Rapid ice loss is opening the Central Arctic Ocean to a slew of competing geopolitical and resource claims.

For most of recorded history, the Central Arctic Ocean (CAO)—a 1.1-million–square-mile sweep of high seas girded by year-round ice—stood apart from human industry, a white void on the map that functioned as its own form of protection.

That sanctuary is slipping away as summer ice retreats at unprecedented rates, new shipping ambitions, resource grabs, and geopolitical jockeying are converging on one of the planet’s most fragile and least regulated oceans.

The numbers are stark. The Arctic is warming approximately four times faster than the global average, and the average September sea ice extent has declined by about 65 percent since 1980. “The Arctic is in the midst of rapid change, and we’re seeing that reflected in profound environmental and ecological shifts,” says Julienne Stroeve, a senior scientist at the U.S. National Snow and Ice Data Center. “What was once permanent ice is now open water in summer.”

That open water has invited big plans—chief among them the proposed Transpolar Sea Route, a direct corridor across the top of the world that boosters say could shave time and cost from Asia-Europe trade. But as the Arctic Council’s Protection of the Arctic Marine Environment working group warns, “Trans-Arctic shipping introduces risks of oil spills, black carbon emissions, underwater noise, and disruption to wildlife migration patterns.”

Distance compounds the danger. The CAO is remarkably remote, with sparse search-and-rescue coverage and limited spill-response capability. An accident here would not stay confined to this area: currents can carry contaminants well beyond the Arctic, transforming a local failure into a transboundary crisis. Search-and-rescue staging, heavy ice-class tugs, and basic medical infrastructure are scarce or nonexistent across thousands of miles, meaning hours or days may pass before help arrives, even in the best-case weather conditions. For commercial operators, that lag translates into higher stakes for routine mishaps and a far narrower margin for error.

Another pressure is rising from below. As Arctic coastal states file overlapping claims to an Extended Continental Shelf, competition for seabed minerals is intensifying. The International Seabed Authority concluded its 30th session in July without authorizing mining or imposing a moratorium, as sought by 38 governments, including Canada. The United States, meanwhile, has signaled its intention to establish its own permitting system for both territorial waters and the high seas.

Deep-sea mining would target hydrothermal vents and other singular seafloor habitats—worlds evolved in darkness and pressure, most of them barely studied, and many irreplaceable. “We’re talking about ecosystems that have evolved over millions of years…and are highly vulnerable to disturbance,” says Diva Amon of the Deep Ocean Stewardship Initiative. “Once disturbed, they may never recover.”

The CAO’s ecological value extends beyond the seafloor. Often described as “the world’s quietest sea,” it offers rare refuge from anthropogenic noise for migratory whales, seals, and seabirds—a sanctuary in a literal sense.

It is also a climate engine. Bright ice bounces sunlight back into space; dark water absorbs heat. Arctic currents and atmospheric systems play a crucial role in setting the global weather pattern. “What happens in the Arctic doesn’t stay in the Arctic,” climate scientist Mark Serreze notes. Diminished sea ice is linked to a wobblier jet stream and more extreme events farther south.

And the Arctic is inhabited. Indigenous peoples have shaped, studied, and stewarded this environment for millennia, with cultures and food systems that depend on healthy seas. “The Central Arctic Ocean is integral to the food security, cultural identity, and governance practices of Arctic Indigenous communities,” says Dalee Sambo Dorough, former chair of the Inuit Circumpolar Council. “Ignoring Indigenous knowledge in decision-making is both unjust and counterproductive.”

There are models for restraint. In 2018, Arctic and non-Arctic nations adopted the Central Arctic Ocean Fisheries Agreement, preemptively halting commercial fishing in the CAO and launching a shared science program—a precautionary first for a high-seas region. The accord matters not only because of what it bans, but also because of how it frames uncertainty: it recognizes that ignorance about a system’s thresholds is itself a reason to hold back, investing in joint surveys and transparent data rather than rushing to exploit.

But the policy landscape has not kept pace with the pressures. Ocean Conservancy and other advocates are urging a new, tailored agreement that bans deep-sea mining and constrains transpolar shipping while building a governance architecture worthy of the place. “The Arctic is becoming a new geopolitical frontier,” cautions Klaus Dodds, a professor of geopolitics at Royal Holloway, University of London. “We must resist the temptation to treat it as a commodity race, and instead treat it as a shared responsibility.”

What would that look like in practice? Start with a moratorium on new extractive industries in the CAO; embed Indigenous knowledge and participation at every level of decision-making; and fund the science and monitoring that make precaution more than a slogan.

Above all, approach the region in a spirit of cooperation rather than conquest. Safeguarding the Central Arctic Ocean is not merely a conservation choice; it is an imperative for equity and justice in a world already straining under climate shocks. As UN Secretary-General António Guterres told the 2023 Climate Ambition Summit, “The melting Arctic is not just a local tragedy—it is a planetary crisis.”

This article was originally posted in the Watershed Sentinel.