Mayra Melendez-Gonzalez, a technician at the Toolik Field Station collecting water samples for an experiment at a frozen creek. — ©2024 The New York Times Company
AS relations with Russia continue to fray over the Ukraine conflict, Western scientists studying the Arctic are grappling with severe disruptions in crucial climate research.
Russia, which encompasses over half of the Arctic territory, has dramatically curtailed data sharing.
This shift leaves a glaring blind spot in climate models as the Arctic, warming four times faster than the global average, accelerates global temperature rise.
“It may be impossible to understand how the Arctic is changing, without Russia,” said Alessandro Longhi, an Italian permafrost scientist conducting research at Toolik Field Station in northern Alaska.
Researchers have turned to alternative sites like Toolik, but these cannot replace the depth of data once sourced from Russian Arctic research stations.
Longhi and his colleagues are studying how the Arctic’s vulnerable permafrost is interacting with vegetation.
This process releases trapped greenhouse gases, significantly impacting climate projections.
As they work, their snow tracks merge with those of the native caribou, foxes, and ermine, a reminder of how connected the ecosystem is.
Yet, without Russia’s input, the Western scientists’ findings reflect only part of the Arctic’s story, increasingly skewed towards North American and European perspectives.
“It makes no sense to exclude half the Arctic,” said Torben Rojle Christensen, a professor at Aarhus University and science director at Greenland’s Zackenberg Research Station.
The situation is alarming, as two-thirds of Russia is covered by permafrost, which contains massive stores of carbon. When thawed, this carbon is released into the atmosphere, contributing further to global warming.
Scientists warn that leaving Russia’s Arctic data out of climate models jeopardises the accuracy of global climate projections, potentially distorting the big picture.
The “Ice Curtain”, as some scientists call it, has created a moral dilemma for climate researchers. Many are deeply conflicted about losing access to essential data.
“It is like shooting yourself in the foot,” said Syndonia Bret-Harte, science director at Toolik.
Last year, the US National Science Foundation cut funding for the Russian side of her climate-related project.
In the European Union, Russian research was defunded shortly after the Ukraine invasion, and governments encouraged institutions to cut ties with Russian scientists.
Russia, in turn, has added obstacles for those still attempting collaboration.
The United States National Science Foundation issued guidance to “wind down” partnerships with Russian researchers, advising applicants to exclude Russian collaborators from funding proposals.
“They explicitly told us: do not include Russia,” said Vladimir Romanovsky, a geophysicist originally from Russia who now works at the University of Alaska Fairbanks.
Romanovsky has since redirected his focus to Canada, though he remains concerned about how the stalled partnerships could affect the science community.
Beyond climate data, wildlife studies are also at risk.
In Norway, researcher Paul Aspholm has felt the impact of losing access to Russian data. He worked with Russian scientists for nearly three decades, counting animals such as brown bears and salmon along the shared Arctic border.
However, he has received only three e-mails from his Russian counterparts since the collaboration was halted.
“We have an ‘Ice Curtain’ now,” Aspholm said, standing at the border river.
This year, Russian scientists did arrive at the usual spot for the annual cross-border bird count but could only exchange silent nods with their Norwegian colleagues across the river.
The funding void may leave lasting scars on Russian scientific infrastructure.
Russia’s Arctic stations have relied on Western projects for technology and financial support to continue operations. Given the immense costs associated with Arctic research, from transporting equipment to maintaining remote monitoring stations, Russia’s data flow could slow even further.
One solution is collaboration with China, though this route is unlikely to be as effective or coordinated as the lost partnerships with the West.
Russia’s new Arctic research station, initially planned as an international hub, may now primarily host Chinese projects.
Researchers such as Romanovsky fear that Russian data stations will struggle to operate without Western support.
Already, he no longer expects updates from the 130 permafrost sites he has been overseeing across Russia.
“We are doing the best we can,” said Bret-Harte, “but this is a crisis.”
The geopolitical challenges have resulted in some Russian scientists seeking ways to leave the country, but others have been caught in an entirely different struggle.
Colin Edgar, a research technician at Toolik, shared a disturbing reality: former Russian colleagues, who once worked in permafrost monitoring, were drafted into the Ukrainian conflict, with at least one reportedly killed in combat.
Further south in Norway, Aspholm continues his Arctic studies, focusing on invasive pink salmon, which are thriving in the warming waters. Their increased breeding is now polluting previously pristine streams.
Without his Russian colleagues, monitoring these border-hopping fish is significantly more challenging, yet he remains dedicated to doing what he can with limited data.
“It is better to know something, rather than nothing,” Aspholm reflected.
For now, he persists with whatever fragmented information he can obtain, hoping that someday the data flow from Russia will resume.
However, time is ticking. Aspholm nears retirement, and fewer scientists remain with the expertise and interest to bridge the gap in Arctic studies.
Meanwhile, Russia’s Arctic monitoring may fade into obscurity, and the loss of shared data will undoubtedly leave a void in understanding one of the planet’s most fragile and important ecosystems. — ©2024 The New York Times Company
