Norway has followed the path of leniency when dealing with

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offences against the fisheries laws in the Svalbard Zone. It was only in 1993 that force was considered necessary. Icelandic and Faroese vessels flying flags of convenience were caught fishing in the protection zone without a licence. The Coast Guard fired warning shots, and the ships departed the zone. The following year, the Coast Guard arrested an Icelandic fishing vessel for the same offence. Soviet/Russian vessels have been fishing in the Svalbard Zone since its establishment – indeed, they represent the bulk of fishing activity in the area. But they do not report their catches in the area to Norwegian authorities, and Russian captains always refuse to sign the Norwegian Coast Guard’s inspection report form. On the other hand, the Russians welcome Norwegian inspectors on board, and the procedures are the same in the Svalbard Zone as in the Norwegian EEZ. Norway’s lenient approach to law breakers came to an abrupt end in 1998 when the Coast Guard arrested a Russian vessel for fishing in a closed-off area to protect juvenile stocks. But before reaching a Norwegian harbour, hectic diplomatic activity between the two countries had resolved the situation, and the Russian vessel was allowed to go. In 2001, a Russian vessel was arrested in the Protection Zone for the first time. It was guilty of a serious environmental crime, having violated several fishing regulations. The Russian government was furious. Norway, they said, had illegally detained a Russian vessel in international waters and in doing so broken a nearly 25-year-old gentlemen’s agreement, whereby Russia accepted Norwegian monitoring of fishing operations in the Svalbard Zone (including physical inspections of Russian fishing vessels), as long as Norway did not behave as if it had formal sovereignty in the area. Norway attempted to arrest a Russian vessel in the Svalbard Zone again in 2005 – also on this occasion for serious violations of the fishing regulations, including overfishing. Again, the Coast Guard failed to bring the vessel to port in Norway, though not for the same reason as in the 1998 incident. The captain of the Russian fishing vessel simply absconded with his ship to a Russian harbour – with the Norwegian inspectors still on board. He was later convicted by a Russian court, and Russia’s official reaction to the affair was much

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milder than in 2001. In 2009/10, the Norwegian Coast Guard arrested a handful of Russian fishing vessels in the Protection Zone around Svalbard, but without the Russian authorities filing a formal response. In 2009, the Commission on the Limits of the Continental Shelf approved Norway’s submission. The extensions of the Norwegian shelf beyond 200 nautical miles were in the Western Nansen Basin north of Svalbard; certain parts of the ‘Loophole’ in the east; and the ‘Banana Hole’ in the south-west (see Map 2.4).7

Map 2.4 Barents Sea continental shelf Source: Fridtjof Nansen Institute

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Cooperation in the North Norway directed its foreign policy towards the European Arctic in the 1990s mainly at encouraging Russia to commit to collaborative networks. The idea of a ‘Barents region’ was first aired by a former Norwegian minister of foreign affairs, Thorvald Stoltenberg, in April 1992. After consultations, Russia and the other Nordic governments signed the Kirkenes Declaration of January 1993 establishing the Barents Euro-Arctic Region (BEAR). Norway, Sweden, Finland and Russia pledged to work together at regional and national levels.8 At the regional level, BEAR’s geographic scope initially included the three northernmost counties of Norway, Norrbotten in Sweden, Lapland in Finland, Murmansk and Arkhangelsk oblasts and the Republic of Karelia in Russia (see Map 2.5). They were joined in 1997 by Nenets Autonomous Okrug, located within Arkhangelsk oblast, which became a member in its own right, and later by Va¨sterbotten (Sweden), Oulu and Kainuu (Finland), and the Republic of Komi (Russia). All these regional entities are now represented on the Regional Council of BEAR, as are the indigenous peoples of the region.9 The Barents Euro-Arctic Council (BEAC), on which Denmark, Iceland and the European Commission have seats in

Map 2.5 Barents Region Source: Fridtjof Nansen Institute

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addition to the four core states, was created to ease and encourage intergovernmental cooperation. The following countries have observer status: Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, the Netherlands, Poland, the UK and the USA. BEAR was designed to promote stability and prosperity in the area, purposes enshrined in the concepts of normalization, stabilization and regionalization. It seeks to reduce military tension, prevent and reduce environmental threats, and close the East–West standard of living gap in the region. BEAR is also involved in European and Arctic regionalization processes, which aim to turn peripheries and border zones into places where governments can meet in a transnational forum serving a range of interests. BEAR pursued in particular issues of environmental protection, the building of regional infrastructure, economic cooperation in science and technology, culture, tourism, health care, and finally issues affecting the indigenous peoples of the region. One of the most striking features of East–West relations in the European North since the end of the Cold War is the massive transit of people in both directions across national borders. Some of these people settle in the new country. Annual crossings between Norway and Russia increased from 3,000-plus in the early 1990s to nearly 110,000 by the mid-2000s.10 East–West tourism is thriving; political and business delegations frequently visit counterparts across the border; students visit for longer or shorter periods; and most of the towns on the Nordic side of the border now have Russian communities of varying sizes. Many Russians have married Scandinavians and are therefore eligible to apply for permanent residence. The numerous exchange programmes run by BEAR allow specially qualified or skilled people to live and work in the different countries on a temporary residence and work permit. As a political project, BEAR has had its ups and downs.11 While ambitions were high in its formative years, it proved harder than expected to create viable cross-border business partnerships in the Barents region. Partnership lauded as a success in the early years ended in failure. There were some notorious cases of Russians simply ejecting their Western partners out of the business as soon as it

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Map 2.6 Barents Sea Petroleum Source: Fridtjof Nansen Institute

turned a profit. BEAR therefore scaled down its promotion of major business partnerships in the late 1990s, and devoted its energies instead to helping small businesses form cross-border partnerships and boosting people-to-people cooperation in the form of student exchanges, cultural projects and other initiatives bringing Russians and nationals of the Nordic countries together. BEAR set up a Barents Health Programme in 1999, focusing primarily on new and resurgent communicable diseases such as HIV/AIDS and tuberculosis.12 Both people-to-people cooperation and the Barents Health Programme are generally considered successful, and the number of small business partnerships has also been growing. A Joint Norwegian–Soviet Commission on Environmental Protection was established in 1988.13 This was the year after former Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev’s famous ‘Murmansk speech’, in which he urged the ‘civilization’ of the militarized European Arctic in general, and wider international cooperation on environmental

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protection in particular.14 The Soviet Pechenganikel nickel smelter had already ravaged the countryside on the Kola Peninsula (with visible damage also on the Norwegian side); the Joint Norwegian– Soviet Commission on Environmental Protection gave immediate priority to the modernization of Pechenganikel and the reduction of SO2 emissions.

Nuclear threats By the early 1990s, it had become an urgent priority to secure nuclear waste in safe conditions. Everyone knew the Soviets had been dumping radioactive waste in the Barents and Kara Seas; they were simply overwhelmed by the ever-mounting stockpile of spent nuclear fuel and radioactive waste on the Kola Peninsula. Towards the end of 1990, the Norwegian press carried unconfirmed reports of Russia dumping radioactive waste in the Barents and Kara Seas, and warned of a new and frightening threat from the East. What began as rumours was later confirmed by a commission of enquiry set up by the Russian parliament. Storage facilities in north-west Russia were bursting at the seams, and there was too little capacity to recycle or transport waste out of the region. The 1986 Chernobyl nuclear catastrophe – although geographically far from north-western Russia – had raised awareness, not to mention fear, of any nuclear leftovers after the dissolution of the Eastern bloc. It did not take long before the nuclear power plant at the city of Polarny Zori, in the south of the Kola Peninsula, became a hot political and security issue. On the Norwegian side, uncertainty regarding this new threat led to a 1993 white paper on nuclear activity in areas adjacent to the Norwegian north. Norway launched a nuclear safety plan of action for north-western Russia in 1995, and three years later the Joint Norwegian–Russian Commission on Nuclear Safety was established. Over the next ten years, Norway spent around USD 150 million on nuclear safety projects on the Kola Peninsula. The action plan was designed to protect the public, the environment and the economy from radioactive contamination and pollution from chemical weapons. It addressed

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four defined areas: improving safety at nuclear facilities; improving the management, storage and disposal of radioactive waste and spent nuclear fuel; boosting research into and monitoring of radioactive pollution; and addressing arms-related environmental hazards. The immediate task was to make the Kola nuclear power plant safe; investigate and report on pollution in northern waters; and hasten the construction of storage and effluent treatment facilities for radioactive waste and spent nuclear fuel. Since the beginning of the millennium, the Commission has been working on how best to remove nuclear waste from the Northern Fleet’s old storage facility at Andreeva Bay on the western part of the Kola Peninsula, and removing the old radioisotope thermoelectric generators used in navigation buoys and replacing them with environmentally friendly solar cells. It has also been engaged in helping the Russians to dismantle nuclear submarines at the naval shipyard of the Kola Peninsula. The action plan soon became emblematic of Norway’s High North politics, with more than NOK 1 billion allocated to the programme over a ten-year period. While nuclear safety absorbed most of the earmarked environmental funding under the bilateral environmental agreement between Norway and Russia, the Commission on Environmental Protection promoted institutional cooperation between the two countries in areas such as pollution control, biodiversity and protection of the cultural heritage. Institutional cooperation became the hallmark of the Commission’s activities around the mid-1990s. It not only devised ways of dealing with acute environmental problems, but the Commission also took steps to enable practical cooperation among environmental institutions in Norway and Russia. Norway was eager to help Russia strengthen its environmental bureaucracy, not least as regards specialist competence. The single largest project was the Cleaner Production Programme, which helped train engineers at Russian enterprises to save resources and reduce waste. Since 2002–3, the protection of the marine environment of the Barents Sea has been the uppermost objective of the Commission, though with little to show for its main project, the modernization of the Pechenganikel combine. Norway pledged NOK 300 million (at the

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time equivalent to some USD 50 million) in 1990, but after years of planning the project was finally shelved in 1997. It was revived in a smaller format in 2001, when the Norwegian Minister of the Environment and the Russian Minister of Economy signed a modernization agreement that would reduce emissions of SO2 and heavy metals by 90 per cent. The owner of the now privatized smelter, Norilsk Nikel, had few incentives to invest in environmental performance, and Russian environmental authorities lack the political power to force the company to improve its record. By 2010, it was clear that nothing would come of this modernization initiative.

Health as security By the end of the 1990s, health had also become a priority in Norwegian–Russian relations. The mid-1990s saw the emergence of another type of threat from the East: old and new infectious diseases like tuberculosis and HIV/AIDS which, in light of increasing traffic between the two countries, could spread westwards. Russia lacked the means to treat tuberculosis effectively, if at all, and the possible emergence of multi-resistant tuberculosis was particularly worrying for Norwegian health officials. Politicians responded robustly, mounting a Barents health programme in 1999 followed by a task force for infectious diseases in the Baltic Sea region in 2001. Both programmes were funded jointly by BEAR, though Norway took a leading role and spent more on the programme. These actions prompted the authorities to extend both programmes into northwest Russia, Norway’s main focus area in Russia (see Hønneland and Rowe 2004, for more on the Barents health programme and the task force’s work in north-west Russia). In brief then, BEAR was by far the most important platform for Norway’s ‘New North politics’ in the first few years after its establishment in 1993. Promoting and facilitating business and infrastructure projects were the first large undertakings, with the environment and sustainable development as important benchmarks. Nuclear security was the major focus area in monetary terms, while the battle against the mentioned infectious diseases commenced in

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the late 1990s. Although they had lost some of their youthful momentum, both BEAR and the programme for nuclear safety were the largest undertakings under Norway’s High North policies as we entered the year 2000. The course seemed likely to remain constant, despite dwindling budgets and minor adjustments. Major business ventures made up an ever smaller part of BEAR’s operations, while people-to-people projects like student exchange programmes, cultural cooperation and the like were increasingly cited as the reason, justification and legitimacy of the interregional project as a whole (Hønneland 2005).

Norway propelled by petroleum15 Norway plays an important role in the global energy politics as a major producer and supplier of oil and, increasingly, gas. The country is the seventh biggest oil exporter and fourteenth biggest oil producer in the world (Ministry of Petroleum and Energy 2011). Demand for natural gas is growing all over the world today, primarily driven by the power generation sector. Between 2000 and 2006, eight in ten new power stations in the world were gas driven. When the Ormen Lange field off the coast of Møre came on stream in 2008, Norway’s gas exports grew by almost a half. This field alone accounts for about 20 per cent of UK gas supplies, delivered through the world’s longest underwater pipeline, Langeled. This brought Norway to second place on the 2010 list of the biggest gas exporters, superseded only by Russia. Norway is the second biggest supplier of natural gas to the EU, covering in 2010 18 per cent of Europe’s total gas needs (US Energy Information Administration 2010). Given Norway’s already large and growing share of the European gas market, the country is a major player in one of the world’s most important energy markets. Norway also belongs geographically and politically to the Western world – a largely energy dependent and energy importing region. The EU’s access to its own natural gas is declining rapidly. The once massive resources on the British continental shelf in the North Sea are falling steadily, and within 20 years the UK will probably depend on imported gas for 90

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per cent of its needs. Given this scenario, Norway must come across as a highly palatable, stable and reliable producer of energy in virtue of the country’s capacity and as an alternative to other, possibly less appealing producers such as Russia and Algeria, both of which do worse on several scores including distance, stability and reliability. The petroleum industry has been crucial to Norway’s economic growth ever since the industry’s emergence in the 1970s, and to the funding of the Norwegian welfare state. There has also been broad political consensus in Norway regarding policy on the petroleum industry: it should facilitate value creation, ensure welfare and promote industrial development, all for the best of the country. The petroleum industry is by far Norway’s biggest industry. Taxes, duties and direct ownership provide about a quarter of the Norwegian state’s total revenues (Ministry of Petroleum and Energy 2011: 22). Maintaining production of energy has been and will remain a central – not to mention vital – government concern on economic criteria alone. Despite continual production on the Norwegian shelf over more than thirty years, though it has declined somewhat in recent years, only 30 per cent of estimated total reserves have been produced so far, according to the Ministry of Petroleum and Energy. Massive resources might yet be discovered, and in that sense there is still a significant and important potential to create wealth. The production of gas will grow steadily relative to oil production. The number and magnitude of new finds will naturally determine production volumes, though observers expect Norway’s petroleum age to last for a good many years yet – with natural gas taking over from oil as the most important export commodity. The crucial challenge, especially for Norwegian authorities, will be to ensure a profitable exploration climate and a predictable regulatory environment for these resources to be discovered. Given the global setting and the Norwegian situation characterized by falling production in existing production areas, attention naturally turns northwards – towards a new petroleum province. The Barents Sea is the least explored part of the continental shelf and as with other so-called immature areas, estimates and resource assumptions are particularly uncertain. Together with

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certain deep water areas in the Norwegian Sea and areas outside Lofoten, the Barents Sea is considered to be the most promising Norwegian petroleum province. Despite its considerable potential, at the time of writing the only field in operation in the entire Barents Sea is the Snow White gas field on the Norwegian side. Discovered between 1981 and 1984, it lies in the central part of the Hammerfest Basin at a depth of 310–340 metres, and contains condensate and deeper oil-bearing zones. The subterranean structures consist of seven distinct petroleum deposits, served by a single production facility. The deposits comprising what we call the Snow White field are named Albatross, Askeladd and Snow White. The oil deposits in the Snow White field have so far not proved commercially viable. The field is the fifth largest on the Norwegian shelf, after the Troll, Ormen Lange, A˚sgard and Ekofisk fields. It will produce for around 30 years, counting from autumn 2007. The gas is brought ashore by gas pipeline to the island of Melkøya, off Hammerfest, where the gas is processed and cooled to create liquefied natural gas (LNG), before being shipped to the most important markets in the USA, France and Spain. The most important difference between oil and gas as commodities is that gas has traditionally depended on primed markets and long-term contracts before projects could be designed and production commenced. LNG is beginning to change all this. LNG, which in addition to being the fastest growing gas market is flexible and has many of the advantages of oil, can be sold wherever the price is highest at any one time. Although petroleum is not produced as yet in the Barents Sea apart from in the Snow White gas field, the government is intent on creating the necessary infrastructure to enable the use of Snow White in future developments. In this sense, Snow White has lowered the commercial viability threshold of future discoveries by several points. The development of the Snow White project can be said to mark the transition in Norway from the oil to the gas age. The Barents Sea is chiefly referred to as a gas province. Norwegian oil production is likely to fall rapidly in the years ahead, and gas production on the Norwegian shelf overtakes oil production. For the dominating industry player Statoil, changes are happening at an even faster pace. The company

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currently has larger reserves of gas than oil in the Norwegian shelf and is transforming itself into a gas company.

Russia: The energy superpower If Norway deserves to be called a ‘major international energy power’, Russia is an ‘energy superpower’. It is the world’s biggest producer of oil and gas. The country’s petroleum production, combined with its enormous proven reserves (as of 2013, Russia has more proven reserves of natural gas than any other country in the world, bar Iran, and has the world’s eighth largest proven oil reserves), is the locomotive of the Russian economy. The petroleum industry generates about 20 per cent of Russia’s gross national product and 55 per cent of the country’s export income. So far, Russia is not producing petroleum in its part of the Barents Sea, despite the enormous estimates. The most important petroleum region in Russia is onshore, in western Siberia, in the two autonomous districts of Yamal Nenets and Khanty Mansiysk in the north of Tyuman province. It was back in the 1930s that the first discoveries of oil and gas were made in north-west Russia, in the Timan-Pechora oil and gas basin (located in what is now the Nenets autonomous district and the Komi Republic). There was no significant production, however, until the 1960s. The Russian gas industry is younger than the country’s oil industry. The first discoveries were made in western Siberia in the mid-1960s. Today’s producing fields are located in the Nadym-PurTaz region in Yamal Nenets. Large deposits were found in Soviet times on the Yamal Peninsula, just north-west of Nadym-Pur-Taz and in the Barents Sea (Shtokman field), but production has yet to begin. Gas is also being produced in significant quantities in the Timan-Pechora oil and gas basin. But it is the oil production there that has consequences for adjacent Norwegian territories. At the moment, the Prirazlomnoye oil field in the innermost part of the Pechora Sea is the only producing field on the Russian continental shelf in the Barents Sea. Production started in December 2013 after being delayed by several years. Altogether 12 fields have been discovered so far, but many exploration wells need to be drilled before

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a clear assessment can be made of the potential for oil production (Moe 2010). As regards gas, the picture is much clearer in light of several other giant fields, although commencement dates have not been decided and are not likely to be anytime soon. Norway’s relationship with Russia ranks above most other concerns in the country’s High North policy. During the Cold War, the Soviet Union was often portrayed as a somewhat unpredictable Russian bear. For a small state like Norway, it was impossible to feel completely safe. By the 1990s, however, Russia was impoverished and the recipient of humanitarian aid from Norway. Since then, the Russian bear has re-emerged, with increased financial and military clout. The domestic debate in Norway in the late 2000s concerned whether Norway should continue its financial support of Russian institutions and civil society. After all, if a country can re-arm itself, it ought to be able to take care of its environment and its citizens. Russia, moreover, represents a potential market and business partner for Norway. Participation in the Shtokman development was arguably the main driving force behind Norway’s ‘new’ northern policies. Thus, we see how Moscow guided Norway’s High North policies during the Cold War, in the 1990s and 2000s. Those concerned with Norway’s security have found common ground with investors interested in improving conditions for businesses in the north. Looking at Norway’s ‘near abroad’ in the Barents Sea region, they tend to applaud the presence of naval vessels in the north and welcome the rise in population numbers. Regional politicians, journalists and business people have found allies among members of the political elite in Norway concerned about access to new resources for Statoil, preferably in the ‘near abroad’, especially in light of the beneficial ripple effects on regional trade and industry. While people and businesses located close to the Russian border, mainly in Kirkenes, do not always see eye to eye with people in the rest of northern Norway, i.e. in the academic capital of the region, Tromsø, both groups want to see relations with Russia improve and the High North taken seriously as a ‘national project’.

CHAPTER 3 A DISCOURSE ANALYSIS OF ARCTIC POLICY DEBATES: THE CASE OF NORWAY

Norwegian public discourses on the New North On taking office in 2005, Norway’s new left-centrist coalition government gave top priority to the High North1 as a strategic and foreign policy area (Office of the Prime Minister 2005). In doing so, the government were acknowledging developments over the past few years which, at least at the level of rhetoric, saw the emergence of a new approach to post-Cold War Norwegian foreign policy. Only a few years before, almost no one questioned the division of resources and security in relation to the Barents Sea region. The USSR had collapsed into a quagmire of economic and social problems; it hardly counted as a military threat to Norway any more. There was no real discussion about exploring the High North for oil and gas deposits, and Norway and Russia’s joint management of marine resources in the Barents Sea proceeded more or less amicably following the border disputes of the 1970s (Hønneland 2006: 42). Norway wanted to act as a mediator between hostile parties on the global stage, and ‘South’ probably had more of a progressive ring to it than ‘North’ among participants in foreign policy debates. How, then, did the High North suddenly become a debatable subject – and a new political bandwagon? Based on newspaper

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articles and commentaries, in this chapter I tell a story of highs and lows in one of the highest-profile Norwegian public debates on domestic and foreign politics and policies – an issue about which virtually everyone has an opinion.2 I present my findings and structure the discussion with the help of three overarching, but interconnected narratives. These narratives, I suggest, embody the essence of the Norwegian public discourses on the High North between 2000 and 2006, at least as far as it is possible to discern from the approximately 3,000 articles in the four above-mentioned Norwegian newspapers. I call the narratives Fragments from the 1990s; The great narrative of the High North; and Mixing cold water with hot blood. The data analysed in this chapter stem from a large corpus of texts retrieved by searches in the press database Atekst for the period 1 January 2000 to 31 December 2006.3 My study is based on systematic, chronological, extensive qualitative readings of a total of 3,043 articles in the four selected Norwegian newspapers Aftenposten, Dagens Næringsliv, Klassekampen and Nordlys. The selection of excerpts from these data for use in this chapter was guided by a wish to give the reader a fair and accurate description of my perception of the debate. Control searches conducted in the database resulted in a slightly higher number of hits in the Nordlys newspaper, with Aftenposten as a close number two. The balance is relatively evenly divided between Klassekampen and Dagens Næringsliv. This is reasonably reflected in the choice of extracts and references, I believe. What is more important, though, is the striking similarity in both content and form across the four newspapers over the whole period. In fact, it was possible to identify the three discourses at an early stage of the data analysis, and they were voiced by a wide range of actors in all the newspapers over a relatively long period of time. The newspapers are chosen on the basis of their slightly different profiles and focus areas, which improves the quality and broadens the scope of the analysis. Although in danger of oversimplification, one could say that Aftenposten represents the ‘national and conservative newspaper’, Dagens Næringsliv is the ‘business and financial

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newspaper’, Nordlys is the ‘regional, northern newspaper’, and lastly, Klassekampen, despite its uncompromising title, may be branded the ‘slightly radical and leftist newspaper’. (Jensen 2007: 248) I also draw on my own ‘cultural competence’ (Neumann 2008: 63–5) in the various issue areas, acquired during studies and consultancy projects. Based on discourse analysis and my cultural capital, it is my personal interpretation of the data that informs the discourses I extract and construct from the data. The search in the database for ‘High North’ (nordomra˚de*) resulted in about 100 hits in the year 2000, 200 for the years 2001–4, rising abruptly to about 1,000 in 2005 and 2006. Like the politics, the debates of the early 2000s were low key, centred on the prominent themes of the 1990s, but discussed with less urgency than before. The expression ‘High North’ features notably and mainly in the foreign policy debate. Two issues dominate. The first combined plans to downscale military presence in northern Norway and Russia’s response to the establishment of the Globus II Radar Station at Vardø. The second issue was nuclear security and was also twofold. Russia was planning to transport nuclear waste by ship along the Norwegian coast, and Norway was putting together its own action plan to address the atomic waste situation in north-west Russia. In stories about the latter, the press blew alternately hot and cold, with positive stories about the long-awaited opening of the effluent treatment facility for liquid radioactive waste in Murmansk (which at the time of writing is still not operating), and negative stories about the Russian mafia and Norwegian money disappearing into a black hole. From 2004 to 2005, there was a fivefold increase in ‘High North’ references in the Norwegian media. It can be explained partly by the rapid increase in the number of references in public debates to certain geographical areas and policy fields, which before used to be discussed under different headlines.

Fragments from the 1990s4 By the year 2000, Norway’s policy on Russia – to use the government’s preferred term at the time (Hønneland 2005) – had

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grown somewhat stale. The Barents cooperation organization5 – established in 1993 by the Nordic countries and Russia – was one of the most imposing and highly respected foreign policy pillars of the early 1990s. It was a peace-promoting effort, aimed at accelerating economic growth in communities in the north of Norway still struggling after the fishery crisis of the late 1980s. The Iron Curtain had disappeared for good, and East and West were finding common cause in the north. But in addition to promoting peace, the governments wanted to expand infrastructure and, above all, encourage growth in commerce, business and trade between the peoples of Norway and Russia. It was a golden opportunity, a northern gold rush waiting to happen, so to speak. No time to lose. Although some observers and critics were not convinced, their voices could hardly be heard above the din of approbation. It was a period of great public excitement and anticipation over several years about everything Barents. What comes in with a roar often goes out with a whimper. The postSoviet economy was in critical shape, not least in contrast to the wild optimism and spectacular feats Norway and Russia were to achieve together. As the 1990s drew to a close, press commentators were starting to question the viability of the large-scale Norwegian projects in north-west Russia. Expectations, as politicians and government officials quickly admitted, may have been too high. The condensed storyline went something like this. ‘Norwegian businesses invest in north-west Russia (often with government support). Russian businesses begin making a profit. Norwegians back out of their partnerships and let the Russians take over.’ Or when the subject is different forms of governmental support such as Norway’s contribution to nuclear security and other environmental programmes in north-west Russia: ‘Norway gives Russia money. Russians refuse to say how they spend it. They’re probably using it to line their own pockets. And the programmes will fail anyway.’ There are many examples of this storyline in the press. ‘Foreign Office blows NOK 1.1 billion in Russia – Wasted on pathetic schemes’ (Aftenposten, 25 February 2000); ‘Wing-clipped in Russia’ (Aftenposten, 15 September 2000); ‘Regrets Russian Adventure’ (Aftenposten, 19 October 2000). The enthusiasm of

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the late 1990s morphed into a discourse of disaster. There were stories about the Russian mafia and general plight of the Russian population. The driving force of the ‘misery narratives’ of the early 1990s was a perception of north-west Russia as a ticking environmental bomb and radiation hot spot (Hønneland 2003, 2005). As the decade progressed, the press ran stories of social disintegration and poverty, and the threat to Norway posed by Russian depravity seeping over the border crossings, bringing high-octane criminals, prostitution and infectious diseases in its wake (Hønneland 2003). The associated mafia narrative portrayed Russians as cunning, calculating and ready to exploit the good intentions of easily duped Norwegians (Hønneland 2005). Here are a couple of examples. Is Russian atomic energy minister, Yevgeni Adamov, running businesses worth billions alongside his work as a minister? According to a Russian newspaper, he is. These suspicions have now been confirmed by a committee of the State Duma. Allegations against Adamov have been in the air for some time, but never really taken seriously before the State Duma’s anticorruption committee a few days ago published a twenty-page report endorsing most of what Adamov’s sharpest critics have claimed all the while. According to the report, Russia’s minister of atomic energy continued to transact business deals in the field of atomic energy after he was appointed minister in March 1998. Mixing government office with private business interests is one of the commonest forms of corruption in Russia today. Briefly, it works like this. Senior figures in some ministry or other ‘outsource’ jobs to firms in which they themselves or their fronts have an ownership interest. The government shovels money into the firm’s cash register. Government officials build mansions, buy top-of-the-range cars, or open accounts in foreign-based banks, way over what they would normally be able to afford. Speaking off the record, Norwegian officials deplore the state of affairs, and have done for some time. It is particularly irritating when corruption affects joint efforts to clear up the nuclear waste in the north of Russia. As a

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Norwegian observer talking to Aftenposten’s correspondent some time ago explained, ‘If we launch a project and the funding is mainly western money, you can bet your bottom dollar the Russians will dig up some business or other that’s “ready and willing” to accept the assignment. If we turn that offer down, you can bet your second bottom dollar that the Russians will quietly let the project gather dust on a shelf. If you investigate who’s behind the firm, you’ll soon see it belongs to people inside the Russian atomic energy ministry.’ (Aftenposten, 6 March 2001) Accelerating the pace of work with the Russians on atomic issues could translate into economic growth and job creation in Finnmark, believes Thorbjørn Jagland. [. . .] After many lean years, it finally looks as if two important issues are about to achieve a breakthrough. Collaboration with Russia on atomic safety and the Nikel pollution clean-up programme, said foreign minister Thorbjørn Jagland after a Murmansk meeting with the Barents Council yesterday. A solution in these two enormously complicated problems could be highly significant for Finnmark, Jagland told Aftenposten. If work on the safe storage of atomic waste in Russia gets up to speed it would mean more jobs and more business in northern Norway. (Aftenposten, 16 March 2001) Cooperation in the Barents region was not a major concern in the public debates of the early 2000s, at least not in comparison with the enthusiasm greeting the Barents project just ten years before, or indeed the clamour of criticism when it failed to ‘deliver the goods’ in what observers felt was a reasonable period of time (Hønneland 2005). There was more interest in the Orheim Inquiry’s report, published by the government as NOU 2003: 32 Look North! (Mot nord!) (NOU 2003). Orheim recommended scaling back the national component in the Barents cooperation in favour of work in the Arctic Council and bilateral cooperation with Russia. As the head of the Norwegian Barents Secretariat said in that connection,

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If this proves correct, I would say it was unbelievable. The Barents cooperation is to all intents and purposes a complete success. One has managed to establish important links between people. [. . .] And there’s talk about eliminating popular involvement. (Nordlys, 6 December 2003) Finnmark County Governor Helga Pedersen was also disappointed. I would say the report has all the signs of having been made by a panel of experts. It’s all well and good counting polar bears and ice floes, and calling for resources to step up competence building. But it all has to happen from the bottom up, with a basis in our local situation. The Inquiry’s perception of the issues is completely alien to us in Finnmark. We are discussing resources, and rights make up a key element in this discussion, but the Inquiry has not addressed this at all competently. [. . .] [On the Barents cooperation:] It’s been done without the requisite respect. The Barents cooperation has been an overwhelming success with the public. But they want to turn it into a simple regional affair. One of the reasons is because the bureaucrats have lost their enthusiasm. Does the Barents cooperation exist so that bureaucrats can enjoy themselves at work, or because it’s supposed to benefit we who live here? No, it does get me down. (Nordlys, 9 December 2003) Failing Norwegian–Russian projects continued to surface in the media from time to time, along with, surprisingly, reminders of that initial sense of enthusiasm for the Barents cooperation. It sounded like an echo from the 1990s when Svein Ludvigsen (Conservative member of parliament) wrote: ‘Now’s the time for a new push in Norwegian policy on the Barents. [. . .] If the Pomor trade could be resuscitated it would create completely new opportunities for the northernmost Norway’ (Nordlys, 17 July 2000). Rune Rafaelsen (of the Norwegian Barents Secretariat) also looked ahead: ‘The enormous deposits of oil and gas in the Barents region, especially in the Russian areas, will turn our current Barents cooperation upside down’ (Nordlys, 4 February 2002).

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Where politicians used to visit northern Norway or the Barents region, foreign minister Jonas Gahr Støre now travelled to the High North whether the destination was Kirkenes, Murmansk or anywhere else (onshore or offshore) north of the Arctic Circle (located at a latitude of 668340 ). High North policy was the new buzzword for Cold War security policy, policy towards Russia in the 1990s and the Barents cooperation. It was a timely designation signalling optimism and vitality, largely personified by foreign minister Jonas Gahr Støre, with his professional confidence and dynamic manner. The expression acquired a place in the debates on domestic policies as a ‘cool’ variant of northern Norway stimulus packages smacking of rural policy and provincial melancholia. When I say that the High North was ‘talked and written into existence’ in the sense of Neumann’s (1994) region-building approach, I believe the evidence is on my side.6 The new High North policy is the story of ‘it’s happening in the north’.

The great narrative of the High North For this is a story that is beginning to be told as we near election year 2005; more than anything, it is a story about where northern Norway fits in the wider world. The white paper promised by the government following the Orheim Inquiry (NOU 2003) had been postponed several times. It was supposed to arrive in the spring of 2004 but appeared a year later. In terms of concrete proposals it was largely bare. It announced the continuance of talks with our allies on matters relating to the High North (aka the High North Dialogue) and to strengthen collaborative mechanisms with Russia. This notwithstanding, something was beginning to happen. About a year later, influential figures in the north jumped on the bandwagon of political interest in the High North. They modified the narrative ‘it’s happening in the north’ with an ‘it’s happening now!’ In extension, the High North became the foreign policy issue of the autumn 2005 election campaign. We at the newspaper [Nordlys] have long been urging the political parties – of all hues – to bestir themselves and look at

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the north. Because if they do, they’ll see the Norway of the future, land of opportunities. It’s along the coast and in the north this future can be created by adopting a pro-active coastal and High North policy. The next petroleum Klondike will unfold in the High North, and it is in the north we have an enormous potential for economic growth and value generation. (Nordlys, 4 February 2005) Our vital national interests lie in the north. This should be the target of Norwegian foreign policy over the foreseeable future. We stand on the brink of the greatest foreign policy challenge of the post-WWII era. (Thorbjørn Jagland, Chair, Standing Committee on Foreign Affairs, to Nordlys, 16 June 2005) There had already been an extensive debate over the prospect of commercially extracting the oil and gas reserves under the Barents Sea. There were estimates of significant oil and gas deposits in the Russian part of the Barents Sea as well. Around the mid-2000s, these estimated reserves under the Russian shelf were increasingly mentioned in the debate over whether to develop the reserves commercially, and indeed, in connection with the wider discourse on the High North per se. The ensuing storyline was partly visionary, though based on a relatively conservative assessment of the interests of the different states. ‘Shtokman will be one of the world’s biggest gas fields when it finally comes on line. The Russians will need foreign technology and capital to develop the field, and Norwegian companies stand a good chance. The ripple benefits will be highly significant for northern Norway.’ If we include the interests of the great powers, the storyline fills out as follows: ‘The USA is interested in Russian gas, and Norway will have to take care not to be marginalised by an international partnership in the High North’ (Hønneland and Jensen 2008). A more diffuse, and apprehensive, storyline was mixed in: ‘The Russians have already started. We haven’t a second to lose.’ And in the great power variant: ‘The Americans are already involved. Them too.’ The origin of these ideas is unclear, but many are in fact

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convinced that the Russians have been extracting oil and gas from the Barents Sea for some time – which they are still not doing as of 2014. Here are some examples from the media. ‘The Russians have already come far in efforts to build up an oil industry in the High North’ (Nordlys, 14 March 2003). ‘For every passing day, the pace of petroleum activity in the north is turned up a notch for Norway and Russia’ (Nordlys, 17 June 2005). What may have led people to believe the Russians had ‘already come far’ was the increase in shipments of Russian oil (produced on land further east) along the Norwegian coast since 2002. Whatever the reason, many were convinced that it was only a matter of time before the Russians began work on production. What sort of response the storyline is intended to elicit is not entirely clear. It was often used in connection with more general arguments concerning the High North, in attempts, for example, to underscore the importance of the High North and the necessity of some course of action or other, such as the appointment of ‘a dedicated minister of High North affairs’. It became politically incorrect (against the rules in discourse terminology) to express ‘antiHigh North’ opinions. Simply talking about the High North without a sense of optimism and confidence was considered bad manners – and represented, in accordance with discourse theory, an unwelcome challenge to the dominant discourse, which has achieved this status after ‘a lot of discursive work’ (Neumann 2008: 70). In what follows I provide some quotes which I believe are representative of the euphoria and great sense of urgency surrounding the topic of the High North. The Russians are sailing up as the leading oil and gas suppliers in the north. Both the USA and EU are negotiating with the Russians directly, over Norway’s head, to get the best possible terms. American companies are lining up and will certainly want to make use of Norwegian off-shore know-how, which despite our usual penchant for self-aggrandisement can be called the best in the world. Hydro and Statoil are obviously interested in the Barents Sea. (Jahn Otto Johansen, Aftenposten, 10 January 2005)

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In our opinion, it is nigh on a scandal that the foreign office and Jan Petersen [then foreign affairs minister] are incapable of finishing a white paper on the High North in light of the Look North! report. It sits in the ministry gathering dust while the USA, EU and Russia have already entered the oil and gas era here in the north. (Nordlys, 12 January 2005) The production of oil and gas, of which we only see the start, is in a totally different league from what Norway is used to dealing with. Even the disputed area between Norway and Russia is as big as the whole Norwegian North Sea shelf. In addition, we must remain acutely aware of the possibility of landing in the middle of a new geopolitical tug-of-war. In a situation where Russia needs capital, the EU needs easy access to cheap oil, and the USA needs a reliable supplier with a population that doesn’t hate the USA, Norway could easily become a midget among giants. When oil’s on the menu, old friendships can quickly turn sour. (Nordlys, 4 February 2005) The High North white paper is due out before Easter, foreign minister Jan Petersen assures us. And about time too, because Norway risks falling between every stool around. Russia and the USA have hit it off in the north, applauded by the EU. Gas, oil, money and power have turned old enemies into bosom pals, leaving Norway in the cold. Will the government’s white paper have enough teeth to make Norway interesting again? It’s a politically sensitive point, but the Grey Zone probably contains enormous quantities of oil and gas. Norway is under continual pressure to speed up talks that have languished in the doldrums for 25 years. [. . .] Whatever, what’s happening is that American and Russian oil companies are heading the development of Norway’s proximate waters in the north while Norway is hesitating. [. . .] In the meantime, the Russian giants Gazprom and Rosneft, working with Exxon and Halliburton, are ploughing ahead in the Russian

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zone. They are fully engaged in the development of the Shtokman gas field and an oil field like Prirazlomnoye. (Nordlys, 19 February 2005) It is hard not to notice the interdiscursive connections between the sense of enthusiasm that swept the country in the early 1990s and this sense of euphoria on behalf of the High North in the mid-2000s. The former was a compound of northern Norwegian engagement and conscious region building on the part of the national authorities. Region building finds its inspiration in the nation-building exploits of the past – the conscious efforts to persuade a population residing within a state’s territorial jurisdiction to see itself as a united people – and accepting that regions are not immutable quantities set in stone or based on shared cultural attributes or political machinations of the great powers. Regions are, as we have already mentioned, what we make of them. They are created in writing and speech, often by political elites. We will always find reasons to consider a geographical area as a natural unit. A particular historical event, for instance, can be used as a symbol of unity. In the Barents region project, this role was played above all by the Pomor trade. According to the central region-building storyline, it was finally possible to return to the natural state of interaction and contact between East and West in Northern Europe after 70 years of communism in Russia. Social scientists were brought in to talk and write the region back to life. Human geographers in particular were soon occupying key positions. Reports and chapters were written on how the building of infrastructure would encourage integration in all possible areas of society, cultural, social, economic. Whether the geographers intended to make predictions or not, non-technical discourses on the development of the High North assimilated the models and treated them as hard facts. Visionary politicians and unification romantics in the south and north, along with geographers who were not embarrassed by such unusual interest in their models, set the agenda. With roads and industrial parks the region would be built. Optimism was high. But so was the scepticism of

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the critics, who feared Norway would wake to a splitting headache the day after the party. The sense of euphoria surrounding the High North and its prospects in the 2000s, as I see it, was not caused by region-building visions, at least not in the sense of the transnational Barents region project. In that case, the various governments wanted to create a sense of popular ownership throughout the region of this particular area. High North policy, with its domestic and foreign policy goals, is more exclusively a Norwegian project, as can be seen in the problems finding an adequate non-Norwegian name for the phenomenon.7 Although one seeks to encourage international interest in the High North, the project’s identity-building profile is not in the same league as the Barents regional collaboration. What they do share, however, is the element of brand creation and management. To modify a saying, old political bottles are being filled with new political wine. And, above all, these bottles have to glow with a new aura. When the High North white paper was issued in the spring of 2005, experts and politicians defined it as a turning point in Norwegian foreign relations. Never before had the opportunities and challenges associated with the High North been presented in a single document, went the claim. What no one seemed to remember was the 1998 white paper on relations with neighbouring countries (næromra˚depolitikken) produced by then Prime Minister Kjell Bondevik’s first government. While there were scattered references to relations with Western countries, it was essentially a review of what we call today High North policy, that is, relations with Russia in the Barents Sea area. Current High North policy looks towards the West, too – at least on paper – as did the old neighbourhood policy and High North policy of the 2000s. Oil and gas represent a new sub-area of foreign relations, but the 2005 white paper did not make much out of them. So, to a large extent, it was the same content in a new wrapping. Neighbourhood policy was out, High North policy was in. One noticeable similarity between Barents project enthusiasm and High North euphoria is the storyline they share of the urgency of the situation: ‘we’re running out of time’. In the early 1990s, according to those urging the establishment of business relations

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with north-west Russia, Norway was being left behind by everyone else. ‘The Swedes are investing, the Finns are investing; even the Germans are investing, the Portuguese are investing – And we Norwegians, we’re sitting on the fence with our hands in our pockets’ (Hønneland 2005; Hønneland and Jensen 2008). Not everyone resisted the temptation to cry ‘Wolf! Wolf!’ By the mid-2000s, Norway, ostensibly, was being overtaken by the major powers in the Barents Sea. Exxon and Halliburton were hard at work developing the Shtokman field, some professed. In both cases the warnings originated with northern Norwegian actors, impatient with the slow reaction times of an Oslo milieu unable or unwilling to apprise themselves of the situation and grasp the opportunities to be had in the High North. If someone on the spur of a euphoric moment uttered anything but ‘hooray!’, they and their arguments were soon stripped of legitimacy. If southern Norwegians tried pouring cold water onto hot northern blood, they were ill informed. And if the offenders were themselves northerners, they were virtually traitors. (See, for instance, the piece written by historians Einar-Arne Drivenes and Harald Dag Jølle in Nordlys, 4 June 2005, where they identify elements of megalomania in the High North rhetoric. See Nordlys, 23 June 2005 and 29 June 2005, to see the responses they got for speaking against the dominant discourse.) I shall not question whether there was any substance in the wave of enthusiasm for the Barents project or euphoria for the High North project. The opening of the border between Russia and Norway in the north in the early 1990s is a fact. And the Barents Sea was being opened for oil and gas exploration a decade later. Admittedly, the Germans and Portuguese were investing in Murmansk, and the USA looked for some time as if it would be the main beneficiary of liquefied natural gas from the Shtokman field if and when it started producing. Whether the Portuguese landed deals in Murmansk before us, or Shtokman gas ends up in the USA is not my main concern here. The intriguing thing is precisely that it was in this form that the discourses progressed, and in both cases in ways that were so similar. Is the story a familiar one – about hope, urgency and an arrogant capital city?

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Mixing cold water with hot blood During the slow simmer of the 1990s and early 2000s and ensuing euphoria over the High North, critical voices were few and far between. But there were some. And more have joined the fray since the end of the period under discussion in this chapter. What I mean by ‘critical voice’ is not someone who criticizes the government for sluggishness in the High North question, but someone who questions the adopted measures and priorities. We are not thinking mainly about people who criticize failed projects, but the underlying project rationale. There are isolated instances in the Norwegian press in which government projects are heavily criticized, like the nuclear waste action plan. Some have wondered whether there is any basis in fact for the High North euphoria and whether making such ‘a song and dance’ about it is very sensible anyway. At the end of the period, people want to see a fundamental review of the principles of Norway’s relations with Russia in the High North. These critics are united in questioning perceptions of reality in current Norwegian High North policy and policy debates. The storyline goes ‘What have we let ourselves in for? Isn’t it time for a reality check?’ Criticism of the rationality of the grand undertakings of 1990s High North policy was, as mentioned, relatively muted. Commentators lamented the lack of tangible and significant results from Norwegian–Russian economic collaboration, but no one condemned the entire project. The nuclear waste action plan had put too much money into Russian hands a bit too fast. Norway’s funding of nuclear safety projects in north-west Russia which began in the early 1990s has been questioned at irregular intervals, and the projects have never really dispelled the fear of impending disaster created by Bellona (a Norwegian environmental organization). The Kola Peninsula, considered a radioactive wasteland, is viewed with some concern. So it’s a good thing we’re addressing the problem, after all. There are experts, on the other hand, who can’t see what the fuss is all about. According to them, the scrapped submarines and atomic waste in the Kola Peninsula aren’t a risk to anyone or anything apart from people in the closest proximity. These experts attack

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environmentalists for playing on latent fears of anything remotely connected with radiation (natural radiation is everywhere, they say). Politicians are too willing to throw money at a problem simply to placate a concerned public opinion. They point to the prevailing discourse’s tacit assumptions, the things that usually elude critical discussion. In this instance, the assumption is that nuclear waste in the Kola Peninsula constitutes a risk to the life and health of Norwegians. The experts urge the government to take a reality check and ask themselves what they are really up to. It is all well and good to protect a few fjord inlets in the Kola Peninsula from pollution, but it is not a good idea to portray the discarded submarines as another Chernobyl waiting to go into critical meltdown: Aftenposten has carried several reports on how the scrapped Russian submarines and atomic waste are being handled in the High North. Based on an idea of the probable consequences to the fishing industry and population of our northern counties of a hazardous leak, our authorities have now budgeted about NOK 1 billion to help the Russians clear up the mess. It is difficult to find sound scientific justification for this type of aid. Indeed, there are no scientific grounds whatsoever for the idea that radioactive pollution of a given area of the northern waters would adversely affect health or environment in Norway. [. . .] In terms of the media, radioactivity tends to create the big headlines, but it is meaningless not to mention natural radioactivity in assessments of radioactivity. Studies of the environment show that if the radioactivity of 200 scrapped submarines was to leak into the Barents Sea, total radioactivity in the same sea would rise by a thousandth. In terms of health, the decisive thing is the amount of radiation people could be exposed to by eating fish or other sea foods polluted by small levels or radioactivity from a ‘leaking’ submarine core. As analyses demonstrate, these doses will always be small and virtually insignificant in relation to the doses from natural radiation. As far as I am aware, the political decision to give Russia financial aid to clear up northern areas was not based on

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these analyses. What, then, is the explanation for these decisions? There may be many laudable reasons to help a neighbouring country address its environmental problems when the assumptions are based on verifiable scientific evidence. But the evidence in this case is unclear, not to say completely absent. (M.Sc. Rolf O. Lingjærde, Aftenposten, 10 November 2003) There are those that reject the idea that Russians are already producing oil and gas in the Barents Sea, which many in Norway appear to believe. At the same time, more and more people are asking whether the sense of optimism for the Norwegian High North project relies too heavily on how much oil and gas is found in the Russian Barents Sea – not least in light of the disappointing test drills in the Norwegian Barents Sea. Professor Olav Orheim pours cold water on Kjell Magne Bondevik’s aspirations. The Russians may not start work on the Shtokman field for a long time yet, he says. [. . .] The plans Russians have for Asia are ambitious, he points out, and they will probably want to consider Chinese, Japanese and Indian wishes before starting on the Shtokman project. (Dagens Næringsliv, 23 June 2005) ‘[Consultancies in northern Norway] write glowing reports based on the discovery of significant oil deposits in the Barents Sea. According to studies done by the authorities themselves, there is little chance of finding much oil in the Barents Sea. [The consultancies] stoke up unrealistic expectations regarding exploration in the north and their attempts to convince the public are frankly disingenuous’, says Bellona representative Guro Hauge. What upsets her in particular are the projects they [the consultancies] conduct [ostensibly showing] the likely benefits of oil in the north. She condemns those she alleges are only seeking to make a profit from people’s hopes and expectations. ‘[They] have been the leading advocates of oil exploration in the north. I have no confidence in their ability to

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give an unbiased picture of the benefits likely to flow from an oil and gas industry. These people have a direct economic interest in creating expectations to the High North.’ (Nordlys, 29 March 2006) It was only a year ago Jonas Gahr Støre was whipping up a frenzy in northern Norway with his ‘Tromsø speech’. Today, the grand visions are gone, replaced by a sensible plan for the High North which few will find reason to celebrate. [. . .] The question is whether Støre hasn’t fastened the High North project too firmly to the Shtokman mast. Støre, for example, prevailed upon former Statoil director Arve Johnsen to assess the feasibility of a ‘Pomor zone’ in the north. The Government will be moving to accelerate economic relations and collaboration, it says, and is proposing a dual economic and industrial zone linking areas in northern Norway and northwest Russia. With hindsight, the proposal will undeniably lose credibility if nothing comes of the planned gas field. So what do they intend to fill the economic zone with, that’s the question. It would be a far more lucrative proposition if production started and Hydro and Statoil were partners. As it is, Shtokman is likely to stay on the back burner for a significant stretch. And according to some, the Kremlin and Gazprom appear to be more interested in Siberia. This is not good news for Norwegian manufacturers, subcontractors and others expecting the north to enjoy some of the fringe benefits. And it is a belly flop for foreign minister Støre’s plans for the High North. (Dagens Næringsliv, 1 December 2006) In this last example we see the start of what we can call a dampening of the spirits in the Norwegian debate on the High North. When the Russians refused to enter into a partnership with Norway on the Shtokman project, the febrile sense of elation over the almost unlimited potential of the High North to save the region and the nation turned instead into a sense of gloom. It can be seen in the data as a sharp drop in the number of hits in the database and, in the wider media picture, a palpable change of heart. The penny, so to

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speak, had dropped at last. One saw now how far the Norwegian High North adventure depended on Norwegian participation on the Russian shelf. This sense of being shut out in the cold lasted only a year or two, however. Spirits quickened when word spread that StatoilHydro8 – the outcome of a merger between Statoil and Hydro – would be a partner all the same in this mammoth undertaking.9 Almost overnight, the old sense of optimism returned; the grand visions for the High North were dusted down and shunted into service again in the Norwegian press (Jensen and Skedsmo 2010).

Closing remarks By tracing similarities with the decline in optimism of the 1990s for the Barents project, making way for a more sober discussion of people-to-people aid, the most pressing question is whether the euphoria over the High North project will also prove to be a flash in the pan. The fiasco discourse of the late 1990s shows how merciless retrospection can be on great prophets or seers. We can already sense what may turn out to be a repeat performance. Headlines like ‘Støre’s Belly Flop’ (Dagens Næringsliv, 1 December 2006) mimic those of the late 1990s, such as ‘Oddrun’s Fiasco’ (referring to Oddrun Pettersen, the first leader of the Barents Secretariat). Will future Russian wobbles over the Shtokman project douse High North euphoria as much as the press reports of corrupt business practices in Russia snuffed out enthusiasm for the Barents project? Will ‘competence building in the north’ become the High North’s version of a peopleto-people project? Or are we yet again facing a revitalized, euphoric High North discourse in Norway in the wake of the somewhat surprising Barents Sea Delimitation Agreement10 between Norway and Russia of 27 April 2010? There is a tendency just at the moment to question the principles on which Norway bases its relations with Russia, principles which have been in place since the end of the Cold War. An economically powerful Russia, which is actively re-inventing its image as a great power, is quite different from the crippled bear we were dealing with after the collapse of the USSR. It’s a view that appears to be gaining credibility among participants in the Norwegian

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High North debate.11 During 2010, after the completion of my analysis, the maritime delimitation agreement between Norway and Russia was signed in Murmansk on 15 November by the Norwegian and Russian foreign ministers Jonas Gahr Støre and Sergey Lavrov. It marked the resolution of the most important disputes between Norway and Russia.12 A couple of months earlier, the first bulk carrier with a non-Russian flag sailed the Northern Sea Route in transit (without visiting a Russian port) from Kirkenes, northern Norway to China loaded with iron ore concentrate.13 Which discursive shifts and policy changes are likely to emerge from such events are still very much unknown at this point, but they are almost certainly significant in the context of this chapter, and would form an interesting topic for future research. In this chapter I have traced the main public debates in Norway that framed and defined the High North discursively and politically. My discourse genealogy shows an almost total absence of the High North as a discursive and politically coherent concept in the first half of the 2000s. In the press, the term is used very sparingly, and when it does appear, it bears the connotations of and harks back to the categories of the 1990s, a clear case of interdiscursivity. These were the Fragments from the 1990s. From 2004, the press’s use of the term ‘High North’ multiplies by a factor of five, accompanied by a wide-ranging, intense discursive mobilization through the narrative ‘it’s happening in the north’. This is The great narrative of the High North. When the Russians rejected a partnership with Norway on the development of the Shtokman field, and Norwegian-led management of the environment in north-west Russia faced withering criticism, public opinion reverted back in 2006 to its pre-High North stance, and optimism gave way to a discursive shift towards the disappointment and collective self-criticism portrayed in my third narrative, Mixing cold water with hot blood. As mentioned above, the type of discursive dynamics I have documented in this chapter constitute, I believe, policy trends not only in connection with the High North but with other sectors where policy is subject to intense public debate and scrutiny. It is similar to

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how political or government action constitutes the discourses that frame discussions of those actions. By paying attention precisely to the point at which discourse and policy cross paths it is possible to gain greater insight into the immensely complex connections at work in society. Discourse analysis has given me the ability to investigate and share how Norwegian public discourses on the High North are socially produced, framed and maintained but at the same time are always in flux and open to ‘new’ directions. These processes it should be possible to trace – at least in theory – by going back in time.

CHAPTER 4 OFFICIAL NORWEGIAN AND RUSSIAN FOREIGN POLICY DISCOURSES ON THE NEW NORTH

In this chapter I analyse Norwegian and Russian official foreign policy discourses on the European Arctic. My analysis uses data contained in Norwegian government documents, key speeches by Russian President Putin and official documents from Russian authorities. I use these texts to map how challenges and opportunities in the European Arctic are perceived and framed in Norway and Russia by the authorities. As neighbouring states, they will always have to reach an accommodation with each other in the North, and work closely together from time to time on certain issue areas. Among already existing collaborative arrangements we find the Joint Russian– Norwegian Fisheries Commission (established in 1975) and the Joint Commission on Environmental Protection (established in 1988). In addition, Norway and Russia cooperate on the multilateral level within the framework of the Barents Euro-Arctic Region (BEAR), established in 1993, and the Arctic Council (1996). There is a burgeoning literature on these issues, including Stokke and Hønneland (2007) on the various arrangements in the Arctic; Henriksen et al. (2006) and Hønneland (2006) on cooperation on fishery management; A˚tland (2008, 2009) on relations between the military and the

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non-military sectors; and finally Hønneland (2003) on discourses on environmental cooperation between Russia and the West. They have all been relevant to my own study. My aim, though, differs somewhat from theirs inasmuch as I ask what the foreign policy discourses in both countries say with regard to perceived opportunities and challenges in the European Arctic. Discourse plays a crucial part in understanding politics and policies because, ultimately, it is through language we understand, construct and make sense of the world. The European Arctic is the leading issue on the Norwegian political agenda in a way that has not been seen since the days of the Cold War. It is especially apparent in the significant discursive mobilization of recent years, comprising an increased production of government documents and a widening debate in the Norwegian media (Jensen 2007; Hønneland and Jensen 2008). In March 2003, the Norwegian Ministry for Foreign Affairs appointed a High North commission; its report was published in December the same year (ECNA 2003). In the autumn of 2005, the new coalition government presented its platform: The Government regards the Northern Areas as Norway’s most important strategic target area in the years to come. The Northern Areas have gone from being a security policy deployment area to being an energy policy power centre and an area that faces great environmental policy challenges. This has changed the focus of other states in this region. (Office of the Prime Minister 2005) Norwegian economic interests, environmental interests and security interests in the North would receive high priority and should be seen as closely linked (Office of the Prime Minister 2005). The Norwegian Government’s High North Strategy (Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2006) and New Building Blocks in the North (Norwegian Government 2009) reviewed the practical challenges and opportunities facing Norway in the North. Norway’s freedom of action and foreign policy interests in the European Arctic depend on relations at several levels with Russia. There is little mention in the official discourse or public media of

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Russian perceptions of the European Arctic. In this chapter I employ discourse analysis to interpret the framing of the official discourse in Norway, and attempt to do something similar for the Russian side. The analysis attempts to answer the following research questions. How are the approaches to the European Arctic framed through the foreign policy discourses in Norway and Russia, and what are the discursive nodal points these discourses evolve around? I present first the theoretical and methodological basis before turning to the questions posed above, and the analysis of foreign policy discourses in Norway and Russia.

Discourse analysis, nodal points and primary texts Discourse analysis is used to understand how change occurs or the status quo is maintained by processes of embedding or as part of an already established hegemony in a political discourse. The implications of political discourses on the respective domestic scenes in Norway and Russia require me, the analyst, to look for what constrains their respective foreign policies – a kind of framework within which the foreign policy of either country is made and implemented (Larsen 1997). What I will try to do in this chapter is to show how, in Norway and Russia, foreign policy issues are framed by allowing the inclusion of certain issues or questions and excluding from the discourse. I attempt to pinpoint what Laclau and Mouffe (1985) have called nodal points. The idea here is that discourses evolve around certain concepts or statements that tend to have or acquire a privileged standing within the discourse. Nodal points, however, can only ‘obtain partial fixation’ (A˚kerstrøm Andersen 2003: 51) because they will always be in the midst of discursive battles, and because discourses are always in flux. Still, certain concepts will be less disputed, and treated more as truisms, than others. The discourse analyst interrogates taken-for-granted meanings in texts produced in the specific setting. Combined with relatively small and contextspecific data sets this critical potential makes it difficult to claim external validity (Tonkiss 1998). Nevertheless, ‘[d]iscourse analysis fits into a broad range of social research methods which between them seek

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to analyse general social patterns but also to examine the devil in the detail’ (Tonkiss 1998: 260). Thus, the analyst seeks to establish internal validity, or at least a plausible narrative (Czarniawska 2004), which, in addition to being interesting and of value in itself, hopefully will say something of more general significance, despite the constraints on generalizability in a strict positivist methodological sense. There will always be other points of view and perceptions of reality, and there may be secondary discourses. However, the purpose of this chapter is to take a closer look at what I term official foreign policy discourses in Norway and Russia related to the European Arctic. These discourses have to be constructed by the analyst based on a plausible interpretation of the available empirical data. Discourses are not preformed entities, ‘ready to be plucked from the air and waiting to be identified’ (Jensen 2007: 248). Discourse analysis gives epistemological and methodological priority to the study of primary texts (Hansen 2006), such as presidential statements and official policy documents, the main sources of data for this study. These so-called monuments (Neumann 2001) or primary texts are often created in the context of an ongoing discursive battle and have, at least in theory, formed, absorbed and grasped the strongest representations. I based my selection of primary texts on three basic criteria: the texts should be characterized by the clear articulation of identities and policies; they should be widely read and attended to; and they should have the formal authority to define a political position (Hansen 2006). The chosen texts satisfy all three criteria and as such stand out as primary texts or monuments in what I define as the discursive field of the New North. Russian presidential statements are taken into account and referred to by politicians and the public – and by governments – throughout the world. And equally important, the selected texts are articulated by formal political authorities, which of course is crucial since they are taken as representing the approaches of national governments to the European Arctic. The texts can also have or acquire power by repeating, confirming, strengthening and/or qualifying a certain ideological position, and by their context-specific appearance. They both have and generate power by being perceived as relevant and important enough

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to participate and take centre stage in such important discourses (Berge 2003). Texts like these set the agenda and shape the issues at hand, they frame and produce representations of foreign policy. Powered by their respective roles as institutions or holders of presidential office, the actors have a certain authority and power to define how reality should be perceived (Berge 2003; Hansen 2006). In addition, they enjoy official prestige and authority as speech acts (Searle 1969). It is up to policy makers and bureaucrats on either side to give these policy statements and speech acts substance, and respond with practical steps in the policy areas in question. In this chapter I decided to leave the ‘practical steps’ alone, and concentrate solely on the discursive level. Obviously, in politics, as in life in general, what is being said and what is being done are frequently at odds. On the other hand, the statements of a Russian president, in light of his extensive executive powers, should not be underestimated, even though the statements are – as this chapter will show – often rather general. The quotations used in this chapter as documentation, exemplification and representation of the Norwegian foreign policy discourse are from officially translated versions of the following public documents: The Norwegian Government’s High North Strategy (Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2006), The Soria Moria Declaration on International Policy (Office of the Prime Minister 2005) and the white paper Opportunities and Challenges in the North (Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2005b). I have also analysed the official Norwegian report Towards the North! Challenges and Opportunities in the High North (ECNA 2003) and New Building Blocks in the North: The Next Step in the Government’s Strategy for the High North (Norwegian Government 2009). These documents are not available in officially translated English versions, and the translations of these and various media sources are my own. On the Russian side, all of President Putin’s annual addresses to the Federal Assembly during his two presidential terms, 2000–8, were selected (Putin 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007). Although a colleague of mine at FNI, Pa˚l Skedsmo, studied the speeches in the original Russian, for the purpose of this chapter I use the officially translated versions. Both versions are available on the

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Russian president’s official website. I also rely on the Energy Strategy for Russia Towards 2020 (Gazprom 2003), President Putin’s address to the State Council on Russia’s development strategy (Putin 2008) and Russia’s Arctic strategy issued by the Russian Security Council (2009a) as a means of widening my understanding of Russia’s approach to the European Arctic. An official English summary is available for the energy strategy; Putin’s address to the State Council is available in an official English translation; and the Security Council’s Arctic strategy has been translated from the original Russian by my colleague Pa˚l Skedsmo. Albeit general in perspective, documents like these illustrate tendencies over time, have the authority to define an issue and enjoy epistemological priority (Hansen 2006).

Norwegian High North discourse As Skagestad (n.d.) noted, the first use of ‘High North’ as an English equivalent of the Norwegian term nordomra˚dene (the northern areas) was in the mid-1980s. It was adopted by the Norwegian authorities as an official term in the early 2000s. According to Skagestad (n.d.), ‘The concept has no immediate corresponding counterpart in academic or political discourse outside of Norway, and it is not selfexplanatory to foreigners’. The official Norwegian understanding of the ‘High North’, at least geographically, was presented in the Norwegian Government’s High North Strategy (Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2006), of 1 December 2006. The High North is a broad concept both geographically and politically. In geographical terms, it covers the sea and land, including islands and archipelagos, stretching northwards from the southern boundary of Nordland County in Norway and eastwards from the Greenland Sea to the Barents Sea and the Pechora Sea. In political terms, it includes the administrative entities in Norway, Sweden, Finland and Russia that are part of the Barents Co-operation. Furthermore, Norway’s High North policy overlaps with the Nordic co-operation, our relations with the USA and Canada through the Arctic Council, and our

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relations with the EU through the Northern Dimension. (Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2006: 13) Three years later, the same government’s definition of the High North seemed to have widened somewhat. The Government’s policy does not give a precise definition of what it reads into the expression ‘the High North’, nor whether it limits the High North to Norwegian territory. Substantial Norwegian interests are likely to be affected by developments wherever they take place in the circumpolar and Arctic region; indeed, international terminology tends to use ‘High North’ and ‘Arctic’ more or less synonymously [in fact, the term ‘High North’ is not employed in international discourse; see Skagestad (n.d.)]. Norway’s strategic High North policy exists in a certain geo-political environment. Norway remains committed to maintaining its active dialogue with neighbours, partners and allies on matters related to the High North, and to do more to promote Norway’s High North policy in international and regional forums. Wider international cooperation in the High North and circumpolar areas, and with Russia in particular, should prove beneficial for our part of the country as well. (Norwegian Government 2009: 7; translated by Chris Saunders, language consultant) It is interesting to note the disappearance of the particularly precise geographical definition in the 2006 document and the insertion of a vaguer, more open-ended understanding of the High North. The modification could indicate a shift in the Norwegian approach, or at least a change in priorities, focus or direction in the government’s approach to the High North. The more general point one could make from this is that the texts are clearly interrelated, but at the same time different enough to make us see that discourses are dynamic and always in flux. The main purpose of the government’s High North strategy is to ‘coordinate efforts in all fields relating to the development of the High North’ (Ministry of Foreign Affairs

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2006: 5), so as to ‘create sustainable growth and development in the High North’ (Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2006: 7). The previous government had said something similar three years earlier. It also shows how a discourse consists of an ‘interrelated set of texts’ (Parker 1992 quoted in Phillips and Hardy 2002: 3). Through the active use of natural resources, a pro-active foreign policy and high environmental standards, Norway intends to make the High North a model of sustainable development, where culture and nature provide the foundations of innovation in commerce and industry and collaboration between nationstates. (ECNA 2003: 9; translated by Chris Saunders) The High North was revitalized by a discourse on the prospect that the Barents Sea could become a new, strategically important petroleum province. This discourse was evident in public documents produced by governments before the High North became a top priority in the autumn of 2005. There are also major challenges in the foreign policy field. Other countries are showing a growing interest in Norwegian and Russian petroleum resources. This is partly because these resources are located in politically stable areas, and many countries are concerned about securing their energy supplies. This makes the High North more interesting than many other areas that are rich in energy sources. Periods when there is an insufficient supply of energy may give rise to high expectations and political pressure. It cannot be taken for granted that Norwegian interests will always coincide with those of key partners. It is therefore important to ensure that Norway’s interests continue to determine developments in the Norwegian part of the High North. (Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2005b: 7) The message was reiterated and given concrete expression by the act of sending the High North to the top of the policy agenda by the then government a year later.

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The Government’s aim is that Norway will be the best steward of resources in the High North, with oil and gas operations that meet very stringent environmental standards, and with continual knowledge generation, research and development in the petroleum sector [. . .] It is also likely that the Barents Sea will become increasingly important in the global energy supply context due to the political will in many countries to reduce dependency on supplies from the Middle East. The resources in the Barents Sea could provide long-term secure energy supply to the markets in Europe and the USA within a sustainable framework. (Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2006: 55) A consequence of not having found a Norwegian equivalent of the giant Russian gas field Shtokman (Shtokmanovskoye) was to direct the focus in the public High North debate in Norway to what might or might not happen petroleum-wise on the Russian side. It was regarded as an important factor, and speculation reached new levels on the roles Norway and Norwegian companies could or could not play in different scenarios. Sentiment in general, mirrored and powered by the media coverage (Hønneland and Jensen 2008) since the ascendance of the High North as a major concern in Norway, fluctuated in step with signals from the Kremlin and Gazprom headquarters. Norway’s potential role in the development of the Shtokman field was hotly debated, and set the tone and pace of the public discourse in the Norwegian media. A leading Norwegian financial newspaper put it tellingly like this: Confirmation came yesterday from [the Norwegian energy company] Statoil and the Norwegian Petroleum Directorate that the well known as Uranus, sited 125 km north-east of Nordkapp [in northern Norway], was dry. The announcement came just as the Barents fever was about to infect all of us. [The northern Norwegian town of] Hammerfest is sinking under the weight of Snow White money [a reference to a major liquefied natural gas extraction project]. The Italian oil conglomerate Eni wants to develop the Goliath field [off northernmost

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Norway]. Statoil and [the Norwegian energy company] Hydro want to be part of Russia’s gigantic Shtokman development. Norwegian foreign minister Jonas Gahr Støre talks so incessantly about oil and the High North, he wouldn’t look amiss in a boiler suit and hard hat. Oil expert Johan Petter Barlindhaug, who enjoys the backing of the government and Statoil, has turned the map upside down in declaring northern Norway the centre of Europe’s next oil Klondike. Behind everything glow increasingly seductive oil and gas prices. It is probably only the Socialist Left Party and a handful of aggravated environmentalists that want to slow the pace, setting their hopes on the integrated management plan for the Barents Sea, due out before Easter. Ironically, the most dependable ally of the environmentalists at the moment could be the geology of the Norwegian Barents Sea. The dry Uranus hole is not the first geological letdown to face oil devotees. Since the summer of 1980, sixty-five wells have been drilled up north, resulting in only two promising fields: the Snow White gas field and the Goliath oil field. And in southern Norwegian terms, they are not particularly extensive either. (Løva˚s 2006: 2; translated by Chris Saunders) One of the main characteristics of Norway’s High North strategy was the discursive mobilization, not least in national and regional newspapers ( Jensen 2007; Hønneland and Jensen 2008). Many different actors were asked to explain their views, although nothing significant had really happened in the North since the debate began. The urgency of the issues surrounding the High North can also be defined in terms of speech acts: as a region that is ‘talked and written into existence’ (Neumann 1994: 59) in much the same way as the BEAR one and a half decades earlier. Instead of postulating a given set of interests, a region-building approach investigates interests where they are formulated, i.e. in discourse. In addition to its place at the top of the political agenda, the High North was clearly of considerable interest to the general public. One could even say that the texts by and statements of the Norwegian foreign minister added

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vigour to the debate. Policy documents framed the issue in a certain light, and approached the High North from a certain angle, making us understand, talk and act in a certain way. On the other hand, the documents and public deliberations reinforced, cultivated and shaped one another. The documents gave rise to opinions, and the public discourse helped shape the next policy document, and vice versa ( Jensen 2007; Hønneland and Jensen 2008). The Norwegian government has made an open commitment to protect and promote interests in an area of great opportunities and increasing civil strategic importance. Norwegian interests in the High North will be safeguarded primarily by strengthening our presence and increasing the level of activity in a number of policy areas at both national and international level. (Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2006) For instance, it would mainly be up to the Norwegian Ministry of Defence to figure out what practical steps the Norwegian Navy and Coast Guard would have to take to give effect to the government’s wish for a stronger Norwegian presence in the High North. Foreign policy discourses, we can now see, must not only be interpreted by outsiders, such as academics and observers abroad, but also by elements within the state apparatus. If the political discourse, as voiced by its most eager ambassador – the Norwegian foreign secretary – is to be taken seriously, for instance, the threat of a discursive practice like deploying Norwegian Armed Forces if necessary, it must be deemed credible by outsiders. As the documents make clear, foreign policy and national policy ambitions are merging and growing ever more tightly linked discursively: development in the north of Norway, cooperation with Russia and absolute, mutual gains (Keohane and Nye 1977) are exemplified by the following two quotations. It is the Government’s strategy to facilitate the further development of a knowledge-based business sector in the High North, with particular focus on seizing the opportunities in the

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resource-based sectors. A strong knowledge base in North Norway will also be important for the development of crossborder business activity between Norway and Russia. (Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2006: 65) Norway’s partnership and commerce with Russia are surging ahead. Increasing numbers of Norwegian businesses now have a stake in north-west Russia, and contact across the border is greater than ever. Norwegian and Russian businesses are establishing partnerships across ever wider areas. The authorities will take steps to accelerate capacity, building in the private sector in the High North, and promote Norwegian business interests in Russia. (Norwegian Government 2009: 50; translated by Chris Saunders) Moreover, this follows from the main theme of the strategy, which is to ‘give our [the government’s] policy a more coherent High North focus’ (Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2006). In addition to pursuing high politics and protecting vital Norwegian national interests from foreign actors, tighter integration is considered ‘a question of a broad long-term mobilisation of our own strengths and resources in the development of the entire northern part of our country’ (Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2006: 5). The Norwegian approach addresses issues as diverse as safeguarding the livelihoods, traditions and cultures of indigenous peoples in the High North, promoting people-to-people cooperation, and developing policy on future petroleum activities in the Barents Sea (Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2006). Public support and interest declined noticeably after Gazprom, the Russian energy company in which a controlling stake is held by the Russian state, announced in October 2006 that it would develop Shtokman without Norwegian assistance (i.e. Statoil or Hydro). All the same, after it became known in October 2007 that the newly merged StatoilHydro company would be a partner with Gazprom and Total – with President Putin calling Prime Minister Stoltenberg personally to deliver the good news – Norwegian

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media redoubled their coverage, and a spirited High North debate ensued. Judging from the media debate in the following weeks, Putin and Russia had literally saved the day in the High North, and helped give the Norwegian strategy renewed vitality and substance. Perhaps one of the reasons the High North strategy had not really taken off, despite a massive effort by the government, was its perceived lack of success on the ground. The government clearly found it difficult to convince the public of the benefits likely to accrue from the enterprise.

Russian discourse on the Arctic As outlined above, the study of the Russian policy discourses concerning the European Arctic was based on a study of documents considered primary texts (see above), that is, of epistemological priority to the discourse analyst. On the Russian side, there is nothing like Norway’s ambitious High North policy and associated discourse. The Russian alternative to Norway’s intense discursive mobilization is only conspicuous by its absence. This is not to say that policy on northern regions is not discussed in Russia, but that it is not as forceful as the debate in Norway. Parliamentary committees, such as the Committee on Northern Territories and Indigenous Minorities Issues in the Council of the Federation (Komitet Soveta Federacii po delam Severa i malocˇ islennyh narodov) have fairly little power, and legislation in Russia is weaker than the executive powers of the president. Yet more powerful is the Russian Security Council, a consultative body to the president. The Security Council have, among others, issued a strategy for Russia’s Arctic policies up to 2020 (Russian Security Council 2009b). The presidential statements analysed in this chapter are rather general in nature, and, combined with a seeming lack of media discourse on Arctic issues in Russia, could be interpreted to indicate a lack of discursive mobilization in Russia. Although issues related to the European Arctic are debated and discussed in the Russian media, it seems to be the case that issues related to the Arctic are neither

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given equal weight nor considered as important in the Russian public discourse as they are in Norway. This observation is based on my reading of publications from various Russian media sources. Let me now turn to what the data tell us about the attitudes and policies of political authorities to the North. First, Russian thinking on foreign policy, judging from the official discourse, is relatively static. Both rationale and implications were given a concise rendition by the president. We are building constructive, normal relations with all of the world’s nations – I want to emphasise, with all of the world’s nations. However, I want to note something else: the norm in the international community, in the world today, is also harsh competition for markets, for investment, for political and economic influence. And in this fight, Russia needs to be strong and competitive. (Putin 2002) Although futile under international law (Øystein Jensen 2008: 585), when a Russian submarine planted a Russian flag on the seabed at the North Pole in 2007 (Parfitt 2007), as a discursive act (Neumann 2001) it can be taken as an example of Russia’s increasing assertiveness. Is Russia pursuing a more confrontational line than Norway? President Putin has his own views on the West’s interference in and interpretations of Russian policies. Having to deal with an independent, strong and self-reliant Russia is not to everyone’s liking. Political, economic and information pressures have become weapons in the global competitive battle today. Our efforts to strengthen our state are sometimes deliberately interpreted as authoritarianism. In this respect I want to say that there will be no going back on the fundamental principles of our politics. (Putin 2004) The Russian president appears to see foreign policy as a game, in which the interests of one state’s interests are automatically in conflict with

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those of others (Morgenthau 1973). In Russian political science – politologija – relations between states are typically perceived as a zerosum game where one state’s gain is another state’s loss. In this sense, Norwegian financial support to different projects on the Kola Peninsula, however well intended, is likely to evoke mixed feelings among Russian authorities, or even be seen as instances of strategic and hostile interference (Skedsmo 2005). As Russia tries to balance its desire to be seen as a reliable trading partner with its more hawkish foreign policy aspirations, one notes a sense of antagonism between integration and security, insofar as integration could lead to dependence and a narrowing of Russia’s strategic options (Larsson 2006). In the view of the Russian president, it is a global battle for access to strategic resources. In this context, it is understandable that the world should be showing growing interest in Russia and in Eurasia in general. God was generous in giving us natural resources. The result is that we are running up against repeats of the old ‘deterrence’ policy more and more often. But what this usually boils down to, essentially, are attempts to impose unfair competition on us and secure access to our resources. (Putin 2008) Russia’s understanding of foreign relations as a zero-sum game, in which energy is the crucial element, is at odds with Norwegian sentiments, where mutual gain is considered one of the points of international relations. Whatever its perspective on foreign relations, Norway will have to accept this newly assertive Russia. During the historically exceptional period of economic turmoil in the 1990s, Norway was largely free to determine the agenda for collaborative arrangements in the North (Hønneland 2003, 2005). But it was a historical and political anomaly, one not likely to return in the foreseeable future. If energy policy is understood – as one observer notes – as the ‘sword and shield of Russia’s security policy’ (Larsson 2006: 291), Russia is likely to perceive energy basically in terms of security. Indeed, the fact that the Security Council published Russia’s Arctic strategy

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(Russian Security Council 2009a) could possibly be interpreted as a securitizing move (Wæver 1995) on the part of Russia. However, this rather generally formulated document actually emphasizes several features of the Arctic that are not construed in terms of military security, and are grouped under the heading ‘Economic security’ (Ekonomicˇeskaja bezopasnost) on the council’s website (Russian Security Council 2009b). The document outlines a number of focus areas for Arctic policy: the Arctic’s potential as a strategic resource base; as a zone of peace and international cooperation; as a unique ecosystem; and, perhaps, new transport routes. Russia, the document states, is troubled by what it sees as the increasing militarization of the region (Russian Security Council 2009a). The main goal of the plan’s third phase, i.e. from 2016 to 2020, is to secure and transform Russia’s Arctic zone, so that it can play a leading role as a strategic resource base for Russia. Media reception in the West has largely focused on the ‘deployment of an Arctic force’ (BBC News 2009) and similar issues (Isachenkov 2009; Parfitt 2009), but this is perhaps more telling of how the West continues to interpret Russia’s actions in Cold War terms. In the Russian media, a spokesperson of the Security Council downplayed the issue related to the deployment of an Arctic force (Borisov 2009). In brief then, Russia’s Arctic strategy is rather general and cautious. It does show that Russia is fully aware of the potential of its Arctic territory to secure socio-economic development, and it is in this sense that it seems most reasonable to interpret the document: To utilize the Arctic zone of the Russian Federation as a strategic resource base for the Russian Federation in order to secure the socio-economic development of the country. (Russian Security Council 2009a) Possibly in contradiction to Russia’s wish to protect its strategic resources is its expressed need for foreign investments and technology for its extraction sector. Putin has touched on the sector’s need for investments on several occasions. The general message seems to be that Russia wants to attract and encourage foreign investors,

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but keep foreign interference well away from the strategically important sector. We already feel confident in the mining and extraction sector. Our companies in this sector are very competitive. Gazprom, for example, has just become the third biggest company in the world in terms of capitalisation, while at the same time maintaining quite low tariffs for Russian consumers. This result did not just come about all on its own, but is the result of carefully planned action by the state. (Putin 2006) Political discourse matters, but it is connected to materiality such as the demand for and delivery of petroleum. Securing the latter requires a favourable investment climate and transparent regulation of property rights. Putin has addressed ways of encouraging investment in several speeches. We must take serious measures to encourage investment in production infrastructure and innovative development while at the same time maintaining the financial stability we have achieved. Russia must realise its full potential in high-tech sectors such as modern energy technology, transport and communications, space and aircraft building. (Putin 2006) Although Russia seems to be lagging behind in terms of exploration, the investment climate is uncertain at best. Although of growing concern, there are no signs as of yet of a reform of the energy sector. There is a direct line between Russia’s need for investment and technology and discussions about foreign participation and partnership. For instance, in recognizing the inefficiency of the operating fields the Russians show that they understand the need for foreign investment and solutions. Yet another problem is that Russian oil fields burn more than 20 billion cubic metres of accompanying gas every year, and that is the minimum estimate. And yet, elsewhere in the world,

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there is a whole system of measures that has already proven its effectiveness. (Putin 2007) It remains to be seen how wide Russia opens the door to foreign investors and participation. Its vacillation in the case of Shtokman does not bode well for those hoping to see the emergence of a transparent and consistent policy. Russia inherited the Soviet system of subsidizing the North (Blakkisrud and Hønneland 2006a), and President Yeltsin oversaw its continuation. The Soviet Union was characterized as ‘an administrative ordering of nature and society, a high-modernist ideology, an authoritarian state and a prostrate civil society that lacks the capacity to resist these plans’ (Scott 1998: 4–5). These traits are not, however, only relics of the past: the same mechanisms operate to this day. Indeed, the inherently territorial tenor of Soviet High North policies was a hallmark of the system: the North was considered a world apart, whose complex challenges should be seen and resolved as a whole: the main problem facing today’s Russian government is neither the space in itself nor its northernness, but the fact that it has inherited an economic geography established in deliberate defiance of the constraints of both distance and climate. (Blakkisrud and Hønneland 2006b: 193) The post-Soviet presidential administrations have struggled to produce an acceptable power-sharing agreement between the regional and federal governments. Whereas Yeltsin encouraged the regions to ‘take as much sovereignty as they could swallow’ (Blakkisrud and Hønneland 2006a: 13), President Putin has sought to strengthen the executive. We set ourselves the objective of building an effectively functioning executive vertical power structure [. . .] A year ago it was clear that in order to ensure the success of the strategic transformations we wished to undertake, we would have to

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bring order to relations between the federal and regional authorities, and that not having clearly delimited powers and effective mechanisms for cooperation between the different levels of power would result in greater economic and social losses. We need a consolidated and effective state power system in order to act on urgent social and economic problems and security issues. (Putin 2001) Increasing centralization seems to have been an important theme of Putin’s two terms in office. However, perceptions of the North have lost much of their territorial anchor, and become functional (Blakkisrud and Hønneland 2006a). As the Soviet system of subsidies has been steadily scaled down, the profitable North has moved into the limelight, sidelining unprofitable areas that have had to accept a diminishing role and less attention. The North as a future energy province is what really matters, as several of the passages quoted above indirectly confirm. Neither should we exaggerate Russian attempts at securitization. But hawkish talk and actions do set Russia apart as an ambitious nation wanting to regain its superpower status, at least compared with the more collaborative tone emanating from Norway. To sum up, official Russian discourse appears fragmented compared with Norwegian discourse. As noted above, there is no substantive public debate over Russia’s policy on the North comparable to Norway’s. The way in which Russia’s Arctic strategy was published illustrates this: rather than staging a high-profile event, which Norwegian governments have done for their High North strategies, despatching cabinet members to press conferences etc., Russia issued its Arctic strategy noiselessly, announced with just a press release on the Security Council’s website. Despite its low-key publication, it was soon picked up by Russian and international media. Vacillation over partnerships for the Shtokman development could seem to suggest a rather incoherent policy on the North in general, and particularly on offshore development. Certain fundamental principles are clearly voiced in the dominant political discourse, although market principles do not always march in step with the protection of strategic

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resources, and in this sense, national control seems to be the fundamental and prevailing narrative. It should also be noted that the inherent contradiction between securing the interests of the state and letting the private sector go about its business in a relatively uninhibited fashion will probably continue to inform Russian policy discourses. Embedded within Russian political discourses on energy, foreign intervention and business participation compete with concerns to safeguard strategic resources, not to mention the strengthening of executive power. Thus, I think we can say, Russia has no consolidated foreign policy discourse focusing on collaboration and development of business in the European Arctic. Neither does the country have an equivalent to the forceful discursive mobilization in Norway and overseen by the Norwegian government. On the contrary, Russian policies related to the Arctic are embedded in other political discourses, related for example to security and sovereignty and development of the country’s socio-economic situation. A central implication of this is that Russia’s approach to the Arctic could perhaps be said to be more functional and ad hoc than Norway’s more holistic and all-inclusive approach.

Common ground in the New North In this chapter I have analysed Norwegian and Russian foreign policy discourses on the European Arctic. These discourses contain certain nodal points that partially fix the discourses. Perceptions and discourses evolving around nodal points are embedded in the historical experiences and different political traditions of the two nations. Based on the empirical data discussed so far I have identified four nodal points around which the Norwegian and Russian foreign policy discourses on the European Arctic revolve. These are energy, security, the economy and the environment. The four nodal points are perhaps not surprising in themselves, but identifying them and showing how they are emphasized in discourses can shed new light on the Norwegian and Russian approaches to the European Arctic. We have witnessed a rapidly growing impetus in the Norwegian discourse on its Northern politics since 2005. We have seen how the

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Norwegian approach to the High North features in a powerful official discourse resulting from a robust and broad domestic discursive mobilization. Official Norwegian messages are consistent in seeking to balance Norway’s global position as a small state with energydriven ambitions in the European Arctic. This dual role of small state and big player results in a foreign policy discourse that seems to be as much about attracting the attention and backing of friends and allies as it is about limiting government interference in the private sector as much as possible. The aim seems to be to leave as much room for manoeuvring as possible. The approach is coherent in the sense of seeking to embrace everything associated with the North, such as fisheries, indigenous people and protection of endangered species. Underlying the official Norwegian discourse is an energy storyline, and perceptions of the European Arctic as a future petroleum province of regional and even global significance. Armed with cutting-edge technology, but lacking viable known reserves, Norway remains firmly focused on pursuing mutually beneficial relations with Russia. The Russian approach is that of an increasingly assertive and selfconfident nation, whose main rationale – judging by the official discourse – is the zero-sum game and relative gains. Nevertheless, the Russian approach is not particularly coherent or based on a broad discursive mobilization in the same way as the Norwegian one. Rather, it embodies a more functional approach to petroleum as a vital strategic resource. The North as such lacks the same discursive power in Russia as in Norway. It is not hard to see that Russia is reluctant to give up control of vital and strategic resources, and its prevailing zero-sum thinking can seriously dampen the prospects of fruitful relations in the areas of technology and business with Western countries on the Russian continental shelf. Given Russia’s habit of sending mixed messages – calling for cooperation, while accusing the West in general, and NATO in particular, of expansionism – Russia may look as if it lacks a coherent strategy, or presents one that resists interpretation. But then speeches by President Putin do send a rather consistent message concerning Russia’s priorities. Despite the lack of a coherent discourse on the

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Arctic, our data suggest that Russia’s approach to the Arctic revolves around many of the same themes as Norway’s. For both countries, the most important feature of the European Arctic is its resource potential, with more or less emphasis on security. Norwegian and Russian discourses are both oriented towards protecting national interests, albeit the rhetoric is definitely more assertive on the Russian side. Calls for industrial collaboration have certainly been heard, especially in connection with the muchdebated Shtokman field. But as Norway expressed fresh optimism when StatoilHydro was taken into the fold by the Russians, Norway still seems to have a problem with its image, both at home and abroad. The already difficult task of projecting a credible image as a world leader in environmental friendliness, while overseeing an economy that is hostage to fossil fuels, is particularly apparent in the High North. Being a credible steward and protector of the environment while earning money from petroleum extraction in the very same region is extremely difficult – at least to communicate convincingly. In Norway, the petroleum debate related to the Barents Sea pits extraction against protection: as the argument for extraction goes, it would be better for the environment if Norwegian petroleum companies did the drilling because they know more about environmentally friendly drilling than their Russian counterparts (Jensen 2007). That Norway is a better friend of the environment than Russia is a broad and largely unquestioned assumption in the Norwegian public sphere. In its energy strategy, however, Russia admits facing ‘a lot of ecological problems’ (Gazprom 2003). They will be addressed by developing ‘low-waste technologies’, and steps will be taken ‘to come closer to the European ecological standards’ (Gazprom 2003). Perhaps, needless to say, Norwegian perceptions of their own and Russia’s environmental capabilities have practical consequences in terms of how Norway as a country approaches Russians and challenges in the North, where Russia is both part of the problem and part of the solution. Finally, based on the four common nodal points, it is tempting to ask whether the Norwegian and Russian approaches to the European

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Arctic are that different after all. Both countries are producers and share complementary needs and assets: Russia admits to a lack of technological competence in offshore drilling in demanding conditions such as the Arctic, whereas Norway is worried about a shortage of viable petroleum fields in the Norwegian sector of the Barents Sea. There are discursive and material forces pulling in different directions, making the climate for extended bilateral cooperation far from straightforward. But, in their various current and future efforts to protect the sensitive environment close to home, Norway and Russia could very well end up discovering that they have more in common than they usually seem to recognize. As I tried to spell out at the beginning, and show implicitly throughout this chapter, texts possess power in their own right, and understanding discourse is crucial to make better sense of foreign policy formation. Discourse analysis is the tool I have used to investigate the framing of Norway’s and Russia’s respective approaches to the North, how they are socially produced and maintained, and how they are always in flux. I feel there is a great, unfulfilled need for more interdisciplinary research into such diverse, highly technical, complex, and at the same time often politicized issues that form the subject matter of polar studies.

CHAPTER 5 STRATEGIC RESOURCES IN THE NEW NORTH: USING RUSSIA TO LOOK GOOD

The Arctic race to the bottom There is considerable international interest in the Arctic and northern latitudes globally (NOU 2003, Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2005c); the upsurge in media coverage is just one indicator. Regions north of the Arctic Circle are increasingly used as a barometer of global climate change (Hassol et al. 2004). What that barometer is indicating is far from encouraging, and climate change is now one of the most burning issues on the international environment agenda (Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change 2007). Ironically, the global energy situation is fuelling international collaboration and competition between petroleum-producing countries in the very same region because of its massive potential as a future petroleum province. The Barents Sea in particular is a hot prospect because of its promising structures and large identified deposits of hydrocarbons, especially in the Russian part (Adam 2006). In the dash for the strategic resources of the Barents Sea and the wider High North, Norway has a duel part to play. On the one hand it is one small nation state among and between the great powers, USA and Russia. On the other, Norway is itself a major player in terms of energy.

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In addition to the obvious high politics and geopolitical connotations of the race for hydrocarbons in the north, the debate in Norway has since the 1990s first and foremost been a case of ‘extraction versus protection’. The possibility of petroleum production north of the 62nd latitude first became an issue in the beginning of the 1970s, and the first well was drilled a decade later, in 1980. At this point, it met with little resistance. During the 1990s, however, this classic conflict between economic growth and environmental protection became one of the most salient issues in Norwegian energy politics and the public debate concerning petroleum extraction in the Barents Sea. On 31 March 2006, the Norwegian Government launched its white paper for an integrated management plan for the Barents Sea and the sea areas off the Lofoten archipelago (Miljøverndepartementet 2006). The basic aim for this plan is to ensure the use of ecological principles in assessments of various activities such as oil and gas extraction, shipping and fishing, their coexistence and possible environmental impacts in the area. Coexistence among the various commercial activities is a main objective, and the plan is meant to provide guidelines for overall management of all human activity in the area in order to ensure the ecosystem remains healthy today and for future generations. Since the plan so far only covers the Norwegian and not the Russian side of the Barents Sea, its limits are fairly obvious. What is needed is a total and integrated management plan for the whole of the Barents Sea, with guidelines both Norway and Russia will hopefully observe.

It’s all relative Included in the plan or not, Russia is a key actor and plays a crucial part in the dynamics of the High North from a Norwegian point of view. This chapter asks how Russia got to play a key role in the ‘extraction versus protection’ debate and functioned as a tool for both advocates and opponents of petroleum extraction. In that sense, one could say, the chapter indirectly addresses some of the issues concerning the public and politicians alike when it comes to relations

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to and cooperation with Russia in the north and to meeting the region’s various and complex challenges. Developments in Russia’s north-western province in the 1990s affected Norway’s approach to the ‘High North’. Fears of armed aggression gave way to concerns over what appeared to be an increasingly serious environmental threat: nuclear waste and industrial pollution on the Russian side of the border (Hønneland 2005: 23). Indeed, the picture painted by the Norwegian media – both rhetorical and factual – included phrases such as ‘black tree stumps’, ‘death clouds’, ‘radioactive radiation hell’ and ‘ticking bombs’, i.e. decommissioned nuclear submarines tied up in Murmansk harbour. Hønneland (2005: 137) blames a sensation-hungry media for the ‘environmental disaster scenario’, and idealistic environmental organizations for jumping on the disaster bandwagon. The Kola Peninsula was likened to a pock-marked alien planet. ‘Black deserts’ soon entered the vocabulary of both decision makers and the public. These ideas, this chapter suggests, provided an ideal breeding ground to cultivate an image of Russia as an ‘environmental laggard’. It was and remains an important image in the Norwegian debate on oil production in the Barents Sea. The chapter is based on a discourse analysis of the Norwegian debate concerning petroleum extraction in the Barents Sea. To put it very simply, we can say that discourse in this chapter means how an issue area is understood, spoken of and positioned in the public sphere. Discourse constructs social identities, social relations and systems of knowledge and ideas. In this way, discursive practice helps reproduce and change society (Fairclough 1992). Our manner of expression is not just a plain reflection of our place in the world, our identities and social relations; it is also involved in their constitution and change (Jørgensen and Phillips 1999: 9). Meaning is essential to discourses because it generates consensus about a phenomenon and orders the world through unitary and composite concepts. By participating in a discourse, we rely on a range of norms, which, in the process, we implicitly recognize or authorize. Such norms change through discursive practice over time, given the constituting nature of discourse. For the purpose of this study, the

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relationship between discourse and society is taken to be a dialectical one, each moulding and shaping the other (Fairclough 1992). We should also conceive of discourses as academic phenomena one constructs on the basis of empirical observation, not pre-formed entities, ready to pluck from the air and easily identifiable.

Approaching the matter The findings outlined in this chapter are based on a review of 1,162 articles featuring the Norwegian petroleum debate in the Norwegian newspapers Aftenposten, Dagens Næringsliv, Nordlys and Klassekampen published between 1 December 2003 and 4 October 2005 (Jensen 2006: 1–4, 26–8). The so-called re-opening (Ministry of Petroleum and Energy 2003) of the Barents Sea south in December 2003 is chosen as the starting point for the analysis. Around this period, the debate in Norway flared up again after lying dormant for a few years, as an early, explorative search in the database seems to confirm (Jensen 2006: 27). These four newspapers were chosen because they target different audiences, have different political affiliations and highlight different areas, something that should hopefully improve the quality and broaden the scope of the analysis. At the risk of oversimplification, Aftenposten can be described as the leading Norwegian daily. It caters to a mainstream audience. Dagens Næringsliv serves the business and financial community. Nordlys is the leading regional paper in northern Norway, and Klassekampen is a radical paper on the left of Norwegian politics. This is an explorative, qualitative analysis of an aspect of the Norwegian debate over petroleum extraction in the Barents Sea with a particular emphasis on the role Russia was given in that debate. Discourse analysis has been criticized because of the difficulty of showing exactly how findings relate to data. My delimitations and constructions are based on the assumption that they best represent the slices of reality I want to convey (Hønneland 2005: 174). This assumption relies in turn on the large number of newspaper articles I have studied and which I believe provide a relatively good idea of the most typical and relevant aspects of this subgenre of the Norwegian

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petroleum debate, over a roughly two-year period. According to Neumann (2001: 50–1), good discourse analysis requires so-called cultural competence, which is acquired by reading as much as possible on the topic in question across the different genres. More often than not, only a small number of texts will constitute the main reference points in a given discursive field. Many of these texts read will therefore merely be re-representations of different representations. The methodological critique of discourse analysis and interpretative social science on the relationship between findings and data is a very valid one. The quotations (data) I have chosen for this chapter represent, I believe, the core of the debate as it unfolded in the newspapers and are also typical of the rest of the text material in that the main points are covered. The two constructed discourses and their constituent parts will be presented and illustrated with examples from the debate in the print media. By aggregating the many aspects of the debate in question into two dissimilar but also overlapping positions, it is possible to pinpoint two main, or overarching, discourses, which makes it easier to separate the wheat from the chaff. The two discourses, which I have called the pro-oil production and anti-oil production discourse, compete for hegemony under a discourse order where Russia and the environment are the two staples.

The pro-oil production discourse The most conspicuous thing about this discourse is its resemblance to a pro-environment discourse, but in reverse. Rather than cautioning against producing oil in the Barents Sea for the sake of the environment, it urges as rapid a start as possible to help the Russians improve their environmental performance. Russia will be going ahead anyway, it is assumed, with or without Norway. Another essential assumption is that Russia’s offshore petroleum industry has neither the will nor the ability to observe sound environmental standards. On top of this environmental argument, there are several other strands of reasoning and argumentation. Besides helping Russia produce oil without damaging the environment, pro-production advocates bring

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geopolitics and high politics to bear. Industrial growth and economic revitalization in the northernmost part of mainland Norway are also mentioned. These arguments are not pursued in isolation from the environmental argument; they strengthen instead calls for Norway to consolidate its focus in the north. The basic message then concerns the critical necessity to take action now in the Barents Sea. It is about Norway getting there first to set an environmental example for the Russians to follow. In my reading, this discourse is interesting for several reasons. First, that Norway needs to start drilling to save the environment is striking in itself, and not immediately comprehensible unless we know something about public opinion about Russia and its environmental record. Second, by using this line of reasoning, advocates successfully defuse their opponents’ main argument against drilling in the Barents Sea, i.e. that not drilling will save the environment. Advocates attacked opponents where it hurt most, questioning and challenging their key argument and standing it on its head. In a discourse analytical perspective, it is of the essence to normalize one’s arguments, to convince the public of the value of the political stance. Success here will have a crucial effect on the available range of options and manoeuvrability. Insofar as advocates wrested the environmental argument from their opponents, they also relieved them, to all intents and purposes, of their principal weapon. Leader of Finnmark County Council warns Norway against inaction in the north while Russia steps up construction of its oil industry in the area. If Norway dithers any longer, we will lose the initiative and opportunity to set environmental standards for activity outside Lofoten and in the Barents Sea. (Leader of Finnmark County Council, Helga Pedersen, to Nordlys 2 December 2003) As the Prime Minister will know, Russian authorities are keen to get on with petroleum production in the eastern Barents Sea, on a significant scale and, not least, within a short space of time. (Helga Pedersen, Leader of Finnmark County Council; Paul

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Dahlø, Chief Commissioner, Troms County; Geir Knutson, Chief Commissioner, Nordland County; Bjørn Johansen, Regional Secretary, LO [Norwegian Confederation of Trade Unions] Finnmark; Jan Elvheim, Regional Secretary, LO Troms; Øyvind Sila˚mo, Regional Secretary, LO Nordland; Erling Fløtten, Regional Director, NHO [Confederation of Norwegian Enterprise] Finnmark; Arne Eidsmo, Regional Director, NHO Troms; and Kurt Jessen Johansson, Regional Director, NHO Nordland in Nordlys, 5 December 2003) The eagerness of the Russians to scale up production as quickly as possible is mentioned constantly in one way or the other throughout the period under analysis. Concrete evidence is rarely produced in support of the claim, however. Massive Russian activity seems to be taken for granted by all: the anti-production camp only rarely calls for verification. By referring to the rising frequency of oil transports off the Norwegian coast, and increasing but unspecified levels of oil activity on the Russian side, an impression is created of ongoing operations in the Barents Sea, a representation which, as we shall later see, is not unproblematic. The following examples help illustrate my initial point about locating the argument within the environmental policy field, and using environmental arguments to underpin advocacy of oil production in the area. Leaving Russia to set the environmental standards of oil production in the northern area is to pervert our environmental policy. Norwegian politicians need to let Northern Norway have its share in the oil bonanza, for the sake of the environment and economic growth! (Øyvind Korsberg, Member of Parliament for the Progress Party, writing in Nordlys, 6 December 2003) not least seeing as Russia has already started the development [of oil extraction], which makes it impossible to protect the entire area, something that can be done in Lofoten. That

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Norway could have a say in setting high environmental standards is reason enough to get involved, rather than watching from the sidelines what we have every reason to believe will be a vast [offshore] enterprise. (Journalist Bjørgulv Braanen in Klassekampen, 9 December 2003) In the next extract, the writer suggests time is running out, because Russia is looking to start up as early as 2005. The writer does not attempt to verify or quantify the assertion. Russia has opened both its dry land and offshore areas in the north to exploration and production of oil and gas. Oil and gas have been produced on land since the 1970s, and 2005 will probably mark the opening of the first offshore field. Russia has announced it would be allocating exploration and production blocks in the Barents Sea in 2003 – 06. Biological resources and the environment probably face a greater risk from Russian oil activity and associated build up in sea-going transport in Russian and Norwegian territorial waters than Norwegian oil activity in northern waters. It is therefore good Norwegian environmental policy to find the best way of influencing Russian oil industry’s environmental performance, and it is good environmental policy to investigate Russian plans in this sector. (Salve Dahle, Director, Akvaplan Niva, in Nordlys, 11 December 2003) Readers would probably think that what is being talked about here is the massive Shtokman field. Given the short time before production is supposed to start, that was probably not the field the writer had in mind. Various time frames are put forward regarding the start of production operations in the Shtokman field. Deputy head of the Russian gas company Gazprom, Aleksandr Medvedev, said at the World Economic Forum in Davos in January 2007, that the Shtokman project was scheduled to start in 2012. Gazprom had earlier said that the Shtokman field would be up and running in 2010/11. At the time of writing the project has been postponed indefinitely.

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It is also worth noting how increased shipping and associated dangers to the northern coastline are used to promote Norwegian participation in the petroleum bonanza. As of today, oil transport by sea is far riskier in Norway’s southernmost waters, which tankers heading for the Baltic region navigate several times daily. Only a small percentage of oil shipments comes from north-west Russia. Further, relations with Russia in the area of shipping are described as good (Kystvakten 2005). The point is that the hazard posed by Russian oil activity and shipping is frequently framed as greater than that posed by Norwegian production and transport. The final sentence of the last quotation underpins the main thesis of the discourse, and serves to illustrate how concern for the environment is used to justify Norwegian involvement in the Russian sector and the necessity of studying the Russian plans. How Russia’s environmental performance was supposed to be influenced in practice is not known, but the statement is similar to arguments about helping Russia produce oil in an environmentally sustainable way. It is interesting when opinions like these are accompanied by relatively unflattering comments about Russia – ‘cynical’ and ‘egoistic’ are two examples – because it appears to underline Norway’s need to get its act together in the north. The next extract demonstrates a relatively dominant tone in the analysis period, generally emerging from the pro-production camp. The oil industry lacks environmental technology, systems for preventing and combating environmental damage, it lacks impartial, independent control and environmental surveillance systems, and it wastes resources [. . .] . We need to understand that the Russians are cynical; they get involved only if they see something in it for themselves. Conclusion: Norway’s best environment policy vis-a`-vis Russia is to support involvement of Norwegian oil industry and subcontractors in the development of Russian oil resources. Environmental standards need to be set. For the same reason, Norway should work to harmonise environmental and oil activity surveillance methods. (Salve Dahle, Director, Akvaplan Niva, writing in Nordlys, 11 December 2003)

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If statements such as this are viewed by the public as reasonable accounts of the problems, Norwegian involvement would seem virtually to be a case of win– win. ‘By commencing oil production in the Barents Sea, we are helping Russia and the environment, and earning good money to boot.’ Environmental arguments for moving quickly to establish an oil presence in the Barents Sea gained considerable headway in the pro-oil production community.

The anti-oil production discourse The anti-oil production discourse is not a new discourse. It is, rather, a variant of the wider environmental discourse which itself is a genre of the petroleum debate as such. Its main thesis is that Norway should desist from extracting oil in the Barents Sea because the environment is too sensitive, and the impact of going ahead too uncertain. The thesis is not affected by any Russian decision to commence oil production or not. What distinguishes it from a wider discourse on the environment is that arguments relating to Russia make up a key component of efforts to dismantle claims that Norwegian oil activity in the Barents Sea is essentially only of the good. Environmental arguments are, of course, in a class of their own, but in this view, Norway, rather than drilling alongside the Russians, should stand back, ‘lead by example’ and show what good environmental management looks like in practice. Continuing in the same mode, the discourse contends that pressure to get oil production moving in the Barents Sea is coming from Norway, not Russia, as the pro-drilling lobby would have us believe. The next quotation is interesting for differentiating between a serious commitment in the Barents Sea and starting oil production as fast as possible to save the environment. Without Norway making a substantial commitment, our hope of seeing a clean and abundant Barents Sea could soon become an illusion. Large-scale oil and gas production and transport will soon be the dominant political factor in the Barents region [. . .] . As a first step Norway should increase civil society

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support in Russia. Lack of interest and debate, not to mention transparency and access to information, is a serious impediment to current relations on environmental and security issues. Only special interest groups and public opinion can give politics credibility and confidence. Without a well-informed, engaged civil society in Russia, the environment will never rise to the top of the agenda. So one long-term objective is changing this state of affairs. Norway should also show in practice what we mean by good environmental stewardship. Claiming environmental challenges in the region would be overcome if only the Norwegian private sector were involved in the Russian oil bonanza is a myth. (Rasmus Hansson, Secretary General of WWF, and Samantha Smith, head of WWF’s Arctic Office in Oslo, in Nordlys, 9 November 2004) Much of the discursive effort of the anti-production lobby was aimed at dismantling the environmental arguments of the pro-production lobby. Nevertheless, it is striking how seldom – for some reason – these counter-arguments made their way into the different newspapers. The essence of the anti-lobby discourse suggests that instead of helping the Russians with what is called environmentally friendly oil production, Norway should strengthen civil society in Russia and push environmental issues onto the agenda. Norway should also demonstrate what good environmental stewardship means in practice. Also here there was concern about the transport of oil and gas, construed as an immediate threat to our coastal areas. While advocates believe increased traffic should result in increased Norwegian activity in the area, and therefore greater environmental security along the coast, their opponents reach the opposite conclusion. We see then that the advocates are not the only ones wanting to lend Russia a helping hand. Norway is obviously not meant to help Russia ‘drill for a healthier environment’ but with empowering civil society. Were this to succeed, the Russian public would be better informed and engaged, and would do what it could to help the environment – if we are to believe the arguments. What does seem interesting is how the anti-production lobby makes use of a familiar trope: that Norway has

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so much expertise ‘we should share with the Russians’. On this issue, there is little to distinguish the two lobbies: both camps readily disburse rhetoric about transferring competence, which, briefly stated, encourages Norway to lead with a good example, taking responsibility for stewardship of the Barents Sea instead of just being passive spectators to the Russians as they get on with their business. One of our best cards is to lead by example, not hide behind questionable arguments that Russia will start producing anyhow, so we should get a move on to make sure everything proceeds in a proper fashion. Although opponents see the international competitive climate as evidence of the naivety of the pro-production lobby’s argumentation, their main message is unmistakable. It is that the Barents Sea is too fragile. Oil and gas production, whether it is done by Norwegians, Russians or any other nationality, will put it under unsustainable pressure. Oil production is on the cards in the Russian zone. Some people are therefore claiming that Russians need Norwegian expertise to achieve proper safety standards in their part of the Barents Sea. They mean that unless we are on board, development of safety and environmentally friendly technologies will be neglected. This is what the oil industry, politicians and commentators are saying to [get us to] open our part of the Barents Sea. This, in the opinion of the Norwegian Society for the Conservation of Nature [Naturvernforbundet], is naive. Does the corporate oil sector really think Russians are likely to choose Norwegian technology and companies without international competition? We don’t need Norwegian enterprise – or foreign for that matter – spilling oil into the Barents Sea to find out whether the technology can tackle oil pollution in these conditions. (Odd Aasheim, Troms County branch head, and Tore Killingland, Secretary General, Norwegian Society for the Conservation of Nature [Naturvernforbundet] in Nordlys, 17 December 2003) The impression is of an anti-production camp which, in addition to having a narrower range of arguments at its disposal, was caught on

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the back foot and is scrambling to defend its position and regain territory lost to the other side. Forced to counter the idea that it would benefit the environment if oil exploration and production began as soon as feasible, they were unable it seems to frame the debate in terms of their own agenda. Despite the lower ratio of contributions such as the one below from the anti-production camp, their visibility in all of the four newspapers throughout the period was nevertheless sufficient to constitute a real opposition and important element of the resistance discourse. Russian oil drilling plans are frequently cited as a reason why Norway should follow suit. But neither scientists nor diplomats believe it is that simple. A group of scientists discussed likely scenarios in ‘The Russian Barents Sea towards 2015’, which came out this autumn. Of three possible Russian scenarios, this oil bonanza is only one. The same uncertainty is noted in the Government’s White Paper [on Opportunities and Challenges in the North]: ‘There remains a degree of uncertainty as to Russian priorities regarding oil and gas fields in the north.’ But the oil-hungry ‘trend setters’ in [the newspaper] Nordlys, and Labour, Progress and Government parties pretend they know better. They ‘know’ Russia is planning massive offshore investments, and that Norway will have to pull its socks up if it is to prevent loss of sovereignty and influence. If this lack of information becomes official policy, Norway could be guilty of pushing Russian into an oil bonanza which benefits no one. Russia has, as it happens, its own sovereignty to protect and increased Norwegian intensity could trigger a dangerous race. The only winners of which would be the corporate oil sector and the USA. If Norway keeps on pushing, it could result in massive levels of oil-related activity in the region, endangering maritime resources and global climate. (Journalist Terje Morken in Nordlys, 3 May 2005) This discourse attempted to disarm seemingly valid ideas about the necessity of getting a head’s start with oil production in the Barents

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Sea. That the Russians had already started offshore activities is, of course, a gross misrepresentation of the facts. The Prirazlomnoye oilfield, in the eastern Pechora Sea, started oil production in December 2013 after several delays. For the period as a whole, the pro-production side’s environmental argument proved highly successful in shifting the balance of the debate many degrees to the right. In the above extract, we see the reverse logic at work, with Norway putting pressure on Russia, rather than the other way round, as the advocates would have it. They used the technique themselves as we recall, reversing the views of the other side to promote their own. Nevertheless, this argument about Norway exerting pressure on the Russians – the opposite of Norway as a ‘pawn in an international power game’ or being ‘out of its depth’ – never really took hold or affected the debate in any decisive way. Perhaps the Russians aren’t surging ahead after all, and perhaps we don’t need to jump on a bandwagon before it’s too late.

The useful idiot In this chapter we have seen how one side in the discourse over drilling for oil in the Barents Sea appropriated the main argument of the opposition, inverted it and made it the central message of their own campaign. By moving quickly, they said, Norway could demonstrate to the Russians how an environmentally responsible oil industry operated in vulnerable areas. It would benefit both the environment and Russia. By drawing on environmental discourses, creative discourse actors managed to defuse the leading argument of their opponents. Using environmental considerations to speed up the start of oil production in the Barents Sea is only possible if Russia is seen as an environmental laggard. It is interesting to note how this view seems to rely more on images of the recent nuclear clean up in the Kola Peninsula, of ‘death clouds’ and ‘black tree stumps’, than information on Russia’s offshore technology. In fact, Russian technology was hardly ever mentioned in the Norwegian debate, while connections were drawn readily and creatively between nuclear clean ups and oil production, of which the excerpt below is an illustration.

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We have the experience and we have advanced, environmentally friendly oil technology that could be useful when Russia starts tapping the huge energy resources in its part of the Barents Sea. We have the knowhow and available capacity to develop resources and transportation in the Barents region. As a neighbour of Russia, it is crucial that Norway and Russia work together to address environmental hazards in North-Western Russia [. . .] . We need to make it understood that environmental problems are global, and can only be solved by a joint international effort. This is particularly urgent in light of the many nuclear installations on the Kola Peninsula. The Government is therefore announcing in the White Paper on policy in the high north its intention to strengthen relations with Russia in the area of nuclear safety. (Former Prime Minister Kjell Magne Bondevik, cited by journalist Geir Seljeseth in Nordlys, 1 June 2005) Descriptions of Russia as an environmental laggard seemed to be taken at face value in the Norwegian petroleum debate. In the same debate, the environment played a key role in positioning Norway as a leader in environmental protection, and Russia as a country besieged by environmental problems and inadequate technology. And there seemed to be a relatively wide consensus on the veracity of this image, among both opponents and advocates of producing oil in the Barents Sea. So at the moment, the pro-production camp seems to have the upper hand in the discursive struggle to define reality, insofar as both discourses seem to have allocated more or less similar roles to Norway, Russia and the environment on which to base their philosophies. Russia, then, is central to the Norwegian petroleum debate, but mainly when it is partnered with the environmental argument. The combination of Russia and the environment also seems to have facilitated a widely accepted logic according to which Norway should produce oil in the Barents Sea. Insofar as the drilling for the environment rhetoric made an impact on public opinion, the meaning of environment in terms of legitimacy and conceptual framework will doubtless come to differ significantly from its traditional basis in environmental conservation.

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What impact could these findings have on the current debate in Norway on oil production in the Barents Sea? As far as I can tell from the anti-production discourse as set out in this chapter, the prospects for the anti-production lobby do not seem particularly bright, given the successful appropriation by the advocacy camp of their chief argument, and wide consensus that the environment would benefit if Norway started production as soon as possible. In relation to the wider discussion on Norway’s relations with Russia, my data suggest continuity, although how we characterize Russia will depend largely on the context. Our positioning of ‘ourselves’ in relation to the Russians does not appear to have changed much despite Russia having something Norway would like to have: massive hydrocarbon deposits in the Barents Sea.

Re-securitizing the Arctic? To round off, I believe we can see the contours of yet another discursive shift in that genre of the Norwegian petroleum debate studied in this chapter. That is, the geopolitical or strategic dimension that received attention during some of the analytical period, but which did not mature into what we today would recognize as a discourse in its own right. From a strategic point of view, Norway is a small nation, squeezed between a nuclear power to the east and significant deposits of the world’s most important strategic resource on our continental shelf to the west. We cannot run away from the fact that Norway has special security needs, and is in a particularly strategic position compared to most of our allies. It should be sufficient to look to the Middle-East to realize the significance oil has today and to an increasing extent will have in the future in international politics. (Øystein Steiro, Security advisor at Europaprogrammet, writing in Aftenposten, 11 October 2004) It is not at all unthinkable that petroleum as a globally scarce and strategic resource and Norway’s efforts to promote ‘clean petroleum’

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could foster further justification for petroleum activity in the Barents Sea. Russia also seems intent on using its energy resources to consolidate and strengthen its position as an energy superpower. It will be interesting to follow international politics on the Arctic regions led by the USA, EU and Russia and to observe whether rhetoric and realpolitik might not facilitate the emergence of a new strategy discourse in the Norwegian petroleum debate as well. Were this to occur, industry and environment discourses could be sidelined as virtually irrelevant. When vital national interests are at stake, all other considerations fade into the background.

CHAPTER 6 SECURITY AND INSECURITY IN THE NEW NORTH

Introduction This chapter examines some of the discursive trends regarding security that emerged in the wake of Norway’s 2005 High North Initiative. Elements of the Copenhagen School’s securitization theory are combined with a Foucauldian discourse analysis of official and public discourse to investigate and unravel the phenomenon, seeking to shed light on certain discursive features arising from an everstronger focus on and ever-widening conception of ‘security’. The chapter initially traces the gradual top–down discursive changes in Norway over the past decade. Data from the 1990s indicate a persistent effort by participants in official discourses to de-securitize and de-politicize energy and petroleum policy, thereby maintaining a clear line of separation between them and security and foreign policy (Løkken 2003: 53–4). Data reveal a widening of the conceptualization of security in Norway from around 2005 – intriguing in itself, irrespective of whatever the political consequences of such a change in discourse might or might not be. The intention is to examine and discuss Norway’s ambitious political undertaking of 2005, now known as the High North Initiative, and the activation of discursive processes whereby the security of the High North not only attracted greater attention, but also became intrinsic to a widening array of

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policy issues. As concerns for energy as a strategic and scarce resource grew, the High North once again became a subject of high politics. This flew in the face of the stated objectives of Norway’s post-Cold War security and foreign policy. The objective is to show how current security perceptions are coloured by the past, and that conceptions and understandings of security are relational and open to continual change. In a more practical sense, certain tendencies and developmental features indicated by the extensive empirical data are highlighted.

The stabilization of the Arctic, political renaissance, energy and new insecurity Norway faces in the High North one of its most urgent national challenges in terms of interstate relations, sovereignty and resource management. These are not new challenges to Norway’s foreign policy. Most of what counts as the Arctic has concerned security in its classic, stricter sense, the sense applied during the Cold War and late 1980s – even though the term ‘policy on the High North’ is rarely articulated in as many words. One of the mainstays of Norwegian policy on the High North – one which has remained consistent and stable since the Cold War – sought to ensure stability in northerly areas of crucial importance to Norway. Enabling desecuritization by means of de-militarization was, and still is, an explicit discursive component of Norway’s security policy. A muchstated reason why Norway and Russia work together in the Barents region is precisely to offset military tensions, to counter the threats to the environment, and narrow the gap in living standards between the people living on the Nordic and the Russian sides of the region’s borders (Holst 1994: 11–12). Since the turn of the millennium, the political significance of the High North has risen to heights not seen since the Cold War. A High North inquiry was set up by the Norwegian Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MFA) in March 2003. Its findings were published as a white paper – Mot nord! (Northwards!, ECNA 2003) – in December the same year. April 2005 saw the publication of the government’s green

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paper Opportunities and Challenges in the North (Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2005b). On taking office in 2005, the Red/Green coalition government gave top priority to the High North in its foreign policy agenda. Policy documents such as the Soria Moria-erklæringen (Soria Moria Declaration, Office of the Prime Minister 2005) and Regjeringens nordomra˚destrategi (Norwegian Government Strategy for the High North, Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2006) outlined what this political initiative meant in practice and provided a list of domestic and international steps and commitments. The possibilities and challenges in the High North, from the perspective of Norwegian foreign and security policy, largely centre on the area’s reserves of scarce strategic resources – oil and gas – with a view eventually to supplying the international community. Thus it seems reasonable to read Norway’s High North Initiative under an ‘energy security’ caption.

Security as discourse In relation to security in general, and the widening and deepening debate of the term in particular, the most distinct, interesting and debated contributions have come from the Copenhagen School, headed by Barry Buzan and Ole Wæver, and its concepts of societal security and securitization (Buzan and Hansen 2009: 212). Fundamentally, securitization and de-securitization refer to processes that unfold when a theme or development is put on – or taken off – a security agenda. ‘Securitization’ articulates a certain political sector, a realm (Albert and Buzan 2011), a social modality (Hansen 2011), a phenomenon or the like in terms of a challenge to security in some form. Securitization rests on a discursive, subjective conception of security, as ‘the “securitization” approach developed by Wæver made the definition of security dependent on its successful construction in discourse’ (Buzan and Hansen 2009: 213). The concept of discourse, applied here as mentioned in its Foucauldian sense, represents the ‘totality of texts and practices’ (Ska˚nland 2010: 35) – in this case, with reference to security in the High North. By understanding and giving an event, phenomenon or policy field status as a question of security, the path is open, according

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to the Copenhagen School, to ‘take politics beyond the established rules of the game’ and frame an issue either as a ‘special kind of politics’ or ultimately as ‘above politics’ (Buzan et al. 1998: 23). According to Albert and Buzan (2011: 423), ‘securitization may take place in other functionally differentiated realms, but then takes on an entirely different form specific to the given realm (i.e. “securitization” within the economic system as a way of addressing credit)’. The important point is that securitization is something that takes place within and not outside of the political system. Here it might be appropriate to talk of an ‘energy realm’ in which various forms of security become increasingly relevant. Allied to Buzan and Wæver’s sector, and perhaps even more to Albert and Buzan’s ‘realm’, the energy field in the Norwegian discourse on the High North can be understood as a substantial modality: a ‘societal sphere a security issue is said to be situated within’ (Hansen 2011: 363). Echoing Buzan and Wæver’s securitization theory, Hansen (2011: 363) suggests that ‘an analysis of substantial modalities implies a concern with the wider public sphere within which securitizations – and their substantial modalities – are made and compete’. It is precisely this wider public sphere that is the focus of analysis, represented by both official discourse in primary texts (Hansen 2006) and public discourse in the printed media. Ole Wæver says it well, inspired by Hannah Arendt (1958, 1968, 2005), in pointing out that ‘politics is productive, irreducible and happens among people as an unpredictable chain of actions. Politics never takes the form of someone “capturing power” and “producing” an output from a plan – it is always about actions that rely on others’ actions before generating some result, and therefore the meaning: and “goodness” of a particular act is never known beforehand but only as history is told afterwards’ (Wæver 2011: 468). It is this unpredictability and the relational, discursive aspect that is emphasized in this chapter. Accordingly, Wæver’s explanation works just as well if we replace the word ‘politics’ with ‘discourse’, ‘security’ (as discourse) or even ‘securitization’ (as a discursive process). Efforts to develop, refine and/or critically engage with securitization theory have been criticized (Gad and Petersen 2011: 316) from various

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angles and platforms, including but not limited to Huysmans (1998, 2011), Hansen (2000), Williams (2003), Balzaq (2005), Yilmaz and Bilgin (2005), Stritzel (2007, 2011), Wilkinson (2007), McDonald (2008), Salter (2008), Trombetta (2008) and Guzzini (2011). The contribution of this chapter to these debates lies in agreeing with, and expanding on, Lene Hansen’s (2011) claims that a poststructuralist approach to understanding and using securitization seems a fruitful path forward. Such a view is also in line with Buzan and Wæver’s ‘discursive, post-structuralist assumptions’ (Hansen 2011: 367) in relation to securitization as an analytical concept. I follow in Hansen’s footsteps along ‘one of the ancestral trails that has remained virtually non-travelled in the past decade’s concern with expanding the range and depth of securitization theory, namely that of post-structuralism’ (Hansen 2011: 366–7). In that sense, it is to be hoped that this chapter may also be read as a modest contribution to a ‘post-structuralist attempt at deepening securitization’ (Hansen 2011: 366–7).

Politics as a corpus of official and public texts According to the Copenhagen School, ‘the obvious choice of method is discourse analysis’ (Buzan et al. 1998: 176) because the ‘defining criterion of security is textual [and] has to be located in discourse’ (Buzan et al. 1998: 176). To apprise as much as possible of the ‘collective’ perception of security in the North, the analysis is based on empirical data derived from Norwegian primary texts (Hansen 2006) and Norwegian media through a large data set of newspaper articles (1,133 in all) containing variants of the search terms ‘High North’ and ‘Security’. A broad selection of primary texts from 1998 to 2010 were reviewed to shed light on and document Norwegian discourses linked to security in the High North and the emergence of energy as a central platform in security thinking. These texts comprise all 11 national budgets, in the analytical period, along with central defence-related white papers and official documents from the Ministry of Defence (1998, 2001, 2004a, 2004b, 2007, 2008); the 11 annual statements of

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the Minister of Foreign Affairs to the Parliament between 2000 and 2010; and the 11 annual lectures by the Defence Minister to the Oslo Military Society (Oslo Militære Samfund). In analysing these various statements, speeches and lectures, valuable insight has been gained into Norwegian contemporary foreign relations and security perceptions and assessments, in addition to the concrete priorities of military policy.1 As the speeches by the foreign and defence ministers were all held at the start of the respective years, they abound in intertextual and directly interdiscursive references to the past year, i.e. issues of current importance, as well as issues looming on the horizon. As in Jensen (2007), Hønneland and Jensen (2008), Jensen and Hønneland (2011) and Jensen (2012a), who discuss other aspects of the Norwegian High North, information used in this chapter on the ‘public High North discourse’ was obtained by searching the Retriever Atekst database.2 The four newspapers are the same as those used in earlier chapters: Aftenposten, Dagens Næringsliv, Klassekampen and Nordlys. It has been particularly interesting to see how much and in what manner the debates in these papers echoed or took issue with the ministers’ attempts at defining reality and determining the political agenda. The media debate can also be read as an attempt to incorporate the Copenhagen School’s ‘audience’ into the analysis, and show that it participates actively in the discursive processes of securitization, and in the cultivation, shaping and even expansion of the official discourse.

The High North and the evolution of the concept of security 2000–5: Uncertainty and insecurity The following lines from the 1998 green paper, Guidelines for the Armed Forces and Development in the Years Ahead 1999–2002 are particularly interesting: Over the longer term the danger of invasion cannot be ruled out. A major military attack would most likely not extend across more than one region of the country, but it could be

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supported by limited actions against the rest of the country. The government therefore seeks to maintain a capacity to repel invasions over a limited time in one region of the country at a time. (Ministry of Defence 1998) This could be read as a map of thinking at the time concerning the principal mission of the Armed Forces for the future, i.e. a continuance of the policy of the 1990s. Right up until the end of that decade, Norway’s Armed Forces were configured to resist attack from the east. The defence of the country was characterized by cognitive lag or, perhaps, by vestiges of Cold War-era thinking (Rottem 2008: 20). However, fundamental change was in the air, accompanied by a widespread sense of uncertainty. The fluid security situation in the High North at the start of the new millennium was articulated by Eldbjørg Løwer, defence minister at the time, in her annual address to Oslo Military Society, January 2000. The effective defence of Norway [is] still [. . .] of crucial importance, but it needs to be adapted to a radically changed international situation. In the 1990s, Norway, we said, no longer faced a military threat, but developments in security policy are informed by uncertainty. The general direction of security policy today is unpredictable, but it could be just as ‘dangerous’ as the confrontations between superpowers during the Cold War. Russia’s constrained economic and social situation has gone, however, hand in hand with other dangers and risks to security in the North. The destruction of the environment, social misery, organized criminality are prevalent on the Russian side of the border; they could destroy the social fabric and destabilize Norway’s immediate neighbourhood. (Ministry of Defence 2000) This general sense of uncertainty was evident in the media debate as well. Some were convinced that the Cold War was still very much alive, though fought today with different weapons. Some were

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convinced that Norway was facing a completely new, unpredictable situation. The excerpt below from a text written by a central participant in the Norwegian debate gives a sense of the uncertainty and, indeed, as we shall see, a foretaste of what was to accelerate into a clearly articulated expansion of the concept of security. There are at least three good reasons for maintaining the Armed Forces and even strengthening them, naturally in a process of change and modernization. The first is relations between neighbours. Internationalization has its limits, especially in the High North, where the ‘old fashioned’ exercise of sovereignty at sea and on land is still a necessity. Russia is still where it was, and while the threat assessment has changed since the Cold War, uncertainty is just as intense, if not more so. The new threat is not of invasion, but of uncertainty caused by widespread poverty, major environmental risks, insecure storage of nuclear waste, just to mention the most important. The Kola Peninsula is less stable than before; in other words, there is more uncertainty. The mechanisms here are the positive ones. To help reduce the gap in living standards between Norway and Russia and secure nuclear waste. But it is also absolutely necessary to secure Norwegian borders and Norwegian sovereignty as firmly as possible. The positive mechanisms are not incompatible with a need to retain a strong defensive force in the North. (Professor Janne Haaland Matlary, Aftenposten, 22 November 2000) The central defence policy document ‘Restructuring the Armed Forces, 2002–2005’ invokes Norwegian oil and gas reserves, elevating them to a key role in the official High North security discourse. ‘[O]ur strategic position is enhanced by the natural resources we manage. Oil and gas on the Norwegian continental shelf are of major strategic importance to other states’ (Ministry of Defence 2001). The excerpts can be read as the beginning of the end of the hegemonic discourse in Norwegian security thinking – the threat of invasion – and as the lowly beginnings of the expansion of the security concept in the Norwegian High North debate. And as the

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collective Norwegian mind grew increasingly aware of the extent of oil and gas deposits in the North, perceptions of challenges and threats in the immediate vicinity also changed. The initial enthusiasm for moving ahead and exploiting the petro-reserves in the North brought completely new questions and unusual scenarios, some of which cast opponents and indeed Norway’s national identity itself in a totally different light. These discourses did not take place in a vacuum, of course. The unprecedented events of 9/11 in the USA resulted in an overhaul of security thinking, in relation to the High North as well. ‘Terror’ soon became naturalized as a concept in Norwegian security discourses on the High North. Minister of Defence Kristin Krohn Devold opened her 2002 address to the Oslo Military Society by proclaiming: The ripple effects of the terrorist attack have spread around the globe. The USA is leading the world in a new war against terrorism, in which Norway is also participating. [. . .] We went to the ballot on September 10 to elect a new parliament. A few hours later, the political agenda changed beyond recognition. [. . .] September 11 presents us with numerous challenges on how we configure and use our Armed Forces. [. . .] In the present security situation today, there is little cause for Norway to see Russia as a likely threat. [. . .] Continued stable development in our neighbour and increased readiness to work together after September 11 will benefit Norway’s security interests. (Ministry of Defence 2002) The shock waves produced by the terrorist attacks in the USA led to increasingly creative and inclusive ways of thinking about vulnerability and security within the security dimension of Norwegian High North discourses. So much can be gathered, not least from the new, sweeping concepts of what could be called security or a security dimension. Concurrent with the emergence of new ideas on social and human security in response to the nightmarish reminder of human brutality and vulnerability represented by 9/11 was a pull in the opposite direction: state centrism became ‘re-instated’ as a political

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concept and idea. By taking part in the ‘war on terror’, the state of Norway, de facto and almost overnight, helped expand the concept of security by joining others in declaring war on an abstraction (‘terror’). The result of this focus on the state, on the one hand, and the wholesale expansion of the concept of security in relation to the High North, on the other, was a confused mix which, in the data, comes across as uncertainty. In the years between 9/11 and 2005, the prevailing concern, especially within the MFA in Oslo, remained the old problem of the 1990s: nuclear waste in north-west Russia. There exists in our immediate vicinity nuclear energy along with a great number of demobilized nuclear submarines, large stocks of spent reactor fuel and radioactive waste in solid and liquid form. There are hundreds of lighthouses along the coast of the Kola Peninsula run by inadequately secured and highly radioactive sources. We are confronted by a threat to the environment and security; it is obviously in our interests therefore to help solve the problems. (Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2004) That said, lines were being drawn with increasing urgency between threats to the environment and security. Traditional security thinking was slowly but surely being challenged in speeches and government documents, and gradually replaced by a wider perception of security where allusions to particular sectors gained in strength and frequency. Norway’s security situation is characterized by a broader and more complex risk assessment, in which a comprehensive existential threat has been supplanted by uncertainty and unpredictability about the security challenges we could face. This also applies to potential security challenges in Norway’s immediate vicinity, where the strategic importance of the High North and resource management over immense stretches of sea provided central parameters for Norwegian security and defence policy. (Ministry of Defence 2004a)

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So far, then, we have looked at some main features of the security dynamics of the High North in the years between 2000 and the first half of 2005. But it was in 2005 that, according to the textual evidence, official Norwegian security thinking on the High North underwent a substantial change, with ‘security talk’ becoming a normalized and necessary ingredient of the High North discourse.

First Gorbachev, then Støre: Widening perspectives 2005–10 as energy becomes a matter of high politics In his chapter on ‘Mikhail Gorbachev, the Murmansk Initiative, and the Desecuritization of Interstate Relations in the Arctic’, Kristian A˚tland (2008) analyses the speech that can be said to have kick-started the new approach to interstate relations later enshrined in the Kirkenes Declaration of 11 January 1993. The Euro-Arctic Barents Region,3 to use the official nomenclature, gave its name to the geographical area known today as the Barents Region. It also became a symbol of the new climate of openness between East and West following the fall of the Berlin Wall. The Murmansk speech, given by the then General Secretary of the Soviet Union, Mikhail Gorbachev, in October 1987, planted these seeds of partnership. It is a key discursive point of reference and stands as an epochal event in Norway’s understanding of the High North. The initiative and forcefulness of this charismatic and visionary man from the East is to posterity – Norwegian posterity at least – a sort of embodiment of the start of the de-securitization of the most important area in Norway’s immediate vicinity. The easing of relations in the High North came from the Soviet Union. As A˚tland (2008: 290) notes, Gorbachev’s focus on non-military (‘soft’) issues associated with security in the region relieved some of the tensions that military (‘hard’) security rhetoric tended to recycle. ‘De-securitization in non-military (social, economic, environmental) sectors was, in other words, highly instrumental in realizing the de-securitization of the military sector’ (A˚tland 2008: 290). A˚tland’s chapter makes it tempting to draw some tentative parallels between former Soviet Secretary General Gorbachev and Norway’s current Foreign Minister Jonas Gahr Støre, the ‘charismatic and visionary man from the West’,

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who in Norway at least is considered to embody the renaissance of interest in the High North. Since the Government took office on 17 October 2005, Støre has campaigned on behalf of the High North. The speech he held in Tromsø a month later, 10 November, stands scrutiny to this day. The important thing here is to say that the High North in every way would have been in a weaker position without Støre’s personal advocacy over three years. He is the ideologue, and he is the driving force urging Norway to live up to its ideal as a prudent administrator of resources and environment in the High North. (Nordlys, 5 July 2008) ‘The High North campaign is Jonas Gahr Støre’s prestige project’ (Aftenposten, 26 August 2008). True enough, the speech he held in Tromsø on 10 November 2005, ‘An Ocean of Possibilities – A Responsible Policy for the High North’ (Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2005a), or the ‘Tromsø speech’, can hardly be said to herald as strong a change in Norway’s Arctic policy as Gorbachev’s on East–West relations 18 years before. All the same, it remains central to Norway’s thinking on and conceptualization of the High North and is a powerful symbolic point of reference – a monument – in the country’s High North policy. Like its predecessor, it stresses de-militarization. Let me begin with the perspective. We are not starting from scratch. Since the Cold War’s demise, the position of the High North and its neighbourhood have climbed ever higher on the political agenda. We have seen the perspective change in leaps and bounds. What used to be a region characterized by Cold War, by tense relations between East and West, and hardly any human contact across the borders, has grown into a more and more open region where new challenges and possibilities are emerging. (Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2005a) The period of Cold War, maintains Støre, has become a sort of historical parenthesis, and it will be good to get back to a ‘normal

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state of affairs’. ‘It is about consolidating a new perspective, for the High North obviously, but also for Norway and the whole of Northern Europe. It is about new and exciting conditions for people’s lives and growth. Nothing less’ (Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2005a). It used to be the case that security policy and strategic military balance pushed every other approach to the side. But historically we ought perhaps to think of the Cold War as a parenthesis, for the Iron Curtain in the North stands in contrast to commercial and social relations down the centuries. (Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2005a) Moreover, it is precisely in this speech that Gahr Støre goes on to speak of energy and security as two sides of the same coin in a classic, realistic sense: Today, it is the energy question that is pressing all other issues to one side, altering the perspectives – not only those of Norway and our Russian neighbours, but of anyone with an interest in energy production, supply security and climate and environmental challenges. [. . .] Governments have responded positively to Norway’s invitations to participate in what we have called High North dialogues. They know that energy security is changing how the concept of geopolitics is understood. An industrial country which is unable to secure for itself a steady supply of energy will face considerable problems. [. . .] If the development of a predictable framework around energy development fails, this region will lose its main assets, stability, transparency and peaceful progress. (Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2005a) These perspectives are underlined and expanded in Defence Minister Anne-Grete Strøm-Erichsen’s January 2006 lecture as well as in policy documents that followed in its wake:

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The world is changing [. . .] [The Government] wants to direct attention to the High North. This is Norway’s most important strategic priority in the years to come. [Globalization is] one of the most important aspects of our time. The Government is well aware of its possible consequences for security and defence policy [. . .] The challenges in the High North are not first and foremost about military power. The key areas are energy extraction, transportation, environment and good management of important marine resources. But the Armed Forces have a central role to play in all this, both in terms of security and the wider society. [. . .] Some have asked what our High North commitment entails. Presence does not mean militarization or confrontation. (Ministry of Defence 2006) The guidelines on Norwegian oil and gas policy are well established. At the same time, Norway must be capable of understanding and dealing with the more central position of energy-related questions in the exercise of our foreign and security policy. (Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2006: 10) Here we must bear in mind that everything that smacks of ‘security’ acquires a very particular status in Norwegian discourses on the High North. Discourses are wrapped in history, and here in the North, close to Russia, discursive fragments from the Cold War continue to ring like echoes from the past (Jensen and Hønneland 2011). In Græger’s (2011: 16) diagnosis, ‘great power rivalry for resources and positions seems to be supporting representations, practices and identity that are well established within the Norwegian defence discourse, notably those of national territorial defence’ [i.e. security understood in a classical realist sense where the state is the clear object of reference]. The sustainability of the petroleum sector is more fragile than ever, and the impact of even minor interruptions will affect not only the economy but security as well. (Ministry of Defence 2008)

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When even the Norwegian state machinery marshals, naturalizes and re-introduces security discourses centred on the North, it re-activates latent notions and discourses which are quickly mustered into service across a wide field: Here [in connection with the exercise of Norway’s sovereignty in the High North], political figures in Norway are playing military arm wrestling, a pursuit in which we have few traditions and not much practice. Although Foreign Minister Jonas Gahr Støre has stopped calling Norway a small country, noting instead that we are the fifteenth biggest country on the planet – if we include the seabed – it would not be prudent of us to highlight the military aspects of the North. Is a solitary Norway preparing to fire the first shot? (Aftenposten, 10 November 2007) When authoritative (primary) texts give various versions of our ‘vital national interests’ and the like, it does not take long before they are picked up, highlighted and their scope extended by a wider public discourse on the High North. ‘Energy supplies and energy security have become security policy, which explains why increasing international interest in the High North as an emerging energy region should come as no surprise’ (Defence Minister Strøm Erichsen, Nordlys, 26 September 2007). Or: Popular ideas and interests are important and timely. Norway is a very small country with enormous natural resources in the form of energy and fish off our coasts. There does not appear today to be any reasonable balance between the Norway’s considerable interests and the means by which Norwegian authorities seek to ensure these interests. As a small state with all these energy resources, Norway – whether we like it or not – is enmeshed in global energy politics. We need to get our house in order to avoid others feeling tempted or forced to use military force to protect their own interests in Norwegian territories. (Civil engineer Erik Otto Evenstad, Nordlys, 19 December 2007)

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In the foreseeable future, Norway could face an extremely serious challenge to its security, related among other things to increasing rivalry caused by the meltdown of the American economy and energy problems. Russia’s advance as a great European power sets fresh challenges. It is not difficult to envisage Norway’s security policy being tested to the hilt, if, for example, rivalry between great powers over the High North and Arctic Ocean develops in an aggravated and, as far as Norway is concerned, negative direction. (Klassekampen, 15 August 2008) Thus the discourse progresses, creating space for other conceptions of Norway, the High North, and Norway in the High North. By introducing a variant of security at the top of the agenda, the machinery of power seems to have re-naturalized security discourses, forcing us to ‘speak security’ simply to gain entry to the High North discourses. This growth in ‘security talk’ in relation to the High North in all sections of opinion appears in turn to have made the very concept of High North security more open or inclusive, something that is particularly evident in my data, in texts from the corridors of power and the media. In the former, state security, national security, human security, energy security, and environmental security are discussed interchangeably: Current challenges in the North are qualitatively different, but not necessarily less demanding than those facing us during the Cold War. Today’s challenges are related to resource management, unresolved jurisdictional questions and the environment, all of which affect societal security. We cannot, however, disregard situations likely to entail challenges also in respect of state security. (Ministry of Defence 2008) Security appears in many guises when the subject is the High North, and the Armed Forces are given relevance in areas that used to be the preserve of civilians. With the disappearance of a threat of invasion, the need for an invasion defence disappeared as well. A central, painful and difficult debate is now underway on the uses to which

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Norway’s Armed Forces can be put and what can legitimize them. We should also look at what is happening in our immediate vicinity since Norway no longer has a ‘natural enemy’. Legitimizing the Armed Forces in their original form has become a more demanding discursive task as Norway’s natural enemies are not so clearly delineated and the borders between civil and military matters seem more blurred than ever.

The shackles of the Norwegian language: When safety becomes security In Norwegian, the expansion of the concept of security acquires an added dimension because of what we can term the poverty of the language. There is no natural way in Norwegian to distinguish between what in English is ‘security’ (in the classic sense) and ‘safety’ (in the sense of search and rescue, etc.). ‘The challenge is security, in which, among other things, search and rescue criteria need to be in place’ (Jonas Gahr Støre, Dagens Næringsliv, 3 May 2010). English, then, has two words whose customary connotations are ‘hard’ (military) and ‘soft’ (civilian) respectively. A pattern appears to emerge from the data, caused perhaps precisely by this lack of linguistic differentiation in Norwegian. The pattern is interesting also in terms of theory, from the perspective of discourse analysis. To gain a hearing within a given discourse, one needs to follow a set of rules and norms. In the public post-2005 High North discourse, it has become increasingly difficult to be heard unless the word ‘security’ is uttered in the course of one’s reasoning and argumentation. Moving into the period under analysis here, and especially after the 2005 expansion of the security concept, we find ‘security talk’ increasingly accommodated in the discourse as what we more precisely should term ‘safety’ than ‘security’. Thus a wider security focus seems to have developed even though the main thrusts in the debates were often quite unrelated to security issues, or at least both optimistic and ‘soft’ from a security point of view. On the other hand, there seems to be a clear difference between the official discourse (primary texts) and public discourse, i.e. what can be

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gleaned from the four selected newspapers, even if the statements came from official actors. [B]y and large, nearly every section of the military is involved somehow or other in the daily handling of Norwegian security, broadly defined. As levels of activity have increased in step with the receding polar ice cap, so has the need for surveillance, search and rescue, oil spill contingency and military presence. We need to see all our resources as an integrated whole. The essential aspects here are the administration of the fisheries as much as the energy resources. (Espen Barth Eide, State Secretary, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Nordlys, 29 January 2009) Speaking at a NATO meeting of parliamentarians yesterday, [Foreign Minister] Støre again put the High North on the agenda.[. . .] ‘The challenges in the High North are of vital concern to NATO members’, said the Foreign Minister, exemplifying his case with the climate, energy and maritime safety. (Aftenposten, 25 May 2009) Government documents are also busily expanding the concept of security, though the dividing line between classic security and widened security still seems relatively clear. All the same, the increasingly complicated concept of security in authoritative texts seems to have unleashed a surge of creativity, resulting in loss of meaning or substance as the concept is used in the public discourse, leaving an unclear remnant which is difficult to follow. In this sense, then, the evolution of the concept of security as applied to the High North after 2005 has led to more uncertainty in the shape of a fragmented, incoherent debate in which ‘everything’ is security.

Security engages at the top and estranges at the bottom: High politics and the domestic North–South divide If we see energy security as the new dominant representation of a Norwegian commitment to the High North, we would have the

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evidence on our side insofar as everything remotely redolent of security creates a sense of concern and urgency in domestic as much as foreign corridors of power: In the space of a very short time, energy security has become a leading policy issue. The need to ensure long-term, stable energy supplies is of vital concern to many countries. Norway’s position as a major and reliable exporter of power increases the international importance of Norway and contiguous areas. The Government will engage in a long-term policy to ensure internationally stable energy supplies and safe transport routes. (Ministry of Defence 2007) Anything that smacks of security to nation states, whether related to energy supplies, terrorism or some other contemporary security issue, seems to evoke immediate and powerful discursively resonant associations. In turn, these associations fall neatly into place in a well-established conceptual system closely linked to the state as concept and political entity. The existence of another, wider and often softer form of security than the Hobbesian state-centred one seems unimportant. If we adopt a perspective aimed more at domestic policy, this focus on security seems, intriguingly, to have had the opposite effect on interest and participation on the ground. Indeed, the evidence of my media material indicates that this was precisely what happened in the north, i.e. northern Norway. Apathy co-exists more or less uneasily with an increasingly strong focus on security in one form or another whenever the High North is discussed and opinions are expressed – even when the thrust of the communication may not be security at all. Engagement from the bottom up starts to wilt whenever security (in whatever guise) is on the cards, as a primary or secondary, so as to engineer its inclusion within a given High North discourse of current interest. And all this proceeds in harmony with familiar North Norwegian discourses on ‘power’, ‘power executives in the south’ and ‘southerners’ – discourses which are ready to be dusted off called into service (see also Hønneland and Jensen 2008) along classic

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centre–periphery, North–South cleavages. Representations of the High North initiative as a centralized concept originating from the south, far from the realities of northern Norwegians in form and substance, appear to find further confirmation in the ever-strengthening focus on security combined with the absence, so far at least, of stories of success ‘on the ground’ in the North. The discursive-analytical point is that security again dominates the debates and deliberations on Norway’s most critical neighbourhood (albeit in more and different ways than before), thereby indirectly trivializing and directly supplanting most other debates – national, regional or even local.

Summing it up empirically If we look at the wider official High North discourse, it is tempting to characterize the signals from the mainstream participants as somewhat mixed. There is, on the one side, a stabilization mode, which dominates spatially and conceptually. On the other, there is this new ‘high politics’ problem of ‘energy security’, which occurs with increasing frequency in connection with issues relevant to the High North. Quite contrary to established political conventions in Norway, energy becomes part of a politicized, even securitized, discourse. The data underpinning this chapter reveal the rapid broadening of the general understanding of security. At the same time, the emphasis on the importance of energy and Norway’s role as an energy superpower also contributes to the increasingly sweeping and escalating dynamics of the media debate. A growing multitude of themes develop into realms (Albert and Buzan 2011) or social modalities (Hansen 2011) that become discursive arenas for ‘securitizing discursive processes’ by means, for example, of the increasingly widespread use in public documents of terms like ‘human security’, ‘societal security’, ‘energy security’, and ‘environmental security’ in relation to the High North. After 2005, the very concept of ‘security’ is negotiated and stretched like never before, resulting in an unclear remnant which is difficult to follow. At the same time, ‘security’ becomes the ‘password’ with which to gain entry to the central discourses on the High North. This is not to

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say that ‘state security’ is necessarily under threat as the main security concept, but that the different forms of security seem to feed off each other, again upholding security as an important ingredient in any High North discourse after 2005 – even without the presence of a perceived existential threat from the East. The opening up and expansion of the concept of High North security means that ‘everything’ becomes a potential security issue, not least via the safety dimension, and at least partly through linguistic poverty. It would be interesting to explore this further to see whether it reflects a tendency within a wider security discourse in Norway or even Scandinavia, or is limited to the New North. To take part as a credible contributor in the discourse, one must now ‘speak security’ across an ever-widening array of thematic contexts. The politicization of energy has acted as a door opener, letting ‘security’ in to colonize the discourses once again. The increasing concern for security, especially after 9/11, at the individual and aggregate level in the West, resonates widely in Norwegian High North discourses. And this collective sense of vulnerability has instigated a renaissance of realism and state-centrism. Indeed, for Norway’s part, there is no more obvious place for prolonging a sense of paranoia and general insecurity than in relation to the High North, where Norway’s national identity as a tiny, vulnerable land, and the image of massive Russia (‘the Russian bear’) as ‘the radical other’ (Hansen 2006) are clear and easily resuscitated in the ‘collective Norwegian mind’ – as articulated in the primary texts and then picked up and further refined in the media discourse.

Combining securitization and discourse analysis: Some theoretical reflections and advancements The combination of securitization theory and discourse analysis works well for conceptualizing the discursive process outlined here in the role and development of security thinking in Norway on the High North, especially after 2005. Still, it is far too early to see in this a de facto re-securitization, in the sense of the term as originally defined by the Copenhagen School. What this chapter stresses is

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the existence of a discursive process or tendency which seems to be heading in the direction of securitization. Insofar as increasing numbers of questions and issues dealing with the High North acquire a security flavour in the expanded sense of the term, the discursive consequences would appear to be the sublimation of other issues. Whether and how far the public or any other audience will come to ‘accept’ a new version of reality shot through with security is a purely empirical question, and will have to be studied at the locus of the struggle: in the discourse. If the audience gradually immerses itself in a ‘re-securitization’ discourse, that could pave the way, or perhaps constitute a precondition, for ‘institutional securitization’. Securitization theory has been criticized for paying too little attention to what happens in the build-up to the securitization of an issue, especially as regards the audience. This chapter has shown that a post-structuralist conceptualization through discourse analysis is a fruitful way forward in relation to securitization theory – because the really important ‘stuff’ goes on precisely in the debates, discourses and deliberations where the audience is not so much an audience in the passive, receiving sense, but an important participant in framing the issue. Moreover, discourse analysis has much to offer by revealing the processes leading to the securitization of a given issue area. As noted, concluding unequivocally that re-securitization has taken place would be unwarranted in the case of the High North, as is likely to be the situation in most other cases in which transparent Western democracies are the object of analysis. Securitization is the last stop, that crucial point at which democratic principles can be compromised, and will therefore probably remain a rare occurrence, too extreme for use as a broad analytical category in its strict, original sense. But that is not to say the concept could not be useful here as well. In conclusion then, this chapter argues for a continued, concentrated focus on the audience, but indirectly understood as the ‘audience discourses’ and how these interplay with official discourses and possible attempts at securitization from the corridors of power. By knowing more about the discursive dynamics and the dominant discourses within a given realm, we should be better able

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to understand more about how, under which circumstances and conditions an issue area is propelled along a continuum towards (perhaps without actually reaching) an endpoint of securitization. Discursively, any number of ‘-ization’ processes could conceivably be relevant here, whether they concern securitization, ‘legalization’, ‘technization’, ‘environmentalization’ or whatever. There are several examples of discursive processes on the High North,4 and probably on other regions, which are closed politically and therefore removed from democratic deliberation because the issue has been successfully lifted from a discursive struggle and inserted into legislation or transformed into a technical question of likely impact. A discursive understanding can help us conceptualize and describe analytically phenomena in which something is plucked from a deliberative context and institutionalized, making discussion of the issue area ineffective or irrelevant, with a view to influencing a political outcome. Here the logic underlying securitization theory should be both highly relevant and fully applicable in combination with a poststructuralist perspective.

CHAPTER 7 THE DISCURSIVE POWER STRUGGLE TO OWN THE TRUTH IN THE NEW NORTH: INTRODUCING DISCOURSE CO-OPTATION AS AN ANALYTICAL PHENOMENON

Combining concepts This chapter sets out to further conceptualize a discursive phenomenon from the vantage point of what could be termed a Foucault-inspired or socially oriented discourse analysis. My ambition is therefore primarily theoretical in that I want to show how ‘discourse co-optation’ gives us a better handle on a certain form of interdiscursivity. I have sourced the data I shall be using from two of my own Norwegian studies. In the first, I analysed the debate in Norway over the merits and demerits of an offshore oil and gas industry in the Barents Sea (Jensen 2007). In the second, my colleague Geir Hønneland and I analysed government policy on the European Arctic (High North) post-2000 (Jensen and Hønneland 2011). In the field of sociology, and possibly organization theory in particular, co-opting processes are conceptualized as response

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mechanisms available to an authority to ensure stability in the face of a threat (Selznick 1949, Bertocchi and Spagat 2001). I believe we can identify similar and analytically useful mechanisms operating at a more abstract, discursive level. In this chapter I shall examine co-optation and co-opting processes to help me conceptualize the discursive phenomenon I have called ‘drilling for the environment’ (Jensen 2007). I hope in this way to arrive at a tentative definition of what I suggest calling ‘discourse co-optation’. Since a socially oriented discourse analysis gives precedence to the aggregate level over the textual, to make my approach more accessible and relevant, I shall therefore start with a presentation of classic co-optation and the Norwegian context, followed by discourse as a concept and discourse analysis as the analytical approach as it was practised in the two aforementioned studies (Jensen 2007, Jensen and Hønneland 2011). The chapter’s empirical part is followed by a short discussion and rounds off with my attempt at defining discourse co-optation as an analytical concept.

Co-optation Co-optation as a concept can be traced to Robert Michels (1915), but Phillip Selznick’s (1949) is the more frequently invoked name. Selznick used the term in a study of the Tennessee Valley Authority to describe relations between the authorities and grass-roots organizations. In his definition, ‘Co-optation is the process of absorbing new elements into the leadership or policy determining the structure of an organization as a means of averting threats to its stability or existence’ (Selznick 1949: 13). Co-optation is a process that aims to bring what is outside (generally the deprived) inside (usually the prosperous) with a view to making outsiders’ opinions intelligible on the wavelength of the central authority (Chan and Lee 1991: 291). The meaning of the term, as it is applied in the literature, varies somewhat, along with the level of precision. Meeuwisse and Sunesson belong to those who enlist a larger number of features and a higher level of specificity.

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Co-optation means to disarm threatening elements by giving them a hearing in the decision making process, or demonstrating public support in some way or another. From the government’s point of view, co-optation is doubly attractive because an aura of respectability is eventually transferred from the co-opted elements to the administration as a whole, strengthening the government’s authority in a sector of society while also guaranteeing unobstructed access to the co-opted organisation’s know-how. (Meeuwisse and Sunesson 1998: 177) A similar take on co-optation, it would be reasonable to assume, underlies Lars Gulbrandsen’s statement in an article on environmental labelling, ‘[c]ooperation with business interests can also mean that environmental organisations are co-opted into industry-friendly schemes and used by the industry to legitimize the schemes’ (Gulbrandsen 2005: 410). Ingerid S. Straume arrived at a similar conception. To co-opt is to incorporate the views and thinking of oppositional groups into an institution; by appropriating their critique, they are rendered harmless. Jørgensen describes co-optation as a strategy, ‘the rationale of which is to neutralize challengers, renew legitimacy and re-establish authority and political support’ (Straume 2001: 12; Jørgensen 1997: 77 in Straume 2001: 12). In an article on energy and the environment, Bernt Aardal highlights a paradox. ‘[T]he success of the environmental movement in gaining the backing of parties and wide swathes of the public, can transform a defeat for environmentalists into a prime consideration when planning the society of the future’ (Aardal 1993: 10). Environmentalism has been co-opted and disarmed, he says, and their interests come second to economic growth – an issue he suggests will be of central importance in the environmental debate moving ahead (Aardal 1993: 9). Environmental considerations, writes Ingerid S. Straume, are now discursively compatible with every other consideration: ethics, profits and self-interest, etc. Everyone is ‘green’ and proclaims ‘it pays to think green’. These changes make it difficult

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to distinguish between the interests of civil society, market and state. The grounds for critique, debate and reflection are seriously undermined by all considerations apparent unification under the market economic paradigm. (Straume 2002) There is a good deal of sympathy for Straume’s view from writers such as Dryzek, Downes, Hunold, Schlosberg and Hernes (2003). Given that Norway has one of the strongest corporative systems, efforts by the government to assimilate the environmental organizations into the public sphere, they suggest, divest them of both freedom and autonomy. The all-embracing, inclusive state de-radicalizes the organizations and brings them into line, significantly shrinking oppositional space in the process (Dryzek et al. 2003: 22–7, 171–4). The ideas put forward by Aardal, Straume and Dryzek go a long way, I suggest, to explaining how ‘drilling for the environment’ could emerge as a discourse and, perhaps, why discourse co-optation apparently enjoys such a fertile milieu in Norway in political debates on resources and the environment. But I shall not pursue this idea further in the present context. As we see, different writers highlight different aspects of co-optation depending on their academic vantage point and objective; some use it without defining exactly what they mean by the term, however. The way Chan and Lee widen Selznick’s definition is fruitful even if it does contain something all co-optation definitions share, ‘intension’ and ‘full rationality’ in the sense of a pre-planned, controlled action with co-optation as the clear objective. If one turns to the communications and media studies literature, it is, as far as I have been able to see, universally assumed that ‘persuasion’ (O’Keefe 1990), ‘framing’ (Goffman 1974) and other reality productions are observable, comprehensible, planned strategic acts with a clear, rational goal in sight. As I see it, though, the very scope of the discourse across time and space makes it academically meaningless to speak of some form of pre-meditated, managed rationality by a single powerful individual or handful of powerful individuals. I will come back to this later in the chapter in relation to the ‘drilling for the environment’ discourse.

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Discourse The manner in which ‘discourse’ is used and interpreted varies widely from discipline to discipline, whether it is linguistics, anthropology, psychology, sociology, political science, etc. There are even substantial differences within one and the same scholarly tradition. In my subject, political science, discourse is normally understood as a relatively uniform way of describing something, a tacit understanding of a particular situation. Jørgensen and Phillips (1999: 9) say, for instance, that the manner in which we express ourselves does more than simply reflect a neutral picture of our surroundings, identities and social relations. It is positively instrumental in creating and changing them. According to the central tenet of discourse analysis, we interpret subjects without access to an independently pre-given world; the way we gain access to our various realities is mediated by and through language. The central point, according to Neumann (2001: 38), is to analyse meaning as an aspect of the general social field in which meaning is formed. One looks first at the language, written and spoken, because although other social practices produce meaning as a secondary outcome, the principal purpose of language is to create meaning (Neumann 2001: 38). The verbal concepts and ideas we use to describe the world are what makes it possible for us to understand the reality in which we find ourselves. Language, in this sense, defines the limits for what we can think and say, and constitutes in consequence the toolbox of resources with which accounts of reality are constructed (Ball 1988: 15). Foucault gives ‘discourse’ a relatively wide definition, moving beyond speech, writing and text. This in contrast, for instance, to Fairclough’s (1995), and van Dijk’s (1988) exemplary contributions, which are far more text-centred and ‘linguistic’. These and similar approaches examine discourse in detail at the level of the sentence. However, as Dryzek (1997: 9) points out, there is room for breadth as well as depth in analysing discourse, for looking for the big picture in addition to the details. In that sense, my contribution sacrifices some the richness of Fairclough and van Dijk in favour of a broader view of a much bigger territory based on thousands of texts. In the kind of

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analyses I have conducted, the object of analysis (copious texts) and the conclusions drawn from the analysis tend to occupy the aggregate level, rather than the level of specific texts and events. The socially oriented discourse analysis conducted by Foucault (1972) is therefore particularly useful. There is a set of rules, Foucault maintains, according to which certain statements are considered meaningful and true at a given time in history. In this chapter I rely on the following definition of discourse, which, apart from agreeing with Foucault’s conception, is relatively concrete, which Foucault’s is not, and therefore easier to operationalize. Discourse is an interrelated set of texts, and the practices of their production, dissemination, and reception, which brings an object into being. (Parker 1992: 3) Although discourses exist and unfold in texts of many different kinds, the main point is this: a discourse exists ‘somewhere above’ its constituent texts. Under a socially oriented discursive conception, these texts are not meaningful in and of themselves. It is only by dint of their ‘interconnection with other texts, the different discourses on which they draw, and the nature of their production, dissemination, and consumption that they are made meaningful’ (Phillips and Hardy 2002: 3–4).

Applying discourse analysis Now in Neumann’s (2001: 50–1) view, a successful discourse analysis depends rather on the cultural competence of the analyst. Put simply, the analyst should be well acquainted with the field in focus. The ideal situation, he suggests (Neumann 2001: 54–5), is for the analyst to take account of as many of the likely permutations as possible by reading as much as possible from as many of the written genres as possible. In fact, Foucault insisted, we should study everything. As this is relatively impractical in the normal course of events, this study too will unavoidably run the risk of overlooking some relevant texts. Neumann’s (2001: 54–5) principal point,

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however, highlights the critical importance of reception: more or less irrespective of the scope of a given discourse, its main points of reference will be contained in a relatively limited number of texts. The two data sets, representing over 4,000 Norwegian newspaper articles over a seven-year period, provide I believe a good idea of the key elements of the discourse as it unfolded in the newspapers and elsewhere without the need to read every single article concerning the matter in question, however tenuous, in the Norwegian public discourse during the period in question. Public documents, inquiries and studies also formed part of the data, and were used as corrective, complementary sources. Two government documents were particularly helpful for forming a picture of important themes: Mot Nord! ([Look North!] NOU 2003: 32) and Muligheter og Utfordringer i Nord ([Possibilities and Challenges in the High North] Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2005b). The large number of references to the two documents invoked different forms of intertextuality (Kristeva 1980) ranging from direct quotes to more subtle, conceptual references. They are instances of what Neumann (2001: 52, 177) calls ‘monuments’, i.e. important texts which act as discourse hubs or focal points. In addition to the reports and topical pieces in the newspapers, there was a great deal of useful commentary. Having followed the media debate over such a lengthy period, I believe I can say with some confidence that my judgements rest on a relatively firm grasp of the situation. Reading public documents also brought home to me their tendency to reflect the debate in the popular press, even though language of government is obviously an exception. The first account of the discursive phenomenon called ‘drilling for the environment’ in the Norwegian petroleum debate appeared in connection with a qualitative study of texts appearing in the Norwegian papers1 Aftenposten, Dagens Næringsliv, Nordlys and Klassekampen between 1 December 2003 and 4 October 2005. These are the same four newspapers that are used throughout this book as data representing the public discourses. The findings in this study were based on a qualitative reading of 1,162 Norwegian articles relating to the Norwegian petroleum debate retrieved from the Atekst2 database. The search string was Barentshav* AND (Petroleum* OR Olje* OR

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Gass* [Barents Sea* AND (Petroleum* OR Oil* OR Gas*]. As the database had a relatively advanced and sophisticated search engine it was possible to achieve high levels of precision and relevance in the results as long as the search terms and their combinations were appropriate. I performed explorative searches and readings before settling on the search string I ended up with. The Boolean operators AND and OR allowed me to define a precise search string. AND told the engine to retrieve chapters containing both or all of the terms; OR told the engine to return chapters containing at least one of the terms. I used the wildcard character * to obtain all variants of the terms. By entering petroleum*, for example, I was able to retrieve terms like petroleumsutvinning [petroleum extraction], petroleumsforekomster [hydrocarbon deposits], petroleum, petroleumsdebatt [petroleum debate]. The trends I identified in my material were corroborated by a subsequent study with a wider empirical footprint. This was the study conducted by Geir Hønneland and myself of Norwegian (foreign) policy on the High North post-2000 (Jensen and Hønneland 2011). Data for this study were also obtained by searching the media. Indeed, the study’s approach was similar to my own earlier study (Jensen 2007). After testing numerous exploratory search terms and configurations, we selected a relatively broad search string, Nordomra˚de* (High North*), which we fed into the Atekst database. The period was 1 January 2000 to 31 December 2006. The search resulted in 3,043 hits in the same newspapers as previously. The quotations in this chapter that illustrate and document the ‘drilling for the environment’ discourse were taken from this data set. Both studies were based on systematic, chronological, extensive and qualitative reading.

Petroleum extraction to save the planet: Drilling for the environment As the 1990s progressed, developments in north-western Russia prompted Norway to amend its High North policy. The old threat of military aggression on which foreign policy perceptions rested and

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which justified policy making was jostled aside by the new environmental threat posed by nuclear waste and widespread industrial pollution (Hønneland 2003, 2005: 23). The Norwegian media spoke of ‘blackened tree stumps’, ‘lethal clouds’, ‘radioactive hell’, and ‘scrap-value nuclear submarines’ anchored in Murmansk harbour like ‘ticking time bombs’. Perceptions of the ‘radioactive’ Kola Peninsula, with its ‘lunar landscape’ and ‘black deserts’, became part of the public vernacular as represented in the print media. These perceptions, I want to suggest, appear to have given rise to a view in the public mind of Russia as an ‘environmental laggard’. This, I believe, was a crucial premise of one aspect of the Norwegian debate on oil and gas operations in the Barents Sea (Jensen 2007: 252). Under the ‘petroleum’ component of the High North debate, two mutually reinforcing factors dominated the print media in the early 2000s. First, there was the controversy for and against an oil and gas industry in the Barents Sea. The column inches dedicated to those in favour far exceeded those of the opposition, unsurprisingly. Second, there emerged in the same media a surprisingly uncontested idea which soon gained general appeal: that Norway should get a move on and start ‘drilling for the sake of the environment’. The plot, narrative (Czarniawska 2004) or storyline (Hajer 1995), of what we can term the ‘drilling for the environment’ discourse, can be condensed as follows. ‘The Russians are already in full swing in the Barents Sea. Their approach to the environment does not inspire confidence. We should therefore help them achieve acceptable environmental standards in the Barents Sea.’ Whether this was an accurate picture of the Russian approach to environmental protection is not the task of this chapter to say. What is interesting is that, as a version of reality, it was largely accepted by the public at the time – at least going by the evidence of the analysis of the newspapers. Since I have chosen a more socially oriented version of discourse analysis, and am mainly interested in the larger picture in the debate over ‘exactly who said what and why behind which closed doors to whom else about a particular point, and how the other responded’ (Dryzek 1997: 9), I shall not be identifying the individual actors to any extent, but simply note, following Dryzek (1997: 16–17), that

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actors can be either individual or collective. Of course, discourse analysis depends on human actors. They perform the actions that give life and dynamics to a discourse. The most prominent and active actors in the ‘drilling for the environment’ discourse were journalists, newspaper editors (a very small number), national and local politicians, and quite a few rent-a-quotes of varying calibre. To show the breadth of the discourse (and the stringency in argumentation over time) I would like to present a selection of typical, chronologically ordered quotations from the material.3 ‘Were Norway to signal dwindling interest in an oil and gas industry in the High North, it would be bad for business and bad for the environment.’ These sentiments belong to Johan Petter Barlindhaug. ‘The deposits of gas discovered by the Russians in the Stockmann [sic] field are much larger than Norway’s total production,’ he says, ‘and they intend to develop the field. The Russians lack environmental know-how. They are interested in partnerships with western companies. If we say no thanks, the area isn’t interesting, by putting the lid on oil and gas extraction in the Barents Sea, we are also saying we’re not interesting partners. It’s a risky environmental undertaking and bad commercial strategy,’ says Barlindhaug to Nordlys [. . .] . ‘We need to signal the seriousness of our intent with the High North. I’m worried about what seems to be a rush for political consensus, that is, proceeding with the Snow White development but stopping all new activity for five years. It would be fatal, not least because the Russians will be moving forward, and we have the know-how to reduce the environmental risk.’ (Nordlys, 7 December 2001) Above all, the Stokman [sic] field looks to become a gigantic gas field in just a few years. A field the Russians are preparing to develop already [. . .] . Many are asking whether the policy to let the Norwegian Barents Sea lie fallow without a petroleum industry is very sensible, knowing as we do what the Russians will be doing to develop their own fields. (Nordlys, 24 April 2002)

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Snow White, according to FNI [Fridtjof Nansen Institute] director Willy Østreng, is a threshold project which primarily brings the oil and gas age to the Barents Sea. The importance given to the environment in connection with the Snow White development will hopefully spread to the Russian oil and gas industry, he says. (Nordlys, 11 September 2002) Not least because the Russians are already busy developing [the field], something which makes it possible to protect the entire area, as will be the case in Lofoten. If Norway is actively involved rather than sitting on the side lines like a spectator to what promises to be a very comprehensive commitment indeed to oil and gas, it would help raise environmental standards no end. (Klassekampen, 12 September 2003) The Barents Sea has been open for oil and gas operations for a long time. As we know, Norway does not own the Barents Sea alone, and it won’t help to blind ourselves to the fact that Russia plans to initiate large-scale oil and gas projects in our common waters. One simple conclusion follows from this. Norway can sit round the table and make a difference to the environmental standards and technology in a sensitive marine area, or we can stand by. That the leadership of the Centre Party wants to see Norway take active responsibility for the environment and biological resources in the Barents Sea is very extremely positive. (Nordlys, 18 September 2004) ‘The Centre Party’s approval of drilling in the Barents Sea gives Norway the opportunity to show leadership in the region,’ suggests Jan Henry T. Olsen. He trusts the Socialistic Left Party will follow suit [. . .] . ‘Drilling will take place whether Norway decides to seize the opportunities provided by the enormous oil and gas deposits in the Barents Sea or not,’ he continues. ‘Norway’s involvement is important,’ he contends, ‘if the country is to tackle the environmental challenges in the region. That’s something the Left Party

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should bear in mind. I hope the Left Party reverses its stance and gives its approval to drilling in the entire Barents Sea on the map, which would secure the environmental standards Norway wants to impose on activity in the Barents Sea.’ (Nordlys, 20 September 2004) In reality, Russia and the international companies it is working with is ready to extract their share of the oil and gas in our immediate neighbourhood. The Stokkmann [sic] field. Oil and gas are already being brought up in the High North. Norway, with our technology and our experience of drilling in northern areas, should absolutely be involved in this industrial adventure, and we could also help with our recognised environmental technology. (Eva M. Nielsen, member of parliament for the Labour Party talking to Nordlys, 14 April 2005) Whenever they set their minds on something, the Russians can do it. They were the first in space, they’ve made the world’s fastest fighter planes, the world’s biggest atom bomb, etc. And the Russians have demonstrated on many occasions that they don’t care [about the environment]. We could mention the destruction of the Aral Sea, the nickel smelters, the countless dilapidated nuclear subs lying around disintegrating in Murmansk and threatening all life in the Barents Sea. Pictures from the oil fields in Baku are also telling. No one thinks the Russians are planning to repeat the Baku experience in the Barents Sea, but you never know when the worst kinds of greed and ignorance will find an outlet. Everyone agrees about the need for a clean oil industry. It was plain silly to release 1,500 litres of hydraulic oil. It can have been avoided. The fishing industry isn’t clean either. No one’s ever seen a fishing boat deliver old hydraulic oil or engine oil on land. I hope Norwegian technology and know-how are allowed to show what they’re worth in the precious Barents Sea, and show the Russians how it’s done. If we’re left standing on the platform

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while the Russians foul up the Barents Sea because of a political mess, it would be a very sad day indeed. (Jon Herud, Aftenposten, 11 May 2005) The most remarkable thing about the ‘drilling for the environment’ discourse is that it seems in many ways like an environmental discourse (Dryzek 1997) but in reverse. The storyline seems to go something like this. ‘Norway should not back away from extracting oil and gas from the Barents Sea because of the environment. On the contrary, Norway should get a move on and help the Russians operate in a more environmentally friendly fashion’. An important premise of this aspect of the petroleum debate must therefore be an expectation that the Russians are going to bring up the oil and gas very soon, irrespective of Norwegian participation or not. Another important premise for the proponents of this discourse appears to be that Russia lacks both the ability and the will to run an offshore petroleum industry with satisfactory environmental standards. This discourse is interesting for several reasons. First, there is the assertion, remarkable in itself and not immediately intelligible without foreknowledge of well-established notions of Russia and the country’s environmental record, that an early start to drilling would actually benefit the environment. Second, a discourse promoting an offshore oil and gas industry in the Barents Sea ‘pierced the heart’ of one of the environmental discourse’s key premises and challenged its cogency by turning the argument upside down. The ‘drilling for the environment’ type of reasoning makes Norwegian participation seem like a win– win situation. By going ahead in the Barents Sea, Norway is giving the Russians a helping hand, benefiting the environment, and earning good money to boot. In effect, this discourse – involving many different actors over time – actually managed to beat the opponents at their own game by adopting their main environmental argument and using it to justify drilling. But the environmental case for an early start to oil and gas extraction in the Barents Sea is only possible and intelligible if there is a relatively broad, general and unquestioned perception of Russia as an environmental laggard. What makes it more than a planned

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rhetorical move by a handful of rational stakeholders in possession of perfect knowledge is precisely its temporal and spatial dimensions. It is about the emergence of a discourse based on identities and collective ideas that appear deeply engrained in a sort of a shared Norwegian mentality, with echoes of ‘being good is typically Norwegian’ and ‘being bad is typically Russian’. Drilling for the environment resonated with established opinions on both sides of the discourse about Russia and the environment. Russians and environmental care in the High North, the idea goes, are close to mutually exclusive. It is not difficult to identify representations of Norway as the ‘environmentally friendly problem-solver with the world’s best technology’ in the Norwegian petroleum debate, while the Russians are generally given short shrift as a ‘poor, environmentally damaged country, with a large appetite for capital’ (Jensen and Hønneland 2011). By combining Norway and Russia together in an environmental discourse, the result is a powerful rhetorical device with a cunning ability to marginalize environmentalist opponents of petroleum extraction. The pro-production lobby appropriated the environmentalists’ main argument – that drilling in the Norwegian part of the Barents Sea was a risk to the environment – by saying on the contrary that drilling would benefit the environmental cause. In outmanoeuvring the environmentalists, they also succeeded in transforming the basic premise of the ‘drilling for the environment’ discourse into an established truth. It became the dominating, almost hegemonic discourse. It would obviously be impossible for one or more stakeholders to establish and sustain a ‘drilling for the environment’ discourse given the sheer amount of text, time and complexity involved. Not to say that some might not have wished to do so or contemplated the possibility of so doing, or were not happy with the current situation. But the point is that no single actor or small group of actors could have had the prescience and power to turn the discourse into what it is today. This discourse started as marginal, scattered representations in the material, but grew over the space of several years to become a leading discourse in the Norwegian petroleum debate. It has involved a large number of very different stakeholders

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in terms of geography, demography and socio-economic status. This is an important reason why I decided not to focus on stakeholders individually, or ‘subject positions’ as Fairclough would have called them, but on the discursive, aggregate level. It is through discourse that people create the structures and institutions in which action is embedded, and which the actions of the stakeholders serve to sustain (Straume 2001: 10). So now we can begin to understand what Neumann (2001) means when he refers to power relations. Discourse analysis is, in principle, an analysis of power, though its conception of power differs from the more traditional approach of the political scientist (Lindseth 2002). A one-dimensional power analysis would, for instance, explore what A does to get B to do something he would otherwise not have done. This conforms to the conception of power that informs all the contributions on co-optation cited in this chapter, and pre-supposes a lucid understanding of the situation and an intent which, to the discourse analysis, will seem chaotic at best, and probably nonexistent. The focus of a non-discursive approach is usually the decisions made by A about something to do with B, where B puts up some form or resistance to A’s advances. In this analysis, B’s ignorance of the structural bias implied by the behavioural context has some significance. It is also the case from the point of view of the discourse analyst that A’s knowledge of the situation may also be wanting (Neumann 2001: 166–9). And this latter point is the thing to emphasize: the ‘drilling for the environment’ discourse emerged – and became eventually undeniable – without anyone actually sitting down to plan its conception, diffusion and, not least, influence.

Discourse co-optation But why should it be necessary to conceptualize the phenomenon further? I could easily have put it into one of several available analytical discursive pigeon holes. But I would be guilty of what Giovanni Sartori calls ‘conceptual stretching’. To stretch concepts is in many ways to take the path of least resistance whenever we meet new phenomena. As researchers we are increasingly prone, according

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to Sartori, to stretch concepts, leading to ‘vague, amorphous conceptualisations’ (Sartori 1970: 1034). I could, to take an example, have applied Fairclough’s (1992, 1995) conception of interdiscursivity to the ‘drilling for the environment’ discourse and stopped there. As far as ‘drilling for the environment’ and interdiscursivity are concerned, the most eye-catching and intriguing thing is how proproduction actors succeeded in ‘stealing the clothes’ of the environmental discourse, giving themselves a surprising makeover in the process. The result was a new discursive mixture which, according to Fairclough again, indicates a driving force in the discourse along with a possibility of social change. I am in no doubt that ‘drilling for the environment’ satisfies the ‘interdiscursivity’ criteria, but I also believe it is necessary to increase the level of precision because we are talking about a special form of interdiscursivity inasmuch as, theoretically, ‘one discourse (the actors promoting it) benefits from the loss suffered by another discourse (the actors promoting it) of one of its main components’. By calling all this ‘interdiscursivity’ and leaving it at that, whatever I had gained in scope and generality could be undone by inadequate connotative precision. As Sartori suggests, ‘we can cover more – in travelling terms – only by saying less, and by saying less in a far less precise manner’ (Sartori 1970: 1035). This is what I have tried to avoid while writing this chapter by using de-politicized and co-opted Norwegian environmental politics as a sort of analytical analogy combined with discourse analysis to formulate a tentative definition of discourse co-optation as an analytical concept: Discourse co-optation describes how one discourse burrows into the heart of a counter-discourse, turns its logic upside down and puts that re-arranged logic to work to re-gain lost hegemony and political support. One discourse is strengthened by the addition of a new, powerful argument; the other is weakened almost to the same degree. The conception of discourse co-optation from the analytical perspective of a socially oriented discourse conceptualizes a particular form of interdiscursivity. Analytically, it could possibly reveal powerful

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discursive processes and, on a more theoretical plane, also demonstrate how power unfolds in the actual discourse (Foucault 1972), beyond the control and comprehension of one or more stakeholders. How far up the ‘ladder of abstraction’ (Sartori 1970: 1040) or ‘ladder of generality’ (Collier and Mahon 1993: 846) it is possible to go cannot be addressed in this chapter, not least because it is an empirical question requiring further study.

CHAPTER 8 FOREIGN POLICY AND NATIONAL IDENTITY: NORWAY AND THE OTHERING OF RUSSIA1

Before embarking on a discussion of Norwegian national identity, and how the New North reflects and influences that identity, I want to revisit the two pivotal concepts of this contribution, i.e. discourse and national identity. With reference to the former, Ole Wæver (2002: 29) has a useful explanation. First, discourses organize knowledge systematically by delimiting what can be and what cannot be said. Second, the rules determining what makes sense are not only grammatical but also pragmatic and discursive. Policy discourse, understood as public discursive activity, delimits what is politically possible. A discourse in one interrogated and contested policy area will have deep connections to conceptual constellations in other areas involving the same core concepts. The state and nation comprise one such area. Iver Neumann (2008: 62–3) has a concise understanding which sums it all up: Discourse is the precondition for action at any one time. A social constructivist (like a post-structuralist) conception of the nation as an imagined community de-naturalizes, contends Hall (1996: 612, cited in Li 2009: 86), the traditional conception of the nation state as a permanent, stable entity across history and different social regimes. Much closer to home, this book also enters into direct dialogue with the Norwegian Foreign Ministry’s Refleks project,

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launched in 2006. The purpose of this project, according to Jonas Gahr Støre, is ‘to promote a comprehensive discussion of Norwegian interests in a changing, globalised world’ (Lunde et al. 2008: 5–6). In the independent baseline report from the project, the authors say the following about ‘Images of Norway’: Norwegian [foreign] policy interests are informed by ideas of who Norwegians are, what Norway stands for, and the role Norway plays on the international stage. Most people see Norway as an open, globalised, tolerant, peace-loving and equality-minded country. [. . .] It is easy to rely on self-righteous stereotypes and conventional opinions about what Norway looks like and how Norwegian authorities perform. If we want to understand what Norwegian [foreign] policy interests actually are, we have no choice but to take issue with these perceptions, or self-images if you like. (Lunde et al. 2008: 40) It is precisely these impressions and self-images, these narratives, that I take issue with through the narratives that each of the chapters in this book constitute separately and collectively. As Hønneland (2010a: 6) notes, narratives should be understood not only as ‘reflections about the world, but rather [as] constitutive of the self’. Not only do narratives tell the outside world, ‘the others’, who we are – they also help make us who we are. This idea, I think, is a fitting frame of reference for this book as well, and what the book reveals about Norway and its relations to the High North. Insofar as the articles that comprise this study have different conceptions of the High North initiative, they also, although subtly, tell us that national identity is constructed, changeable, subjected to internal and external pressures – and how a changed understanding of a ‘significant other’ (Hansen 2006) can result in cognitive dissonance that itself can erode or disrupt that selfconception. Any feelings of uncertainty about one’s identity are unpleasant or disturbing, at the personal as well as the national level. Chapters 3 –8 of this book tell the story of several small challenges to national identity and some crises of national identity of wider

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significance, set in motion and propelled by discourses on the New North. For Norway, the ‘national cognitive dissonance’ involved in upholding a credible self-image as world leader and always best at caring for the environment while at the same time running an economy heavily dependent on fossil fuels is one example of such a challenge (see, for instance, Jensen 2007; Jensen and Skedsmo 2010). Another example is the sense of paranoia and general insecurity, typical of the Cold War, into which Norway retreats whenever the Russian bear rears its sinister head in the New North, and the national identity again reverts to that of a tiny, vulnerable land (see, for instance, Jensen and Hønneland 2011; Jensen 2013).

Norwegian national identity To be able to say something about Norwegian identity as an analytical concept, I draw on an article published in Norwegian by Thomas Hylland Eriksen and Iver Neumann (2011), ‘From family farm to offshore platform: Norwegian identity and Europe’. Identity, they suggest, should be understood relationally. It is shaped and formed by a given collective, and the identity thus formed sets this group apart from other collectives. Key reference points here are Edward Said’s (1994 [1997]) conceptualization of Orientalism in 1979 and Benedict Anderson’s (1983 [1991]) framing of nationalism as Imagined Communities in 1983. Post-structuralism, with its relational conception of identity, implies that identity is always to be understood in relation to something that it is not. So to speak of what is Norwegian, or European, or developed, involves constituting other identities or sets of identities of whatever is non-Norwegian, non-European or indeed underdeveloped. Another important aspect of identity as an analytical term is its mutability, its state of constant flux. This follows logically from its relational nature. When relations and the quality of a given relationship change, a relational phenomenon will also change. Here we owe a clear debt to the French post-structuralist Jacques Derrida (1998) and his conception of binary opposition. Binary oppositions are always hierarchic. One term is highly valued, the other

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is found wanting. However, the relationship between them is never completely fixed or immutable. On the contrary, it is characterized by instability which itself needs to be stabilized through discursive effort. Some well-known everyday examples of binary oppositions are male/ female, strong/weak, rational/irrational, sane/insane, order/disorder, reason/emotion, stability/anarchy. Discourses on the High North are full of binary oppositions, as we will see later. In short, then, identity is constituted by inscribing boundaries that serve to separate ‘inside’ from ‘outside’, ‘self’ from ‘other’ and ‘domestic’ from ‘foreign’. Now that we have a conception of identity, let us turn to the idea of the national. Benedict Anderson famously argued that ‘nation’ should be understood as an imagined political community that exists only insofar as it is a cultural artefact that is represented textually – in other words, through discourse. The idea of a specific Norwegian national community thus becomes reality in the realm of convictions and beliefs through the process of reification, through the figurative discourses launched by politicians, intellectuals and the media and disseminated through the education system, mass communication, sports and other means. This is a central point of De Cillia, Reisigl and Wodak’s (1999) article, ‘Discursive Construction of National Identities’. If we theorize Norwegian identity as constructed through discourse, and Norwegian policy as dependent on such discourse, it follows that there are no objective Norwegian national identities located outside discourse. It also follows that Norwegian national identity cannot be used as a benchmark against which behaviour and nondiscursive factors can be measured. The emphasis on the political in a post-structuralist conception of identity sets it aside from other conceptualizations of identity as ‘culture’ – as in, for instance, anthropological studies of marriage rituals, or aesthetic analyses of cultural artefacts and expressions such as architecture, music and literature. When I conceptualize Norwegian national identity as social, I see it as having been established through a set of collectively articulated codes – not as the private property of an individual, or a psychological

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condition. That is, of course, not to say that Norwegians do not think of themselves as having identities – but rather that individual identity is constructed within and through a collective terrain. For collective identities such as the Norwegian to have meaning and permanence, they need other identities that define what they are not. A discursively given group of others – other states, international organizations, and even world opinion – all participate in constituting this Norwegian national identity, precisely by being non-Norwegian. In short, by conceptualizing Norwegian identity as discursive, political, relational and social, policy discourse will always articulate a self and a series of others – either overtly or tacitly. Here I should mention David Campbell, an early American International Relations post-structuralist, and his seminal book Writing Security: United States Foreign Policy and the Politics of Identity, from 1992. According to Campbell, national states are to be understood as unavoidably paradoxical entities that do not possess pre-discursive, stable identities. From this, it logically follows that there is no such thing as a single, homogeneous national identity in an essentializing sense, beyond discourse. The various different identities are discursively constructed according to the context and topic under discussion. So rather than being stable and permanent, national identities should be recognized as dynamic, fragile, vulnerable and often incoherent. We would also expect images of identity proffered by political elites or the media to interact and merge with, offset or contradict ordinary domestic-level discourses about nations and national identities. The recent media debate in Norway concerning Norwegian culture and identity seems relevant in this respect. Norwegian national identity is constructed around what is taken to be a common, hence collectively shared, history. Which relevant others and which specific markers of Norwegian identity should we look for? This is an empirical question, and should be studied where it is articulated, namely, in and through discourses and their practices. According to Lene Hansen (2006) in her book Security as Practice: Discourse Analysis and the Bosnian War from 2006, the starting point

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for post-structuralist discourse analysis is a conceptualization of policy as always dependent upon the articulation of identity – while identity is also produced and reproduced through the formulation and legitimation of policy. Put differently, policy and identity are mutually constitutive.

Norwegian discourses on the New North Halvard Leira and his colleagues at the Norwegian Institute of International Affairs have described Norwegian foreign policy as a bridge between the national and the international in their 2007 report Norwegian Identities and Norwegian Foreign Policy. Norwegian foreign policy is also what separates the safe inside from the unsafe or even dangerous outside. Drawing on their perspective, we can therefore see Norwegian foreign policy as a form of nation-building on a daily basis. ‘In order to know what to do, you need to know who you are, and in what relation you stand towards others’ (Leira et al. 2007). To my mind, the High North represents an excellent case of foreign policy understood in this sense. Talking about Norway’s official High North Strategy as it was formulated in 2006, Prime Minister Jens Stoltenberg said: The High North initiative is more than foreign politics, and much more than domestic politics. It’s about our ability to continue the tradition of responsible resource stewardship, recognisable assertion of sovereignty and close co-operation with neighbours, partners and allies. But, it is also about a broad, long-term mobilisation of our own capacities and resources to promote development of the whole of Northern Norway. This isn’t just a project for the North. It is a project for the whole country and the most northern parts of Europe – of importance for the whole Continent. (Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2006) In many ways, the High North represents not only the potential but also the tensions and even the bridge across which domestic

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and foreign policy can meet and together constitute Norwegian national identity. So when I understand Norwegian foreign policies as both dependent on and constitutive of Norwegian identity, it means seeing the latter not as a property of the state, its citizens or institutions, but as a discursive and political practice. Those who formulate foreign policy usually present Norwegian identities as though they were objectively given, while in fact such explicit or implicit claims of objectivity are themselves necessarily reproductive performances. Foreign policies, Hansen (2006: 211) argues, ‘are articulated to legitimize particular policy actions, thereby both installing and constraining [political] agency’. Installing themselves as authoritative voices speaking on our behalf, Norwegian ‘politicians, editors and influential commentators construct a collective “WE” as the foundation of “OUR” policy’. And this collective ‘“WE” has crucial political consequences for those it denotes, who thereby gain a voice and presence’ (Hansen 2006: 211–12). Let me now offer two empirically founded examples drawn from the chapters of how recent High North discourses actually ‘reflect and influence Norwegian national identity’. I have chosen different but interconnected discourses to illustrate the relationship between them and the concept of identity, by actively employing the understanding presented above. And as with regard in particular to ‘how they influence identity’, as I hope I have made clear, I understand the relationship between the discourses and identity as mutually constitutive, and not causal or essential. It is by means of Norwegian foreign policy discourses and actions that certain images of Norway are foregrounded and communicated, both to a domestic and an international audience. Norwegian foreign policy statements and practices are therefore characterized by a re-representation of certain well-known images. According to Leira et al. (2007), a few basic identities seem to be articulated consistently, re-appearing again and again in various Norwegian policy discourses and articulated by a range of political subjects. Several of them are, as we shall see, active elements in the various High North discourses.

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The basic identity markers suggested by Leira and his colleagues are as follows: . . . . . .

Norway is Norway is Norway is Norway is Norway is Norway is

a small country a peaceful nation altruistic an aid-giving nation that shares its wealth a keen Atlanticist an outsider country (and therefore exceptional)

And finally: .

Norway’s ideals and interests correspond with the common good in the world (which means that Norway serves the common good by serving its own interests)

These identities are, of course, neither essentially nor uniquely Norwegian – they cannot be. However, according to Leira et al. (2007), they seem to be particularly robust, in being fronted and consolidated in Norway’s foreign relations discourse and actions over the years. They are therefore often implicit rather than explicit in a given discourse, functioning rather as premises in a given debate – as we shall see. As Hansen (2006: 44) noted, some discourses can become so entrenched that texts no longer need to undertake explicit constructions of identity. The Norwegian identities suggested by Leira et al. are so familiar to most Norwegians, they can ‘fill in the signs’ (Hansen 2006: 44) on their own, so to speak. Now, to get a more concrete idea of how recent High North discourses relate to identity, I have chosen for my first example discourses defined and constructed by myself on the basis of the aforementioned analyses of newspaper articles and policy documents in connection to this book. Let me point out that these discourses are my analytical constructs based on a plausible interpretation of the available empirical data. They are not pre-formed, objective entities, waiting to be identified and labelled. I have called the first temporal Norwegian

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High North identity Exceptional, energized and environmental. The second example is slightly more tentative and explorative, though still based on knowledge and cultural competence (Neumann 2001) gained while working on the book. I term this second example The Arctic explorer.

Exceptional, energized and environmental Norway is suffering from an identity crisis with regard to the High North. As a phenomenon it is a matter of incoherent, colliding identities. Norwegian governments have found it increasingly difficult to sustain an identity as an altruistic, credible steward and protector of the vulnerable High North environment – while also earning money from extracting oil and gas in the very same region. When identities come under pressure, they tend to be communicated very actively in order to be upheld. That is very much the case when it comes to the colliding identities of Norway as both an environmentally friendly nation and an oil and gas-friendly nation. One of the most creative and powerful discourses to do with this identity crisis I have called ‘drilling for the environment’ (Jensen 2007). Here a crucial component is the othering of Russia. Norway’s stewardship of the environment in the High North, it is asserted by some, is morally superior and something the Russians could learn from. This moral high ground has parallels in Norway’s many other identities as described by Leira et al. where the country’s moral and political superiority is expressed, constituting an identity of Norway as something exceptional. Let’s take a closer look at this. The most conspicuous thing about the discourse ‘drilling for the environment’, which sees oil production in the Barents Sea as a desired objective, is its resemblance to the pro-environment discourse, but in reverse. Rather than cautioning against exploiting the Barents Sea oil reserves for the sake of the environment, this discourse urges an early start in the Barents Sea because only then will Norway be able to help the Russians improve their own environmental performance. The key elements of this discourse can be condensed as

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follows. ‘The Russians are already in full swing in the Barents Sea. Their approach to the environment is doubtful. We should therefore help them to achieve acceptable environmental standards in the Barents Sea.’ Now, this strategy of using environmental safety arguments to hasten the start of oil production in the Barents Sea can only work if Russia is seen as an environmental laggard. In the same debate, ecology has played a key role by positioning Norway as a leader in environmental protection and Russia as a country besieged by environmental problems and inadequate technology. So what does that mean explicitly in relation to Norwegian identity? Well, the ‘drilling for the environment’ discourse is made possible first and foremost by the othering of Russia. It is what constitutes Norway’s identity as one of the high-tech world leaders in environmental friendliness – but which in turn identifies Russia as a primitive, environmental laggard. The identity of Norway as an altruistic, aid-providing nation which is more than willing to promote the Norwegian way of doing things is also reinforced by this discourse, which also supports an identity of Norway as an altruistic nation, one whose ideals and interests correspond with the common good in the world. And here we see how the common good also includes the environment itself. Does this discourse deal with the grave situation in which our planet now finds itself? No, instead of leading to a reappraisal of the question of drilling for oil, this discourse manages to re-shape the ‘environmental problem’ – and in doing so makes the solution dovetail with Norwegian economic interests. An important aspect of Norwegian identity in the High North, as constructed in discourses such as ‘drilling for the environment’, is that Norway can and is ready to contribute to Arctic governance when it comes to environmental problems and adaption to the inevitable effects of climate change. Here Norway wants to play a constructive role, by generating new knowledge about the geophysical changes in the Arctic and developing new, more environmentally friendly technologies. This discourse is made possible because it resonates with several identities that are often reproduced and confirmed through official Norwegian policy. In this way, the ‘drilling for the environment’ discourse

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constitutes both foreign and domestic policy identities, by reflecting these same identities. And as mentioned above, we can discern certain typical binary oppositions in this discourse, where the first terms characterize Norway and the second Russia – and even the Arctic itself conceived in terms of political space: responsible/irresponsible; hightech/primitive; patient/impatient; clean/dirty; order/anarchy; predictable/unpredictable; security/insecurity; peaceful/aggressive, etc. It is imperative, the storyline goes, that Norway take steps to defend its well-ordered domestic identity in the face of a potentially anarchic unregulated Arctic, and a revitalized, but uncontrollable Russia. This identity posits Norway as largely superior to Russia in terms of technology and environmental performance in the High North. But Norway’s identity as a small state and vulnerable nation remains alive and well, thanks precisely to the othering of Russia. Discourses on security based on concerns for energy security have even reactivated the threat from the East, through an othering of Russia not merely as an ‘other’, but, indeed, as a ‘radical other’. Even though the discourses do not explicitly articulate a Cold War sense of paranoia, it is hard to avoid the implicit signs. These discourses also touch on Norway’s identity as a small, peace-loving nation squeezed between strategic resources and great powers. By re-activating an image of Russia as a radical other in this strategic discourse concerning the High North, the role of the USA in Norwegian security policy is also activated – and with it Norway’s identity as a keen Atlanticist. Once again we are witnessing a lively Norwegian debate concerning NATO and its role in the High North. To a large extent, the call to NATO to come home, which was heard all the way to headquarters in Brussels, was orchestrated by Norway through these dynamics. I have found the discursive othering of Russia in the High North to be absolutely crucial to Norway’s understanding of itself. It occurs in virtually all important foreign policy matters, from security in the narrow sense, to natural resources and the environment. Norway in the High North and the othering of Russia really present an ideal case where we can recognize the value of understanding policy and identity as mutually constitutive. In relation to Russia, Norway constitutes most of the identities that Leira et al. (2007) have found

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especially robust and which portray Norway as an altruistic, peaceful, environmentally friendly nation, and so on. But they also constitute and preserve Norway’s identity as a small, vulnerable state in need of the support of its bigger and more powerful friends in the West. Norwegian constructions of identity in the High North can thus take on different degrees of otherness – ranging from the fundamental differences between self and other, to constructions of less-than-radical others. But I would also like to give an example of how Norway can construct the other as a geographical representation as well. Let me introduce what I term the Arctic explorer. Here, as with the Arctic Frontier, little Norway gets a boost of testosterone in addition to confirmation of its identity as a Polar nation with a capital P.

The Arctic explorer Campbell (1992) writes that the frontier is a powerful and recurring image in American political discourse. He notes, for example, how both Vietnam and Iraq were described as Indian Country by combat troops, and how plans for the Strategic Defense Initiative were referred to as ‘the high frontier’. In Norway, the University of Tromsø hosts an international conference called Arctic Frontiers. I wonder whether the frontier might be a powerful image, if not necessarily a recurrent one, in Norwegian political discourse as well. We will need to take a closer look at history. The Cold Arctic waters were central to Norway’s eager nationbuilding efforts in the early years of the last century. Hylland Eriksen and Neumann (2011) call these Arctic waters ‘Norway’s constitutive Other in the North’. Norway’s identity as a nation of adventurous, bold explorers on cross-country skis was constituted and personified by men like Roald Amundsen, Fridtjof Nansen and Harald Sverdrup. They risked their lives to conquer new territory and make us all proud. Seal and especially whale hunting served to consolidate the same identity – industries in which much of the population was involved either directly or indirectly, as noted by Leira et al. (2007). The image of the ‘Arctic as frontier’ is clearly rooted in early modern Norwegian history. The desire for new

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knowledge, combined with curiosity and courage, was what fuelled these explorations, according to the historians. But while times have indeed changed since the 1800s, I see parallels in current portrayals of the High North as a space of possibility and exploration. Today, though, it is not so much about exploring new territory onshore but offshore – with expeditions dispatched to investigate virgin territories under the seabed to see whether they contain as yet undiscovered petroleum reserves. Armed with knowledge, curiosity and courage, once again Norwegians are set to tackle the hostile, yet so vulnerable wilderness of the Arctic. Many of the attributes of the High North can be said to speak to both Norwegian identities, along with so-called cultural markers that articulate a bold, polar identity that includes cross-country skiing; high, open, wild plateaus; and a deeply rooted image of Norwegians as champions of the outdoor life. Why is the frontier so central to National identity? – because it presents not only a vast open space of opportunities to those who venture to seek success, like the archetypical rags-to-riches fairytale hero Askeladd – but also the ever-shifting boundary between ‘civilization’ and ‘barbarism’, ‘order and chaos’ – as well as ‘masculine’ and ‘feminine’, where the unspoilt wilderness of a fragile and vulnerable Arctic lies ready to be conquered, and even exploited. As a curiosity, the first Norwegian gas field in the Barents Sea was named Snow White – who is of course a female fairytale character. The names of many fields in Norway are mythological in origin, with strong roots in national tradition, according to a 2011 government white paper called An Industry for the Future: Norway’s Petroleum Activities (Ministry of Petroleum and Energy 2011). The frontier, in Campbell’s (1992: 146) analysis, became part of the American national mission because it mobilizes national energies in accord with almost Puritan-like notions of renewal. The mythology of the Arctic frontier achieves, in this sense, a lot more than mere description. It provides prescriptions for action. ‘In order to ensure the survival and progress of civilization, the forces of primitivism must constantly be repelled, if not overcome’, historian Richard Slotkin (1998) advises us. ‘At the core of the myth is the belief that economic, moral

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and spiritual progress are achieved by the heroic foray of civilized society into the virgin wilderness, and by the conquest and subjugation of wild nature and savage mankind’ (Slotkin 1998 in Campbell 1992: 146). The High North conceived as frontier constitutes a Norwegian identity of responsible caretaker, armed with knowledge and a hundred-odd years’ worth of experience – which in turn speaks directly to an identity of Norway as a polar nation. This again upholds this very identity now that the Arctic is becoming an ever more urgent international issue.

Foreign policy, identity and the othering of Russia So to sum up, given a post-structuralist understanding, identity is relational. Identity is shaped and formed by a given collective that contrasts this particular identity with the identities of other collectives. Identity is always constituted by explicit or implicit reference to something it is not. By treating identity as relational, it becomes an empirical phenomenon that can be studied wherever it is articulated. And that is in discourse. Foreign policy, I argued above, can be understood as bridging the gap between the national and the international. Indeed, we can understand foreign policy as a form of quotidian nation-building because it creates coherence between – and constitutes – who we are and what we do. The New North and the High North initiative of 2005 are good cases in point for appreciating this understanding of foreign policy. The New North represents the potential, the optimism, the tensions and the bridge where domestic and foreign policy meet and constitute Norwegian national identity. The examples I have given of Norwegian discourses on the New North show how one can go about studying identity empirically, by analysing the discourses and looking for analytical markers such as binary oppositions. In the High North, Russia is our significant other. Russia is the diffe´rance to the Norwegian self. Russia is what Norway is not. In other words, the othering of Russia in the north is absolutely imperative to the many and often incoherent identities Norway tries to balance in the North. It will be interesting to see

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how Norwegian identity in its New North guise evolves should relations with Russia change. Not least because we now know that when a relationship changes qualitatively, so does the relational phenomenon. Russia’s willingness to compromise in resolving the marine delimitation dispute with Norway in 2010 does not fit the image of an ‘Arctic other’ particularly well. On the contrary, it evokes an image of Russia as a law-abiding Arctic player. What will happen to Norwegian identity in the New North if the Russian other becomes similar to the Norwegian self? We can only wait and see.

CONCLUSION

A tabloid distillation Despite the twin dangers of oversimplification and reductionism, a potted version of each of the substance chapters might go something like this. The third chapter introduced us to the public debates and political issues that have framed and defined the High North as a discursive and political phenomenon. It examined the High North initiative itself, as it finds expression in public and official Norwegian discourse. Its basic contention is that Russia plays a crucial role discursively in Norway’s self-perception and in its perception of other states, with Russia fulfilling the part of salient ‘other’. Chapter 4 focused on official policies, on how the High North is framed in and by Norwegian and Russian foreign policy discourses, the principal themes of these discourses, i.e. the region’s natural resources, and finally how the discourses evolve over time. While these themes or nodal points are shared by the two countries, discursively they are treated very differently. In Chapter 5, I examined the Norwegian public debate between advocates of extracting oil and gas from the Barents Sea, and environmentalists who condemn the idea. Here too, Russia occupies a prominent place in the discourse, not least by providing advocates with a good reason for Norway to start drilling for oil and gas as soon as possible. Russia is our ‘significant other’ and defines Norway and

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the High North far more than was made explicit or questioned in my vast sets of data. In the sixth chapter, I explored the ‘elephant in the room’ with regard to Russia and the High North after the Cold War: security. Here I aimed to explain how security is understood in Norwegian official and public discourse in light of the 2005 High North initiative, how it became part of the discourse again after years of desecuritizing discourses, and not least how security as a concept seems more malleable than ever in relation to Norway’s northern areas and even how we Norwegians perceive ourselves as a nation – fundamentally who we are. As regards theory, I asked whether a combination of a post-structuralist perspective and securitization theory would shed more light on whether and the manner in which a political issue is moving towards or away from an endpoint of securitization. The combination, I argue, can enrich securitization theory and political science more generally by shifting attention back to the active and crucial role of the audience or public in shaping and framing important political issues. The seventh chapter offered another contribution to theory. From the empirical findings on which the fifth chapter was based, I combined insights from the literature on co-optation and discourse analysis to create a new concept, ‘discourse co-optation’, which I used to describe and better understand a certain form of interdiscursivity. Discourse co-optation refers to how a discourse can usurp the logic, premises or arguments of a counter-discourse, turn them inside-out or upside-down and put them to work to re-establish lost hegemony and regain lost political support. This discourse is strengthened by the addition of a new, powerful argument, while the counterdiscourse is weakened to the same degree. I have not sought to get behind the discourses to find out what people really mean, or to discover how reality is actually constituted on the other side. The reason is simple: we can never reach reality by circumventing the discourses, which is why the discourses become the objects of analysis. There is no way for me as a discourse analyst to determine whether a particular characterization of social context is really accurate, because that question presumes what I, as a reflexive

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monist (to use Jackson’s [2011] terms), must deny: namely, that ‘it is sensible to refer to an object as existing outside of all possible references to it’ (Jackson 2011: 173). It is the discourses themselves that create the conditions for change and define the premises under which it is natural to think and speak in relation to a given subject or thematic field. I have been working on what was actually expressed in writing or in other ways in relation to Norway and the High North, looking for patterns in statements, and the different and always subjective social consequences to which discursive construals of reality may give rise. Since I, as a researcher, will always inhabit a certain position relative to what I am studying, this position will partly determine what I can see, and, in consequence of what I see, can present as findings or results. By dismantling the artificial academic divide between theory and method, and in so doing dissolving the hierarchy between these two concepts, it becomes possible to elucidate the methodological implications inherent in every theory (Neumann 2001: 13–14). I choose therefore to use the expression discourse analysis as a blanket term for the theoretical perspective, the methodological approaches and/or their implications. Any discourse analysis represents a theoretical and methodological whole – ‘a complete package’: ‘In discourse analysis, theory and method are intertwined and researchers must accept the basic philosophical premises in order to use discourse analysis as their method of empirical study’ (Jørgensen and Phillips 2002: 4). Thus we are compelled to accept the uncertainty that comes with questioning the distinction between reality understood as objectively given and reality understood as social representation, and must start work by investigating the tensions surrounding the divide. ‘The key fissures in overall debates about science concern, first, what kind of hook-up the scholar has to the world’ (Neumann 2011: xii). ‘Within the broad umbrella of science, researchers make a variety of different commitments, or wagers, about the “hook-up” between the mind and the world, and these wagers demarcate different ways of doing science’ (Jackson 2011: 196).

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There are two questions we need to ask ourselves, Jackson says: ‘Am I a constitutive part of the world, or do I follow Descartes in thinking about my mind as radically cut off from the (rest of the) world?’ If we answer in the affirmative to the first, we are, in Jackson’s terms, ‘mind-world monists’. But if we identify with the latter, we are ‘mind-world dualists’ (Jackson 2011: 196). This project is firmly grounded in the former. That being the case, it will obviously have consequences for the kind of methodology that is suitable for doing research (Neumann 2011: xxii). Discourse analysis, then, is eminently suited for investigating phenomena empirically and shedding new light on the assumptions and premises inherent in political practices. If we can get to know these assumptions and premises, we will also be in a position to extend and deepen our understanding of specific political actions. In writing this book – where I have let the data lead my research in different directions – it has been a challenge to distil what I found to be of greatest interest for the confined space of a book. What have I actually found out? What is the most interesting feature, and how can I link this feature to the theory and a broader understanding of how states frame politics through discourse? How to perceive, comprehend and finally communicate the most interesting issues arising from my research has been a challenge. How to go about translating the significance of what I have done, its relevance and importance, in a way that makes sense to you as the reader? I am not entirely sure whether my answers are wholly satisfactory or to the point, but am reassured by Golden-Biddle and Locke who, while continuing ‘to grapple with these [such] questions, [. . .] now appreciate that it is just “the nature of the beast” when [. . .] adopting a qualitative, unstructured approach to inquiry’ (Golden-Biddle and Locke 2007: 1). While this study does yield rich findings of a certain type, there are others it cannot provide. It is in the nature of interpretive work, as I understand it, to yield insights, some of crucial significance, but not to generate theory of the positivist variety – testable hypotheses with distinct independent, dependent and moderating variables.

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To the extent that a fuller understanding of where and how we landed here is helpful in getting us somewhere else, discourse analysis may be ‘useful’ for solving problems. But it is not your first choice in a tightly scripted situation, such as answering why state X went to war against state Y at point Z in time. Rational choice theory may be fine for that, even though the assumptions of the two different approaches are very different indeed. An analyst may use discourse analysis in order to study how structures produce agents, and then decide to ‘freeze’ agents at a specific point in time, for example at the outbreak of war. (Neumann 2008: 76–7). Interpretive theory is contextual, processual and focused on individual sense-making and action. It aims to explain underlying patterns concerning social phenomena (Golden-Biddle and Locke 2007: 104). What makes a contribution novel is not that no one in the field ever thought about a given idea but that the idea is articulated, organized, and connected in a way that suggests new directions for researchers who, hopefully, are already thinking about it. (Rindova 2008: 300) It has been an important concern of this book to explore and reveal the limitations and constraints that determine which opinions, accounts of reality and future prospects are deemed ‘legitimate’, even conceivable. What is ‘selected’ for inclusion and exclusion, given prevailing Norwegian conceptions of the New High North? What is assumed as given and what is indexed as problematic? The point here is not necessarily what causes divisions and dissension. It might be more relevant to identify what is allowed to stand uncontested, unquestioned and taken as an indisputable premise for the ensuing discussion – and for political decision making. A key point of departure for this book and indeed discourse analysis is that discourses are involved in determining actual behaviour by narrowing the definition of what counts as acceptable actions and utterances in society at a given point in time. Against this background,

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discourses can shed light on political practice by defining the scope for action and which options are taken as politically feasible. The objective of this book has essentially been to gain a better understanding of how the New North is framed and construed in official and public discourse in Norway. The High North initiative has been the window through which this exploration has taken place. The chapters have addressed different aspects of this initiative from different thematic angles. Different sources of data were used depending on whether the discourses under scrutiny were public or official, though the same theoretical and methodological perspective was applied to all. On an implicit, meta-level, the five short stories can advance, as we saw in Chapter 8, the academic discourse on understanding the concept of nation as an imagined community and intellectual construction in virtue of its focus on identity. As Phillips and Hardy (2002: 2) point out, ‘the things that make up our social world – including our very identities – appear out of discourse’. Thus, what we are talking about is not a ‘traditional view of identity as a stable, essential characteristic, but rather a fragmented, fluid and ambiguous identity’ (Phillips and Hardy 2002: 41) that is always in flux, changes over time and appears through discourse. There are many questions a post-structuralist understanding of International Relations cannot and will not answer. What it can do, though, is to add texture to a classical political science understanding of politics which usually takes the constitution of the social as a given and concerns itself more with the outcome of a specific process, the social matrix of which, so to speak, is already in place (Neumann 2012). Political science as a discipline also needs to focus more on questions like ‘how the globe hangs together in the first place’, to quote Neumann (2012) again. It is nice and interesting being where we are, but it would be even nicer if we had a better understanding of how we got here. And this, I believe, is something a post-structuralist understanding of International Relations can help us with. Yes, discourse and identity matter!

NOTES

Prelims 1 The Norwegian Foreign Minister Jonas Gahr Støre opened his lecture at the University of Tromsø, 29 April 2010, with this poem and explained what it meant to him: ‘I would like you to accompany me on a journey through the High North initiative: the story itself, the one which was, which is and which lies ahead of us. A story that can be described by one of my greatest sources of inspiration, Rolf Jacobsen’s celebrated poem with the line – Det meste er nord (Most is North), from his collection of poems Natta˚pent (All Night Open) (1985), written at the age of 78, rich in experience, pensive in mood – where he urges us to do precisely what we are doing, and not just us, but a whole world: Se oftere mot nord! (Look North more often!)’ (Støre 2010).

Introduction 1 This book is a revised, updated and extended version of my doctoral dissertation Norway on a High in the North: A Discourse Analysis of Policy Framing (Jensen 2012b), including data and work from Jensen (2007, 2012a, 2013), Jensen and Skedsmo (2010) and Jensen and Hønneland (2011). 2 In this book, ‘New North’ means the Arctic in both a political and natural sense, while ‘High North’ is the government’s preferred term. I use it here to denote the Norwegian response to the new realities and changing dynamics in the Arctic. 3 Norway certainly had a policy on the New North and it was very much alive before this point in time, but it was usually called and understood as a policy on Russia (Russlandspolitikk). Næromra˚depolitikk was the usual term for ‘policy relating to Norway’s immediate neighbours’, in contexts involving islands to

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the west like the Faroe Islands, Greenland and Iceland, and Russia to the east. After the Arctic Council was established in 1996, ‘international Arctic politics’ was often used with reference to the activities of that body. The High North was obviously an important area of Norwegian foreign policy throughout the Cold War, but the name was seldom used as such. The official focus was on Norway’s security, narrowly defined, in the north. Norway and the Soviet Union were on opposite sides during the Cold War; indeed, the Kola Peninsula in Murmansk oblast became one of the most militarized areas on the planet. 4 The general depiction of the international relations (IR) literature on the Arctic is based on Hønneland (2013).

Chapter 1 Discourse Analysis in Theory and Practice 1 For more on structuralist thoughts on the sign, the signifier, and the signified, see, for instance, Sanders (2004), Saussure (2006) and Stavrakakis (1999). 2 Jensen (2007) analyses Norwegian petroleum politics and debates. 3 See, for instance, Østerud’s (1996, 1997) attack on post-modern interventions in IR theory and Smith’s (1997) and Patomaki’s (1997) response.

Chapter 2

Norway in the New North: An Empirical Background to the Case Study

1 Much of this section is based on the work done in connection with Hønneland and Jensen (2008) and on Hønneland and Jensen (2015). It also builds on years of research by Geir Hønneland and the author in a series of books in Norwegian; see Hønneland, Barentsbrytninger; Hønneland and Jensen, Den nye nordomra˚depolitikken and Hønneland and Rowe, Nordomra˚dene – hva na˚? Cooperation between Norway and Russia on fisheries management and on environmental protection is discussed in Hønneland, Kvotekamp og kyststatssolidaritet and Hønneland and Rowe, Fra svarte skyer til helleristninger, respectively. The Barents Euro-Arctic Region (BEAR) collaboration is discussed in Stokke and Hønneland, International Cooperation and Arctic Governance. The section on the BEAR and bilateral environmental cooperation between Norway and Russia is a shortened version of Hønneland, ‘East–West Collaboration in the European North’. Reference to primary material in this chapter is generally limited to direct citations and the most central public documents. 2 Ministry of Foreign Affairs, ‘Avtale mellom Regjeringen i Unionen av Sovjetiske Sosialistiske Republikker og Regjeringen i Kongeriket Norge om samarbeid innen fiskerinæringen’. 3 Ministry of Foreign Affairs, ‘Avtale mellom Norge og Sovjetunionen om en midlertidig praktisk ordning for fisket i et tilstøtende omra˚de i Barentshavet med tilhørende protokoll og erklæring’.

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4 Ministry of Foreign Affairs, ‘Treaty between Norway and the Russian Federation concerning Maritime Delimitation and Cooperation in the Barents Sea and the Arctic Ocean’. 5 For a thorough examination of the legal aspects of the Fishery Protection Zone, see Ulfstein, The Svalbard Treaty. 6 The strongest opposition to the Protection Zone has come from the UK. The USA, Germany and France have formally just reserved their position, which implies that they are still considering their views. Finland declared its support to the Protection Zone in 1976 but has since not repeated it. Canada also expressed its support to the Norwegian position in a bilateral fisheries agreement in 1995, but this agreement has not entered into force. These other Western countries generally accept that the waters surrounding Svalbard are under Norwegian jurisdiction, but they claim that this jurisdiction must be carried out in accordance with the Svalbard Treaty. See Pedersen, ‘The Constrained Politics of the Svalbard Offshore Area’; Pedersen, ‘Norway’s Rule on Svalbard: Tightening the Grip on the Arctic Islands’; Pedersen, ‘Denmark’s Policies toward the Svalbard Area’; and Pedersen, ‘International Law and Politics in U.S. Policymaking: The United States and the Svalbard Dispute’. Russia, on the other hand, formally considers the waters around Svalbard to be high seas. See Vylegzhanin and Zilanov, Spitsbergen: Legal Regime of Adjacent Marine Areas. In practice, however, Russia has accepted Norwegian enforcement of fisheries regulations in the Svalbard Zone. See Hønneland, ‘Compliance in the Fishery Protection Zone around Svalbard’; and Hønneland, Coercive and Discursive Compliance Mechanisms in the Management of Natural Resources. 7 For details, see Jensen, ‘Towards Setting the Outer Limits of the Continental Shelf in the Arctic: On the Norwegian Submission and Recommendations of the Commission’. 8 See Barents Euro-Arctic Region, The Kirkenes Declaration from the Conference of Foreign Ministers on Co-operation in the Barents Euro-Arctic Region. 9 The Sa´mi are the only indigenous people found in all four countries in the region. On the Russian side, the Nenets in Nenets Autonomous Okrug and the Vesps in the Republic of Karelia also enjoy status as indigenous peoples. 10 Ministry of Foreign Affairs, St.meld. nr. 15 (2008–2009), p. 49. 11 A discussion of the BEAR cooperation at the time it was established is found in Stokke and Tunander, The Barents Region. The achievements of the collaboration a decade later are discussed in Stokke and Hønneland, International Cooperation and Arctic Governance. 12 See Hønneland and Rowe, ‘Western vs. Post-Soviet Medicine: Fighting Tuberculosis and HIV/AIDS in North-West Russia and the Baltic States’. 13 Ministry of the Environment, ‘Overenskomst mellom Kongeriket Norges Regjering og Unionen av Sovjetiske Sosialistiske Republikkers Regjering om samarbeid pa˚ miljøvernomra˚det’. 14 Gorbachev’s Murmansk initiative is presented in A˚tland, ‘Mikhail Gorbachev, the Murmansk Initiative, and the Desecuritization of Interstate Relations in the Arctic’.

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15 This section is largely based on the FACTS series. Updated and published once a year by the Norwegian Ministry of Petroleum and Energy it offers an overview Norway’s petroleum sector, current activities and future potential.

Chapter 3 A Discourse Analysis of Arctic Policy Debates: The Case of Norway 1 The phrase ‘High North’ was introduced as the English equivalent of the Norwegian term ‘nordomra˚dene’ (the northern areas) in the mid-1980s, and was eventually adopted by the Norwegian authorities in the early 2000s. It has no immediate counterpart in academic or political discourse outside Norway and is not self-explanatory to foreigners (Skagestad 2010). 2 For a discussion on Norwegian and Russian official foreign policy discourses on the European Arctic, see Jensen and Skedsmo (2010). 3 The search term was Nordomra˚de* (¼ High North) 4 For more on the relationship between Russia and the West and the corresponding discourses of the 1990s with which the following is compared, see Hønneland (2003) and Hønneland (2005). 5 The Barents cooperation was formally established on 11 January 1993, when the Kirkenes declaration was signed. The Barents cooperation is organized on two levels. The Barents Euro-Arctic Council (BEAC) operates at government level and the Regional Council operates at regional level. The purpose of the Barents cooperation is to strengthen east–west infrastructure, establish people-to-people contact, and contribute to the economic, cultural and social development of the region. The Barents cooperation promotes people-to-people contacts and economic development and creates good conditions for interregional exchange in many different fields; e.g. culture, indigenous peoples, youth, education, trade, environment, transportation and health. The primary goal of BEAC is to promote sustainable economic and social development in the Barents Region and thus contribute to peaceful development in the northernmost part of Europe (Barentsinfo.org). 6 For a general account of the discursive construction of regions, see Neumann (1994). For an analysis of the High North in particular, see Zachariassen (2008). 7 The Arctic produces various mental associations, and one is the ‘High North’ (‘det høye nord’), a convenient term when the subject is discussed in languages other than Norwegian. 8 StatoilHydro ASA became Statoil ASA on 2 November 2009. The name StatoilHydro was used for a short period of two years after the merger between Statoil ASA and Norsk Hydro ASA’s oil and gas division (statoilhydro.com). 9 On 25 October 2007, StatoilHydro signed a frame agreement with Gazprom to become partner in phase 1 of the Shtokman development together with Total. The agreement gives Statoil a 24 per cent equity interest in Shtokman

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Development AG where Gazprom (51 per cent) and Total (25 per cent) are the other two partners. Shtokman Development AG, established on 21 February 2008, is responsible for planning, financing and constructing the infrastructure necessary for the first phase of the Shtokman development and will own the infrastructure for 25 years from start of commercial production. This includes offshore installations, pipeline to shore and the onshore processing plants both for LNG and piped gas (statoil.com). For more on the agreement, see the Joint Statement on Maritime Delimitation and Cooperation in the Barents Sea and the Arctic Ocean, which is available from www.regjeringen.no/upload/UD/Vedlegg/Folkerett/030427_english_4.pdf. See, for instance, Aftenposten, 26 February 2007, where Lars Rowe of the Fridtjof Nansen Institute criticizes Norway’s policy towards Russia and argues that the new Russia will not and should not be seen as a country with a broken back. It is time, Rowe says, that the Norwegian government realized that Russia has both the will and means to tackle its own problems. There is no good reason any longer for Norway to throw money at Russian problems. The treaty marks the end of a long process that started in 1970. It was during President Medvedev’s official visit to Norway, 27 April 2010, that the Norwegian and Russian foreign ministers signed a joint statement announcing a preliminary agreement on delimitation. The treaty must be approved by the Norwegian Storting and the Russian Duma before it can enter into force (www. barentsobserver.com/norway-and-russia-sign-maritime-delimitation-agreem ent.4819173 – 16149.html). It is well known that climate change is having a massive impact on the Arctic, with previously ice-covered areas becoming increasingly navigable. The Northern Sea Route was totally ice-free in September 2010 for the first time in modern history. Drift ice was observed only intermittently by the vessels sailing the route. It takes two-thirds of the time to sail from Europe to Asia along Russia’s Arctic coast compared with the Suez Canal route (www.barents observer.com/preparing-for-next-years-northern-sea-route-season.4832790 – 16175.html).

Chapter 6

Security and Insecurity in the New North

1 This chapter covers the High North debate in relation to ‘security’. If I had restricted my primary texts to those issued by the two ministries, the term ‘security’ would come across as a relatively undisputed and uncontested reference object. I have therefore widened my sources of data in order to embrace other aspects of the High North debates, including documents from the Ministry of Oil and Energy and Ministry of Environment. See, for instance, Jensen (2007) for a study of the environmental discourses and the ‘extraction versus protection’ debate in Norway in relation to the High North. See Jensen and Hønneland (2011) for a detailed mapping of the most central general High North discourses

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and their ‘traceability’ back to images of Russia that were popular in Norway in the 1990s. 2 For more on this database, see www.retriever-info.com/en/. 3 The intention behind the Barents Partnership, as it is also called, is to help bring stability to what had been an area of tension and troop concentration during the entire progress of the Cold War (Hønneland 2005: 44 – 7). The concept retained, not surprisingly perhaps, a clear, palpable security bias although the times were changing and rhetorical gestures growing milder. 4 See, for instance, Jensen (2007) and Jensen (2012) regarding the re-opening of the Barents Sea for petroleum extraction.

Chapter 7 The Discursive Power Struggle to Own the Truth in the New North: Introducing Discourse Co-optation as an Analytical Phenomenon 1 The newspapers were chosen because they represented different readerships, profiles and focus areas, which improved the quality and broadened the scope of the analysis. At the risk of oversimplifying, one could say that Aftenposten (circulation 2010: 239,831) is the main national newspaper with conservative leanings; Dagens Næringsliv (circulation 2010: 80,559) is the business and finance paper; Nordlys (circulation 2010: 24,458) is the leading paper in the north of the country; and lastly, Klassekampen (circulation 2010: 14,390) despite its uncompromising name [Class Struggle], is a left-leaning paper with radical pretensions (Jensen 2007: 248). 2 At the time of the search, the database was a division of the Retriever company which was owned by the Schibsted media group. The database includes a text archive of 18 newspapers, periodicals and news agencies. These sources are updated continuously, and more than 4.7 million articles could be searched. 3 The quotations are translated from the Norwegian exactly as they were printed, including grammatical mistakes, linguistic peculiarities, etc. While some of the quotations are shortened to save space, it should not affect the meaning/content as it applies to this chapter.

Chapter 8

Foreign Policy and National Identity: Norway and the Othering of Russia

1 This is a revised version of my PhD trial lecture (24 January 2013, University of Tromsø) on a given theme: The character of Norwegian national identity, and how recent High North discourses reflect and influence that identity.

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INDEX

9/11 attacks, 127– 8, 139 actions, 16, 18, 151– 2, 181– 2 Adamov, Yevgeni, 59 Aftenposten (newspaper), 27, 56, 70, 104, 124, 149 Algeria, 51 Amundsen, Roald, 172 analysts, 148– 9 Anderson, Benedict, 163, 164 anti-oil production, 110– 14, 116 Aral Sea, 154 Archaeology of Knowledge, The (Foucault), 13 Arctic, the, 4 – 6, 33 – 4, 78 – 9 and climate change, 187n.13 and the environment, 170– 1 and exploration, 172– 4 and Russia, 89 – 90, 91 – 2, 94 –6 see also High North Arctic Council, 5, 77 Arctic Ocean, 5, 39 Arkhangelsk oblast, 44 Asia, 71 Atlanticism, 171 authenticity, 26 – 7 authorship, 31

Baku, 154 Baltic Sea, 109 ‘Banana Hole’, 43 Barents Euro-Arctic Council (BEAC), 44– 5, 186n.5 Barents Euro-Arctic Region (BEAR), 44, 45 –6, 49 – 50, 58, 60– 1, 66– 7, 77 Barents Health Programme, 46 Barents Sea, 34, 35, 36, 43, 71 and drilling, 151, 153– 6, 169–71 and the environment, 101, 102, 106, 110– 11, 112 and fisheries, 39 – 40 and nuclear waste, 47 and petroleum, 51 – 2, 53, 84 – 6 and the UN, 37 – 8 Barents Sea Delimitation Agreement (2010), 73 – 4 Barlindhaug, Johan Petter, 86, 152 Bellona, 69, 71 binary opposition, 163–4, 171, 174 biodiversity, 48 Bondevik, Kjell, 67, 71 business, 45–6, 50, 58, 87–8, 145, 152 Campbell, David, 165, 172, 173 Canada, 45, 185n.6

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capelin, 38 case studies, 21 – 3 Chernobyl, 47 circumpolar collaboration, 4 Cleaner Production Programme, 48 – 9 climate change, 101, 170, 187n.13 co-optation, 143–6, 157–9, 178 Coast Guard, 38, 42 – 3 cod, 38, 41 Cold War, 33, 34, 35, 36 – 7, 54 and security, 120, 125, 130– 1, 132 Commission on the Limits of the Continental Shelf (2009), 43 Committee on Northern Territories and Indigenous Minorities Issues in the Council of the Federation, 89 concept stretching, 157– 8 constructivism, 4, 5, 6, 23 Convention of the Continental Shelf (1958), 39 Copenhagen School, 119, 121, 122, 123, 124, 139 culture, 48, 50, 164 Dagens Næringsliv (newspaper), 27 –8, 56, 104, 124, 149 data, 15, 17, 25, 56 – 7, 149– 50 and newspapers, 27 – 8 and primary texts, 28 – 30 and sandwich method, 30 – 1 de-securitization, 119, 121, 129, 130–1 defence policy, 29 Denmark, 44 Derrida, Jacques, 163 Devold, Kristin Krohn, 127 Dilthey, Wilhelm, 22 discipline, 14 discourse analysis, 11– 21, 74 – 5, 79 – 80, 103– 5, 147– 50, 178– 82 and case studies, 22 – 3 and policy, 161, 164 and power, 157 and primary texts, 28 – 9 and security, 121– 3, 139– 41

disease, 49 – 50 ‘drilling for the environment’, 146, 149–57, 158, 169– 71 economics, 96, 106 endangered species, 97 energy, 96, 97 and security, 119, 121, 122, 131– 2, 133, 136– 7, 138 Energy Strategy for Russia Towards 2020, 82 Eni, 85 – 6 environment, the, 1, 4, 6, 96, 115 and anti-oil production, 110–15 and climate change, 101 and co-optation, 145– 6 and discourse, 18 and drilling, 102, 150– 7, 158 and Norway, 98, 99 and nuclear waste, 47 – 9 and Russia, 103, 105– 8, 109– 10 and security, 128, 132 and Soviet Union, 46 – 7 epistemology, 14 Euro-Arctic Barents Region, 129 European Commission, 44 European Union (EU), 50 – 1, 64, 65, 117 exclusion, 14 exclusive economic zones (EEZs), 37– 8, 39, 41 extraction, 92 – 3, 98, 102, 132 Exxon, 65, 68 Faroe Islands, 36, 42 Finland, 44, 68, 185n.6 Finnmark, 60, 61, 106 fisheries, 5, 35, 37 – 43, 97, 136 Fishery Protection Zone (1977), 41, 185n.6 foreign policy, 12, 19, 29; see also Norway; Russia fossil fuels, 1, 98, 163

INDEX Foucault, Michel, 13, 14 – 15, 143, 147, 148 France, 45, 52, 185n.6 frontiers, 172– 4 gas, 1, 50 – 1, 52 – 4, 63 – 6, 126– 7 Gazprom, 65 – 6, 72, 88 – 9, 93, 108, 186n.9 generalization, 23 – 4, 25 – 6 geopolitics, 5, 34, 106, 116 Germany, 45, 68, 185n.6 globalization, 132 Globus II Radar Station, 57 Goliath gas field, 85 – 6 Gorbachev, Mikhail, 46 – 7, 129, 130 Greenland, 36 Grey Zone Agreement (1978), 40– 1 haddock, 38 Halliburton, 65, 68 Hammerfest Basin, 52, 85 Hauge, Guro, 71 health care, 45, 46, 49 – 50 High North, 1, 2 – 3, 6 – 7, 182 and business, 87 – 8 and criticism, 69 – 74 and data, 28, 29 and definition, 82 – 4, 186n.1 and de-securitization, 129, 130– 1 and exploration, 173– 4 and foreign policy, 33 –5, 55 – 6, 166– 7 and identity, 15, 169– 70, 174– 5 and narrative, 62 – 8 and Norway, 25, 96 – 7 and public interest, 86 – 7, 88 – 9 and security, 119– 21, 124– 5, 126– 7, 128–9, 132–4, 136– 9 history, 16, 21 HIV/AIDS, 46, 49 Hydro, 64, 72, 86 hydrocarbons, 41, 101, 102, 116

205

ice cap, 1, 136 Iceland, 36, 42, 44 identity, 5, 163– 4, 182; see also national identity Imagined Communities (Anderson), 163, 164 immigration, 45 indigenous people, 44, 45, 88, 97, 185n.9 infrastructure, 45, 49, 52, 58, 66 institutionalism, 4, 6 interdiscourse, 16 – 17, 158 intertextuality, 26, 149 investment, 92 – 4 Ishkov, Aleksandr, 38 Italy, 45, 85 –6 Jagland, Thorbjørn, 60 Japan, 45 Johnsen, Arve, 72 Joint Commission on Environmental Protection, 77 Joint Norwegian – Russian Fisheries Commission, 38, 77 Joint Norwegian – Soviet Commission (1988), 46 – 7 Joint Norwegian – Soviet Commission on Nuclear Safety (1998), 47 – 8 Kainuu, 44 Kara Sea, 47 Karelia, 44 Kirkenes, 54 and Declaration (1993), 44, 129 Klassekampen (newspaper), 27, 28, 56, 57, 104, 124, 149 Kola Peninsula, 35, 36, 37 and nuclear waste, 47, 48, 69 – 70, 103, 114, 115, 151 and Russia, 91 and security, 126, 128 Komi, 44 language, 12, 13, 14, 17, 26 – 7, 147 and security, 135– 6, 138– 9

206

INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS IN THE ARCTIC

Lapland, 44 Lavrov, Sergey, 74 Law of the Sea, 5, 37 – 8 linguistics, 13 liquefied natural gas (LNG), 52, 68 living standards, 120, 126 Lofoten, 52, 102, 107, 153 Look North!, 60, 65, 149 ‘Loophole’, 43 Løwer, Eldbjørg, 125 Ludvigsen, Svein, 61 mafia, 59 marine resources, 132; see also fisheries Medvedev, Aleksandr, 108 metaphor, 26 Michels, Robert, 144 Middle East, 85, 116 military presence, 57, 120 and Norway, 97, 132, 133, 134– 5, 136 and security, 124– 5, 126 mining, 93 monuments see primary texts morality, 169 Murmansk, 36, 39, 44, 57, 68, 151 mythology, 173– 4 Nansen, Fridtjof, 172 narrative, 24 – 5, 26, 56 national identity, 15, 27, 139 and Norway, 161–6, 167–72, 173–5 NATO, 37, 97, 136, 171 natural resources, 1, 6, 91, 98, 133; see also gas; oil Nenets Autonomous Okrug, 44 Netherlands, the, 45 New Building Blocks in the North: The Next Step in the Government’s Strategy for the High North, 81 New North see Arctic, the; High North newspapers, 27 – 8, 56 – 7, 104– 5, 124, 149 nickel, 47, 49

nodal points, 79 –80, 96, 98 – 9 Nordlys (newspaper), 27, 28, 56 –7, 104, 124, 149 nordomra˚dene see High North Norrboten, 44 North Pole, 34, 39, 90 North Sea, 50 Northern Fleet, 37 Norway, 113, 116 and Arctic exploration, 172– 4 and Barents Sea drilling, 150– 7 and business, 87 – 8 and energy, 50 – 3 and the environment, 98, 99, 101– 2, 106, 107– 8, 109– 11 and European Arctic, 78 – 9 and expertise, 111– 12, 114– 15 and fisheries, 38 – 41 and foreign policy, 1, 12, 25, 33 – 5, 79 – 80, 96 – 7, 166– 7, 183n.3 and health, 49 and the military, 133 and national identity, 162– 6, 167– 72, 174– 5, 178 and nuclear waste, 47 – 9 and petroleum, 18, 84 – 6 and Russia, 35 – 6, 54, 57 – 60 and security, 119– 21, 123– 4, 124– 9, 134 and Soviet Union, 37 – 8 and Svalbard, 41– 3 see also High North Norwegian Armed Forces, 87, 125, 126, 132, 134– 5 Norwegian Government’s High North Strategy, The, 81, 82 – 3, 121 Norwegian Ministry of Defence, 87, 123–4 Norwegian Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MFA), 120– 1, 124 nuclear waste, 37, 47 – 50, 57, 59– 60, 69 – 71 and Russia, 103, 114, 115, 150– 1 and security, 126, 128

INDEX oil, 1, 50, 51, 52– 4, 63 – 6, 71 – 2 and Russia, 93 – 4 and security, 126– 7 and spills, 136 see also anti-oil production; pro-oil production Opportunities and Challenges in the North, 81, 121 Orheim Inquiry, 60 – 1, 62 Orheim, Olav, 71 Orientalism (Said), 163 Ormen Lange field, 50 Oslo Military Society, 124, 125, 127 Østreng, Willy, 153 otherness, 165, 169, 170, 171– 2, 174– 5, 177– 8 Oulu, 44 Pechora Sea, 114 Pedersen, Helga, 61 Petersen, Jan, 65 petroleum, 5, 18, 28, 46, 51 – 2 and the environment, 98, 101, 102 and the media, 104– 5 and Norway, 84 – 6 and Russia, 53, 63 –6 and security, 119, 132 see also ‘drilling for the environment’ Pettersen, Oddrun, 73 pictorial language, 26 plausibility, 26, 27 Poland, 45 Polarny Zori, 47 political science, 22, 91, 147, 182 pollution, 47 – 8 Pomor trade, 61, 66 Portugal, 68 positivism, 21, 22, 23 Possibilities and Challenges in the High North, 149 post-structuralism, 4, 5, 6, 123, 140, 163– 6 primary texts, 28–30, 80–2, 123–4, 149 Prirazlomnoye oilfield, 114

207

pro-oil production, 105– 10, 115 prohibition, 13 – 14 Putin, Vladimir, 77, 81– 2, 88 – 9, 93– 5, 97 and foreign policy, 90 – 1, 92 – 3 radiation, 70 – 1 Rafaelsen, Rune, 61 Refleks project, 161– 2 region building, 5, 6 Rosneft, 65 – 6 rules, 17, 18 Russia, 1, 3, 5, 6 and Barents Sea drilling, 151, 152, 154– 6 and BEAR, 45 – 6 and business, 88 and civil society, 110–11 and corruption, 58 – 60 and energy, 50, 51, 53 – 4, 63 –6, 71, 91 – 4, 117 and the environment, 18, 98, 99, 105– 8, 109– 10 and European Arctic, 89 – 90, 95 – 6, 97 – 8 and extraction, 102– 3 and fisheries, 38 – 9, 42 – 3, 185n.6 and foreign policy, 12, 79 – 80 and health, 49 and Norway, 34 – 5, 73 –4, 112– 13 and nuclear waste, 47, 48 – 9 and otherness, 169– 70, 171– 2, 174– 5, 177– 8 and power, 134 and security, 120, 125– 6 and Shtokman, 72, 73 and technology, 114– 15 see also Putin, Vladimir; Soviet Union Russian Security Council, 82, 89, 91 –2 safety, 135– 6, 139 Said, Edward, 163 sandwich method, 30 – 1 science, 4, 20

208

INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS IN THE ARCTIC

seal hunting, 172 search and rescue, 135, 136 search strings, 28 security, 1, 5, 6, 36, 54, 96 and co-optation, 144– 5 and discourse, 121–3, 139–41 and High North, 131–4 and identity, 178 and language, 135– 6, 138– 9 and Norway, 119– 21, 124– 9 and policy, 136–8 and primary texts, 123– 4 see also de-securitization; Russian Security Council Selznick, Phillip, 144, 146 shipping, 5, 108, 109 Shtokman gas field, 63, 66, 68, 71, 72, 85 and drilling, 152, 154 and Norway, 54 and partnerships, 95, 98, 186n.9 and time scales, 108 Siberia, 53, 72 Snow White gas field, 52, 85, 86, 152– 3, 173 social acts, 17 social science, 22, 24 – 5 Soria Moria Declaration on International Policy, The, 81, 121 Soviet Union, 33, 35–43, 46–7, 55, 129 and subsidies, 94, 95 Spain, 52 speech acts, 17, 29, 81 stakeholders, 156– 7 Statoil, 52 – 3, 54, 64, 72, 86 StatoilHydro, 73, 88– 9, 98, 186n.9 Stoltenberg, Jens, 2 – 3, 89, 166 Stoltenberg, Thorvald, 44 Støre, Jonas Gahr, 62, 72, 73, 74, 86, 162 and High North, 129–31, 136 storylines, 17 – 18, 25 Strøm-Erichsen, Anne-Grete, 131– 2 student exchanges, 45, 46, 50 surveillance, 136

Svalbard, 5, 34, 36 – 7, 41 – 3, 185n.6 Sverdrup, Harald, 172 Sweden, 44, 68 technology, 18, 45, 97, 112 and Russia, 63, 91, 93, 114– 15 terrorism, 127– 8, 137 texts, 14 – 15; see also primary texts Timan-Pechora, 53 – 4 Total, 88, 186n.9 tourism, 45 Towards the North! Challenges and Opportunities in the High North, 81 transport, 108, 109, 111, 132; see also shipping tuberculosis, 46, 49 United Kingdom (UK), 45, 50 – 1, 185n.6 United Nations (UN), 37 United States of America (USA), 45, 52, 63, 64, 65, 113, 117 and economics, 134 and fisheries, 185n.6 and LNG, 68 and Norway, 171 and terrorism, 127 Uranus gas field, 85, 86 Va¨sterbotten, 44 ‘war on terror’, 127– 8 Weber, Max, 22 Western Nansen Basin, 43 whale hunting, 172 world, the, 20, 21 Writing Security: United States Foreign Policy and the Politics of Identity (Campbell), 165, 172 Yeltsin, Boris, 94 Zapadnaya Litsa, 37 zero-sum politics, 91, 97