Antarctica, explained.
Since a 1959 treaty, the Antarctic has been designated as a demilitarised, non-sovereign preserve to be used for scientific purposes only (Sebnem Coskun/Anadolu via Getty Images)
On King George Island, flags, phones and relics of the past tell the story of ongoing rivalry on the frozen continent.
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Antarctica is far from a no-man’s landAntarctica is far from a no-man’s land
The first thing apparent to me after clambering off the boat into Antarctic waters and wading a few metres to the mud-covered shore was both the number and the ostentatious size of the red, white and blue national flags flying from rough-and-ready buildings.
The flags belong to two countries. One is the Russian tricolour, the other the Lone Star ensign of Chile, and they designate the presence and boundaries of the Russian and Chilean research stations and bases.
The next striking vision was how so many people on this island were dressed, their jackets in such vivid national colours that they resembled participants at the opening ceremony of the Olympics. Then my mobile phone kicked into life, welcoming me in quick succession to Argentina, Chile, Uruguay and Russia. Flags, uniforms and phones: these, I thought, are parts of the tangible ways that countries jostle for position and prominence in the Antarctic, the only place in the world not owned by any country.
The treaty was an effort to head off long-festering competition over the icebound continent exacerbated by the Cold War.
I was on King George Island, part of the South Shetlands chain and the only place in Antarctica with a commercial airport. At the airport waiting room was an unlikely assembly of scientists from ten countries, priests from two, as well as phalanxes of high-end cruise ship passengers and day-trippers. Then there was me, with a ticket for the Antarctic Airways flight to Punta Arenas in Chile after three weeks on a boat with Sea Shepherd, the marine conservation group in Antarctica to monitor the krill fishing fleet. I used my time there to get a sense of how countries are staking out their interests in this time of renewed geostrategic rivalry over the polar regions.
Since a 1959 treaty, the Antarctic has been designated as a demilitarised, non-sovereign preserve to be used for scientific purposes only. The treaty was an effort to head off long-festering competition over the icebound continent exacerbated by the Cold War. Seven countries including Australia had made territorial claims to the continent, some of which overlapped with each other. Three countries – Argentina, Chile and the United Kingdom – claimed King George Island, for instance. The two superpowers had wider ambitions than just wodges of the continent. The United States and the Soviet Union were making moves, according to historian David Day, to have "free rein" over its entirety.
International lawyers acclaim the dexterously worded treaty as a masterful offramp for decelerating these tensions. Yet the sheer fact of the treaty did not itself stop states doing what they’ve always done, namely work in their national interests.
The Weddell Sea on the southeastern side of the Antarctic Peninsula is estimated to hold hydrocarbons equivalent to more than 500 billion barrels of oil (66 north/Unsplash)
With its multiple bases and claims, King George is a prime example of that jostling. Beyond its regal name, there is little obviously British about the place. Chile has the dominant presence, Santiago taking full advantage of constructive ambiguities in the treaty. For while the treaty does not allow the assertion of new territorial claims, the claims made by seven states before the treaty’s adoption continue to exist. The result is that Santiago regards King George Island as Chilean territory and treats its airport as a domestic one. Maps of Chile inscribed on plinths at Base Presidente Eduardo Frei Montalva look very different to its standard shape on a world map. For as well as the recognisable slender finger shape, a large zone of Antarctica is included.
The base has a trading post feel, with a kindergarten, bank, church and power station, and it is expanding. Chilean tradies were driving concrete mixers and operating pile driving machines to expand a wharf. That investment, along with US$53 million for airport upgrades, is a sign of how much Santiago is investing in maintaining its hold on what it sees as its Antarctic territories.
A short distance of muddy track away from the Chilean base is the Russian Bellingshausen research station, named for the Estonian-born explorer of the Imperial Russian Navy who was widely reported as the first to sight Antarctic shores in 1820. An imposing aquamarine statue of Bellingshausen and his telescope stands at the centre of the base, adjacent to clapboard signposts in Cyrillic indicating how far the station is from elsewhere in the Russian-speaking world.
Yet there is something undeniably intriguing about odd places, and King George Island is one of the oddest places of all.
The statue is a reminder that from the outset, it was Russia’s explicit ambition in Antarctica to claim territory for itself. Bellingshausen carried with him silver coins embossed with the tsar’s image intended to be given to what he thought would be the native inhabitants of Antarctica, thereby asserting a useful connection in the making of territorial claims by imperial Russia.
With small stencilled CCCP brass plates affixed to the weathered demountable buildings, the station feels like part of the Soviet Union preserved in aspic. There, Russian scientists conduct research, as per their website, on various ologies, including glaciology, hydrobiology, limnology and zoology, as well as permafrost studies. A Russian orthodox church sits on a mountain bluff above the station. It feels utterly surreal.
Russia’s wider ambitions for the Antarctic remain significant. In 2024, it came to light that seismic surveys undertaken by Russia’s state geological company in the Weddell Sea on the southeastern side of the Antarctic Peninsula had indicated the presence of hydrocarbons equivalent to more than 500 billion barrels of oil. Moscow has consistently used its position within the consensus-based Commission for the Conservation of Antarctic Marine Living Resources (CCAMLR) to veto new protections on krill fishing in the Antarctic. Some concerned strategists contend that Russian bases such as Bellingshausen and the nearby Chinese Great Wall Station on King George carry out research that constitutes “dual use”.
Visually, King George is unlovely. The dominant colour is not the vestal white of what one imagines the Antarctic, but brackish mud. Its dominant sound is not the flapping wings of Antarctic seabirds, but the chug-chugs of diesel generators.
Yet there is something undeniably intriguing about odd places, and King George Island is one of the oddest places of all. Remember the name of this place. It feels like somewhere that will only become more prominent in the years to come.
About the author
Gordon Peake
Gordon Peake is a writer, podcaster and consultant, and a campus visitor at the Development Policy Centre.
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