Against The Arctic Island Laboratory

Editor’s note: This article is written in response to the cover feature in this issue. Its perspective differs from the feature regarding what Iceland’s future vis-à-vis sustainability should or could look like. Given the importance we believe this issue holds for this country, we are happy to publish these differing views, hoping they will enrich the ongoing discourse.

We need true public control of Icelandic resources

Iceland is frequently portrayed as a hotspot for carbon capture and storage partially because of the country’s “abundance” of cheap, renewable energy and geological makeup (formed millions of years ago) suitable for CO2 mineralisation to support direct air capture of carbon. Through my anthropological PhD research on the social and cultural dimensions of these projects, I have observed that Iceland is also chosen for these projects because of its perceived social and political license for such projects. This is a problematic perception rooted in others treating Iceland as an isolated “island laboratory”.

Community controversies

Recent controversies surrounding the US company Running Tide, Röst, and Carbfix’s Coda Terminal project in Hafnarfjörður have shown that locals are objecting to using the country as a laboratory. Some of the most outspoken residents of Hafnarfjörður who helped to disrupt Carbfix’s plans told me that one of their major complaints was that they were not invited to take part in an open conversation about the possibility of bringing such a project to their community. Instead, they were presented with a final plans and told how great they were, with minimal or no opportunity to express their concerns or preferences —much less discuss what kind of projects and investment they do want.

The concerns of these communities are justified and reasonable. For example, they are concerned about the lack of positive impacts on their community compared to the economic benefits of the project for Carbfix. The viability of scaling carbon capture and storage in economic and energy cost terms remains uncertain, fuelling fears that Carbfix may at some stage abandon the project unfinished or inadequately monitored. Further, they are worried about their energy and water security. Iceland is often represented as having abundant excess energy, which is not true, and has long been a misleading characterisation because most of Iceland’s electricity production is guaranteed to industry through long-term contracts. In this situation, where around 80% of Iceland’s electricity is used by industry, according to official projections, the likelihood of significant energy shortages is substantial – 14% probability by 2026, and escalating to a staggering 70% probability by 2029.

“Iceland is often represented as having abundant excess energy, which is not true.”

There is also real fear from academics, environmentalists, and the public alike that the hype around these projects may never deliver, and could distract from the necessary work to curtail climate emissions. Iceland is already the world’s highest electricity producer per capita — more than double Norway in second place. Rather than expanding infrastructure to sustain these experiments, Iceland has an opportunity to prioritise genuine public ownership of natural resources, aligning with the widely supported yet unrealised new constitution that never came.

The problem with the laboratory framing

The historical framing of the Arctic and sub-Arctic as empty laboratories almost devoid of life has been used repeatedly to justify large-scale projects supporting narrow interests at the cost of local communities. Even under the auspices of public companies like Landvirkjun controlling production, these projects are designed with a narrow idea of who should benefit and how. Most social benefits for the local communities are afterthoughts squeezed in to gain social license. This is the continuing story of aluminium smelters, data centres, power plants, and other similar projects in Iceland. Academic analysis has repeatedly demonstrated that “Iceland’s resources are being put to work for narrow private gains, but at great costs to society.”

The argument that Iceland’s renewable energy justifies such large-scale industrial projects continues a problematic tradition of treating Iceland as a sacrifice zone for the world’s problems. While Iceland bears responsibility in global climate action — especially because it has become one of Europe’s leading emitters of greenhouse gases — Icelanders still deserve meaningful participation in deciding how that responsibility is managed and how their finite natural resources are utilised. And actually adopting the new constitution — or at least the provision for public ownership and decision-making power over natural resources — would significantly advance democratic control and transparency.

Allowing Iceland, or any location, to become an uncontrolled laboratory, especially when regulatory frameworks lag behind technological development. Yes, it attracts investment and worldwide attention, which has not always been in abundance because of Iceland’s limited economic options as a small, resource-constrained island nation. But this investment and attention always comes with hidden social and environmental costs. These costs are often understated or glossed over when there are large amounts of money at stake, and for-profit companies are pressured to demonstrate progress to their funders. Or sometimes, these costs are repackaged as benefits — such as the ability to attract even more tourists to the country, despite the huge cost to the environment.

Icelandic communities deserve to have a say about such tradeoffs, with time to consider and a voice to reshape or refuse proposed projects.

The current Minister of the Environment, Energy and Climate, Jóhann Páll Jóhannssson, believes that it is possible to decouple environmental cost from economic growth via tourism and other industries, such as data centres. However, direct climate emissions are insufficient on their own as a metric to measure environmental costs, and what many green projects in Iceland fail to address are the knock-on effects. I am thinking of both second and third-order climate emissions, but also the other costs to nature and society derived from attracting tourists, importing and exporting materials (including rare earth elements mined through ethically dubious means), or fuelling the development of unregulated AI by building more and more data centres.

I advocate a shift to degrowth — prioritising and focusing on environmental protection as a long-term investment instead of unsustainable, endless economic growth. Degrowth is an opportunity for the Icelandic nation to re-evaluate whether these costs are worth it for the extra disposable income that comes along with being one of the world’s wealthiest nations, per capita.

Prioritising genuinely sustainable initiatives which genuinely contribute to addressing climate change through the use of minimal or truly abundant resources or without overburdening Iceland’s resources could then be prioritised, as could the largest source of emissions in Iceland: drained wetlands. Public ownership over natural resources is a clear path towards empowering the Icelandic people to choose their own destiny and legacy, instead of having it decided for them. The exact mechanisms for deciding how to utilise these natural resources was not spelled out in the proposed constitutional reforms. History has provided examples of common resource management that would likely prove informative, as have contemporary thinkers interested in these situations. Ultimately, the exact way to put public ownership of resources into practice remains an opportunity for Iceland to engage in experiments with social innovation.

Social innovation instead of economic innovation

Given the urgency of protecting the environment, we don’t have the luxury to ‘move fast and break things,’ whether that be community trust or the important ecosystems we rely on for our survival. Treating our environment purely as an open laboratory for innovation and development for capital accumulation —and this includes sustainable development — is what got us into these problems in the first place. We don’t need to abandon all ambitious or experimental climate and environmental projects in Iceland. Many have shown potential and have managed to gain community support because of their obvious benefits. However, there must be a new approach to innovation or “environmental solutions,” such that they are owned by the community and take into account the needs, desires, and views of the communities in which they are embedded.

The story of Iceland is a success story for social equality and, recently, economic performance. But its shortcomings in environmental sustainability remain despite those successes. Economic metrics don’t capture societal happiness or well-being, whereas neglecting environmental health inevitably harms society and societal progress. Simultaneously, addressing environmental crises requires trust between community members and trust in their institutions. This trust is not achieved once and kept forever, but built through ongoing relationship building, locals having a stake in the projects being built in their communities, and clear benefits derived from these projects. As such, the necessity for innovation in technology, industry, and development for addressing the environmental and economic crises facing the world is overstated. Conversely, the importance of social innovation and trust in community decision-making is understated.

If we are to address environmental crises, we cannot afford to create greater problems and deepen social distrust in the process. Instead, we can prioritise the health of society and communities over economic priorities. Environmental action is a unique opportunity to collaboratively remake society according to values more important than economics.

True community ownership of natural resources is the first step.

Cody Skahan is a PhD student in anthropology at the University of Oxford focusing on “geoengineering” in Iceland, broadly conceived. He did his Master’s at the University of Iceland in Anthropology, focusing on youth environmental activism.