A Russian expedition is heading to the North Pole on a daring mission. Two submersible craft will be lowered under the ice right at the North Pole. Among the crew members of one of them will be the well-known polar explorer Artur Chilingarov. And this is where the news, smelling of fresh snow and frost, acquires a distinct stench. Because Chilingarov is not just a famous traveler; he is also a Deputy Speaker of the State Duma, a member of the leadership of the "United Russia" party, and, moreover, President Putin's special representative for polar affairs. So, this is not just a feat of science, but also a state-level event. What is it actually about? It is not hard to answer that question. Through its media mouthpiece, the Kremlin is bamboozling the country's population with the phrase: "Russia will no longer be on its knees!" The slogan is, of course, loud, provided one does not start thinking about what Russia had been doing in such an awkward position before – was it perhaps praying in a mosque? Or was it looking for a coin that had rolled under the sofa? Perhaps it was sitting on someone's lap, like a cute governess for a jolly master, and is now rising from his lap, adjusting its bonnet and smoothing out a rumpled apron? Be that as it may, the "knee theme" is currently the most important one in Russia, and the upcoming feat of the polar explorers will certainly serve as a tool to get the state body into a vertical position. To avoid being on its knees anymore, it is necessary to dive as close to the North Pole as possible; much like in magic, when you need to hop on your right foot so that the enemy's left ear goes deaf. Therefore, the presence of a state official under the ice of the Arctic Ocean is absolutely necessary. It is a technique to show foreign detractors and domestic folk alike that attention must be shifted from kneecaps to clenched fists. But, of course, that is not all. The fearless travelers have one more goal. In officialese, it sounds like this: "It will allow for the further clarification of the outer limits of the Russian Arctic shelf." In scientific language – a little differently, but just as solemnly: "To prove that the Arctic Ocean shelf is a continuation of the Siberian continental platform." And, finally, the apotheosis: "In the event of a successful expedition, Russia will be able to stake a claim to expanding its economic zone by one million two hundred thousand square kilometres." And here we move from the beginning of the 21st century to the end of the 19th. The great Stanley finds the dying explorer Livingstone at the headwaters of the Nile. "Dr. Livingstone, I presume?" he says, and the British Empire's African holdings increase significantly. The meeting of Stanley and Livingstone is the high point of global colonial history; behind the travelers in pith helmets (or fur hoods) come soldiers, administrators, clergy, engineers – and the world map is coloured in the reds, blues, and yellows of empires. Of course, the passion of states to expand did not originate in the 19th century – it has existed as long as states have. But only in the industrial age did it gain clearly visible economic causes, succinctly expressed by Lenin's famous phrase in the book "Imperialism, the Highest Stage of Capitalism": "The struggle for sources of raw materials and markets." This struggle ended in collective suicide during the fin de siècle era – in the trenches of the First World War, where millions of Germans, Frenchmen, Britons, and Russians rotted alive. Everything that happened afterwards – the revolution in Russia, Nazism, the Second World War – is only a continuation, a distant consequence of the moment Livingstone and Stanley met in the African jungle. Since then, the question of territorial expansion has been removed from the civilised world's agenda. Russia remained slightly on the sidelines of the colonial race at the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries – it was (and is) simply too large and sparsely populated. The outstanding historian Klyuchevsky derived the entire history of Russia from its vast expanses. The famous conservative Pobedonostsev described pre-revolutionary Russia aptly: "An icy desert in which a brave man runs wild." After the "brave man" had organised a revolution, he turned his attention to the "icy desert". This year, Russia is marking not only seventy years since the "Great Terror", but also seventy years since Papanin's polar epic. The North Pole became the first trial for Stalin's shift from "proletarian internationalism" to the revival of the imperial idea. Since that moment, the North Pole became a battlefield for a "mighty superpower"; thank God, not as bloody as Port Arthur or Verdun. For the current Russia, there is nowhere left to expand, and no need either – the total population is shrinking, so there is hardly anyone to live even within today's borders. Moreover, "territorial expansion" has completely gone out of fashion worldwide; only in her worst nightmares could Angela Merkel imagine German claims on Alsace and Lorraine. But for the Russian state power, which speaks to its subjects in the language of the era of nation-states and colonial empires, it is important to maintain the illusion of a "world superpower" expanding its borders. Even if it is only a symbolic action, which has less to do with the desolate ice of the Arctic Ocean and more to do with mass consciousness. That is why President Putin's special representative Chilingarov is preparing to dive under the eternal ice.
The article was first published in the August 2007 issue of the magazine Rīgas Laiks.