CENTRE FOR MILITARY AND STRATEGIC STUDIES

Calgary Papers
in Military and Strategic Studies
Occasional Paper Number 4, 2011

Canadian Arctic
Sovereignty and Security:
Historical Perspectives
Edited by P. Whitney Lackenbauer
 Calgary Papers
in Military and Strategic Studies
ISSN 1911-799X

Editor
DR. JOHN FERRIS

Managing Editor: Nancy Pearson Mackie

Cover: The Mobile Striking Force, an airportable and airborne brigade

group designed as a quick reaction force for northern operations, was
an inexpensive solution to the question of how Canada could deal with
an enemy lodgement in the Arctic. During training exercises, army
personnel from southern Canada learned how to survive and operate in
the north. In this image, taken during Exercise Bulldog II in 1954, Inuk
Ranger TooToo from Churchill, Manitoba relays information to army
personnel in a Penguin. DND photo PC-7066.

Canadian Arctic Sovereignty and Security: Historical Perspectives

Occasional Paper Number 4, 2011
ISBN 978-1-55238-560-9

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 Calgary Papers
in Military and Strategic Studies
Canadian Arctic Sovereignty and Security
Historical Perspectives

Edited by P. Whitney Lackenbauer

Contents
Introduction 
p. whitney lackenbauer...........................................................................1
Gateway to Invasion or the Curse of Geography?
The Canadian Arctic and the Question of Security, 1939-1999
bernd horn..............................................................................................23
“The Army of Occupation”: Americans in the
Canadian Northwest during World War II
ken coates and bill morrison..............................................................55
1946: The Year Canada Chose Its Path in the Arctic
peter kikkert...........................................................................................69
“Advertising for Prestige”: Publicity in Canada-US
Arctic Defence Cooperation, 1946-48
david j. bercuson................................................................................... 111
Arctic Focus: The Royal Canadian Navy in Arctic
Waters, 1946-1949
elizabeth b. elliot-meisel....................................................................121
Clenched in the JAWS of America? Canadian Sovereignty
and the Joint Arctic Weather Stations, 1946-1972
daniel heidt........................................................................................... 145
A Practicable Project: Canada, the United States,
and the Construction of the DEW Line
alexander herd.....................................................................................171

i
The Military and Nation Building in the Arctic, 1945-1964
k.c. eyre...................................................................................................201
Claiming the Frozen Seas: The Evolution of
Canadian Policy in Arctic Waters
adam lajeunesse....................................................................................233
The Manhattan Incident Forty Years On: Re-assessing
the Canadian Response 
matthew willis.....................................................................................259
Building on “Shifting Sands”: The Canadian Armed
Forces, Sovereignty, and the Arctic, 1968-1972
p. whitney lackenbauer and peter kikkert......................................283
Polar Vision or Tunnel Vision: The Making of
Canadian Arctic Waters Policy 
rob huebert............................................................................................309
Canada’s Northern Defenders: Aboriginal Peoples
in the Canadian Rangers, 1947-2005
p. whitney lackenbauer.......................................................................345
Climate Change and Canadian Sovereignty in the
Northwest Passage 
rob huebert............................................................................................383
Pathetic Fallacy: That Canada’s Arctic Sovereignty
is on Thinning Ice 
franklyn griffiths...............................................................................401
Conclusions: “Use It or Lose It,” History, and the
Fourth Surge 
p. whitney lackenbauer.......................................................................423
Further Reading....................................................................................437

ii
Calgary Papers in Military and Strategic Studies, Occasional Paper No. 4, 2011
Canadian Arctic Sovereignty and Security: Historical Perspectives Pages 1–22

Introduction
P. Whitney Lackenbauer

Canada has a choice when it comes to defending our sovereignty

in the Arctic; either we use it or we lose it. And make no mis-
take this government intends to use it. Because Canada’s Arctic
is central to our national identity as a northern nation. It is part
of our history. And it represents the tremendous potential of our
future.
— Prime Minister Stephen Harper, 9 July 20071

C
limate change is transforming the Arctic. The ice cover on the Arctic
Ocean is shrinking in breadth and depth, permafrost is melting,
and indigenous flora and fauna is threatened. Questions abound
about what these changes will mean for northern peoples, for transporta-
tion routes, for international boundaries, and for stability and security in the
circumpolar world.
Prime Minister Harper, in his campaign speeches and announcements
of major initiatives delivered in northern communities, has often repeated
the message of “use it or lose it.” Canada must respond to present and fu-
ture challenges, this message intimates, because Canada’s north is besieged.2
The line of argument is predicated on the idea that previous governments
have failed to perfect Canadian sovereignty in the Arctic, and a more activ-
ist approach is necessary to defend Canada’s national interests. Is Canada’s
sovereignty “on thinning ice”? Are new circumpolar threats undermining
Canadian security? As debate swirls around these questions, due to an al-
legedly impending “perfect storm” coalescing around climate change, a
so-called “race” for arctic resources, and increased militarism in the Arctic,3
Canadians should be reminded that scholars and policy-makers have been
grappling with these questions for decades. The Arctic is indeed part of our
history, as the prime minister noted, and a robust understanding of previous
sovereignty and security thinking, policy, and practices should inform our
assessment of policy options, probable future scenarios, and the feasibility of
proposed courses of action.
The purpose of this volume is to provide an overview of leading histor-
ical research on Canadian Arctic security and sovereignty since the Second
World War. It is a “hybrid” collection in that it includes both previously

© Centre for Military and Strategic Studies http://cmss.ucalgary.ca/ 1

INTRODUCTION

published scholarship and cutting edge research by new scholars. We hope

that it provides students, scholars, and policy makers with access to import-
ant scholarship that frames and shapes historiographical and policy debates
about sovereignty and security in the Canadian Arctic. In so doing, we hope
that it lays a foundation for future research in this important and dynamic
field. Although there is some modest overlap in discussions of historical con-
text across some chapters, this has been retained in anticipation that individ-
ual chapters may be consulted as stand-alone contributions on specific topics
and themes.
The basic organizing framework for this volume is chronological, with
each chapter pursuing a distinct theme. Chapters 1-2 introduce military de-
velopment and sovereignty concerns in the Canadian Northwest during the
Second World War. The main emphasis of the volume is on the Cold War,
during which strategist Ken Eyre identified three surges of military interest
in the Canadian Arctic.4 He suggested that the first, which treated the Arctic
as an “exposed flank” rather than a place of intrinsic value, ran from 1947-64.
Chapters 3-10 chart military, diplomatic, and political developments through
this phase, which most authors suggest actually began in 1946. The second
surge, “Sovereignty and Symbolism,” began in the wake of the Manhattan
voyages (1969-70) and continued until 1980. Chapters 11-12 analyze political
and military responses during the early years of the Trudeau government.
Eyre suggested that a third surge, “The Land of Tomorrow,” began with the
1987 White Paper on defence. The point of origin is better placed with the
Polar Sea controversy and the Mulroney government’s landmark September
1985 statement, which Rob Huebert describes in chapter 13. This final Cold
War surge dissipated with the 1988 election, soon after Eyre published his
article. The most recent surge of interest in the early twenty-first century
does not have an obvious starting point, but the academic debates between
Huebert and Franklyn Griffiths (chapters 15-16) began to frame the issues in
2002, and Arctic sovereignty and security issues attracted widespread public
attention with the Hans Island debacle in 2004. The conclusion reflects upon
how the historical cases analyzed in this volume relate to current debates
about sovereignty and security issues.

Setting the Stage: From Confederation to the Second World War

One hundred and thirty years ago, Canada’s sovereignty over the Arctic
lands and waters was far from secure. The young Dominion inherited the
islands of the High Arctic archipelago from Britain in 1880 not because it
asked for them, but because Britain wanted to transfer responsibility for its

2
 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

nebulous rights after it received “two apparently innocent requests for con-
cessions of arctic territory in 1874.”5 Canada proceeded to ignore the Arctic
for the next quarter century, until the Klondike Gold Rush. In the early twen-
tieth century, the government sent official missions to the Arctic to explore
and to collect customs duties and licensing fees from whalers – a modest
assertion of Canadian legal authority. In the interwar years, Royal Canadian
Mounted Police (RCMP) posts dotted the northern landscape, suggesting
a continuous presence.6 There was little cause for worry about lands and
islands once Canadian negotiators reached agreements with Denmark and
Norway to settle terrestrial sovereignty claims by 1930. American explorers
complied with Canadian regulations, and geography seemed to preclude
any military threat.7
Bernd Horn, in the first chapter to this volume, furnishes a sweeping
overview of the relationship between sovereignty and security since the
interwar period. Although military leaders always acknowledged a certain
degree of potential military threat to the Canadian Arctic, they always con-
sidered the likelihood of invasion to be remote. Accordingly, Horn argues
that Canadian decisions regarding Northern defence were preoccupied
with preserving sovereignty against American encroachments. This dy-
namic, referred to elsewhere as “defence against help,” reflected an inescap-
able dilemma for a small state bordering on a large neighbour. Geostrategic
interdependence meant that the larger power, with security interests related
to the territory of its smaller neighbour, actually posed a sovereignty threat
to the smaller neighbour. If the larger power perceived an existential threat,
it would take whatever actions it deemed necessary to protect its own in-
terests by “helping its neighbour,” with or without the smaller state’s con-
sent. Therefore, acting out of its own self-interest, the small state needed to
persuade its larger neighbour that it could defend against larger enemies,
thus diminishing the likelihood of unsolicited military assistance on or over
its territory and adjacent waters.8 Reciprocal Canadian-American defence
pledges in the late 1930s established that Canadian and American contin-
ental defence interests were indeed intertwined. As long as decision-makers
considered Canada to be a “fireproof house,” insulated from European and
Asian conflagrations by distance and isolation, the issue remained academic
rather than practical.
The Second World War brought the Canadian Northwest into new
strategic focus. The Americans were worried about overland and air routes
to Alaska and once they “decided what was necessary, they took prompt
action with little regard for Canadian sensitivities,” Horn suggests. Canada

3
INTRODUCTION

had little choice but to agree, and entered into agreements with Canada
to build airfields, a highway and an oil pipeline in the northwest. When
American personnel swept into the Canadian North to complete these
tasks, Prime Minister William Lyon Mackenzie King became paranoid that
American developments, taken in the name of military security, would
undermine Canadian sovereignty. American plans proceeded ahead of
Canadian permissions, and a lack of sensitivity to Canadian concerns
prompted the King government to take political steps to “re-Canadianize”
the Arctic. The rationale was not defence, but safeguarding sovereignty
from infringements by its wartime ally and closest neighbour. At war’s end,
the Americans pulled out of Canada and, at Ottawa’s request, the owner-
ship of permanent facilities in the North passed into Canadian hands. As
a result, Canada emerged unscathed in terms of territorial ownership, but
senior officials certainly took note of the interdependency between security
and sovereignty throughout the Cold War. The war also started an endur-
ing pattern: once American security interests and activities in the Arctic
declined, so too did Canada’s efforts to assert its sovereignty and invest in
Arctic security.9
The impacts of militarism are not confined to high politics, diplomacy,
and defence planning. In chapter 2, Ken Coates and William Morrison, the
leading historians of the Canadian North, offer a succinct overview of the
socio-economic impacts that the American “army of occupation” had in the
Canadian Northwest. The influx of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers and
civilian workers “almost instantly transformed” communities along the
route of the wartime development projects, reconfiguring physical and cul-
tural geographies. Small villages grew into administrative, transportation,
and construction hubs, while others off the new transportation routes – like
Dawson – were fated to decline. Furthermore, although the western subarctic
looked “unoccupied” on southerners’ maps, the Northwest has been the
homeland to Native people since time immemorial. Most practiced a mixed
economy, blending traditional subsistence lifestyles with fur trade oppor-
tunities. Despite their relative isolation, these cultures had already adapted
to the presence of traders, miners, whalers, policemen, and the occasional
bureaucrat. The sudden flood of newcomers contracted to undertake war-
time construction projects was unprecedented (at least since the Klondike
Gold Rush), however, and the Alaska Highway left a mixed legacy that is
richly described in the chapter – spanning employment, to sexual assaults, to
disease, to environmental degradation. Most significantly over the long-term,
Coates and Morrison argue, the wartime projects “awakened the Canadian

4
 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

government to its responsibilities toward the Northwest” and drew the re-
gion and its peoples into the web of the state.

The First Surge: Northern Approaches, 1947-64

The onset of the Cold War renewed pressures on Canada to balance sover-
eignty concerns with continental security imperatives. Polar projection maps
revealed how Canada’s strategic situation had changed when the United
States and the Soviet Union became rivals. Arctic defences were inextric-
ably linked to American security, and the United States pushed for access to
Canada’s Far North to build airfields and weather stations. Canadian officials
grew apprehensive and cautious in authorizing new installations, whereas
the Americans were anxious to proceed. Journalists began to talk about a
looming sovereignty crisis, and scholars cite this era as further evidence that
the Americans were willing to encroach on Canadian sovereignty to achieve
their ends.10
A main debate over the sovereignty-security equilibrium in immedi-
ate postwar Canada has led scholars like Shelagh Grant to track popular
media statements and political activists concerned about allegedly sinister
American intentions for Canada’s Arctic. According to this line of thinking,
Canadian apathy in the face of American security interests threatened our
sovereignty in the late 1940s.11 Other historians have painted a more benign
portrait of bilateral cooperation.12 They suggest that Canadian interests were
not undermined by American security imperatives, and sovereignty and se-
curity interests were balanced in and even strengthened by postwar negotia-
tions.
In chapter 3, Peter Kikkert supports the argument that the Canadian
government succeeded in securing its interests and its sovereignty in its
postwar negotiations with Washington. Given its geopolitical position, it
was necessary for Canada to cooperate with the United States in the Arctic.
The necessity of a more intense and enduring relationship to meet the emer-
ging Soviet threat was apparent by 1946. In the negotiations that followed,
Ottawa feared for Canadian sovereignty, but did not give into the barrage
of American requests for new activity in the Canadian arctic. Although
the United States government harboured no malevolent designs for the
Canadian arctic, international events in Antarctica and elsewhere prevented
it from explicitly recognizing Canada’s sector claim. Recognizing American
limitations, the Canadian government decided against making sovereignty
claims that would have guaranteed a critical American response. Instead,
Canadian and American officials engaged in quiet diplomacy through es-

5
INTRODUCTION

tablished diplomatic and military channels during 1946, and ultimately set a
course that would satisfy both countries’ concerns. Indeed, Canada secured
greater American recognition of its Arctic sovereignty than previously, and
Kikkert’s intricate description of bilateral discussions confirms his earlier
observation that “informal networks and mutual accommodation of inter-
ests solidified a relationship that was built on cooperation, respect, and open
dialogue.”13
In chapter 4, David Bercuson assesses bilateral relations over how to
manage publicity related to Arctic defence projects from 1946-48. Newspaper
and magazine stories on sensitive joint defence projects pushed the subject
onto the agenda of high level bilateral meetings, and encouraged senior
diplomats and military officials to sort out their defence partnership and
public statements about defence plans for the Arctic. Canadian officials ac-
knowledged that they could not maintain complete secrecy, and decided to
emphasize the “civilian benefits” of the various projects while downplaying
US activities. This “subterfuge,” Bercuson explains, did not allay the wor-
ries of journalists like Leslie Roberts (or members of the Opposition in
parliament) that American pressures to occupy the Canadian Arctic would
undermine Canadian sovereignty. Press leaks and unfavourable publicity
encouraged both governments to develop principles guiding the release
of information regarding continental defence projects, which ensured that
Ottawa and Washington would approve in advance any public announce-
ments. Although “press stories that had no basis in fact or which implied
that Canada was compromising its sovereignty in the Arctic and elsewhere
would continue to appear through the years,” Bercuson observed, bilateral
arrangements ensured that the release of information would not be wielded
against Canada’s interests. Canada set the agenda and led the way in this
episode, challenging “the long-standing myth ... that the US consistently bul-
lied, bludgeoned, and blasted Canada to do its bidding.”
American security considerations also intersected with Canada’s mari-
time domain. Although Canada is a coastal state bordered by three oceans, its
official motto a mari usque ad mare only refers to two. The Canadian navy has
traditionally mirrored this national emphasis on the Atlantic and the Pacific.
The Royal Navy was at the forefront of the epic search for a Northwest Passage
(NWP) in the mid-nineteenth century which, after great cost and frustration,
led to the “discovery” of one-half of the Arctic and three northwest pas-
sages.14 By the end of that century, however, the viability of the route as a
passage to the Orient was dismissed. Norweigan explorer Roald Amundsen’s
1903-6 transit of the Passage was not repeated until Henry Larsen’s transits in

6
 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

the RCMP schooner St Roch in 1940 and 1942,15 and for the first four decades
of its existence no Canadian government or admiral dispatched any element
of the Royal Canadian Navy (RCN) to Canada’s Arctic seas.
After the Second World War, Elizabeth Elliot-Meisel explains in chapter
5, the RCN was downsized dramatically and had to choose between concen-
trating its resources in either the Atlantic or the Arctic Ocean. It chose the for-
mer, and while Canada pondered its needs and options in the early postwar
period the U.S. Navy and Coast Guard sailed into the far north on a series of
exercises designed to increase military knowledge and operating capabilities
in the Arctic. The emotional appeal of the region – and attempts to draw
attention to its dwindling numbers and budget – eventually drove the RCN
to conduct a Northern Cruise in September 1948, which saw the aircraft car-
rier Magnificent and two destroyers venture into Hudson Strait and then the
destroyers into Hudson Bay. Although the Canadian media made much of
this cruise and a subsequent voyage by the frigate HMCS Swansea the follow-
ing year, these operations demonstrated the futility of spreading the RCN’s
resources too thinly. Although the Minister of National Defence announced
Canada’s intention to build a naval patrol vessel (eventually commissioned
as the icebreaker HMCS Labrador), the RCN’s Arctic foray was brief. The RCN
had little operational interest in the North, and the Labrador was an anomaly
in an anti-submarine navy. Thus the RCN focused on the Atlantic theatre,
and opted out of an Arctic role by 1957 when it transferred the Labrador to the
coast guard.16
Several chapters explain how the resupply of Arctic military installa-
tions prompted intense bilateral discussions after the Second World War. The
Joint Arctic Weather Stations – which were designed, build, and operated by
the Americans in the early postwar years – were a prime example. Gordon
Smith, for example, traced bilateral negotiations wherein Canada went from
reluctance and caution to assume growing responsibility for the stations,
eventually taking the lead in maintenance and resupply. “So far as the JAWS
enterprise itself is concerned, it clearly ranks as one of the most important
and successful examples of U.S.-Canadian joint endeavour in northern re-
gions during the World War II and postwar years,” Smith concluded. “In
sum, it was a striking illustration of successful international cooperation
and collaboration.”17 Legal scholar Nigel Bankes notes that the Joint Arctic
Weather Station Agreement “thus ended the last potential legal threat to
Canadian sovereignty over its Arctic lands.”18
In chapter 6, “Clenched in the JAWS of America,” Daniel Heidt integrates
this traditional focus on diplomacy but also analyzes what happened “on the

7
INTRODUCTION

ground.” The Second World War demonstrated that greater meteorological

knowledge of Canada’s arctic was necessary, but Canada did not have the
resources to mount a proper program itself. Instead, Canada and the United
States jointly constructed and operated five stations in the Canadian arctic.
While American officials sometimes ignored Canadian wishes, such actions
only occurred in the early years and were quickly rectified by Canadian
officials in Ottawa. It was the press, rather than the conduct of American
officials, that most worried the Canadian government. On the whole, Heidt’s
research confirms that the program epitomized a successful bilateral rela-
tionship: it buttressed Canada’s Arctic sovereignty while satisfying the sci-
entific requirements of the United States.
As the Cold War heated up in the 1950s, the Americans sought extensive
air defence systems extending to the northernmost reaches of the continent,
launching yet another round of “crisis” rhetoric. The first radar networks – the
Pinetree Line, built across the northern United States and southern Canada
at about the 50th parallel, and Mid-Canada Line (or McGill Fence), which
Canada built and operated along the 55th parallel – did not raise concerns
about Arctic sovereignty. By contrast, the Distant Early Warning (DEW) Line,
built across the 70th parallel, was the boldest mega-project in Arctic history.
In chapter 7, Alexander Herd’s careful assessment of the primary evidence
reveals that the Canadian government did not passively subordinate its
continental defence policy to that of the United States when it negotiated
joint arrangements to construct the DEW Line. Although the United States
designed and paid for the radar network, Canadian political and military
officials withstood American pressure and protected their national interests.
American plans had to secure Canadian consent, and the terms and condi-
tions read, in Herd’s assessment, “read like a litany of Canadian sovereignty
sensitivities and desire for control.” The United States granted Canadian
contractors, commercial air carriers, and shippers equal opportunity to par-
ticipate in the construction phase, “to the fullest extent practicable.” This idea
of practicability served as a guiding principle for Canadian participation in
the DEW Line project more generally.
The complete story of the DEW Line remains to be written. Its construc-
tion, completed in just over two years, “was an extraordinary feat of geo-
graphical engineering, planned and sequenced in minute detail,” historical
geographer Matthew Farish observed.19 The project dramatically altered the
military, logistic and demographic characteristics of the North American
Arctic. Although Canadian officials negotiated a favourable agreement that
protected Canada’s sovereignty and secured economic benefits for Canadian

8
 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

companies, journalists and opposition politicians suggested throughout the

construction and operational phases that Canada lacked practical control over
its northland. The DEW Line, in the words of Maclean’s editor Ralph Allen, was
“the charter under which a tenth of Canada may very well become the world’s
most northerly banana republic.”20 This dire forecast proved erroneous, but
there is debate on whether Canada protected its interests effectively. Historian
Adam Lajeunesse, for example, cites a 1964 report by defence liaison officer
J.C. Brown that Canada’s sovereignty on the Line was like “the Cheshire cat’s
smile from Alice in Wonderland; it had become little more than an illusion
which gradually disappeared if you looked hard enough.”21 Another reading
of the evidence suggests that the countries effectively managed bilateral prob-
lems related to the DEW Line.22 After visiting the Line in 1969, Eric Wang of the
Department of National Defence’s (DND) legal department noted that jour-
nalists who had taken “masochistic pleasure” in decrying American control
and dwelling on potential sovereignty encroachments were both misleading
and unfounded in the evidence. “Indeed we might be tempted to congratu-
late ourselves […] for enjoying a ‘free ride’ at least in this area of our defense
activities on our own soil, without any unpleasant side effects,” Wang noted
in his report.23 While there were no side effects in terms of sovereignty, there
certainly were lasting cultural and environmental impacts.24
The DEW Line and previous military development projects reshaped the
socio-economic and cultural geographies of Arctic Canada. “The outlook of
the Eskimos … has been changing since the construction of the northern air-
fields, the weather and radar stations, and the D.E.W. Line, opened their eyes
to the advantages of wage-employment,” anthropologist Diamond Jenness
observed in 1964.25 Although planners had intended to protect the Inuit so
that military activities did not disrupt their lives, this proved impossible
once airplanes and ships began shipping southern materiel into the Arctic.
“Every place a box landed became a beach-head for industrialized society,”
documentary filmmaker Kevin McMahon later observed. “The boxes soon
became the foundation for the Canadian government, which the military
had given cause to worry about its sovereignty. Boxes were added, and more
of our society – with its various virtues and vices, machines and organiza-
tions, ideals, morals, values and goals – were shipped north.”26 By-products
of military development (airfields, beach landing sites, improved charts and
maps, and navigation aids) all significantly improved access to what had
been a virtually inaccessible area. Indeed, promoters of northern develop-
ment in the late 1950s anticipated a flood of mineral exploration now that the
military had “opened up” the Arctic.

9
INTRODUCTION

In chapter 8, Ken Eyre describes how a wide variety of Cold War mil-
itary projects contributed to general knowledge about the North and to social
infrastructure. While some activities were purely military (and thus develop-
ment spin-offs were accidental), most defence projects were designed and
implemented to maximize northern development. Eyre illuminates these
contributions through a series of case studies. He begins with the largely
unknown role of the Royal Canadian Corps of Signals in the Northwest
Territories and Yukon Radio System, first established in the interwar years,
which supported industrial development and humanitarian efforts. In 1946,
the Canadian Army took over the responsibility for the maintenance of the
Canadian portion of the Alaska Highway. Improvements in the road network
“fostered a modest amount of economic development and resource exploita-
tion in northern British Columbia and the Yukon,” Eyre observed, “but there
was no great boom of development as some optimists had forecast when the
road was built.” Nevertheless, the military’s responsibilities in running the
highway had a major social impact, particularly in Whitehorse which hosted
the Northwest Highway System headquarters, a military communications
research facility, and an airbase. It developed into the first, substantial garri-
son town in the North. The military even devised Native training programs
to contribute to national development “beyond the frontier.” When the mil-
itary withdrew from the North in the early 1960s, however, these military
development projects were cancelled and communities like Whitehorse,
Churchill, and Frobisher Bay were hit hard socially and economically.
The early postwar surge of military interest in the Arctic lasted just over
a decade. Eyre, in his groundbreaking thesis on the military in the Canadian
North, observed:

Military interest in the North peaked in the late 1950s and dimin-
ished rapidly thereafter, as the world entered the missile era. The
Navy gradually stopped its northern summer cruises. Army
exercises ceased. The radio system and the Alaska Highway were
turned over to civil departments of government. The Canadian
Rangers were left to wither on the vine. Aerial surveillance
flights were curtailed. In the later part of the Diefenbaker years,
Canadian defence policy was dominated by the three “Ns” of
NORAD, NATO and nuclear weapons. Lester Pearson’s Liberal
administration during the following five years completed the
process of withdrawal. By 1965, only the DEW Line stations re-
mained.27

10
 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

With the decline of American security interest in its Northern lands, Canada
lost the imperative to “defend against help.” Now that technological advan-
ces shifted the continental defence emphasis from static radar lines to satel-
lites and ballistic missile submarines, Canada could safely reduce its military
presence in the region without concern that this would undermine its de facto
sovereignty over its Arctic lands.
The legal status of the Arctic waters posed a more intractable dilemma
than questions of terrestrial sovereignty, and questions about the Northwest
Passage persisted through the 1960s. In his chapter on Canadian policy re-
garding Arctic waters from the late 1940s to the Manhattan voyages, Adam
Lajeunesse suggests that the government’s inconsistent, hesitant, and ad hoc
approach was less effective than recent scholars have suggested. The grad-
ualist or “‘wait and see’ approach which successive Canadian governments
hoped would strengthen their position in fact accomplished the opposite,”
Lajeunesse argues, “and the policy of carefully building a precedent of
Canadian sovereignty was in fact no policy at all but rather the ad hoc reac-
tions of a government with no consistent direction” or clear political will.
Rather than implementing its undeclared policy to draw straight baselines
around the Arctic archipelago, politicians sent contradictory signals about
Canada’s claims and thus weakened their foundation. The opaque approach
to maritime sovereignty only worked as long as the United States remained
disinterested in the NWP. When an American challenge did come, Lajeunesse
argues, Canada was unprepared.

The Second Surge: Sovereignty and Symbolism, 1970-80

The issue came to a head at the end of the decade. In 1969, American-owned
Humble Oil sent the Manhattan icebreaker through the NWP to determine if
it was a viable commercial shipping route for oil and gas from the Beaufort
Sea. The Canadian media reported the voyage as a direct challenge to
Canada’s Arctic sovereignty. “The legal status of the waters of Canada’s
Arctic archipelago is not at issue in the proposed transit of the Northwest
Passage by the ships involved in the Manhattan project,” Prime Minister
Trudeau reassured the House of Commons on 15 May 1969. His government
“welcomed the Manhattan exercise, has concurred in it and will participate
in it.”28 After all, Humble Oil’s request for Canadian cooperation seemed to
imply that the passage was Canadian, but the US State Department would
not say so specifically.29 A crisis mentality developed; according to Maxwell
Cohen in 1970, the Manhattan voyages “made Canadians feel that they were
on the edge of another American [... theft] of Canadian resources and rights
which had to be dealt with at once by firm governmental action.”30

11
INTRODUCTION

In chapter 10, Matthew Willis critically analyzes the Liberal govern-

ment’s response to the Manhattan voyages. He argues that its decision to cast
the Arctic in environmentalist terms – Canada needed to extend its juris-
diction northward to ensure that foreign vessels did not pollute this deli-
cate ecosystem – reflected the views and values of Prime Minister Trudeau
and his closest advisors. In turn, the Arctic Waters Pollution Prevention Act
(AWPPA) allowed Canada to regulate and control future tanker traffic
through the NWP by creating a pollution prevention zone one hundred
nautical miles outside the archipelago as well as the waters between the
islands. The Territorial Sea and Fishing Zone Act extended Canada’s territorial
sea to 12 miles, subjecting the waters leading into the Passage to Canadian
control. Although Trudeau considered this to be a show of “legal modera-
tion,” the Americans were furious and announced that Canada’s unilateral
actions were unjustified in international law. Canadian critics suggested
that Ottawa’s refusal to declare outright that the archipelagic waters are “in-
ternal” showed indecisiveness and weakness. In his careful reappraisal of
the evidence, Willis observes that the federal response “was the product of
a shrewd and reasoned assessment of the available options, and a creative
and original conceptualization of the national interest.” Politics is the art
of the possible, and Ottawa’s “soft-pedalling” blunted a potential American
sovereignty challenge while affording it room to manoeuvre. “The deci-
sion to use pollution-control measures and an extended territorial sea as the
vehicle embodied the Trudeauvian conviction that foreign policy be guided
first and foremost by domestic policy,” Willis concludes, “with the exercise of
sovereignty being the means of advancing a country’s interests, not an end in
itself.”
If exercising sovereignty was a means rather than an end, what was
the role of the military in the Arctic? In chapter 11, Whitney Lackenbauer
and Peter Kikkert draw upon recently declassified correspondence between
National Defence and the Legal Division at External Affairs from 1968-72
to explore the relationship between military activities, presence, and Arctic
sovereignty. During this period, defence planners emphasized the need for
a persistent presence in the North and argued that surveillance was integral
to the affirmation of Canada’s legal claims. External Affairs officials took a
different view, suggesting that defence planners confused issues of control,
enforcement, and protection of Canada’s jurisdiction in Arctic waters with
the legal basis for Canada’s claims. Despite political statements suggesting
that a military presence and surveillance were necessary to assert Canadian
sovereignty, legal officers insisted that they were not a basis for sovereignty.

12
 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

Erik Wang, for example, questioned what an expanded Canadian Forces role
meant for sovereignty. His careful analyses emphasized the legal, economic
and political dimensions of sovereignty, while questioning its articulation as
“a military problem.” Accordingly, surveillance and patrolling did not per-
fect Canada’s sovereignty position, and Wang and his colleagues suggested
that a “presence for the sake of presence” – merely to satisfy the “optical
demands” of political sovereignty – was not sustainable. Instead, External
Affairs emphasized that the military’s role in support of sovereignty had to
be grounded in functional contributions. Increased levels of defence activity
had to be based upon a clear sense of purpose, developed with attentiveness
to probable threats, our allies, and other government departments with oper-
ational responsibilities in the Arctic. In the end, Lackenbauer and Kikkert
suggest, “National Defence proceeded to develop a role for the [Canadian
Forces] around the protection of sovereignty, predicated on a short-term
sovereignty crisis that soon dissipated.”
While Canada increased its tempo of military activities in the North
during the 1970s to “show the flag,” the “shifting sands” of political sover-
eignty did not sustain them into the next decade. Ken Eyre has shown that
the government not only avoided stationing regular forces in the north, it
did not obtain any new equipment for the Forces. “In the 1920s, Canada es-
tablished sovereignty in the Arctic with a symbolic presence of the Royal
Canadian Mounted Police,” he observed. “In the 1970s, Canada prepared
to protect that same sovereignty with a symbolic presence of the Canadian
Armed Forces.” An important difference, however, was that the southern
military units that operated in the north were transient and did not enjoy
the focused, functional tasks that the RCMP had earlier. Nevertheless, by
1975, “the Canadian Forces had re-established themselves in the North to an
unprecedented degree,” and for the first time, the Department of National
Defence was prepared to admit that the North had an intrinsic value to the
country as a whole.”31 When the NWP proved unfeasible for commercial
transit, national interest in Arctic sovereignty abated. The military’s sym-
bolic presence was no longer a priority, and its activities began to slacken by
the early 1980s. Indeed, although initially opposed to the AWPPA, the United
States supported Canadian-sponsored article 234 of the UN Convention on
the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS), which gave coastal states “the right to adopt
and enforce non-discriminatory laws and regulations for the prevention,
reduction and control of marine pollution from vessels in ice-covered areas
within the limits of the exclusive economic zone.”32 Although Canada did not
ratify the convention until 2003 (and the United States has not yet done so),

13
INTRODUCTION

both countries considered it customary international law on the subject. This

vindicated Canada’s Arctic Waters Pollution Prevention Act and gave it “the de
facto right to legislate control over the type of commercial vessels that enter
the Passage.”33

The Third Surge: The Land of Tomorrow, 1985-1988

The August 1985 voyage of the United States Coast Guard icebreaker Polar Sea,
for reasonable operational reasons relating to the resupply of the American
base at Thule, Greenland, launched another Canadian “crisis” over the NWP.
The Americans refused to seek official permission from Canada, recognizing
that this would prejudice their own legal position. In response, the Mulroney
government announced that Canada was officially implementing straight
baselines around the Arctic Archipelago effective 1 January 1986, thus claim-
ing full sovereignty over the NWP as “historic, internal waters.” Concurrently,
it outlined an aggressive plan to exercise control over its waters and assert
its Arctic sovereignty, including a “Polar 8” icebreaker, new maritime patrol
aircraft, a new northern training centre, improved northern airfields, a dozen
nuclear-powered attack submarines and a fixed sonar detection system at the
entrances to the Passage. It also promised to negotiate with the United States
− a prudent move that, owing to Mulroney’s close relationship with President
Ronald Reagan, yielded the 1988 Arctic Cooperation Agreement requiring
Canadian consent for US icebreaker transits. By “agreeing to disagree” on the
legal status of the Passage, the two countries reached “a pragmatic solution
based on our special bilateral relationship, our common interest in cooperat-
ing on Arctic matters, and the nature of the area” that did not prejudice either
country’s legal position nor set a precedent for other areas of the world.34
In chapter 12, political scientist Rob Huebert critically examines the for-
mulation of Canadian maritime Arctic policy after the Polar Sea controversy.
He concludes that while initiatives intended to establish the legal regime for
Canadian waters, apply Canadian law over these waters, formalize bilateral
relations regarding the Passage, and develop means to protect the waters
and enforce Canadian laws and regulations appeared to represent a coherent
suite of policy, they were actually the typical result of an ad hoc and reactive
process to a specific event initiated by a non-Canadian actor in the Canadian
Arctic. Minister of External Affairs Joe Clark’s 10 September 1985 announce-
ment of six policy initiatives formed the core elements of Canadian maritime
Arctic policy for the remainder of the decade, but they were largely being
developed for other reasons and were packaged together in a “crisis environ-
ment.” As a result, they were implemented with varying degrees of success.

14
 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

The Polar 8 icebreaker project, for example, which would have given Canada
the most powerful icebreaker in the world and a capability to operate in most
of its waters throughout the year, was cancelled for budgetary reasons.
The 1988 federal election campaign, fought over free trade and deficit
reduction, foretold the demise of these sweeping commitments to invest-
ments in defence. The Mulroney government announced on 27 April 1989
that it would not proceed with acquiring nuclear-powered submarines. The
fall of the Berlin Wall and dissolution of the Eastern Bloc prompted Western
governments to re-evaluate their security assumptions. One by one, its other
planned military acquisitions announced to support Arctic sovereignty
were cut. More pressing national priorities – particularly a growing national
debt – seemed to trump Arctic issues. Post-Cold War promises of a “peace
dividend,” and few military threats on the northern horizon, meant that
Canadian Forces’ capabilities in the North were allowed to atrophy in the
1990s.35
The collapse of the Soviet Union, Huebert observed, shifted attention
from traditional to new security concerns, particularly the protection of
the Arctic environment and its indigenous populations.36 Aboriginal land
claim settlements, court decisions, and increasing international attention
to indigenous issues gave Arctic residents increasingly powerful political
platforms upon which to voice their priorities. Inuit and Dene leaders com-
plained that military activities, undertaken in the name of national security
and sovereignty, had historically harmed their communities. Mary Simon,
president of the Inuit Circumpolar Conference (ICC), tried to broaden con-
cepts of Arctic security, asserting that it included “environmental, economic
and cultural, as well as defence, aspects.” She insisted that “Inuit have a
legitimate, extensive and varied role to fulfill in international matters. In
light of the increasing impact of the actions of the international community
on Inuit rights, our culture and northern homeland, we have a compelling
responsibility to become increasingly involved.”37 By contrast, military pro-
jects tended to be “centralized undertakings that are unilaterally imposed
on indigenous peoples and their territories.” Simon noted that these prac-
tices were “inconsistent with the basic principles of aboriginal self-govern-
ment.”38
The one exception was the Canadian Rangers, an unorthodox com-
ponent of the Canadian Forces with high rates of Aboriginal participation
that not only survived the budget cuts but grew in the 1990s. In chapter 13,
Whitney Lackenbauer traces the history of Aboriginal involvement in this
part-time, unpaid volunteer force from 1947-2005. Armed with only a .303

15
INTRODUCTION

rifle, an annual allotment of ammunition and an armband, the Rangers acted

as “the eyes and ears” of the Canadian Forces in remote regions throughout
the Cold War. The military benefited from having Rangers with an intimate
knowledge of the local environment and cultures who guided and advised
regular forces on exercises in the north, and provided a permanent presence
in support of Canadian sovereignty and security. Members of the Rangers at-
tracted renewed attention in the early-1970s when Arctic sovereignty became
a resurgent issue and the military launched initiatives to increase Aboriginal
peoples’ representation in the armed forces. Northern Aboriginal persons
who served in the Rangers could remain in and serve their communities
while at the same time contributing to national defence. The Rangers pro-
vide a visible assertion of sovereignty at minimal cost, and have flourished in
the post-Cold War era. By the turn of the new millennium, patrols spanned
the breadth of the Arctic and represented every Aboriginal group in the
territorial north. The Rangers’ interactions with regular and reserve force
units also contribute to greater cross-cultural awareness and the sharing of
invaluable survival skills. Lackenbauer portrays the Canadian Rangers as a
genuine success story on the local and national levels, bridging the civilian
and military realms.39
Overall, however, Ottawa’s attention turned away from prospective
military conflict towards prospects for circumpolar cooperation. In 1989,
Mulroney had formally proposed the idea of a regional forum for Arctic
cooperation with Russian authorities. Two years later, eight Arctic countries
signed the Arctic Environmental Protection Strategy (AEPS), creating a
forum to work on Arctic-wide environmental regulation and management.40
Canada played a significant role in pushing the international community
toward a broader and more influential Arctic Council, which was created in
1996.41 “A true partnership has emerged where Arctic states and Indigenous
peoples have, together, developed a vision for the Arctic where national agen-
das can be harmonized and cultural diversity encouraged,” Foreign Affairs
Minister Lloyd Axworthy proclaimed at its inaugural meeting in September
1998. “This has allowed us to work effectively on the substantive challenge
of achieving equitable development in the Arctic while protecting and
promoting its environmental integrity.”42 At the Americans’ insistence the
Council did not discuss military matters, but this did not worry the House of
Commons Standing Committee on Foreign Affairs and International Trade.
It reported in April 1997 that “the new agenda for security cooperation”
was “inextricably linked to the aims of environmentally sustainable human
development.” Circumpolar security would now prioritize “the well-being

16
 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

of Arctic peoples and to safeguarding northern habitants from intrusions

which have impinged aggressively on them.”43 These safeguards included
cleaning up the environmental legacies of the Cold War, in Canada and
abroad.44 Although Ottawa did not act on recommendations to push to make
the Arctic a nuclear-free zone, and even to demilitarize the region,45 few com-
mentators anticipated armed conflict in the region. Officials clearly believed
that constructive engagement, not confrontation, would mark the twenty-
first century.

The New Millennium: Debating Sovereignty, Security and

Stewardship
Growing concerns about climate change, the opening of the NWP, global de-
mands for Arctic resources and security in the post-911 world have conspired
to put the Arctic back on the national and international agenda. The key de-
bate in the last decade revolves around two basic positions. “Purveyors of
polar peril”46 suggest that Canadian sovereignty and security was imperiled
by climate change and concomitant interest in the Arctic. Their arguments,
generally characterized as alarmist, emphasize that urgent action is neces-
sary because Canada’s Arctic capabilities are insufficient to project control
over its Arctic lands and waters at a time when our sovereignty is likely to
be challenged. In a break with past practice, this latest sovereignty crisis is in
anticipation of what may lie ahead: an Arctic future marked by friction over
unclear maritime boundaries, increasing competition for resources, and mil-
itary posturing. On the other side, more optimistic scholars point to the legal
framework provided by UNCLOS, downplay the probability of military and
commercial threats to Canadian sovereignty, and point to stable alliances
and multilateral organizations (like the Arctic Council and the International
Maritime Organization) which promote constructive international engage-
ment and cooperative management. The final two chapters in this volume,
by the leading proponents of these positions, launched the debate about the
nature of the threats to Canadian sovereignty and security in the region, and
which policy options are most likely to yield an appropriate and sustainable
Arctic strategy.
Chapter 14 reproduces Rob Huebert’s influential article (first published
in 2002) which boldly argued that climate change in the Arctic is a serious
challenge to Canadian Arctic sovereignty and security. Continued thinning
of the ice cover in the Northwest Passage would make commercial shipping
and other forms of international activity more viable in the region, he sug-
gested, which would challenge Canadian of its Arctic in two main respects.

17
INTRODUCTION

First, current efforts by the Canadian government to maintain Canadian

sovereignty over the NWP were unlikely to succeed in the face of external
challenges to its legal position. Second, Canada would need to substantially
rethink its enforcement and surveillance capabilities in the Arctic, and re-
quired significant investments in these areas to enhance control over its Arctic
domain. These ideas underpinned the “sovereignty on thinning ice” thesis
that Huebert further developed in subsequent articles, which suggested that
Canada needed to take unilateral action to assert its control and defend its
sovereignty or its claims would be overwhelmed by rival interests.47
Political scientist Franklyn Griffiths’ rebuttal (chapter 15) contests the
widespread belief that climate change and Arctic sea-ice reduction are likely
to produce a commercial-shipping challenge to Canadian sovereignty over
the NWP. In his careful assessment, ice-condition variability and container-
ship economics will not make Canadian Arctic waters a viable alternative to
the Suez Canal much before mid-century, by which time the more attract-
ive option of Arctic transpolar navigation may also be available. Griffiths
shows that the potential for occasional voyages of rogue, tramp, and non-
cargo ships in the Archipelago could give rise to new Canadian security and
law-enforcement requirements, but not to any great sovereignty challenge.
Indeed, he suggests that the United States is not eager to undermine Canada’s
position on the NWP, and he urges Canada to approach the United States to
work out a new Arctic-waters regime based in part on the recognition that,
from a homeland-security perspective, Canadian law and law enforcement
are preferable to international straits status for the Passage. (In subsequent
writing, he would emphasize that a bilateral “agree to disagree” approach
remains the most viable option.) Finally, Griffiths urges a reinterpretation of
Arctic sovereignty to focus on stewardship and Inuit leadership at a time of
increased accessibility and geopolitical change.
Huebert and Griffiths’s ongoing debate has framed much of the ongoing
scholarly, political and media discussion. Griffiths, after decades of study-
ing the issue (and, ironically, authoring the Globe and Mail commentary that
broke the Polar Sea controversy to the public in 1985), observed that:

Hand wringing about loss of the Arctic is part of the Canadian

way. Somehow we never get beyond it to collective action that
works. In part, this is because good judgement and a fixation on
sovereignty do not sit well together.... A predisposition to im-
moderate and unjustified fear for Arctic sovereignty requires us
to exaggerate the threats we face. It chokes the consideration of

18
 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

alternative courses of action. In its small way it stifles ambition

and adds unwarranted apprehension to life in this country. If we
cannot leave it fully behind, we should at least reduce its hold on
us.

Reducing this hold requires a better awareness of what has transpired his-
torically. How we perceive the present, and how we anticipate the future, is
framed by our understandings of the past. The conclusions to this volume re-
flect upon the themes and questions raised in the chapters in light of current
sovereignty and security discussions. We hope that a stronger awareness of
historical relationships, and more sober appraisal of Canadian requirements
in light of past experiences, will help policy-makers frame coherent sover-
eignty and security strategies which are grounded in “lessons learned,” deal
with uncertainty, and seize opportunities in an evolving circumpolar world.

P. Whitney Lackenbauer
Otterville, Ontario, Canada
July 2010

Notes
1 Prime Minister’s Office, “Prime Min­
is­ter Stephen Harper announces
new Arctic offshore patrol vessels,” 9
July 2007. http://pm.gc.ca/eng/media.
6 William R. Morrison, Showing the Flag:
asp?id=1742.
2 On this theme, see Ron Macnab, “‘Use
it or Lose it” in Arctic Canada: Action
Agenda or Election Hype?” Vermont
7 On this era, see D.H. Dinwoodie,
Law Review 34/3 (2009): 3-14.
3 Rob Huebert, “Canada and the
Changing International Arctic: At
the Crossroads of Cooperation and
Conflict,” in Northern Exposure: Peoples,
Powers and Prospects for Canada’s North
eds. Frances Abele, Thomas J. Cour-
chene, F. Leslie Seidle and France St-
Hilaire (Ottawa: Institute for Research
on Public Policy).
4 Kenneth C. Eyre, “Forty Years of Mil-
itary Activity in the Canadian North,
1947-87,” Arctic 40/4 (December 1987):
292-99.
5 Gordon W. Smith, “The Transfer of
Arctic Territories from Great Britain
to Canada in 1880, and some related
matters, as seen in official correspond-
ence,” Arctic 14/ 1 (1961): 53-73.
the Mounted Police and Canadian Sover-
eignty in the North, 1894-1925 (Vancou-
ver: UBC Press, 1985).
“Arctic Controversy: The 1925 Byrd-
MacMillan Expedition Example,” Ca­
na­dian Historical Review 53/1 (March
1972): 51-65; Richard Diubaldo, Ste­f-
ansson and the Canadian Arctic (Mont-
real: McGill-Queen’s University Press,
1978); Nancy Fogelson, Arctic Ex-
ploration and International Relations,
1900-1932 (Fairbanks: University of
Alaska Press, 1992); Thorleif Tobias
Thorleifsson, “‘Norway Must Really
Drop Their Absurd Claims Such as
That to the Otto Sverdrup Islands’: The
Sverdrup Islands Question, 1902-1930”
(unpublished MA thesis, Simon Fraser
University, 2006); and Janice Cavell
and Jeff Noakes, Acts of Occupation:

19
INTRODUCTION
Canada and Arctic Sovereignty, 1918-25
(Vancouver: UBC Press, 2010).
8 See Nils Orvik, “Defence Against
Help – A Strategy for Small States?,”
Survival 15/5 (September/October
1973), 228, and “The Basic Issue in
Canadian National Security: De-
fence Against Help/Defence to Help
Others,” Canadian Defence Quarterly
11/1 (1981), 8. The concept is more
fully explored in P. Whitney Lacken-
bauer, “From Defence Against Help to
A Piece of the Action: The Canadian
Sovereignty and Security Paradox Re-
visited” (Calgary: Centre for Military
and Strategic Studies, 2000) and Don-
ald Barry and Duane Bratt, “Defense
Against Help: Explaining Canada-
U.S. Security Relations,” American
Review of Canadian Studies 38/1 (2008):
63-89.
9 See also Shelagh Grant, Sovereignty
or Security?: Government Policy in the
Canadian North, 1936-1950 (Vancou-
ver: UBC Press, 1988), and P. Whitney
Lackenbauer, “Right and Honourable:
Mackenzie King, Canadian-American
Bilateral Relations, and Canadian
Sovereignty in the Northwest, 1943-
1948,” in Mackenzie King: Citizenship
and Community, ed. John English,
Kenneth McLaughlin and P.W. Lack-
enbauer (Toronto: Robin Brass Studios,
2002): 151-68.
10 For example, Grant, Sovereignty or Se-
curity?
11 Grant, Sovereignty or Security? For a
general critique of this historiography,
see Lackenbauer, “Right and Honour-
able,” and Peter Kikkert, “Pragmatism
and Cooperation: Canadian-American
Defence Activities in the Arctic,
1945-1951,” M.A. thesis, University of
Water­loo, 2009.
12 W.R. Morrison, “Eagle Over the
Arctic,” Canadian Review of American
Studies (1987): 61-85. See also David
Bercuson, “Continental Defense and
Arctic Security, 1945-50,” in The Cold
War and Defense eds. K. Neilson and
R.G. Haycock (New York: Praeger,
20
1990): 153-70; Lackenbauer, “Right and
Honourable.”
13 Kikkert, “The Polaris Incident: ‘Going
to the Mat’ with the Americans,” Jour-
nal of Military and Strategic Studies 11/3
(Spring 2009): 1-29.
14 For an excellent scholarly overview,
see Hugh N. Wallace, The Navy, the
Company, and Richard King (Montreal:
McGill-Queen’s University Press,
1980).
15 RCMP officer Bill White suggests that
Larsen’s achievement was preceded by
other Canadian ships. White alleges
that “the so-called Northwest Passage
was a busy bloody highway by this
time with trading posts all along it
and supply ships like the Chimo and
the Aklavik going this way and that
way every year. Not too many crossed
through from west to east, but I know
the Aklavik did it in 1938 and Henry
[Larsen] knew it too.” Patrick White,
Mountie in Mukluks: The Arctic Adven-
tures of Bill White (Madeira Park, BC:
Harbour Publishing, 2004), 227-28.
16 See also Kenneth C. Eyre, “Custos
Borealis: The Military in the Canadian
North” (unpublished Ph.D. thesis,
University of London – King’s Col-
lege, 1981), 187-96, and J.M. Leeming,
“HMCS Labrador and the Canadian
Arctic,” in RCN in Retrospect, 1910-
1968 ed. James Boutilier (Vancouver:
UBC Press, 1982): 286-307.
17 Gordon W. Smith, “Weather Stations
in the Canadian North and Sover-
eignty,” Journal of Military and Strategic
Studies 11/ 3 (2009): 72-73.
18 N.D. Bankes, “Forty Years of Canadian
Sovereignty Assertion in the Arctic,
1947-87,” Arctic 40/4 (1987), 287.
19 Matthew Farish, “Frontier engineer-
ing: from the globe to the body in the
Cold War Arctic,” The Canadian Geog-
rapher 50/2 (2006), 187.
20 Ralph Allen, “Will DEWline Cost Can-
ada its Northland?,” Maclean’s, 26 May
1956, 16-17, 68-72.

21 Adam Lajeunesse, “Lock, Stock and
Icebergs: Defining Canadian Sover-
eignty from Mackenzie King to Ste-
phen Harper,” The Calgary Papers in
Military and Strategic Studies 1 (2008),
3-4.
22 My forthcoming book with Matthew
Farish, The DEW Line: A Spatial History,
will develop this argument more sys-
tematically.
23 E.B. Wang, “The Dew Line and Can-
adian Sovereignty,” May 26, 1969,
Library and Archives Canada (LAC),
Record Group (RG) 25, file 27-10-2-2
part 1. See also: R.J. Sutherland. “The
Strategic Significance of the Canadian
Arctic,” in The Arctic Frontier, ed. by R.
St. J. MacDonald (Toronto: University
of Toronto Press, 1966), 271.
24 See, for example, R. Quinn Duffy,
The Road to Nunavut: The Progress of
Eastern Arctic Inuit since the Second
World War (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s
University Press, 1988) and Melanie
Gagnon and Iqaluit Elders, Inuit Recol-
lections on the Military Presence in Iqal-
uit (Iqaluit: Nunavut Arctic College,
2002). On environmental impacts, see
Lackenbauer and Matthew Farish,
“The Cold War on Canadian Soil: Mil-
itarizing a Northern Environment,”
Environmental History 12, no. 3 (2007):
920-50.
25 Diamond Jenness, Eskimo Administra-
tion II: Canada (Montreal: Arctic Insti-
tute of North America, 1964), 97.
26 Kevin McMahon, Arctic Twilight (1987).
On this theme, see also Lackenbauer
and Ryan Shackleton, “At the Cross-
roads of Militarism and Moderniza-
tion: Inuit-Air Force Relations in the
Cold War Arctic,” paper delivered
at the 2010 Air Force Conference
“De-Icing Retired! The Historical Di-
mension of the Canadian Air Force’s
Experience in the Arctic,” 1 June 2010,
Sainte-Anne-de-Bellevue, Quebec,
which will be published in 2011.
27 Eyre, “Forty Years of Military Activ-
ity,” 296.
P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER
28 Canada, House of Commons. Debates,
15 May 1969, 8720-1.
29 Elizabeth B. Elliot-Meisel, Arctic Dip-
lomacy: Canada and the United States in
the Northwest Passage (New York: Peter
Lang, 1998), 141.
30 Maxwell Cohen, “The Arctic and the
National Interest,” International Journal
26/1 (1970-71), 72.
31 Eyre, “Forty Years of Military Activ-
ity,” 297.
32 United Nations Convention on the
Law of the Sea (UNCLOS), Part XII:
Protection and Preservation of the
Marine Environment, Section 8:
Ice-Covered Areas, Article 234: Ice-
Covered Areas. December 10, 1982.
On the background to Article 234, see
D.M. McRae and D.J. Goundrey, “En-
vironmental Jurisdiction in the Arctic
Waters: The Extent of Article 234,”
UBC Law Review 16/2 (1982): 215-22.
33 D.M. McRae, “The Negotiation of Arc-
tic 234,” in Politics of the Northwest Pas-
sage ed. Franklyn Griffiths (Kingston
& Montreal: McGill-Queen’s Univer-
sity Press, 1987), 98-114; Rob Huebert,
“Canadian Arctic Security Issues:
Transformation in the Post-Cold War
Era,” International Journal 54/2 (1999),
220.
34 David L. Larson, “United States In-
terests in the Arctic Region,” Ocean
Development and International Law 20
(1989), 183.
35 See Arctic Capabilities Study, June 2000,
9-10, DND file 1948-3-CC4C (DGSP),
acquired through Access to Informa-
tion.
36 Rob Huebert, “Canadian Arctic Secur-
ity Issues,” 207.
37 Mary Simon, “Security, Peace and the
Native Peoples of the Arctic,” in The
Arctic: Choices for Peace and Security, ed.
Thomas R. Berger (West Vancouver:
Gordon Soules, 1989), 36, 67, 265. See
also Georges Erasmus, “Militarization
of the North: Cultural Survival Threat-
ened,” Information North (Fall 1986): 1.
21
INTRODUCTION

38 Mary Simon, ‘Militarization and the up and restoration, and Canada assist-
Aboriginal Peoples,’ in Franklyn Grif- ed Russia with the dangers associated
fiths, ed., Arctic Alternatives: Civility with its decaying northern fleet, such
or Militarism in the Circumpolar North as radioactive contamination from il-
(Toronto: Samuel Stevens, 1992), 60. legal dumping of nuclear wastes and
abandoned Russian nuclear-powered
39 Lackenbauer’s other studies on Ab-
submarines rotting in the Arctic
original participation in the Canadian
Ocean. Rob Huebert, “Security and
Rangers include “The Canadian
the Environment in the Post Cold
Rangers: A Postmodern Militia That
War Arctic,” Environment & Security 4
Works,” Canadian Military Journal 6/4
(2000), 107; Arctic Monitoring and As-
(Winter 2005-06): 49-60, and “Aborig-
sessment Programme (AMAP), Arctic
inal Peoples in the Canadian Rangers:
Pollution Issues: A State of the Arctic En-
Canada’s ‘Eyes and Ears’ in Northern
vironment Report (Oslo: AMAP, 1997),
and Isolated Communities,” in David
113, 117-18.
Newhouse et al, eds., Hidden in Plain
Sight: Contributions of Aboriginal Peoples 45 Government Response to Standing
to Canadian Identity and Culture, Vol. 2 Committee on Foreign Affairs and Inter-
(Toronto: University of Toronto Press, national Trade Report “Canada and the
in press). Circumpolar World: Meeting the Challen-
ges of Cooperation Into the Twenty-First
40 Rob Huebert, “New Directions in
Century (1998).
Circumpolar Cooperation: Canada,
the Arctic Environmental Protection 46 This phrase was coined by Franklyn
Strategy, and the Arctic Council,” Griffiths in early 2008, referring to
Canadian Foreign Policy 5/2 (1998), 37- Rob Huebert, Suzanne Lalonde, and
58; Huebert, ““The Arctic Council Michael Byers (who later changed
and Northern Aboriginal Peoples,” his position to advocate a message of
in Issues in the North vol.3, edited by cooperation and stability).
Jill Oakes and Rick Riewe (Edmon-
47 See, for example, Huebert, “The Ship-
ton: Canadian Circumpolar Institute,
ping News Part II: How Canada’s
1998), 144; and Mark Nuttal, Protecting
Arctic Sovereignty is on thinning ice,”
the Arctic: Indigenous Peoples and Cul-
International Journal 58/3 (2003): 295-
tural Survival (Amsterdam: Harwood,
308; “Renaissance in Canadian Arctic
1998), 40.
security?” Canadian Military Journal
41 Huebert, “Canadian Arctic Security 6/4 (2005-06): 17-29; “Canadian Arctic
Issues,” 224, and Donat Pharand, “The Maritime Security: The Return to Can-
Case for an Arctic Region Council and ada’s Third Ocean,” Canadian Military
a Treaty Proposal,” Revue générale de Journal 8 no. 2 (2007): 9-16; “Canada
droit 23 (1992), 163-95. and the Changing International Arc-
tic”; and Canadian Arctic Sovereignty
42 Lloyd Axworthy’s address to the in-
and Security in a Transforming Circum-
augural meeting of the Arctic Council,
polar World (Toronto: Canadian Inter-
Iqaluit, 17 September 1998.
national Council, 2009).
43 Report of the House of Commons
Standing Committee on Foreign Af-
fairs and International Trade, Canada
and the Circumpolar World: Meeting
the Challenges of Cooperation into the
Twenty-First Century (April 1997), ix,
100.
44 These legacies included abandoned
military sites that required cleaning

22
Calgary Papers in Military and Strategic Studies, Occasional Paper No. 4, 2011
Canadian Arctic Sovereignty and Security: Historical Perspectives Pages 23–53

Gateway to Invasion or the Curse of

Geography? The Canadian Arctic and
the Question of Security, 1939-1999
Lieutenant-Colonel Bernd Horn

What is important to Canadians is not what we think the

Russians will do; it is what we think the Americans think the
Russians will do.1

T
he Arctic has a very special hold on the Canadian psyche despite
the fact that very few Canadians have actually ever seen the North.
Strategist Kenneth Eyre observed that the “North to Canadians is
more of an idea than a place.”2 Nevertheless, it was not until the Second
World War that Canadian apathy towards its Arctic was actually broken.
The war led to a continental alliance which dictated the close cooperation
between Canada and the United States in the defence of North America. It
was also the catalyst that sparked a new surge of interest in the North.
The looming Japanese threat to Alaska and the fear of a Nazi occupied
Siberia, only a short distance away across the Bering Strait, raised American
anxiety in regard to its security to an unprecedented high. The subsequent
American mobilization to meet the perceived peril quickly spilled into
Canada and transformed its North into a hive of activity. Unfortunately, the
Americans placed little weight on the formalities of ownership and executed
their tasks with a single-mindedness that raised the concern that the long
neglected Canadian North was actually under the control of the United
States.
The growing American presence, coupled with their dominating atti-
tude, worried Canadian politicians. This fear soon led to action to safeguard
Canadian sovereignty. Canada had always been defensive of its claim to
ownership of the Arctic archipelago and the growing occupation of the
North, by the United States, was seen as a direct threat to Canadian propri-
etorship. The American presence, argued Canadian governmental officials,
could be seen as de facto control. As a result, a policy was implemented to
reimburse the Americans for their wartime developments in the North, re-
gardless of whether the Canadian government had originally supported or

© Centre for Military and Strategic Studies http://cmss.ucalgary.ca/ 23

GATEWAY TO INVASION

wanted the subject projects. It was not lost on the politicians that sovereignty
has a price. Equally clear were the consequences of not paying that price.
Canada’s new wartime defence partnership underscored another in-
escapable reality. It became evident that any threat to the security of the
United States perceived by the Americans, whether realistic or not, repre-
sented a genuine danger to Canada. The national political and military
leadership promptly realized that it was critical that Canada be seen by its
southern neighbour to be taking adequate steps to secure Canadian borders
from any intrusion that could subsequently threaten the United States. This
geographical reality was exacerbated at the end of the Second World War.
New technology, weapons of immense potency and the emergence of two
diametrically opposed superpowers – with Canada sandwiched between
them – fuelled what would become a continuing challenge to Canada’s ef-
forts to maintain the security and sovereignty of its Arctic regions.
It is this balance between security and sovereignty that begs examina-
tion. Was Canada’s defence policy and northern focus oriented toward a real
menace in the Arctic as a result of a belief that its security was jeopardized by
the threat of invasion by belligerent powers? Or, was it geared to thwarting
the perceived peril to its sovereignty by an ally? Careful scrutiny uncovers a
Canadian defence policy that was focused more on frustrating erosion to its
sovereignty and minimizing American expansion into the Canadian Arctic,
than it was on meeting any real danger to its territory from hostile invasion.
Although a degree of potential threat was always recognized, more so by
the military than the political leadership, decisions taken on defence of the
North were primarily geared to countering American encroachment. This
theme, which was initiated by Prime Minister King in the Second World War,
continues to the present.
Before 1939, Canadian politicians, as well as their military commanders,
placed very little emphasis on the Arctic. The primary stimulus of the limited
northern development conducted by the government during this period was
the result of a select few individuals. Patrons such as J.A. Wilson, the Controller
of Civil Aviation, and Major-General A.G.L. McNaughton, the Chief of the
General Staff (CGS), sponsored initiatives that included the survey of suit-
able landing fields in the Arctic archipelago; a program of aerial photography
for mapping purposes; and the establishment of a series of northern radio
stations.3 Not surprisingly, the vast majority of growth in the North was
primarily civilian in nature. Canadian Airways and Mackenzie Air Service,
two commercial airlines that commenced operations in the Arctic in the late
1920s were instrumental in opening up the North.4 Nonetheless, eventually,

24
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a series of civilian airfields and emergency landing strips, supported by the

Departments of Defence and Transport, were established across the entire
Dominion. These fields were primarily used by Trans-Canada Airlines but
also yielded a network that could be used to concentrate military air strength
in time of crisis.5
Much of this development was due to depression-era relief projects.
However, continuing interest in an air route to Alaska and Europe over
the Arctic was always prevalent and by 1935, technological and economic
conditions merited a closer examination of its viability.6 Consequently, the
government-sponsored survey of northern airfields was conducted to deter-
mine whether expansion of existing sites was required and what additional
landing fields were necessary.7 Construction on this network of airfields was
undertaken in 1939 and continued well into the war. It eventually became
known as the Northwest Staging Route and it proved instrumental in the
defence of Alaska and in the supply of aircraft and equipment to the belea-
guered Soviet Union.8
Despite the remarkable strides in aviation and the limited but growing
commercial development of the North, both the military and political leader-
ship shared the belief that the Canadian Arctic represented a negligible se-
curity threat to the “fire-proof house” of Canada. In 1938, Prime Minister
Mackenzie King asserted, “May I point out that undoubtably Canada is the
most secure of all countries.”9 He dismissed “the launching of fantastic ex-
peditions across half the world [by belligerents intending to attack Canada]”
and stated that “at present danger of attack upon Canada is minor in degree
and second-hand in origin. It is against chance shots that we need immedi-
ately to defend ourselves.”10
The Minister of National Defence (MND), Ian Mackenzie, agreed. “There
is danger,” he acknowledged, “but so far as Canada is concerned, it is, as I
have already pointed out, an incidental contingency.”11 He asserted that the
direct defence of Canada entailed the defence of “our coastal areas, our ports,
our shipping terminals, our territorial waters, the focal areas of our trade
routes adjacent to our harbour mouths.”12 Specifically, he felt that the threat
consisted largely of raids by submarine, aircraft or other craft for the purpose
of creating diversion and panic.13
The military perception was little different. “The idea of our having
to fight a major war on our own soil,” wrote Lieutenant-General Maurice
Pope, “was absurd...As the forms and scales of attack to which it was judged
Canada might be exposed in the event of even a major war comprised only
limited naval and air bombardment and minor raids against our defended

25
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ports.”14 This judgement changed little even with the commencement of hos-
tilities. An Army appreciation in February 1941 stated that “Canada’s front
line lies in and around the British Isles.” 15
The apparent lack of concern of any menace to Canada’s security
emanated from the nation’s geographic endowment. A military analysis of
Canadian defence problems noted that “The direct defence of the national
territory ... owing to our fortunate geographical position ... has not been
given a high degree of priority.”16 General Charles Foulkes reinforced this
theme. “Prior to 1939,” he explained, “Canada was able to derive a consider-
able amount of security from her geographical position. The then available
weapons precluded a direct attack on Canada.”17
Geography and history provided Canada with another important ele-
ment in its defence, namely, a powerful neighbour to the south. The close
proximity to the United States prompted Colonel E.L.M. Burns in 1936 to
write that “we believe, reasonably or unreasonably, that our Southern neigh-
bour would go to war before she would allow a foreign nation to establish
itself on our territory.”18 The renowned Canadian historian C.P. Stacey re-
peated this thesis in his examination of Canadian defence policy in 1940. “It
has long been generally recognized in Canada,” he insisted, “that the most
elementary regard for the security of the United States itself would render it
impossible for that country to permit any aggressive power to gain a foothold
on Canadian soil.”19
These conclusions were not entirely visionary. In 1936, President
Franklin D. Roosevelt raised the image of a benevolent neighbour when he
stated: “We can defend ourselves, and we can defend our neighbourhood.”20
Two years later he erased any doubt with his famous declaration at Queen’s
University in Kingston. “The Dominion of Canada,” he announced, “is part
of the sisterhood of the British Empire. I give to you assurance that the people
of the United States will not stand idly by if domination of Canadian soil is
threatened by any other empire. We as good neighbours are true friends.”21
Two days later King responded. “We, too,” he declared, “have our obliga-
tions as a good friendly neighbour, and one of these is to see that, at our own
instance our country is made as immune from attack or possible invasion
as we can reasonably be expected to make it, and that should the occasion
ever arise, enemy forces should not be able to pursue their way, either by
land, sea or air, to the United States across Canadian territory.”22 These cour-
ageous words were uttered at a time when there were no perceived threats
to Canada because of its geographical location and the naval might of both
Britain and the United States. As a result, King’s pledge to guard the flanks

26
 BERND HORN

of his neighbour seemed effortless and easily enforced. However, his words
would return to haunt him and take on the essence of a curse. World events
and technological developments soon changed Canada’s outlook on security
forever, particularly with respect to its Arctic regions.
The Second World War dramatically altered Canada’s perception of its
security and fuelled an unprecedented concern for its North. Paradoxically,
the emphasis on northern security became focused primarily on protecting
national sovereignty from the perceived encroachment of an ally rather than
guarding an unprotected flank from hostile invasion.
The catalyst was the renewed American focus on Alaska. Originally,
American politicians and military leaders shared a common apathy with
their Canadian counterparts in regard to their northern territory. “In the
halls of Congress, Alaska was described as a ‘frozen waste,’ much as strategic
Guam was passed off by some Representatives as a ‘grain of sand.’”23 The
military leadership shared a similar view. An official report tabled just prior
to the American entry into the war argued that “there appears at present to
be no necessity, from the viewpoint of national defense, of increasing the mil-
itary garrison of Alaska.”24 Few acknowledged Brigadier-General Mitchell’s
observation that Alaska, “as the most central place in the world of aircraft,”
was subsequently the most strategic location on earth. He reasoned that
“whoever holds Alaska will hold the world.”25
It took the Axis juggernaut to galvanize American action in the North.
The German attack on the Soviet Union in June 1941 “muddied the already
seething situation in the Far East and seemed to bring closer to Alaska the
danger that Alaskans had been advertising for years.”26 The realization that
“in the possession of the enemy Alaska will furnish a jumping-off point for
invasion by air of the United States” soon resulted in the restoration of money
to expand Alaskan defence.27 The Permanent Joint Board for Defence (PJBD)
concluded on February 26, 1942, “that the effective defence of Alaska is of
paramount importance to the defence of the continent against attack from
the West, since Alaska is the area most exposed to an attempt by the enemy
to establish a foothold in North America.”28
Canadians quickly absorbed the idea of a northern threat via Alaska. “It
was easy to believe,” wrote Canadian military historian Desmond Morton,
“as Japanese power spread irresistibly across Southeast Asia ... that it could
also reach out easily to seize a foothold in North America. If the threat was
far-fetched militarily, it was politically all too real.”29 Even Mitch Hepburn,
the Premier of Ontario at the time, “predicted a Japanese assault on Alaska,
and [he] visualized the enemy infiltrating down the western coast of

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Canada.”30 Prime Minister King also believed that the Japanese represented
a real danger. He warned his military officials that it would be foolish to
discount their strength. Moreover, King cautioned his generals not to rule
out the possibility of operations of a larger or more serious nature.31
Despite the dire admonitions, the military was not overly alarmed. Even
the Japanese seizure of the islands of Attu, Agatu, and Kiska in the Aleutians
in the early summer of 1942 failed to change their outlook. Their analysis
reaffirmed that “the forms and scales of attack envisioned on the entry of
Japan into the war remained unchanged.”32 The confidence of the military
commanders rested on the premise that there were no military objectives
of sufficient importance to justify other than small hit-and-run raids, the ef-
fect of which would have little military significance. In addition, the generals
emphasized that the Japanese were already over-committed. The Chiefs of
Staff Committee clearly stated that an invasion of Canada’s West Coast by
Japanese forces was considered highly remote.33
Nonetheless, the military chain of command took into account the
anxiety of the public. “The question of increasing protection in British
Columbia,” asserted an Army appreciation, “is one of vocal and increasing
concern on the part of the civilian population. In view of the immense length
of the coast line, greater mobility of Army personnel would seem a matter of
urgent consideration and might do much to allay the present feeling of ap-
prehension.”34 As a result, the West Coast was reinforced with artillery and
manpower.35 Lieutenant-General Pope, however, noted the nature of the real
threat. “It was clear that if ... Canada should attempt to remain neutral and
aloof,” he explained, “our American neighbours would ride roughshod over
us and make use of our territory and facilities as it pleased them.”36
Pope’s observation was the more accurate. The response of the United
States to the new northern menace was representative of the energy and
seemingly unlimited resources of a great power. The American reaction was
swift and all encompassing. It created an intricate web that eventually entan-
gled Canada. The expeditious American mobilization resulted in a massive
influx of personnel to reinforce the Alaskan garrison, as well as to establish
the logistical infrastructure required to support the new defensive effort in
the North. By June 1943, more than 33,000 American soldiers and civilian
workers had poured into northwestern Canada.37
The American “invasion” was driven by their perception of defensive
steps required to protect the North. These included the expansion and up-
grading of the Northwestern Staging Route, the construction of a land route
to Alaska, and the assurance of petroleum for military forces in the North.

28
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These projects all encompassed development on Canadian territory and

were, theoretically, subject to consultation and agreement between the two
nations in accordance with the Ogdensburg Agreement.38 The Ogdensburg
Agreement was signed in haste – almost in panic – as a contingency for the
imminent collapse of Britain. As the tide of war began to shift, the conse-
quences of the agreement soon became clear.39 Nonetheless, although the
projects signed under the auspices of the agreement were grounded in the
noble pursuit of mutual defence, they quickly highlighted the dangers of a
relationship between two unequal partners.
What were trumpeted as “projects of vital importance” to the secur-
ity of North America very quickly captured Canadian attention. One such
project, the construction of the Alaska Highway, was representative of the
difficulties facing Canada. As early as 1928, both Americans and Canadians
had thought about a land route to Alaska; however, the exorbitant cost
and “negligible military value” precluded any official support.40 American
military planners viewed a road link to Alaska as of little strategic import-
ance and primarily of economic benefit to civilians.41 The Japanese attack on
Pearl Harbour abruptly changed the American perspective.42 Overnight, the
construction of an all-weather road was seen as “one of the most import-
ant steps toward making Alaska defensible.”43 Once the Americans decided
what was necessary, they took prompt action with little regard for Canadian
sensitivities.
On February 12, 1942, the Under-Secretary of State for External Affairs
informed the Cabinet War Committee that the Americans had concluded
that construction of a land route to Alaska on Canadian soil was necessary
for continental defence, but they had not yet submitted a formal request to do
so.44 It was not until February 26, 1942, that the PJBD, as its twenty-fourth rec-
ommendation, advised that the construction of the Alaska Highway should
be undertaken. The Canadian dilemma was evident. The government was
reluctant to proceed with the project. Nevertheless, a secret External Affairs
memorandum conceded that “the United States Government is now so insist-
ent that the road is required that the Canadian Government cannot possibly
allow itself to be put in the position of barring the United States from land
access to Alaska.”45 It commented that the Canadian government would be
in a completely untenable position if it prevented the construction of land
communications to Alaska and subsequently, as unlikely as it may be, the
Japanese were able to deny the United States access by sea.46
The alternative, however, was daunting. It required Canada “to expend
some $80,000,000.00 on the construction, and about $1,000,000.00 per annum

29
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on the maintenance of a road that would be a monument to our friendship

for the U.S. but would otherwise be pretty much of a ‘White Elephant.’”47
Cabinet concluded that Canada had little choice but to agree. War Cabinet
Committee approval was subsequently given on March 5, 1942.48
But the Cabinet’s approval was irrelevant. The actual decision to proceed
had already been made in the United States. President Roosevelt considered
the matter a fait accompli. Consequently, he had allocated $10 million for
the project from his emergency fund as early as February 11.49 As a result,
American engineers arrived in Dawson Creek to begin construction on the
road two days before Cabinet approved the request.50 The highway eventu-
ally proved insignificant. By the autumn of 1943, only 54 tons of supplies had
been delivered to the Alaska Defense Command by road.51
Nonetheless, the American presence quickly struck a chord with
Canadians, particularly Prime Minister King. Alarming reports emanating
from the North painted a grim picture for a country that laboured at main-
taining a decorum of autonomy and independence. One account acknow-
ledged that “the Americans in Edmonton are openly describing themselves
as an ‘Army of Occupation.’”52 To King the spectre of American encroach-
ment was very real. “I said,” he wrote in his diary, “I was not altogether with-
out feeling that the Alaska Highway was less intended for protection against
Japan than as one of the dangers of the hand which America is placing more
or less over the whole of the Western Hemisphere.”53
The Alaska Highway was not the only source of concern. The CANOL
project provided similar hazards to the Canadian hosts. Its aim was to pro-
vide a guaranteed supply of fuel to Alaska and military traffic en route by
means of a pipeline from Norman Wells, in the North West Territories, to a
refinery in Whitehorse, Yukon, from where subsequent distribution would
be made. By the time the project had been completed it had expanded to
include a series of airfields, numerous construction camps, pumping sta-
tions, supplementary pipelines and additional roads.54 Its utility, as well as
efficiency, was questioned from the beginning and it has since been labelled
a “junk-yard of military stupidity.”55 Lieutenant-General Pope, who was a
Canadian member of the PJBD, later commented that “the CANOL project
as a defence measure has always seemed to me so far-fetched as to be ab-
surd.”56
Of greater concern was the fact that the decision to proceed with the
project was once again taken before receiving the requisite approval from the
Canadian government. Canadian historian Donald Creighton observed that
“the United States army authorized the pipeline and signed a contract with

30
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Imperial Oil more than a fortnight before the Canadian government signi-
fied its approval.”57 Furthermore, additional airfields were built in support of
the project without consulting the Canadian government.58
The American insensitivity to Canadian control prompted Vincent
Massey, the Canadian High Commissioner in England, to comment that
the Americans “have apparently walked in and taken possession in many
cases as if Canada were unclaimed territory inhabited by a docile race of
aborigines.”59 His diary entries noted further disquieting observations. “The
Americans,” Massey recorded, “who unfortunately under cover of the needs
of the war effort are acting in the North-West as if they owned the country
...We have for too long been far too supine vis-à-vis Washington and the only
threat to our independence comes from that quarter.”60
As the war progressed, all perceived threats to the North American
land mass, particularly in the Arctic, diminished dramatically;61 suspicions
of American intentions, however, did not. Malcolm MacDonald, the British
High Commissioner in Canada, visited the northern projects and reported
to the Canadian Cabinet War Committee that “it was quite evident that
these vast undertakings were being planned and carried out with a view
to the post war situation. Canadian representatives in the area were few
and quite unable to keep control or even in touch with day to day develop-
ments.”62 Civilian entrepreneurs also questioned the long-term motives of
the Americans. J.K. Cornwall, an Edmonton businessman, said “I visualize
the U.S.A. controlling to a large extent the development of Canada’s north
land, due to their financial power and experience.”63
But no-one was more suspicious than the Prime Minister. “Despite his
close friendship with Roosevelt,” disclosed the Prime Minister’s secretary,
J.W. Pickersgill, “Mackenzie King was never without suspicions of the ul-
timate designs of the Americans ... He referred to ‘the efforts that would be
made by the Americans to control developments in our country after the
war.’”64 King’s own diaries offer testimony to these misgivings. “I viewed
the Alaskan Highway,” he wrote, “and some other things growing out of
the war, which was clear to my mind that America had had as her policy,
a western hemisphere control which would mean hemispheric immun-
ity, if possible, from future war but increasing political control by United
States Forces greater than those of any one country working to this end.”65
Moreover, he confided in Vincent Massey that “he had grave doubts whether
international agreements [on U.S. withdrawal from bases and installations
on Canadian soil] on this which Canada had secured from the United States
[would] provide any practical guarantee against the United States’ claims

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and pretensions.”66 King went on to say that “Canadians were looked upon
by Americans as a lot of Eskimos.”67
This fear of “possible domination of post-war Canada by the Americans”
led King to believe that it was necessary to displace the Americans from
further development in the North and “keep control in our own hands.”68
The prevailing perception of American encroachment into Canada’s North
led directly to new initiatives to regain control and assert ownership. The
Canadian government “now embarked on a vigorous programme intended
to ‘re-Canadianize’ the Arctic.”69 Clearly, the new focus on the Arctic was not
inspired by security concerns but rather for fear of losing jurisdiction over
its territory. A military appreciation asserted that “it is of great importance
that Canada should carefully safeguard her sovereignty in the Arctic at all
points and at all times, lest the acceptance of an initial infringement of her
sovereignty invalidate her entire claim and open the way to the intrusion of
foreign interests of a nature which might create an ultimate threat to national
security.”70
Specific action to reclaim the North began with the appointment of a
Special Commissioner for Defence Projects in Northwest Canada. His task
was to supervise and coordinate the activities of the government and “to
maintain close and continuous cooperation with all agencies of the United
States government in the area.”71 The government’s most influential initia-
tive, however, was the policy of reimbursing the Americans for the cost of
construction and development that was undertaken in the North.72
The tight-fisted King government realized that retention of clear owner-
ship and title to its North required payment for those bases and facilities of a
permanent nature that were built by the Americans. What made this decision
more painful was the fact that most of the projects were never supported as
necessary by the Government, and almost all were constructed to standards
far in excess of Canadian requirements. Despite these realities, the need to
buy back control was seen as primordial and a new financial agreement was
reached between the two nations in June of 1944. It resulted in the acceptance
of a further war debt of $123.5 million to reimburse the Americans for work
that had been done.73 The principle in question was simple. King himself,
prior to the outbreak of war, pronounced that “domestic ownership, main-
tenance and control of all military stations and personnel is one of the really
indispensable hall marks of national sovereign self government.”74
This fundamental belief led the government, in the interest of sover-
eignty, to buy back the North and ensure clear title of Canadian ownership.
The Final Report of the Advisory Committee on Post-Hostilities reported

32
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in January 1945: “As time went on, it became increasingly apparent that the
existence of major military installations in Canada built, paid for and oper-
ated by the United States might impair Canada’s freedom of action. This dif-
ficulty has been mitigated, if not eliminated, by the Canadian Government’s
decision, agreed to by all the United States, to reimburse the United States
for construction costs of all airfields and certain other facilities of continuing
value erected in Canada by the United States.”75
The lessons learned through painful experience during the war were
not lost. “The war,” wrote Desmond Morton, “had taught Canadians how
swiftly the Americans could move when their minds were made up and how
little weight Ottawa’s appeals really carried in Washington.”76 A government
report frankly stated that “if Canada had refused or failed to undertake
projects which formed part of United States plans or measures in Canadian
territory for the special protection of the United States, the United States was
willing and even anxious to proceed alone.”77
Clearly, the realization that American security concerns represented a
genuine threat to Canadian sovereignty was entrenched by the end of the
Second World War. Nowhere was this more evident than in the Canadian
North. “We had to discharge our obligations to make sure that nobody at-
tacked the U.S. over our territory,” explained General McNaughton. “If we
had not done so there was the danger that the U.S. might have taken over the
Canadian North in the interest of their own security.”78 This fear led to a new
focus on the North and the acceptance of an enormous debt for unwanted
infrastructure. The motive was primarily to preserve control and sover-
eignty of Canadian territory and not the result of a concern for security. The
new geo-political reality was that Canada and the United States formed a
strategic unit. As a result, American security was of vital interest to Canada.79
“Because of the gateway which Canada opens to an enemy,” King noted, “the
defence of this continent is bound to be increasingly that of the United States
itself.”80
This awareness, combined with the dramatic improvements in technol-
ogy and the growing antagonism between the newly emerged superpowers,
cast Prime Minister King’s pre-war pledge in a new light. It now took on
the likeness of a curse. Sandwiched geographically between the two rivals,
Canadians quickly deduced the hazards and the potential penalty of at-
tempting to remain aloof. A Canadian diplomat underscored the danger by
pointing out that “the United States military men refer, whether nervously or
menacingly, to the ‘undefended roof of North America’ and claim the right to
return en masse to the Canadian Northland which they left so recently.”81 If

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the Second World War forced the nation’s political and military leadership to
take a direct interest in the North because of a fear of losing Canadian control
and ownership, then the post-war era burned the issue of Arctic sovereignty
into their very soul.
Any respite from American encroachment in the North that the
Canadian politicians had hoped to gain at the cessation of hostilities in
1945 quickly disappeared. The geographical reality was also highlighted
in a 1946 classified American military appreciation on the problems of joint
defence in the Arctic. It concluded that “the physical facts of geographical
juxtaposition and joint occupation of the North American continent have at
all times carried the implication that the defence of Canada and the defence
of the United States cannot be artificially divorced. Recent technological
developments rendering Canada’s Arctic vulnerable to attack and thereby
exposing both Canada and the United States to the threat of invasion and
aerial assault across the northern most reaches of the continent have greatly
heightened the compulsion to regard the defence of the two countries as a
single problem.”82
The Canadian assessment, although similar, was blunter. Norman
Robertson, the Under-Secretary of State for External Affairs, wrote: “To the
Americans the defence of the United States is continental defence, which in-
cludes us, and nothing that I can think of will ever drive that idea out of their
heads. Should then, the United States go to war with Russia they would look
to us to make common cause with them, and, as I judge their public opinion,
they would brook no delay.”83 Prime Minister Louis St. Laurent quipped that
“Canada could not stay out of a third World War if 11,999,999 of her 12,000,000
citizens wanted to remain neutral.”84
Once again Canada was caught in the vortex of American security con-
cerns. The North was perceived as a unprotected gateway to invasion that
required immediate and costly measures to minimize its vulnerability.85
Canadian politicians and their military commanders quickly supported
the new emphasis on the defence of the North, but they did so to minimize
American encroachment in the Arctic. The motive behind Canadian defence
policy in the North remained one of countering perceived American pene-
tration in the interest of sovereignty – not security.
Although an element of menace was recognized, Canadians consistently
questioned their ally’s assessments of risk. This difference in the threat per-
ception is an important indicator that reinforces the true motive behind the
government’s focus in the North. By 1946, joint military planning committees
warned of a serious threat, within a few years, to the security of Canada and

34
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the United States by means of attacks on North America by manned bombers

equipped with atomic weapons.86 The updated Canada-U.S. Basic Security
Plan (revised ABC-22) more accurately reported that “up to 1950, the Soviets
could use subversion and sabotage by internal groups; covert biological and
chemical attacks; air attacks against Alaska, Iceland and Greenland and the
use of airborne irregular forces ranging throughout the continent.”87 By 1952,
military planners projected “the use of the atomic bomb delivered by long
range aircraft and the occupation of Newfoundland, Alaska and Greenland
for the forward basing of Soviet bomber aircraft and airborne forces.”88 The
Americans therefore maintained a worrisome interest in the Canadian
Arctic.
It was this American interest in the North, more than the threat posed
by possible invasion, that concerned Canadian politicians. Their view of the
risk of Soviet invasion was somewhat different. Scholars have pointed out
that Canadian defence analysts were “less alarmist” than their American
counterparts about Soviet intentions and the pace of technological advan-
cements.89 A Canadian intelligence report assessed that “the USSR is not
considered capable at the present time of endangering, by direct action, the
security of Canada and the United States.”90 It bluntly stated that the present
American outlook gave an impression of a greater threat to the security of
Canada and the United States than actually existed. It specifically disagreed
with the American claim of increased enemy capability that ascribed to the
Soviets the potential to seize objectives in Alaska, Canada, or Labrador, from
which they could strike strategic targets in North America. The report com-
mented that the Americans “credit a potential enemy with greater capabil-
ities than we consider reasonable.”91 The British Foreign Office concurred.
They affirmed that “Russia, so far as we can judge, is neither prepared for nor
in the mood for war, and Stalin is a sober realist.”92
Canadian diplomats supported this viewpoint. Norman Robertson ac-
knowledged “the scales of attack, to which it could reasonably be held we
were exposed, were, are, and will be, almost insignificant.”93 The nation’s
military commanders agreed. “I feel,” conceded the Deputy Chief of the
General Staff, “[that] there is often a tendency for the Americans to place the
worst picture before us in our discussions, with the result that our thinking
is often along the lines of 100% protection and does not take into account a
more realistic policy of calculated risk.”94
Significantly, Brooke Claxton, the Minister of National Defence, shared
the same belief. He felt strongly that Canada faced no imminent threat. “On
the information as is available to the Canadian government,” he wrote, “it

35
GATEWAY TO INVASION

appears most unlikely that the Soviet Union would be in a position to wage
another war in the near future, and for this reason it is highly improbable
that the Soviet Government would run the risk of deliberately provoking
such a war.”95 Claxton postulated that the Soviet Union required a period of
15 years before it would be physically capable of war.96
The scepticism of the actual risk was not a function of blind ignorance.
The politicians maintained a belief that there was no peril to Canada even at
a time when the bogey of communism reached its zenith in the early 1950s.
They recognized an international threat but not one to Canada itself. Gordon
Graydon, the Parliamentary Advisor to the Canadian delegation to the
United Nations, speaking on Soviet intentions warned of the “undisguised
steps towards [Soviet] world domination.”97 Prime Minister St. Laurent and
Lester Pearson both went on record as stating “the international situation
was never more serious.”98 Other Parliamentarians were representative of
the prevailing climate, viewing communism as “a diabolical dynamic thing
... aiming at the destruction of all the freedoms and the inherent hard-won
rights of man” and describing it as “the darkest and direst shadow that has
ever fallen upon this earth.”99
The international threat was such that Canada expanded its armed forces
and dramatically increased its defence expenditures. But this was done to
facilitate the dispatch of an expeditionary force to fight the evils of commun-
ism in Korea, as well as to raise a special brigade for service in Europe.100
Despite these concrete actions to combat the growing international menace,
the actual danger to the Canadian Arctic was seen as minimal. “The danger
of direct attack upon Canadian territory,” declared Claxton, “was extremely
remote ... any attack on North America would be diversionary, designed to
panic the people of this continent into putting a disproportionate amount of
effort into passive local defence.”101
This confidence was based on an assessment of practicality, probability
and risk. Claxton explained the factors that were important in determining
Canada’s defensive posture. He insisted that consideration must be given to
“the geographical position of Canada; the capacity of any possible aggressor
to make an attack; the disposition of friendly nations; and what may be called
the international climate.”102 Based on these criteria, the northern threat was
quickly discounted. The government asserted: “We have to discard from any
realistic thinking any possibility of an attack by ground forces on the area
of Canada either by air or by sea. Anyone who has any knowledge of the
terrain of the outlying parts of this country will realize that such an attempt
would be worthless and useless and is not likely to be part of any aggressive

36
 BERND HORN

plans which may be launched against Canada.”103 Furthermore, the govern-

ment emphasized that invading the North “would in no way destroy our
war-making potential nor would it have any decisive effect on winning a war
on this continent by invasion ... you have only to look at this vast continent to
see how formidable such a task is.”104 R.J. Sutherland likened Canada’s Arctic
region to a strategic desert separating the two bastions of polar defence,
Alaska and Northern Greenland. He concluded that there was no particular
strategic value in the Canadian Arctic itself.105
The military assessment was similar. Army appreciations considered
the likelihood of enemy airborne attacks as extremely slight because of the
difficulties of re-supply and re-embarkation of the attacking force.106 The
official assessment regarding the direct defence of Canada, contained in
Defence Scheme No. 3, concluded that as a result of the extremely limited
base facilities in Eastern Siberia, the Soviets were not capable of more than
isolated airborne operations, none totalling more than a few hundred men.
Furthermore, it explained that the lack of fighter escort would make sustained
operations impossible. More importantly, the official defence plan identified
only Western Alaska and the Aleutian Islands as targets of potential enemy
airborne forces.107 Joint Intelligence Committee assessments clearly remarked
that the data available “implies that the Soviet Union cannot land any air-
borne forces on Canadian territory.”108
The marginalization of the North as a potential ‘gateway to invasion’
was further advanced by the Cabinet Defence Committee. It rationalized
that “if the Soviets attempted to use a Canadian Arctic station as a bomber
base, warning would be received and it was expected that such a base, which
would have immense supply problems, could be immobilized rapidly.”109
The double-edged nature of establishing facilities in the North was now
exploited. Prime Minister King carefully weighed the Governor General’s ob-
servation that bases in the Arctic “may become bases from which the enemy
himself may operate were they not there.”110 He subsequently formulated the
strategy that “our best defence in the Arctic is the Arctic itself.”111 Claxton re-
iterated the belief when he stated: “In working out the doctrine of defence of
our north, the fewer airfields we have the fewer airfields we have to defend
against the possibility of the enemy using them as stepping stones from which
to leapfrog toward our settled areas. Indeed, were it possible the greatest single
defence throughout our northland would be the rough nature of the ground
and the extent of the territory itself.”112 General McNaughton agreed with
the concept that “ice is something of a defence in itself,” and Lester Pearson
quickly dubbed the government’s position the “scorched ice policy.”113

37
GATEWAY TO INVASION

In spite of the government’s position on the actual threat to its North, or

lack thereof, it still continued to funnel resources into the Arctic. During the
period 1945-1956, it increased the number of weather stations in the Arctic;
increased arctic research and developed a permanent research facility in
Fort Churchill; escalated the number of northern exercises; based the army
permanent force establishment on an air portable / air transportable brigade
(Mobile Strike Force) with a specific task of countering enemy lodgements in
the North; formed the Canadian Rangers to increase northern patrols; and
cooperated in the construction, financing and manning of a series of early
warning radar networks.114
These actions were not based primarily on security concerns, but were
rather part of the government’s active “re-Canadianization” program which
was aimed at “keeping the Canadian Arctic Canadian.”115 Government re-
ports highlighted the necessity of ensuring effective protection of Canadian
sovereignty because of the fear of American penetration. One note from the
Privy Council Office remarked that “our experiences since 1943 have indi-
cated the extreme care which we must exercise to preserve Canadian sover-
eignty in remote areas where Canadians are outnumbered and outranked .…
Of much greater concern is the sort of de facto U.S. sovereignty which caused
so much trouble in the last war and which might be exercised again.”116
Canadian concern for the North was aptly described by an editorial
in The Canadian Forum. “We must be certain,” it wrote, “that we defend it
[Canada] as much from our ‘friends’ as from our ‘enemies.’”117 Action was
taken, despite the absence of a legitimate concern for security, because “what
we have to fear,” explained Norman Robertson, “is more a lack of confidence
in United States as to our security, rather than enemy action .… If we do
enough to assure the United States we shall have done a good deal more than
a cold assessment of the risk would indicate to be necessary.”118 This was the
reason for the continuing Canadian focus on its Arctic region.
The immediate post-war concern for the perceived northern Achilles
heel eventually began to wane and by the mid 1950s the menace from the
Arctic was seen almost exclusively as an air threat. Political and military
leaders generally agreed that “the only probable method of attack is by
air,”119 and “that in the final analysis the task of Canadian defence is defence
against aerial attack over the north pole.”120 The new assessment provided
Canadian politicians with a welcome respite. The emphasis of military activ-
ity in the North shifted from a focus on active “defence” to one of simply
“surveillance.” Department of National Defence annual reports documented
the subtle switch. The stated threat no longer postulated potential surprise

38
 BERND HORN

attacks in coordination with a campaign of aerial bombardment of North

America. The yearly summaries now narrowly defined the danger as an air
threat based on the manned bomber.121
The air threat itself evolved, due to technological advancements, and
the manned bomber was seen as being largely replaced by the intercontin-
ental ballistic missile (ICBM). By 1963, Paul Hellyer, the MND, believed
“the air threat to North America consists of long range ICBMs, submarine
or ship launched intermediate range ballistic missiles and manned bomb-
ers.”122 The new ICBM threat relegated the Arctic’s importance simply to
one of strategic depth. General Charles Foulkes explained this new reality
meant that “we will have to rely on the deterrent and retaliatory effect of
the U.S. strategic [nuclear] force. So that with the passing of the bomber,
the Canadian contribution to the defence of North America will be greatly
diminished and the importance of Canadian air space and territory … will
be seriously reduced.”123
As prophesied, the American interest in the Canadian North declined
dramatically during this period. Not surprisingly, as the threat of American
encroachment in the Arctic disappeared, so did the Canadian interest. The
navy gradually stopped its northern cruises in the summer. Surveillance
flights were pared down. Army exercises ceased. Furthermore, the radio
system, as well as the Alaska Highway, was turned over to civil depart-
ments of the government. Finally, the Canadian Rangers were allowed to
languish.124
The lack of concern was further evidenced in the 1964 White Paper. It
did not include a single reference to the Arctic. This is not surprising and
would seem logical in accordance with strategist Colin Gray’s observation
that “since the mid-1960s there has been no military incentive to urge the
Canadian Forces to be active in the North. Reference to ‘foreign incursions,’
let alone ‘lodgements,’ should be treated with the contempt they merit.”125 But
Gray missed the point. “Military incentive” was never the motive.
Another perceived American challenge underlined this. In 1969, the
Americans announced that the supertanker Manhattan, belonging to the
Humble Oil Company, intended to conduct a voyage through the Northwest
Passage as part of an experiment to study the feasibility of transporting
Alaskan crude oil through the northern waters year-round. The Americans
did not seek Canadian permission. They considered the Northwest Passage
international waters. The Canadians, however, fervently asserted that the
Passage was strictly territorial waters. As a result, the Manhattan incident
sparked another frenzy of politically directed military activity in the North.

39
GATEWAY TO INVASION

Maxwell Cohen captured the essence of the challenge. “Manhattan’s two

voyages,” he wrote, “made Canadians feel that they were on the edge of an-
other American steal of Canadian resources and rights which had to be dealt
with at once by firm governmental action.”126

Map 1. From P.W. Lackenbauer and Matthew Farish, “The Cold War on Canadian Soil:
Militarizing a Northern Environment,” Environmental History 12/3 (October 2007).

This action included increased activity in the North. The military was
once again given the principal role of protecting Canadian authority in the
Arctic. “Our first priority in our defence policy,” asserted Prime Minister
Trudeau, “is the protection of Canadian sovereignty.”127 This affirmation was
later followed by the External Affairs Minister’s admission that the future
role of Canadian forces would be “in the surveillance of our own territory
and coastlines in the interests of protecting our sovereignty.”128
Changes were rapidly implemented. Year-round training of soldiers
in the North was re-introduced in March 1970. The following month a new
permanent northern headquarters, to coordinate military activities in the
North, was established in Yellowknife.129 Furthermore, a new defence White
Paper, tabled in 1971, emphasized sovereignty protection as the prime com-
mitment of the Canadian Armed Forces.130 The government cleverly used the
requirement to bolster its ability to defend its territory and sovereignty in the
North to help explain the withdrawal of half of its forces from NATO Europe.
Critics viewed the “whole emphasis on the North” as a sham and one
editorialist wrote that “while Pierre Trudeau didn’t invent the Arctic, he

40
 BERND HORN

certainly seems determined to re-discover and exploit it for political pur-

poses.”131 The crux of the accusation was appropriate. The White Paper em-
phasized the perennial distress over American encroachment instead of any
concern over security. Military threat was never a serious issue. The NDHQ
Directorate of Strategic Planning insisted that “apart from the threat of aero-
space attack on North America, which can be discounted as an act of rational
policy, Canada’s geographic isolation effectively defends her against attack
with conventional land or maritime forces.”132 Predictably, once the storm
over the Manhattan incident died away, and the cuts to the Canadian Forces
in Europe had been implemented, the emphasis on Arctic sovereignty was
allowed to dissipate.
Concern for the Arctic ebbed with the tide and generated little interest
until the Americans triggered hypersensitive nationalist sentiments once
again in 1985. The announcement, with no accompanying request, of the
impending voyage through the Northwest Passage of the U.S. Coast Guard
cutter Polar Sea incited a shrill cry for protection of Canadian sovereignty.133
The military was once again mobilized to meet the non-military threat to
its North. The Canadian Strategic Review 1985-1986 noted that the govern-
ment’s decision “to underscore Canadian sovereignty in the north with an
increased air and naval presence was reminiscent of the steps taken by the
Trudeau government during the late 1960s and early 1970s.”134 Melvin Conant
linked the Polar Sea moving through Canadian waters to the “political recep-
tivity of an increased defense effort.”135
The magnified emphasis on defence was subsequently highlighted in
the 1987 White Paper, Challenge and Commitment. Like its predecessor, the
White Paper established as “its first priority the protection and furtherance
of Canada’s sovereignty as a nation.”136 It stated: “After the defence of the
country itself, there is no issue more important to any nation than the protec-
tion of its sovereignty. The ability to exercise effective national sovereignty is
the very essence of nationhood.”137
The government initiatives included the North American Air Defence
Modernization Program,138 a proposed new Northern (Army) Training
Centre, the designation of five northern airfields as Forward Operating
Locations, the construction of the Polar 8 icebreaker, and a new fleet of nucle-
ar submarines.139 These programs were rooted in a response to a perceived
challenge to sovereignty and not as a result of a concern for security. The
White Paper commented that technology had nullified the Arctic Ocean as
an historic buffer between the superpowers and had made the Arctic more
accessible. “Canadians cannot ignore,” it stated, “that what was once a buffer

41
GATEWAY TO INVASION

could become a battleground.”140 But the underlying motive was explained

by Perrin Beatty, the Minister of National Defence. “Our sovereignty in the
Arctic,” he admitted, “cannot be complete if we remain dependent on allies
for knowledge of possible hostile activities in our waters, under our ice and
for preventing such activities.”141 This concern was used to justify the cost
of a fleet of submarines. It was not in response to the belief in a potential
Arctic battleground. This point of view is shared by Canadian military strat-
egists who “have privately mused that ... it seems safe to assume the threat
of attack on or through the ice of the Arctic Ocean against Canada is indeed
negligible.”142 Joseph Jockel asserted that “it is important not to overrate the
importance of Canadian Arctic waters .... To the north, there are very sub-
stantial limitations to the firing positions SLCM-carrying submarines could
take up.”143 Jockel underscored the true stimulus behind the government
programs when he remarked that “the Canadian emphasis on sovereignty
protection places a premium on the presence of Canadians, rather than on
the fulfilment of a defence mission.”144
Fiscal realities and the end of the Cold War quickly dampened the latest
surge of interest in the Arctic. Many of the programs proposed, such as the
fleet of nuclear submarines, the northern training centre and the Polar 8
icebreaker, were never implemented. However, the emphasis on sovereignty
did not wane. The 1994 Defence White Paper echoed the sentiments of its pre-
decessors and emphasized sovereignty as a vital attribute of a nation-state.145
This was reinforced in DND’s Defence Planning Guidance documents which
reiterated that although Canada faces no direct military threat, it must have
the ability to protect its sovereignty.146
The Arctic was never seen as a gateway to invasion. Prior to the Second
World War there was little focus on the North. With the exception of a few
far-sighted individuals who envisioned the importance of a transpolar air
route to Asia and Europe, as well as the national value of a network of north-
ern airfields and communications sites, most considered the Arctic nothing
more than a frozen wasteland. The question of the North being a security
risk was never considered.
The war changed the Canadian apathy toward its Arctic region. The
spectre of a Japanese or Nazi-occupied Siberia, from which attacks could
be launched against North America, stimulated a new American focus on
Alaska. The American mobilization to protect its northern-most frontier
spilled into Canada and shocked Canadian politicians. American energy
and resources quickly transformed the Canadian North into a hive of activ-
ity. Unfortunately, the Americans placed little weight on the formalities of

42
 BERND HORN

ownership and executed their tasks with a single-mindedness that raised the
concern that the long neglected North was under de facto United States con-
trol. For Prime Minister King the apparent loss of autonomy and independ-
ence was intolerable and action was quickly taken to “re-Canadianize the
Canadian Arctic.”
Canadians quickly realized that when it came to the defence of North
America, the technological advancements of aircraft and weapon systems,
as well as the reality of geography, made Canada and the United States a
single strategic unit. Furthermore, it was evident that any American concern
for security became a real danger for Canada. It was well understood that if
Canada failed to take the appropriate action to ensure its frontiers were safe
from any hostile action that could endanger the United States, the Americans
would do so unilaterally. As a result, in an effort to maintain control and
sovereignty over the North, the Canadian government undertook an ener-
getic and costly program to halt American penetration. The motive was
strictly one of sovereignty. Security was never the over-riding issue.
The theme of sovereignty over security, as the catalyst of government
concern for the Canadian Arctic, was replayed consistently during the post-
war era. A decline in activity and interest in the North by the Americans
was always paralleled by a reduction in the Canadian effort. However, the
Canadian focus was always quickly energized by the appearance of any
American challenges, such as the voyages of the Manhattan in 1969 and the
Polar Sea in 1985. In both cases, shrill cries lamenting the loss of sovereignty
in the North triggered visceral public debate. Equally, in both cases the gov-
ernment quickly reverted to its default setting and responded by increasing
military activity in the North. The use of the military was a symbolic and
very effective tool to reinforce its sovereignty. But the Canadian Forces were
used to provide a presence, as an exhibition of control and ownership of the
North, rather than to perform any real military mission.
The North was never seen by Canadian authorities as a gateway to inva-
sion. Instead, Canada’s location was often viewed as a curse. Canada was
sandwiched between two rival superpowers and as the weaker ally of a more
powerful, and at times paranoid, neighbour, it had little option but to ensure
it took the necessary action to placate the security concerns of the United
States, regardless of its own best interests. In the process Canadians became
more concerned with defending their North from their close ally than they
were from any perceived threat of invasion. To the Canadian government it
has always been a question of sovereignty, not security.

43
GATEWAY TO INVASION
Notes
Reprinted from Forging a Nation: Perspec-
tives on the Canadian Military Experience, ed.
Bernd Horn (Vanwell: St Catharines, 2002):
307-332.
1 Canada, Canada’s Territorial Air Defence
(Ottawa: Department of National De-
fence, 1985), 35.
2 Kenneth Eyre, “Forty Years of Military
Activity in the Canadian North, 1947-
87,” Arctic 40/4 (December 1987), 293.
3 Trevor Lloyd, “Aviation in Arctic
North America and Greenland,” The
Polar Record 5/35-36 (January-July
1948), 164; and John Swettenham,
McNaughton vol. 1 (Toronto: Ryerson
Press, 1968), 210-214. In 1941, this es-
tablished network of radio stations
and air fields proved invaluable to
provide communications for the many
defence projects which were quickly
undertaken. See also Shelagh D. Grant,
Sovereignty or Security? (Vancouver:
UBC Press, 1988), 15. The cost of the
radio stations was shared between
the Department of the Interior and
Defence.
4 H.W. Hewetson, “Arctic Survey,” Can-
adian Journal of Economic & Political Sci-
ence 11 (1945), 462-463. See also Vilhjal-
mur Stefansson, “The American Far
North,” Foreign Affairs 17 (April 1939),
517-521; and J.A. Wilson, “Northwest
Passage by Air,” Canadian Geographical
Journal 26/3 (March 1943), 107-115.
5 C.P. Stacey, The Military Problems of
Canada: A Survey of Defence Policies
and Positions Past and Present (Toronto:
Ryerson, 1940), 112. See also Canada,
House of Commons Debates (hereafter
Debates), 28 February 1944; and Vilhjal-
mur Stefansson, “Routes to Alaska,”
Foreign Affairs 19/4 (July 1941), 869.
6 The perceived importance of a tran-
spolar route was rekindled in 1937,
when three Soviet airmen flew non-
stop from Moscow to Vancouver in 63
hours and 17 minutes. W.M. Franklin,
“Alaska, Outpost of American De-
fense,” Foreign Affairs 19/1 (October
44
1940), 247. It was quickly noted that
“On the maps of tomorrow’s air age
Canada holds a strategic position
that can shape our future as a world
power...In practise every plane from
Europe or Asia reaching the United
States by great circle courses will cross
the Dominion.” Trevor Lloyd, “Can-
ada: Mainstreet of the Air,” Maclean’s,
3 April 1943, 34.
7 C.P. Stacey, Arms Men and Govern-
ments: The War Policies of Canada 1939-
1945 (Ottawa: Queen’s Printer, 1970),
379-380. See also F.H. Ellis, “New York
to Nome and Back,” The Beaver (Sep-
tember 1949), 28-32.
8 Stacey, Arms Men and Governments,
380. See also Stan Cohen, The Forgotten
War – Vol. I (Missoula, Montana: Pic-
torial Histories Publishing Company,
1988), 10-22.
9 W.L. Mackenzie King, “Canada’s
Defence Policy,” Canadian Defence
Quarterly (hereafter CDQ) 15 (October
1937-July 1938), 135.
10 Debates, 16 May 1938, 3179.
11 Debates, 24 March 1938, 1644.
12 Debates, 24 March 1938, 1644. See also
Debates 19 May 1936, 2979; and “Royal
Canadian Air Force,” The Royal Air
Force Quarterly 9/1 (January 1938), 10-
13.
13 Debates, 24 March 1938, 1650, and 26
April 1938, 3236-3237.
14 M.A. Pope, Soldiers and Politicians: The
Memoirs of Lt.Gen. Maurice A. Pope
(Toronto: University of Toronto Press,
1962), 83 & 93. See also C.P. Stacey,
Six Years of War: The Army in Canada,
Britain and the Pacific (Ottawa: Queen’s
Printer, 1966), 30-31.
15 “CGS Appreciation of Military Situa-
tion, February 1941,” Directorate of
History and Heritage (hereafter
DHH), file 112.3M2 (D496).
16 Joint Staff Committee, DND, 5 Septem-
ber 1936 (Army Records), as quoted

in James Eayrs, In Defence of Canada:
Appeasement and Rearmament (Toronto:
University of Toronto Press, 1965), 213.
17 Charles Foulkes, “Canadian Defence
Policy in a Nuclear Age,” Behind the
Headlines 21/1 (May 1961), 1. Stacey
supported this claim. He noted, “All
Canada’s pre-war defence planning
was implicitly conditioned by the
knowledge that Canadian territory
was protected by geography and the
naval power of the United Kingdom
and the United States. Stacey, Arms,
Men and Governments, 130.
18 E.L.M. Burns, “The Defence of Can-
ada,” CDQ 13, No.4, July 1936, 379.
19 Stacey, Military Problems of Canada, 29-
30.
20 Stacey, Military Problems of Canada, 29.
21 Monica Curtis, ed., Documents on Inter-
national Affairs 1938 – Vol. 1 (London:
Oxford University Press, 1942), 416.
See also Canadian Annual Review of Pol-
itics & Public Affairs, 1937-1938, 141; and
Debates, 12 February 1947, 346. FDR’s
speech was made in Kingston, Ontario
on 18 August 1938. There was a degree
of pragmatism involved. It has been
well established that “the American
Army has always taken the position
that an attack on Canada is equivalent
to an attack on the United States. For
it is axiomatic that such an invasion...
would merely be the prelude to an
assault on the industrial heart of this
country.” Edgar P. Dean, “Canada’s
New Defence Program,” Foreign Affairs
19/1 (October 1940), 236.
22 Debates, 12 February 1947, 346. The
reliance on American protection led
King to retort in Parliament, “The talk
which one sometimes hears of aggres-
sor countries planning to invade Can-
ada...is, to say the least, premature. It
ignores our neighbours...” Debates, 24
May 1938, 3179. This is not to say that
some alarmists did not raise the issue.
The advances in aircraft technology
and the development of transpolar
routes raised the concern of aerial
BERND HORN
bombardment. It was postulated that
industrial centres in Canada could
conceivably be attacked from Europe
by aircraft using the Arctic routes.
These concerns; however, were largely
ignored. See Debates, 13 February 1939,
861-871; Flight Lt. A. Carter, “It Can
be Done,” CDQ 16 (October 1938-July
1939), 54-58; and E.L. H-W, “The Trend
of Air Power,” The Royal Air Force Jour-
nal 10/1 (January 1939), 1-6.
23 Jean Potter, Alaska Under Arms (New
York: Macmillan Company, 1942), 35.
24 Franklin, “Alaska, Outpost of Amer-
ican Defense,” 247.
25 Potter, Alaska Under Arms, 74. Despite
Alaska’s strategic geographic location,
it was the last of the overseas depart-
ments to receive combat planes. S.
Conn, R. Engelman, R.C, and B. Fair-
child, The U.S. Army in World War II.
The Western Hemisphere. Guarding the
United States and Its Outposts (Wash-
ington D.C.: Department of the Army,
1964), 247.
26 Conn, Guarding the United States and Its
Outposts, 392. Alaska was described
as, “Not exactly a soft under belly but
rather the big toe an enemy can stand
on while he slugs you.” M. Young,
“Defence Dilemma on North Frontier,”
Saturday Night, 13 October 1951, 28.
27 Potter, Alaska Under Arms, 35-36. On
13, Potter noted that it took less than
four hours to fly, in a bomber, from the
southern Alaskan bases to Seattle.
28 Canada, Documents on Canadian Exter-
nal Relations (hereafter DCER) 9, 1942-
1943 (Ottawa: External Affairs, 1980),
1180.
29 Desmond Morton, Canada and War: A
Military and Political History (Toronto:
Butterworths, 1981), 110.
30 E.R. Yarham, “The Alaska Highway,”
Royal United Services Institute 87/547
(August 1942), 227. This was reflected
by the concern shown by the Minister
of Parliament for Cariboo in Question
Period following the initial announce-
45
GATEWAY TO INVASION
ments of Japanese occupation of some
islands in the Aleutians. He stated,
“there will be much uneasiness in Brit-
ish Columbia, Alberta and other parts
of Canada....” Debates, 11 June 1942,
3257.
31 Galen R. Perras, “An Aleutian Inter-
lude: Canadian Participation in the
Recapture of the Island of Kiska”
(Unpublished RMC War Studies MA
Thesis, April 1986), 9.
32 “An Appreciation of the Military
World Situation with Particular Re-
gard to its Effect on Canada,” (as of 31
July 1942), completed by the General
Staff (GS), 4 August 1942, 7, National
Archives of Canada (hereafter NA),
Ralston Papers, MG 27, III B11 37.
33 “Brief Appreciation of the Situation as
of 24 Feb 1941,” GS estimate 25 Febru-
ary 1941, 2; and “Japanese Occupation
of the Aleutians Islands,” GS estimate
15 July 1942, 3, NA, Ralston Papers,
MG 27, III B11 37.
34 “Appreciation Re Air Landing
Troops,” 24 January 1942, 2. DHH
112.3M2 (D232).
35 Stacey, Six Years of War, 174-175. At its
peak in June 1943, the Army attained
a strength of 34,316 men on the West
Coast. See also Perras, “Aleutian Inter-
lude,” 3-4.
36 Pope, Soldiers and Politicians, 91.
39 Adrian Preston, “Canada and the
37 Colonel Stanley W. Dziuban, The U.S.
Army in World War II. Special Studies.
Military Relationships Between the United
States and Canada 1939-1945 (Washing-
ton D.C.: Department of the Army,
1959), 199. The United States military
strength in Northwest Canada in late
1942 exceeded 15,000, and in the next
year, when some of the troops had
been replaced by civilian workers, U.S.
civilians alone exceeded that figure.
38 The Ogdensburg agreement (18 Au-
gust 1940) was a result of discussions,
relating to the mutual problems of
defence, between President Roosevelt
and Prime Minister King. King stated,
“The common approach of the govern-
46
ments of Canada and the United States
to the problems of North American
defence was formally recognized in
the Ogdensburg agreement.” Debates,
10 May 1943, 2504. The PJBD consisted
of “four or five members from each
country, most of them from the servi-
ces.” See J.W. Pickersgill, and D.F. For-
ster, The Mackenzie King Record vol. 1
(Toronto: University of Toronto, 1960),
137-142; and Dziuban, Military Rela-
tionships, 22-30. See also “Canada-U.S.
Permanent Joint Board on Defence –
Twenty-Fifth Anniversary,” External
Affairs 17/9, September 1965, 384-388;
and H.L. Keenleyside, “The Canadian-
U.S. Permanent Joint Board of Defence,
1940-1945,” Behind the Scenes 16/1
(Winter 1960-61), 51-75. In regard to
the North-West Staging Route, Howe
described it as, “One of Canada’s
most important airways...composed
of a chain of main aerodromes, with
intermediary fields, extending form
Edmonton to Alaska.” Debates, 28
February 1944. A northeastern staging
route, code named Crimson, was also
developed which was used to ferry
aircraft and supplies to Europe via
northern Canada (The Pas, Churchill,
Fort Chimo, Frobisher Bay, Northern
Quebec), Labrador and Greenland. See
Conn, Guarding the United States and Its
Outposts, 399-403; and Dziuban, Mil-
itary Relationships, 130-133.
Higher Direction of the Second World
War 1939-1945” in Canada’s Defence.
Perspectives on Policy in the Twentieth
Century eds., B.D. Hunt and R.G.
Haycock (Toronto: Copp Clark Pit-
man Ltd., 1993), 116. J.T. Jockel echoed
this assessment, noting: “Canada had
been prepared to accept U.S. direction
of continental defences in early plans
which assumed a defeated Britain and
a retreat to Fortress North America.”
Jockel, “The Military Establishments
and the Creation of NORAD,” in
Canada’s Defence, 166. See also Grant,
Sovereignty or Security?, 131. The im-
pression of a “sense of panic” at the
imminence of Britain’s collapse (as

well as a perceived lack of faith and
loyalty) caused Prime Minister Win-
ston Churchill to initially look upon
the Ogdensburg Agreement in an
unfavourable light. This was reflected
in an uncomplimentary telegram to
King. See Pickersgill, Record vol. 1, 139-
143; and Stacey, Canada and the Age of
Conflict vol. 2 (Toronto: University of
Toronto Press, 1984), 312.
40 Grant, Sovereignty or Security?, 46.
41 K.S. Coates, and W.R. Morrison, The
Alaska Highway in World War II (To-
ronto: University of Toronto, 1992), 25-
26. This source provides an unrivalled
account of the social impact of the
“American invasion” on the Canadian
North.
42 Dziuban, Military Relationships, 53-
54; Cohen, Forgotten War vol. 1, 16-17;
Yarham, “The Alaska Highway,” 227;
G.L. Smith, “War Unlocks Our Last
Frontier – Canada’s Northern Oppor-
tunities,” Maclean’s, 3 April 1943, 11.
43 Stefansson, “Routes to Alaska,” 868.
44 DCER 9, 1942-1943, 1175.
45 DCER 9, 1942-43, 1183. The author,
H.L. Keenleyside noted, “I do not like
the idea of Canada allowing the U.S.
to construct a highway on Canadian
territory (thereby acquiring a moral if
not a legal right to its continued use, at
will, in peace or war).
46 DCER 9, 1942-43, 1183. See also Keen-
leyside, “Canadian-U.S. Permanent
Joint Board of Defence,” 54-55.
47 Stacey, Arms, Men and Governments,
383.
48 Stacey, Arms, Men and Governments,
348; and Dziuban, Military Relation-
ships, 220-221.
49 Stacey, Arms, Men and Governments,
348; Grant, Sovereignty or Security?
74-78; and Dziuban, Military Relation-
ships, 41.
50 Grant, Sovereignty or Security?, 76.
51 Stacey, Arms, Men and Governments,
383.
BERND HORN
52 Grant, Sovereignty or Security?, 123.
53 Mackenzie King Diaries, Queen’s
University Archives (QA), File (Micro-
fiche) T172 (21 March 1942).
54 Grant, Sovereignty or Security?, 82-86;
O.B. Hopkins, “The ‘CANOL’ Project,”
Canadian Geographical Journal 27/5
(November 1943), 241; Cohen, Forgotten
War vol. 1, 34-38; and W.O. Kupech,
“The Wells and CANOL: A Visit after
25 Years,” Canadian Geographical Jour-
nal (1968), 137-139. The eventual price
tag for the project was $134,000,000.00.
55 Coates and Morrison, Alaska Highway,
36. See also Dziuban, Military Relation-
ships, 229; and Cohen, Forgotten War
vol. 2, 30.
56 Pope, Soldiers and Politicians, 219.
57 Donald Creighton, The Forked Road
(Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1976),
73. See also D. Grant, “CANOL – A
Ghost From the Past,” Alternatives 9/2
(Spring 1980), 23.
58 Grant, “CANOL,” 23; Dziuban, Military
Relationships, 214; and R.S. Finnie, “The
Origin of CANOL’s Mackenzie Air
Fields,” Arctic 33/2 (June 1980), 274-277.
59 Vincent Massey, What’s Past is Prologue
(Toronto: Macmillan Company of
Canada Ltd., 1963), 371.
60 Massey, What’s Past is Prologue, 372.
Creighton commented, “All too often
they behaved as if they were on their
own soil, or on a separate but tributary
and submissive part of the Empire
of the United States...” Creighton, 73.
Stacey noted, “Canadian officials were
often troubled by a tendency on the
part of Americans to disregard Can-
adian sovereignty. American officers
and officials...were sometimes as little
disposed to worry about respecting
Canadian national rights...and acted
as if they were on their own soil.”
Arms, Men and Governments, 385.
61 Stacey, Six Years of War, 145-183.
Lieutenant-General Pope stated, “The
threat to Canada was less than minor,
and insignificant as it was, it was creat-
47
GATEWAY TO INVASION
ed almost entirely by the overwrought
imagination of too many of our other-
wise sane and sensible people.” Sol-
diers and Politicians, 180, 219. See also
Nils Orvik, Canada’s Northern Secur-
ity: The Eastern Dimension (Kingston:
Queen’s University, 1982), 2.
62 Stacey, Canada and the Age of Conflict
vol. 2, 362. Trevor Lloyd, assigned
to the Wartime Information Board,
reported that it was apparent that
the Americans were far advanced in
their study of the Canadian Arctic. He
noted that the American Army “was
deeply entrenched in the north and
that they have first class research fa-
cilities and an Arctic information cen-
tre.” He added, “We have nothing.”
Grant, Sovereignty or Security?, 122.
Norman Robertson exclaimed, “The
American presence had been allowed
to grow in a fit of absence of mind”
and he recommended that “a good,
competent Canadian staff would
have to be sent to the area, capable of
collaborating with and controlling
American development activities.”
J.L Granatstein, Canada’s War: The Pol-
itics of the Mackenzie King Government
1939-1945 (Toronto: Oxford University
Press, 1975), 322.
63 Coates and Morrison, Alaska Highway,
36.
64 Pickersgill, Record vol 1, 396.
65 Mackenzie King Diaries, QA, file T172
(18 March 1942).
66 Massey, What’s Past is Prologue, 396.
Minutes from the Cabinet War Com-
mittee meeting on 7 April 1943 record-
ed, “It was feared that despite these
agreements the United States, after
the war, might seek to base an equit-
able claim to special concessions upon
these large expenditures in Canada.
DCER 9, 1942-43, 1259. King also noted
a similar conversation with Malcolm
MacDonald in his diary. He wrote, “I
said we’re going to have a hard time
after the war to prevent the U.S. at-
tempting control of some situations.
He [MacDonald] said already they
48
speak jokingly of their men as an army
of occupation.” Mackenzie King Diar-
ies, 29 March 1943.
67 Massey, What’s Past is Prologue, 396.
68 Pickersgill, Record vol 1, 644.
69 DCER 18, 1952, 1201.
70 “Sovereignty in the Canadian Arctic
in Relation to Joint Defence Under-
takings,” 29 May 1946, DHH 112.3M2
(D213).
71 Debates, 10 May 1943, 2504. The com-
missioner, Brigadier W.W. Foster,
reported directly to the War Cabinet
Committee. See also Grant, “CANOL,”
24.
72 Prime Minister King stated, “To
carry out joint plans for the defence
of this continent, and to facilitate the
transportation of war materials to
fighting fronts, the Canadian govern-
ment has agreed to the stationing of
United States military units at certain
places on Canadian territory...It is not
contemplated that the contributions
which the United States is thus mak-
ing to the common defence will give
that country any continuing rights in
Canada after the conclusion of war.”
Debates, 29 January 1943, 20-21.
73 Grant, Sovereignty or Security?, 132;
Conn, Guarding the United States and
Its Outposts, 403-404; and Stacey, Arms,
Men and Governments, 381.
74 Debates, 1 July 1938, 4527.
75 DCER 11, 1944-45, 1570. See also L.B.
Pearson, “Canada Looks ‘Down
North,’” Foreign Affairs 24/4 (July 1946),
641-643. In 1969, SCEAND reiterated
the importance of “paying your own
way” and denounced the “free ride
theory.” The committee was convinced
that Canada must be prepared to incur
reasonable expenditures for its own
defence in order to maintain its in-
dependence and freedom of action as
a nation, and to ensure that Canadian
interests are taken into account when
continental defence measures are be-
ing taken. Cited in E.J. Dosman, ed.,

The Arctic in Question (Toronto: Oxford
University Press, 1976), 90.
76 Morton, Canada and War, 156.
77 DCER 11, 1944-45, 1570. Defence ana-
lyst R.J. Sutherland echoed those same
observations seventeen years later
when he observed, “Canada must
not become through military weak-
ness or otherwise a direct threat to
American security. If this were to hap-
pen, Canada’s right to existence as an
independent nation would be placed
in jeopardy.” “Canada’s Long Term
Strategic Situation,” International Jour-
nal 17/3 (Summer 1962), 202. A group
of twenty influential Canadians (pol-
iticians, scholars, bureaucrats) reached
this same conclusion in July 1940. They
wrote A Program of Immediate Can-
adian Action, which stated in part, “A
United States bent on large-scale prep-
arations for its own defence and that of
the hemisphere would be determined
to take adequate measures wherever
they might be needed. If concerned
about the inadequacy of the meagre
Canadian defences, it might and prob-
ably would insist on acting to augment
them. Canada would have to co-oper-
ate voluntarily or involuntarily.” Cited
in Dziuban, Military Relationships, 18.
78 Swettenham, McNaughton vol.1, 176.
79 P. Buteux, “NATO and the Evolution
of Canadian Defence and Foreign
Policy,” in Canada’s International Se-
curity Policy eds., D.B. Dewitt and D.
Leyton-Brown (Scarborough, ON:
Prentice Hall, 1995), 160-161. R.J. Suth-
erland commented, “in the final analy-
sis, the security of the United States
is the security of Canada.” “Canada’s
Long Term Strategic Situation,” 203.
80 Pickersgill, Record vol. 1, 203.
81 Grant, Sovereignty or Security?, 156.
82 USAAF Study on Problems of Joint
Defence in the Arctic, 29 October 1946,
quoted in Grant, Sovereignty or Secur-
ity?, 302-311.
83 DCER 11, 1944-45, 1535.
BERND HORN
84 M.A. Conant, The Long Polar Watch:
Canada and the Defence of North America
(New York: Harper and Brothers, 1962),
73. General Foulkes wrote, “Canada
cannot negate geography. Canada is
physically joined to the United States
just like Siamese twins. If one of the
twins gets hurt the other one suffers.”
“Canadian Defence Policy,” 10. Even
Nikita Khrushchev later stated, “This
time Canada would not be geograph-
ically secure.” Norman Hillmer, and
J.L. Granatstein, Empire to Umpire:
Canada and the World to the 1990s (To-
ronto: Copp Clark Longman, 1994),
221. Pearson observed, “In 1946 there
is no isolation – even in the Arctic
ice.” Pearson, “Canada Looks Down
North,” 647.
85 The new perceived vulnerability was
the result of “the principal advance-
ments in the science of war,” namely,
“The increased range of application of
destructive power and armed force re-
sulting from the development of mod-
ern aircraft, amphibious technique,
guided missiles, and advancement in
technique of submarine warfare, as
well as the increased destructive cap-
acity of weapons such as the atomic
bomb, rockets, and instruments of
biological warfare.” DCER 12, 1946,
1617-1618.
86 During the 1947 May Day flyover of
Red Square, the Russians revealed
that they now had bombers (copied
from an American B-29 that made an
emergency landings in the U.S.S.R.
during the war) capable of striking the
United States. J.T. Jockel, “The Canada-
United States Military Co-operation
Committee and Continental Air De-
fence, 1946,” Canadian Historical Review
64 (1983), 352, 355. See also House of
Commons Debates Official Report –
The Defence Programme, 5 February
1951, 1.
87 DCER 12, 1946, 1618-1623, and 15, 1949,
1560-1561, 1566-1567. See also Sean M.
Maloney, “The Mobile Striking Force
and Continental Defence 1948-1955,”
49
GATEWAY TO INVASION
Canadian Military History 2/2 (Autumn
1993), 76.
88 Maloney, “Mobile Striking Force,” 76.
See also “If the Russians Attack Can-
ada,” Maclean’s, 15 June 1951, 8-9, 68.
89 See Ron Purver, “The Arctic in Can-
adian Security Policy,” in Canada’s
International Security Policy 82. Colin
Gray also stated, “There is no doubt
that in the late 1940’s Canadian-United
States differences over the scale of
‘the threat’ were quite considerable.”
Canadian Defence Priorities: A Question
of Relevance (Toronto: Clarke, Irwin &
Company, 1972), 71. Stacey observed,
“Canadian ministers, officials and
officers were probably somewhat less
disposed than their American oppos-
ite numbers to believe that the USSR
intended to attack the West...” Canada
and the Age of Conflict vol. 2, 406.
90 DCER 14, 1948, 1581.
91 DCER 14, 1948, 1581-1582. A memoran-
dum from the MND to PM, in 1947,
reiterated this belief. He wrote, “...
war is improbable in the next five or
even ten years...” DCER 13 (1947), 1482.
Furthermore, Ernest Ropes of the U.S.
Department of Commerce stated that
Russia’s industrial production would
be “insufficient to support a war
against the U.S.A. for at least 25 years.”
J.W. Warnock, Partner to Behemoth (To-
ronto: New Press, 1970), 50.
92 James Eayrs, Defence of Canada. Grow-
ing Up Allied (Toronto: University of
Toronto Press, 1985), 6.
93 DCER 11 (1944-45), 1534.
94 “Intelligence Aspects – PJBD Can-
ada – U.S.A.,” 15 October 1946, DHH
112.3M2 (D213).
95 “Political Appreciation of the Object-
ives of the Soviet Foreign Policy,” 30
November 1946. LAC, Claxton Papers,
MG 32 95, Box 5, File: Canada – U.S.
Defence Collaboration.
96 “Political Appreciation,” 30 November
1946.
97 Debates, 5 February 1951, 77.
50
98 Debates, 12 February 1951, 267.
99 Debates, 8 May 1951, 2833. The shrill
screams of fear included such mani-
festations as claims that “We also have
no reason to believe that the Russians
have not at this time, somewhere in
the north, set up camouflaged rocket
installations. It is not entirely beyond
the realm of possibility;” and “We
have no reason to believe they could
not send suicide bombing missions,
and if they did central Canada would
make a beautiful target.” Debates, 8
May 1951, 2834.
100 Debates, 12 February 1951, 260. The
government program called for an
armed force of 115,000 men and an ex-
penditure of $5 billion. See also House
of Commons Debates Official Report –
The Defence Programme, 5 February
1951, 1-7; Canada’s Defence Programme
1951-52, 5-10; and Desmond Morton, A
Military History of Canada, 3rd ed. (To-
ronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1994),
233-237.
101 Eayrs, Peacemaking and Deterrence,
100, 107, 401. See also D.J. Bercuson,
True Patriot: The life of Brooke Claxton
(Toronto: University of Toronto Press,
1993), 195; and DCER 11, 1944-45, 1583.
102 Debates, 9 July 1947, 5270; and Canada,
Canada’s Defence (Ottawa: DND, 1947),
7.
103 Debates,17 June 1955, 4925. One mil-
itary officer stated, “In Canada’s
northern regions there was no place to
go from a military point of view and
nothing to do when you got there.”
Dosman, Arctic in Question, 23.
104 Debates, 8 May 1951, 2834-2835.
105 Sutherland, “Canada’s Long Term
Strategic Situation,” 209.
106 “Composition of Mobile Striking Force
for Defence of Canada,” 3 December
1948; and “Appreciation on the Mobile
Striking Force,” 13 May 1949, DHH
112.3M2 (D369).
107 Defence Scheme No. 3 – Major War,
Chapter V, “The Direct Defence of

Canada,” 16 September 1948, Appen-
dix A, 2 & 4, DHH 112.3M2 (D10).
108 “The Employment of the MSF for
Reduction of Enemy Lodgements in
Canada,” 2 May 1950, DHH 112.3M2
(D400)
109 DCER 174, 1951, 1249.
110 Pickersgill, Record vol. 3, 370.
111 Eayrs, Peacekeeping and Deterrence, 344.
112 Debates, 15 April 1953, 3920.
113 Alan Harvey, “Scorched Ice Policy,”
Globe and Mail, 27 November 1948,
114 DCER 12, 1946, 1560; DCER 14, 1948,
1518; Canada, Report on the Department
of National Defence, 1949 (Ottawa: DND
1939), 12; Canada, Winter Warfare
Research Program, Exercise Eskimo
(Ottawa: DND, 1945); H.A. Halliday,
“Recapturing the North. Exercises
‘Eskimo,’ ‘Polar Bear,’ and ‘Lemming’
1945,” Canadian Military History 6/2
(1997), 29-38; and Canada, Winter Ex-
ercise Musk-Ox 1946 (Ottawa: DND,
1947); Debates, 24 June 1948, 5785 and
21 May 1954, 4953; Canada’s Defence
Programme(s), 1949-1957; The Defence of
Canada, 1955, 4-5; and Maloney, “Mo-
bile Striking Force,” 75-86; Report on
the Department of National Defence, 1952,
53; Doug Holmes, “The North’s Own
Canadian Rangers,” UP HERE (Febru-
ary/March 1987), 60-63; J. Honderich,
Arctic Imperative: Is Canada Losing the
North? (Toronto: University of Toronto
Press, 1987), 31-33; Canada, Canada’s
Territorial Air Defence, 5; J.J. Sokolsky,
“A Seat at the Table: Canada and its
Alliances,” in Canada’s Defence, 150-152;
Purver, “Arctic in Canadian Security
Policy,” 85-87; Morton, Military History,
240. Participation in the DEW Line
project elicited great storms of protest
which raised the issue of military vas-
salage. A Maclean’s editorial stated,
“DEW is on Canadian soil, but it will
serve primarily American rather than
Canadian defence purposes.” 6 August
1955, 2. Another article stated “For a
sum of money that has been officially
estimated at four hundred million dol-
BERND HORN
lars we have at least temporarily traded
off our northern frontier. In law we still
own this northern frontier. In fact we
do not...In return for the luxury of not
spending money on the Dewline we
Canadians have surrendered some-
thing that for the last generation we
have regarded as our greatest necessity,
our independence.” Ralph Allen, “Will
Dewline Cost Canada Its Northland,”
Maclean’s, 26 May 1956, 16-17, 68-70.
115 DCER 15, 1949, 1471.
116 DCER 18, 1952, 1197-1198. It was
noted that “U.S. activities now far
surpass those of Canada, and there
have been numerous incidents of U.S.
military personnel throwing their
weight about.” DCER 18 (1952), 1117,
1195-1196. G.W. Smith noted, “a mas-
sive and quasi-permanent American
presence in the Canadian North such
as we have seen during and since
World War II could in due course lead,
gradually and almost imperceptibly,
to such an erosion or disintegration
of Canadian sovereignty that the real
authority in the region, in fact if not
in law would be American.” In R.St.J.
Macdonald, ed., The Arctic Frontier
(Toronto: University of Toronto Press,
1966), 213. The Secretary of State for
External Affairs, during a briefing to
Cabinet reiterated the danger of de
facto American control as a result of
increased American activities in the
Arctic which would “present greater
risks of misunderstandings, incidents
and infringements of Canadian sover-
eignty.” DCER 19, 1953, 1048.
117 The Canadian Forum 27/318 (July 1947),
75. Colin Gray claimed that “the only
plausible challenger to the writ of
Canadian law in the Arctic is Canada’s
principal ally, the United States.” Can-
adian Defence Priorities, 128.
118 DCER 11, 1944-45, 1535.
119 Debates, 21 May 1954, 4951. See also
Canada, The Defence of Canada (Ot-
tawa: DND, 1955), 2; and Canada,
Defence 1959 (Ottawa: DND, 1959), 10.
The emphasis on air was obvious.
51
GATEWAY TO INVASION
Proportion of monies, for the different
services was broken down as follows:
navy – 15.7%; army – 15.7%; air force –
41.4% (remainder spent on mutual aid,
research, and other), 6. House of Com-
mons Debates Official Report – The
Defence Programme, 20 May 1954.
120 Debates, 17 June 1955, 4925. It was also
stated, “we have to discard from any
realistic thinking any possibility of an
attack by ground forces on the area of
Canada either by air or by sea.” The
belief was that “any attack on Canada
will be in essence part of an attack
on the United States,” and it would
be part of “a world war, a total war.”
Debates, 17 June 1955, 4925, and 24 June
1948, 5783. See also Canada’s Defence
Programme 1949-50; Sutherland, “Can-
ada’s Long Term Strategic Situation,”
271; and A. Brewin, Stand on Guard.
The Search for a Canadian Defence Policy
(Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1965),
53-54.
121 The change was reflected in the Can-
adian Defence Programme annual
reports. Reports from 1949-1955 spoke
of the need to repel “surprise attacks.”
In 1956, the wording was changed and
reflected the down graded danger. It
now stated that forces were required
to an ambiguous “deal with possible
enemy lodgements.” Another subtle
change was the change in focus of the
aim of Canada’s defence programme.
Wordage changed from “defence of
Canada from direct attack” to “pro-
vide for the security of Canada.”
122 Statement by the Honourable Paul T.
Hellyer, MND, to the Special Com-
mittee on Defence, June 27, 1963, 1. See
also Canada, Territorial Defence, 5-7;
Macdonald, 271-272.
123 Special Committee on Defence – Min-
utes of Proceedings and Evidence, 22
October 1963 (Ottawa: Queen’s Printer,
1963), 503.
124 Eyre, “Forty Years of Military Activ-
ity,” 296.
125 Gray, Canadian Defence Priorities, 185.
52
126 Maxwell Cohen, “The Arctic and Na-
tional Interest,” International Journal
26/1 (Winter 1970-1971), 72. The gov-
ernment tried to place a favourable
spin on the event. Both Prime Minis-
ter Pierre Eliot Trudeau and External
Affairs Minister Mitchell Sharp stated
publicly that they “concurred with
the project.” Nevertheless, their ap-
proval was never sought and the re-
search information was never shared.
See Debates, 15 May 1969, 8721; and
Globe and Mail, 18 September 1969, A7.
Sharp explained that a large part of
the problem lay in Canada’s fear that
its claims to the Arctic archipelago
and adjacent waters, specifically the
Northwest Passage which was disput-
ed by the Americans, may be defeated
in an international tribunal. Sharp
stated, “the government continued
to feel that a blunt declaration of
sovereignty would invite a challenge
from the United States, a challenge
for which Canada, equipped only
with legal and historical arguments
of less than conclusive force, might be
ill-prepared.” Canadian Annual Review
for 1970, 350. External Affairs had
always candidly noted, “Due to the
desolate nature of the areas in ques-
tion, these claims have little support
on the grounds of effective occupa-
tion, settlement or development. Thus
while Canada’s claims to sovereignty
to these regions have not heretofore
been seriously challenged, they are
at best somewhat tenuous and weak.”
DCER 12 (1946), 1556. See also Grant,
Sovereignty or Security?, 178 & 307; L.C.
Green, “Canada and Arctic Sover-
eignty,” Canadian Bar Review 68/4
(December 1970), 740-775; Globe and
Mail, 12 March 1970, A1; and Dosman,
Arctic in Question, 34-57.
127 External Affairs 21/6 (June 1969), 253.
128 Globe and Mail, 18 September 1969, A7.
129 Canadian Annual Review for 1970, 362;
Debates, 21 May 1971, 6054; and Can-
ada, Defence 1971 (Ottawa: DND, 1972),
59-60. General J.V. Allard confirmed
that the establishment of the new

headquarters was a direct result of
the Manhattan incident. J.V. Allard,
The Memoirs of General Jean V. Allard
(Vancouver: UBC Press, 1988), 291. See
also Dan G. Loomis, Not Much Glory
(Toronto: Deneau, 1984), 69; Purver,
“Arctic in Canadian Security Policy,”
88-90.
130 Canada, Defence in the 70s. See also
Canada, Canada’s Territorial Air De-
fence, 31; and Nils Orvik, Canadian
Defence Policy: Choices and Directions
(Kingston: Queen’s University, 1980),
1-2. He felt that the “so-called ‘north-
ern orientation’ in Canadian defence
policy was never well defined in
terms of defence objective and deploy-
ments.” Joel Sokolsky commented,
“the general thrust of the Trudeau
policies was to de-emphasize col-
lective defence in favour of national
sovereignty protection.” Defending
Canada (New York: Priority Press Pub-
lications, 1989), 5.
131 Canadian Annual Review for 1970, 363.
Professor Bland revealed that Donald
Macdonald, the MND, “found military
advice unhelpful, if not antagonistic.
He directed the preparation of the 1971
White Paper without military advice.”
D. Bland, The Administration of Defence
Policy in Canada 1947-1985 (Kingston:
R. P. Frye & Co., 1987), 213.
132 “A Draft Study of the Future Inter-
national Scene,” 5 April 1968, 4 & 8.
DHH 112.11.003 (D3), Box 3.
133 R.B. Byers and M. Slack, eds., The Can-
adian Strategic Review, 1985-1986 (To-
ronto: CISS, 1988), 126-128; Sokolsky,
Defending Canada, 13; and J.T. Jockel, Se-
curity to the North: Canada-U.S. Defence
Relationships in the 1990s (East Lansing:
Michigan State University Press, 1991),
30-31.
134 Byers, Strategic Review 1985-1986, 130.
135 M.A. Conant, “The Long Polar Watch:
An American Perspective on Canada’s
Defence of Its Arctic,” American Review
of Canadian Studies 18/3 (Autumn 1988),
373.
BERND HORN
136 Canada, Challenge and Commitment –
A Defence Policy for Canada (Ottawa:
DND, June 1987), II.
137 Challenge and Commitment, 23.
138 Challenge and Commitment, 55-56. Erik
Nielsen (MND 1985) stated, “I want
to emphasize the importance of fully
exercising sovereignty in our north.
The DEW Line has served Canada
well, but Canadians do not control
it...The North Warning System will
be a Canadian-controlled system-
operated, maintained and manned by
Canadians. Sovereignty in our north
will be strengthened and assured for
the future.” Debates, 13 March 1985.
139 Challenge and Commitment, 50-55 &
60; Byers, Strategic Review 1985-1986,
128-131, and 1987, 106; and Honderich,
Arctic Imperative, 78-80.
140 Challenge and Commitment, 6.
141 Paul George, “Arctic defence too hard
to handle?” Globe and Mail, 12 March
1987, A7.
142 Honderich, Arctic Imperative, 90.
143 Jockel, Security to the North, 162. For
a description of the difficulties of
submarine operations in the North
see W.G. Lalore, W.G. “Submarine
Through the North Pole,” National Geo-
graphic Magazine (January 1959), 2-24;
and J.F. Calvert, “Up Through the Ice
of the North Pole,” National Geographic
Magazine (July 1959), 1-41.
144 Jockel, Security to the North, 193. He
also stated that “the emphasis on
sovereignty protection can pose two
long term future problems for the
United States. First, Canada can devote
its very scarce military resources to
presence rather than military mission,
knowing that the United States can be
counted on, in the final analysis, for
defence.”
145 Canada, 1994 Defence White Paper (Ot-
tawa: DND, 1994), 15.
146 Canada, Defence Planning Guidance
1998 (Ottawa: DND, 1997), 1-1.
53
Calgary Papers in Military and Strategic Studies, Occasional Paper No. 4, 2011
Canadian Arctic Sovereignty and Security: Historical Perspectives Pages 55–68

“The Army of Occupation”: Americans

in the Canadian Northwest During
World War II
Ken S. Coates and William R. Morrison

W
ar has remarkable capacity to transform, and not only the lives
of soldiers and civilians in its path. The most familiar manifesta-
tions of its power are the horrifying results of combat: mass death,
widespread destruction, and the attending economic and social dislocation.
But war brings many other changes, both to vanquished and perhaps less
obviously to victor. In the economic realm alone, there is the construction of
military facilities that can be adapted for civilian postwar uses, tremendous
geographical and industrial shifts in public and private sector investment,
population displacement based on new employment opportunities, new
gender roles, new purchasing patterns or limitations, and the like.
Gerald Nash, in his path-breaking book The American West Transformed:
The Impact of World War II (1985), has described how that war brought sweep-
ing changes into hitherto isolated parts of the United States. The most strik-
ing example of this process to take place in Canada during World War II oc-
curred in the far northwest of the country. As in the United States, it occurred
not through direct military engagement but rather through the economic
and social impact of defense construction, specifically through the invasion
of the Canadian Northwest by a massive military and civilian “army of oc-
cupation.”
The United States had long maintained a watching brief on the Canadian
Northwest. Interest in the region, which began with the purchase of Alaska
from the Russians in 1867 and peaked during the Klondike gold rush of 1897-
1899, was based on the recognition that British Columbia and the Yukon stood
astride the logical path of communication between Alaska and the lower 48
states. This recognition, over the years, had stimulated a number of sugges-
tions (most originating in Alaska) for road and railway projects to link Alaska
to the south. but the Territory’s small population and the rapid decline of the
Yukon stifled southern interest in the region. There had been some renewed
activity during the late 1930s as the Canadian government began to build the
Northwest Staging Route – a string of airfields from Edmonton, Alberta. to

© Centre for Military and Strategic Studies http://cmss.ucalgary.ca/ 55

“THE ARMY OF OCCUPATION”

Whitehorse and on to Alaska. But few outside the region paid much attention
to the vast sub-Arctic expanse that lay to the northwest of the Alberta capital.
This indifference vanished within a few days of the Japanese attack on
Pearl Harbor. With frantic demands for protection from the Pacific Coast
states pouring into Washington, the American government quickly drew up
plans for the defense of Alaska and the northwest flank of the continent,
plans that become even more urgent when in 1942 the Japanese actually oc-
cupied American soil--the Aleutian islands of Kiska and Attu. Following a
brief study and pro forma negotiations with the Canadian government, the
United States announced in February 1942 that a road would be built con-
necting Alaska with the southern highway grid. The route chosen for the
road (and there were several hotly competing plans) followed the existing
and planned line of airfields from Edmonton to Fairbanks. The Alaska-
Canada (ALCAN) or, as it was soon called, the Alaska Highway, became the
cornerstone of a massive American effort in the region.
Although it was this highway that received most of the attention dur-
ing the war and after, the road was only one element in America’s plans for
the Canadian Northwest. Taking what later proved to be very bad advice,
the U.S. government also launched the CANOL Project, a scheme to develop
the oil field at Norman Wells on the Mackenzie River in the Northwest
Territories and to build a pipeline to carry the oil nearly 600 miles across
the Richardson Mountains to a refinery in Whitehorse. From this refinery,
which had to be constructed from scratch, shorter pipelines would carry pet-
roleum products along the Alaska Highway and down to the Pacific Coast at
Skagway. The American authorities also undertook to expand the Northwest
Staging Route into a much larger network, designed (after the summer of
1942) to handle convoys of military planes ferried from American factories
to Fairbanks, where they were turned over to Russian pilots for use on the
Eastern front. There were a host of ancillary projects, such as a connecting
road from the Alaska Highway to tidewater at Haines, Alaska, airfields and
docking facilities along the Mackenzie River to supply the CANOL Project,
a telephone system for the region, and a myriad of warehouses, dormitories,
service facilities, garages, and other such structures. Eventually about 40,000
military and civilian workers would work on these projects.
This was not the first “invasion” of the Canadian Northwest, or even
perhaps the most famous. At the end of the last century, the discovery of
gold at Rabbit, now Bonanza, Creek near present day Dawson City touched
off the great Klondike gold rush. Tens of thousands of prospectors flooded
the region, raising its non-native population from zero in 1870 to about

56
 KEN S. COATES AND WILLIAM R. MORRISON

40,000 in 1898. Communities sprang up, and a transportation system was

developed with steamboats plying the Yukon River, a railroad running from
Whitehorse to Skagway, and another railroad operating for a dozen years be-
tween Dawson City and the gold-bearing creeks, a hydroelectric system, and
a telegraph line to the outside world – the infrastructure for an industrial-age
frontier economy. But the gold- bearing creeks were quickly stripped of their
richest deposits, and it soon became uneconomical to work them by hand. By
1900, industrial capital was moving in to replace and displace the individual
prospectors of Western legend, and massive dredges were chewing up the
creeks where the Klondikers had worked their sluice boxes. The population
began to shrink, reaching a low of just over 4,100 (of whom only 2,500 were
non-native) by the early 1920s. By the outbreak of World War II, it was still
under 5,000, and the region had been all but forgotten with only the popular
writings of Robert Service and Jack London sustaining its mythology.
And the Yukon, despite it somnolence, was one of the busier regions in
the Canadian Northwest. Northern Alberta and the Mackenzie River Valley
had boomed briefly following the discovery of oil at Norman Wells in 1920;
but as was all too common in the North the promise of economic develop-
ment proved false; since there was plenty of oil in southern Alberta and in
Texas, it was not economically feasible to bring northern oil to market. Thus,
a pipeline to the south was not built for another 60 years. The Peace River
country northwest of Edmonton, which had been settled after World War I,
had attracted fugitives from the prairie Dust Bowl during the Depression but
had not boomed as its promoters had hoped. Edmonton had touted itself as
the gateway to the North and had achieved a population on the eve of war of
about 90,000; but this was due more to its role as provincial capital than to its
northerly location. Northern British Columbia was largely undeveloped. The
provincial road system petered out where farmland turned to bush a few
miles north of Fort St. John; north of that, the land was still trapping country,
where the native people pursued their traditional hunting and gathering
way of life.
Much of this was changed by the war and the arrival of the Americans.
Within a month of the decision to build the Alaska Highway, engineers and
support crews arrived in the region, followed by thousands, then tens of thou-
sands, of military and civilian workers. Almost overnight the isolation and
economic depression that had gripped the region were swept away. The first
to arrive on the scene were members of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers,
who had the responsibility for the construction of the initial pioneer road to
Alaska and the preliminary work on the CANOL Project. They were soon

57
“THE ARMY OF OCCUPATION”

followed by a large group of civilian workers, mostly American but with a

good proportion of Canadians, whose job was to bring the Army’s rough
road up to civilian standards, to complete the pipeline and the refinery, and
to finish the other projects in the region.

Map 2. From William R. Morrison and Kenneth A. Coates, Working the North: Labor and the
Northwest Defense Projects 1942-1946 (Anchorage: University of Alaska Press, 1994).

58
 KEN S. COATES AND WILLIAM R. MORRISON

The communities in the path of these projects were almost instantly

transformed by them. Whitehorse, a seasonal transportation village that was
to become the key regional administrative center for the highway, saw its
population grow from less than 800 to more than 10,000 between March and
May of 1942. Dawson Creek and Fort Nelson, small villages in northeastern
British Columbia, saw their populations double and redouble. Tiny places
like Fort Smith, Waterways, Norman Wells, and Watson Lake were trans-
formed from isolated trading posts into important construction depots.
Though some communities mushroomed, at least one withered as a re-
sult of the construction projects. Dawson City, then the capital of the Yukon
and the Territory’s commercial as well as administrative center, was bypassed
by the Alaska Highway, which ran more than 300 miles south of it. Except for
some Yukon River barges, which went by the town loaded with construction
equipment, there was no benefit to Dawson City from the defense projects.
In fact, the opposite was true. The relatively high wages paid to the civil-
ian workers on the highway drew workers away from the Klondike mines.
Several local businesses – the dry cleaner, the glazier, and others – moved
to Whitehorse to share in the prosperity. Whitehorse ended the war with a
population of 3,600, while its northern rival had declined from about 1,500 to
less than 700. Whitehorse had highway connections to the rest of the contin-
ent, while Dawson City was not connected to the Canadian highway system
until 1955 (a road from Dawson City west to Alaska was built in 1951). In 1953
the Territorial capital was moved south to the town on the Alaska Highway,
while Dawson was barely kept alive by the gold mining industry. It was re-
vived as a tourist destination in the 1960s by large infusions of government
money, but its permanent year-round population today is not much more
than 1,000, while Whitehorse exceeds 20,000.
Had the Alaska Highway planners chosen a more central route, which
many people had recommended and which would have made more eco-
nomic sense than the present one, the figures today would be reversed. The
greatest single change brought about by the Americans was to the town of
Whitehorse. As mentioned, the highway eventually made it the new capital
of the Yukon, but it was also physically transformed. Into a sleepy village
with one cafe, no sewage or water supply system, a doubtful supply of elec-
tricity, and a telephone system that had no connection to the outside world,
marched 10,000 newcomers. The cafe was overwhelmed, and new ones went
up overnight. The small hotels and boarding houses were swamped, and men
rented rooms by the eight-hour shift or slept on the floor. The small govern-
ment liquor store (the sale of liquor is a government monopoly everywhere

59
“THE ARMY OF OCCUPATION”

in Canada) was besieged by long lines of thirsty customers. Bootleggers

and prostitutes arrived in town, and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police
increased the size of its detachment to keep them under control. By 1945,
Whitehorse had changed forever, and the town was left with an array of
modern facilities, as well as the largest number of baseball fields per capita of
any community in Canada. Nine years later, Pierre Berton, Canada’s leading
popular historian and a native of the Yukon, described the town as

a cluttered hodgepodge of wartime jerry building, a wild mel-

ange of tarpaper shacks, outhouses, bunk- houses, Quonset huts,
corrugated iron lean-tos . . . all mingled with piles of salvaged
lumber and piping, rusted hulks of trucks and bulldozers, and
scattered heaps of old oil drums. This was the mess left behind by
the army…. Whitehorse was still cleaning up after them.1

The impact of the Alaska Highway and related projects on the native
people of the Canadian Northwest is a topic of some debate today. One
school of thought holds that the highway marked a watershed in the lives of
the natives; and there is a good deal of evidence to support this view. Some
native people of the southern Yukon suffered in a dramatic and terrible way
from the arrival of outsiders. Although they had been in periodic contact
with traders and miners for a century before the highway was built, it had
always taken newcomers weeks to travel in the north, by which time they
were presumably no longer in the infectious stage of whatever disease they
carried. In 1942, the natives were thrust into contact with people who had
flown into their country in a single day from the United States. The result
was a wave of epidemics like measles, mumps, whooping cough, hepatitis,
meningitis, and influenza – the community of Teslin experienced eight of
them in the winter of 1942-1943. In that year the native population of the
region actually declined, as deaths, particularly of children, outnumbered
births.
There was also a sexual aspect to the American invasion. In the 800 miles
of bush country between Dawson Creek, British Columbia, and Whitehorse,
and between Whitehorse and the Alaska border, there was a very small
resident white population, only a few hundred at most, concentrated in
small settlements like Fort Nelson and Fort St. John. There were almost no
single white women outside of these communities. Of the tens of thousands
of military and civilian workers, almost all of them lonely and bored, there
was a small number prepared to prey on native women, given the chance.

60
 KEN S. COATES AND WILLIAM R. MORRISON

Although the American authorities made strenuous efforts by means of

recreational activities, stern warnings, and harsh punishments to deflect or
prevent the exploitation of native women, there were a number of incidents
of sexual molestation.
During the war there were a few assaults on native women as well as
two or three cases of assault on white women. The offenders were dealt
with swiftly and harshly (specifically the isolated incident in which a black
soldier was accused of assaulting a white woman), partly because of the
racist atmosphere in which they took place and partly because they were
a diplomatic embarrassment to the United States. The American authorities
wanted to avoid giving offense to the Canadians and wished to be seen as
good neighbors and good allies.
Although some women worked on the Northwest defense projects, the
majority served in clerical positions in Edmonton, the main administrative
center, or in one of the regional centers like Whitehorse or Dawson Creek.
Only a very small number worked in isolated camps as clerks, cooks, and
nurses, and their living quarters were rigidly segregated. These women
were very much in demand for dances and social outings arranged by the
authorities to give some semblance of a normal social life in the wilderness.
One woman who worked in Whitehorse during the war remembered it as
“paradise for a young girl, with all these men around... you had a date with a
different fellow every night... We were flown into different air force stations
around for weekends... they’d really show us a good time.”2
On the whole, however, there was far less sexual activity between the
Americans and the local population in the far Northwest than in other the-
aters during the war. Most of the evidence for this assertion is anecdotal,
but a telling statistic was that the venereal disease rate for the troops in the
region varied between three and five cases per thousand per year, a figure
that was only 10 percent of that for the entire U.S. Army (42 cases per thou-
sand), and the majority of such cases occurred among troops returning to the
North from leave in the lower 48 states. The basic cause for this low statistic
was the lack of sexual opportunity – the region was so isolated and sparsely
populated that there were not even enough prostitutes to cause the author-
ities much worry.
Although from one perspective the Northwest defense projects were
seen to have a lasting influence on the region, from another perspective, they
can be seen as having only a short-term effect on the native people (apart
from the mortality statistics, which are irrefutable). The projects, though
massive, were not carried out on a wide front; rather, they went through a

61
“THE ARMY OF OCCUPATION”

very narrow corridor. The inhabitants of Teslin were unfortunate enough

to be in the path of the highway, but most of the natives of the Northwest
were not. If they wished to avoid the newcomers, and most did, it was easy
enough to do so. Some sought employment with the projects, particularly as
guides and packers in the early stages of construction, while others made
souvenirs that were eagerly bought by the soldiers. But most kept away from
the highway, preferring to continue their life on the land; and since the fur
trade continued to be profitable until after the end of the war, there was no
reason for them to abandon it. What really changed the lives of the region’s
native people forever was not the highway but the advent of the Canadian
welfare state after the end of the war.
Particularly important was the Mothers’ Allowance (or “baby bonus,” as
it is often called) – a monthly payment to all mothers which was introduced in
1944. In order for payments to be received, the children had to attend school;
and it was the lure of this money as much as anything that began to draw the
native people off the land and into permanent communities. Another twist
to the baby bonus was that in the North, though nowhere else in Canada,
the payment was made in kind rather than in cash, because the natives were
deemed not responsible enough to spend the money wisely. Thus they had to
take it in supplies, not ones of their own choosing but government-approved
goods (oatmeal rather than sweetened cereal, and the like). After this came
all manner of other government programs; and it was these, not the highway,
that really eroded the old way of life.
Another charge that was leveled both at the time and after against the
Americans was that they had wantonly destroyed the stocks of game and
fish in the region. Then, as now, Americans had a reputation among foreign-
ers of being trigger-happy, and the legendary soldier shooting anything
that moved with pearl-handled revolvers, or strafing helpless moose from a
fighter plane, was a stock figure of anti-American mythology. There is some
truth to this legend. Many of the civilian and military workers were anxious
to hunt large game, partly for sport and partly to supplement their monoton-
ous diet of Spam, dried potatoes, and canned Vienna sausage. Moose or deer
meat was a treat eagerly sought after, and the military high command held
out the privilege of hunting as a reward for good behavior. There were a
number of complaints from residents of the region about over-hunting. But
as with other matters, hunting must be put into perspective. Not all of the
men wished to hunt, and even fewer had the bush skills to stray very far from
the narrow construction corridors. Thus, although there was a considerable
degree of over-hunting and over-fishing in the region, it was confined to

62
 KEN S. COATES AND WILLIAM R. MORRISON

a small area; and the game which lived farther afield was not molested. It
was, however, fear of destruction of game that led to the establishment of the
Kluane Game Preserve in the southwest corner of the Yukon in 1942, a move
that eventually led to the creation of Kluane National Park, which is now a
UNESCO World Heritage Site.
Damage to the environment was, on the other hand, a more serious
matter, and one that caused lasting resentment among the region’s native
people. The agreement between Canada and the United States under which
the projects were built permitted the Americans to use whatever natural re-
sources they needed to complete their task, and there were no environmental
constraints at all on their activities. The projects used phenomenal amounts
of the region’s timber, both for construction and for heating: The military
establishment in Whitehorse and Watson Lake alone used 18,000 cords of
firewood in 1942-1943, amounting to a pile four feet wide, four feet high, and
over 27 miles long – a significant depletion of the not particularly abundant
timber resources of the Southern Yukon. There was also some wanton de-
struction – spillage of diesel fuel that caused damage to creek beds that was
still apparent 20 years after the war’s end and the fouling of rivers by care-
lessly built latrines. There were also a number of forest fires, many caused
by careless smokers, that destroyed hundreds of acres of timber throughout
the Northwest. One incident, which illustrates an all too common attitude
toward the environment, occurred when a man was ordered to deliver a load
of diesel fuel to a remote construction camp. When he arrived at the camp
he found no one there, nor could he find the storage tank for the fuel. Not
wishing to wait, he dumped the 1,000- gallon load of fuel on the ground and
returned to his base.
Some of the damage done to the environment came through careless-
ness and indifference, some through haste, and some through ignorance of
the terrain in which the projects were built. Few, if any, of the builders and
planners had any experience with permafrost and muskeg. The original pi-
oneer road that the Army Corps of Engineers built – 1,500 miles in the amaz-
ingly short period of eight months – was pushed through the bush by brute
force: Bulldozers knocked down the trees, machines tore up the stumps,
pull-blades gouged the soil to form a crown on a dirt road, wooden culverts
were laid where streams crossed the road, and log and pontoon bridges were
thrown across creeks and rivers. Fortunately for the success of the enterprise,
the Army’s road was finished in November 1942, just as the Northwest froze
solid. With the spring thaw of 1943, however, the muskeg melted and the
exposed permafrost turned to thick mud, the little streams swelled and tore

63
“THE ARMY OF OCCUPATION”

out the culverts, and the rivers flooded and ripped out dozens of bridges. The
Alaska Highway became impassable, and virtually the entire road had to be
rebuilt by the Public Works Administration.
Perhaps the most egregious example of the ignorance and naiveté about
the environment was the CANOL Project. Viewed from a “can-do” perspec-
tive, the project was an immense success. Hundreds of tons of four- and six-
inch steel pipe, heavy equipment, and supplies of all kinds had to be taken
from the railhead at Fort McMurray or Waterways in north-central Alberta
down the Peace River- Slave Lake-Mackenzie River system to Norman Wells,
a distance of about 1,200 miles. It was not “unknown” country, as fur traders,
in particular the Hudson’s Bay Company, had operated in the region for well
over a century. But it was undeveloped country with a small transportation
system consisting mostly of the Hudson’s Bay Company’s river steamer,
which supplied the small fur trade posts along the route. Drilling 19 new
wells at Norman Wells, laying out the pipeline route and the accompanying
road across the country to Whitehorse, and building all the ancillary facilities
proved to be a marvel of logistical organization. Over 10,000 troops and as
many civilians were at work on the project at its peak in the summer of 1943.
But from an environmental perspective the project was a disaster. The
construction techniques were primitive: bulldozers had cleared a path
through the bush, pushing trees to one side and piling dirt and muskeg into
a rough service road. The sections of pipe were welded together and the com-
pleted pipeline laid directly on the ground. And because the greater part of
the route ran through permafrost country, the pipeline route soon turned
into bog, the ground shifting and subsiding, often breaking the pipe and
leading to spills. Moreover, a great deal of the work on the project was done
by troops who hated their task. The racial policy of the U.S. Army in World
War II was beset by a basic contradiction. On one hand, black troops were
popularly believed to be incapable of serving effectively in cold climates,
presumably due to their African heritage. On the other hand, the authorities
were anxious to send them to theaters far from any large white population
to minimize the possibility of racial friction – and it was the second policy
that prevailed in this case. This is why thousands of black troops served on
the Alaska Highway, where temperatures could go well below -40°F, and on
the CANOL Project, where the weather could be even colder. Dispirited and
demoralized troops meant shoddy workmanship, and the CANOL Project
was plagued with breakdowns and defects of all kinds.
In the long run, these efforts went for nothing. Delays in building the
refinery at Whitehorse and the pumping stations along the pipeline meant

64
 KEN S. COATES AND WILLIAM R. MORRISON

that CANOL did not begin operations until August 1944, by which time its
rationale had vanished since it had long been clear that the Japanese were
no longer a threat to any part of the continental United States. Oil flowed
through the line only for a few months, between breakdowns, and it was
closed in March 1945 and dismantled in 1946. It had cost about $135 million,
a large sum 50 years ago, and was such a flagrant example of war-time waste
and bad planning that it became the chief “whipping boy” of the Truman
Committee, the Senate Special Committee Investigating the National Defense
Program, which met toward the end of the war to expose waste in defense
spending.
There is a second rumor, as persistent as the one about the trigger-happy
Americans, that stills echoes in the Canadian Northwest. It dates from the
end of the war when the construction activities were winding down and
thousands of Americans were dismantling the CANOL Project, turning the
Alaska Highway over to the Canadian Department of National Defence, and
returning home. The gist of the rumor is that the Americans, unable to carry
home all their supplies and equipment and unwilling to simply give them
away to local residents, wantonly destroyed vast quantities of perfectly good
food, vehicles, machinery, and other goods of all kinds. Witnesses claimed to
have seen jeeps in operating condition driven into pits and buried or set on
fire, hundreds of sides of beef, scores of dozens of sheets and towels doused
with gasoline and burned. The Northwest was abuzz with indignation over
the alleged dog-in-the-manger policy of the departing Yankees. An investi-
gation was held, and the rumors were officially denied. The truth of the mat-
ter, as with many folk legends of this kind, is not easy to determine; but the
explanation seems to run as follows: The Americans took back to the United
States everything they considered worth saving. But value was a matter of
perception, and there was a great deal of equipment that was not in first-class
shape but that had considerable utility for local residents. An example was
wood-burning stoves, which the Americans had brought in by the score. A
wood stove with a damaged door would not be taken back to the lower 48
states; yet it could have been repaired locally and used, or parts could have
been taken from several stoves to make one good one. Yet if the authorities
had permitted people to do this kind of salvage, local merchants would have
complained, and the dumps where such goods were thrown would have
swarmed with would-be entrepreneurs. The simplest course then was to put
all the stoves in a pile and run a bulldozer over them, and this was generally
the course taken. In a marginal society, this was naturally seen as wanton
waste and selfishness. Nevertheless, there was a tremendous amount of pil-

65
“THE ARMY OF OCCUPATION”

fering, and local residents boasted that they had scrounged enough sheets
and towels to last a generation. This pattern of wastage was one of the un-
happier results of the whole enterprise.

* * *

In the long run, the activities of the Americans in the Canadian Northwest
had a dramatic and crucial effect on the region’s history and development.
The Canadian North, and the Northwest in particular, had long been ig-
nored by the central government, which paid attention to it only when some-
thing dramatic like the Klondike gold rush occurred. At other times, it was a
forgotten stepchild, pushed aside while regions considered more important
were developed. When the Northwest defense projects were approved at the
beginning of 1942, the Canadian government assigned one man to act as li-
aison officer between Ottawa and the upwards of 40,000 foreign military and
civilian workers active in the region, then went to sleep and allowed them
to do as they pleased. It was no wonder that another rumor spread that the
clerk who ran the switchboard at the U.S. Army headquarters in Edmonton
answered calls with a cheery “Good morning, U.S. Army of Occupation.” It
was not until Malcolm Macdonald, the British High Commissioner to Canada
(the equivalent of ambassador), made a trip through the region and warned
Ottawa that Canadian sovereignty was likely to come into question if it did
not take a closer interest in the region that the government bestirred itself.
And even then it only went so far as to appoint a Special Commissioner to
deal with matters of concern to both countries. A number of journalists were
permitted to travel the highway and pipeline and write stirring accounts, and
the publicity these stories generated did keep the projects in the eye of the
government as well as the public. In large measure, the war had awakened
the Canadian government to its responsibilities toward the Northwest; and
in that sense, the defense projects were the catalyst that brought the region
into the Canadian mainstream.
But this awakening had no practical effect before 1945. Until then, the
United States Army and the American civilian contractors who built the
Alaska Highway and the other projects operated as if they were still in
the United States, or as if they were in a conquered country. The American
government insisted on and received the right of extraterritoriality of U.S.
citizens, military and civilian, which meant that any American accused of
a crime, no matter how serious, committed against anyone in the region,
soldier or civilian, could be tried only by an American military court while

66
 KEN S. COATES AND WILLIAM R. MORRISON

Canadian courts had no jurisdiction. The U.S. Military Police patrolled the
Alaska Highway along with the RCMP; and in the more settled regions, like
Whitehorse and Dawson Creek, British Columbia, they caused a good deal
of resentment among the local population by their habit of bullying civilians
and throwing their weight around. The Member of Parliament for the Yukon
referred to them as “Gestapo,” and there were a number of nasty incidents in
which innocent citizens were knocked about or insulted by the MPs.
On the other hand, there were many people in the Northwest who had
welcomed the arrival of the Americans. The projects provided jobs at good
wages for hundreds of local civilians who had scratched their way through
the depression of the 1930s. Schoolteachers from Saskatchewan, who had
worked in rural schoolhouses for $50 a month plus board and considered
themselves lucky to have any job, found themselves driving a truck for an
Alaska Highway contractor for $100 a week. The defense projects were the
foundation of many a small business and farm in Western Canada. For
young people in the region, as elsewhere in the world, the Yankees were rich
and generous visitors, not threatening strangers. One teenager in Dawson
Creek, for instance, found a way to profit from the invasion. In July 1943, a
troop train had derailed near the town in the middle of a heat wave:

So I thought, what a market. These guys are all complaining

about the thirst. . . . I raced into town , got a couple of cream cans
. . . chopped up a bunch of ice in a local ice house, threw it in the
can, went to the well and pumped it full of ice cold water, went
flying down the road, six inches off the ground, down to the train
wreck, and the soldiers just gathered round. I didn’t charge them
... just make a donation . . . I got American dollars left and right
and I got, I don’t know, $20 a can for that water . . . you know,
my pants were hanging down, loaded with money from these
rich Americans who were just delighted with a drink of ice cold
water.3

In 1946, the United States transferred control of the Alaska Highway and
its ancillary facilities to the Canadian Army and pulled the last of their per-
sonnel out of the Northwest. They had arrived in 1942 in a whirlwind of ac-
tivity, had changed much in their path, and had left the region substantially
transformed. True, the lives of its native people, at least those who lived away
from the highway corridor, were largely unaltered; but the region itself had
been profoundly changed. That this was accomplished by foreigners says

67
“THE ARMY OF OCCUPATION”

a great deal about Canada’s attitude toward its north. Only in the past two
generations has Canada taken an active and lasting interest in the welfare
and development of its vast northern lands. Before World War II, such inter-
est was sporadic, as with the Klondike gold rush. Since the arrival of the
Americans in the Northwest, Canada has assumed a responsibility for the
region that it has never relinquished. This responsibility has grown, so that
the Northwest is now well integrated into the Canadian nation.
The Canadian Northwest had experienced a peaceful occupation. The
region’s people and their government had welcomed the arrival of the
Americans and had applauded their energy, their engineering skills, and
their bottomless supply of cash. But the Americans went home in 1946, leav-
ing behind a highway not yet finished to civilian standards, a “white ele-
phant” refinery and pipeline system, and traces of a huge military and civil-
ian complex. For the Northwest, the occupation had brought many changes
– new transportation systems, changed settlement patterns, visions of post-
war prosperity, environmental damage, increased Canadian government
interest in the region, and upheaval in some native communities. By 1946
a new Northwest was emerging, transformed profoundly by the American
occupation.

Notes
Reprinted from Journal of the West 32/4 (Oc-
tober 1993): 47-53. For a fuller study with
detailed citations, see K. S. Coates and W. R.
Morrison, The Alaska Highway in World War
II: The U.S. Army of Occupation in Canada’s
Northwest (Norman: University of Okla-
homa Press, 1992).
1 Pierre Berton, The Mysterious North
(Toronto: McClelland and Stewart,
1956), 99.
2 Coates and Morrison, Alaska Highway
in World War II, 142.
3 Interview with Chuck Baxter. Surrey.
BC, June 1988, quoted in Coates and
Morrison, Alaska Highway in World War
II, 167.

68
Calgary Papers in Military and Strategic Studies, Occasional Paper No. 4, 2011
Canadian Arctic Sovereignty and Security: Historical Perspectives Pages 69–109

1946: The Year Canada Chose its Path

in the Arctic
Peter Kikkert

C
oncerns over Canada’s sovereignty in the Arctic have arisen inter-
mittently since the Second World War, provoking national anxiety.
“Arctic sovereignty seems to be the zombie – the dead issue that re-
fuses to stay dead – of Canadian public affairs,” explain the authors of Arctic
Front. “You think its settled, killed and buried, and then every decade or so
it rises from the grave and totters into view again.”1 The gravest sovereignty
crises that Canada faced historically shared two distinct features: they in-
volved the Americans and they forced Canadian governments, both Liberal
and Conservative, to choose between adopting a gradualist or activist stance
on Arctic sovereignty. The gradualist approach is the more cautious of the
two responses, characterized by careful negotiations and quiet diplomacy to
achieve an implicit or explicit recognition of Canada’s sovereignty. Gradualists
argue that sovereignty is strengthened over time and wish to avoid overly
aggressive acts that might jeopardize Canada’s claims.2 An activist approach
involves a more forthright and forceful pronouncement of Canadian sover-
eignty, such as the drawing of straight baselines by the Mulroney government.
Both approaches seek the same objectives: the attainment of international
recognition of Canada’s de jure sovereignty over the North, especially by the
United States, and of de facto control of the Arctic lands and waters.3
Canadian diplomats have had to walk a fine line in deciding how far
to push the boundaries of international law and test the patience of the
Americans in affirming Canada’s sovereignty. For the most part, decision
makers weighed the costs and benefits of a forceful assertion of sovereignty
and erred on the side of caution. In the years of the early Cold War, the
Liberal government faced this dilemma as the exigencies of continental de-
fence brought the world’s attention squarely on the Arctic.
The Canadian decision to cooperate with the United States in contin-
ental defence and allow American defence projects in the North, the terms
under which the two countries worked this relationship out, and its impact
on Canadian sovereignty in the region has generated three distinct schools
of thought. The first school reflects the ideas of Donald Creighton’s seminal
work The Forked Road, which proposed that the government of William Lyon

© Centre for Military and Strategic Studies http://cmss.ucalgary.ca/ 69

1946: THE YEAR CANADA CHOSE ITS PATH IN THE ARCTIC

Mackenzie King led Canada into the suffocating embrace of the Americans,
who ignored Canada’s wishes and threatened its sovereignty in the North
with several massive wartime defence projects.4 Other scholars have ex-
panded on this theme of American dominance and Canadian weakness in
protecting its North. In Sovereignty or Security?, Shelagh Grant alleged that
Canada sacrificed its control of the North to meet American continental de-
fence needs and failed to protect its sovereignty.5 In his quick survey of Arctic
policy, “Lock, Stock and Icebergs?,” historian Adam Lajeunesse also sharply
criticized the Canadian government for not adopting a sufficiently aggres-
sive approach to defend sovereignty after 1946. “The situation,” he claimed,
“seemed to call for a clarification of official Arctic policy and a more forceful
assertion of Canadian control.”6 Instead of adopting a strong course of action,
the Canadians passively established a policy of purposeful ambiguity and
tried their best to avoid the real issues of Arctic sovereignty.
The second school, aptly named the “middle ground,”7 which began
with the work of Charles Stacey and James Eayrs and includes historians
like Morris Zaslow and Jack Granatstein, stressed the conflict, cooperation
and complexity of the Canadian-American relationship. Though Canada
struggled with the inevitable consequences to its sovereignty, it remained
an important ally to the United States and had to participate in continental
defence.8 Arguing that Canada acted as required, given the prevailing Cold
War context, these scholars rarely provided any praise for the government’s
handling of the situation and ignored Canadian accomplishments in preserv-
ing its sovereignty while ensuring security.
The third line of thought, which can be called the revisionist school,
challenges these interpretations. David Bercuson, Whitney Lackenbauer,
Elizabeth Elliot-Miesel and Joseph Jockel have emphasized the cooperation,
respect and open dialogue that characterized the defence relationship after
1943. Their work illuminates the victories of the Canadian government in
safeguarding its sovereignty while ensuring its security.9 Canadian man-
oeuvring led to American recognition of Canada’s terrestrial sovereignty in
the Arctic from 1947 onwards, they argue, and effectively balanced security
and sovereignty needs.
This chapter elaborates on the basic argument David Bercuson made in
his seminal article, “Continental Defence and Arctic Sovereignty, 1945-1950:
Solving the Canadian Dilemma,” by focusing on the bilateral defence nego-
tiations that occurred throughout 1946, culminating in the Chateau Laurier
conference of 16-17 December. These discussions formed a strong foundation
for the Canadian-American defence relationship that developed through

70
 PETER KIKKERT

the Cold War. Given its strategic position and its historic alliance with the
United States, Canada had to participate in continental defence. Canadian
officials understood, however, that a purely passive approach to northern
sovereignty and security could only end in disaster. In this long and trying
year they worked out a solution that offered both.
Critics such as Grant and Lajeunesse, who assert that Canada could
have pushed the United States into formally accepting its sovereignty, show
a misunderstanding of the relationships that existed at the time, the essence
of the negotiations, the state of international law, and the potential costs and
benefits of certain Canadian courses of action. Indeed, Canada’s cautious and
gradualist strategy allowed the country to consolidate its territorial sover-
eignty over the Arctic lands. While agreeing to disagree about controversial
legal issues like the sector principle, the two countries negotiated workable
solutions that supported Canadian claims in the region.10 Although quiet
diplomacy lacked the glamour of a grand sovereignty-asserting action,
Canada managed to avoid alienating its chief ally, contributed to continental
defence, and laid the groundwork for a strategy that secured Canada’s na-
tional interests in the Arctic.

In the Shadow of the Second World War

In August 1945 Germany and Japan lay in ruins, and people everywhere
anticipated a new era of peace. After six long years of war, the Canadian
government looked forward to cutting down on defence expenditures and
investing its resources in areas neglected during the conflict. Canada could
be proud of its wartime service as one of the leading members of the Western
alliance. Furthermore, the politicians could breathe a sigh of relief that the
thousands of American troops who flooded into the Canadian North after
1941 in the name of continental defence would finally leave.
Though in 1942 and much of 1943 the King government did little to
regulate the activities of the Americans in the North, the Canadians eventu-
ally became more proactive and started to manage events ‘on the ground.’
The government appointed a special commissioner, Brigadier-General W.W.
Foster, to oversee the American defence projects in the North and started
to set parameters on new American proposals. As the war drew to a close,
Canada secured its control by paying to acquire full ownership of the perma-
nent facilities on its territory. The Americans also agreed that, before they
began any project on or over Canadian territory, they required approval from
the Canadian government.11 With the threat to the continent gone and the
Canadians assuming control of the northern defence projects, the Americans

71
1946: THE YEAR CANADA CHOSE ITS PATH IN THE ARCTIC

had little reason to stay in the region. Indeed, by the summer of 1945, most
had gone home.
The Canadian effort to secure its control of the North in the last years
of the war was timely because the post war international situation prompt-
ed immediate American requests to return to the region. Even before the
Japanese capitulation in August 1945, the wartime relationship between the
Western allies and the Soviet Union began to dissolve. On 11 September 1945,
this fact became all too apparent to the King government, which desperately
wanted to avoid becoming embroiled in another global crisis. Igor Gouzenko,
a cipher clerk at the Soviet embassy in Ottawa, provided evidence of an ex-
tensive spy network that reached into the Department of External Affairs, the
labs of Canada’s atomic program, and the bureaucracies of its senior allies.
A discouraged King remarked “if there is another war, it will come against
America by way of Canada from Russia.”12 The Arctic, King implied, had just
become one of the most strategic positions in the world.
In the ensuing months tensions continued to mount between the East
and the West. While several Canadian analysts urged the West to adopt a
more conciliatory approach to the Soviet Union,13 concerns over the security
of the North American continent continued to grow in the minds of Canadian
and American officials. Led by American A.D. de Seversky, military thinkers
unrolled polar projection maps in place of their old Mercator projections, and
the proximity of the United States to the Soviet Union became strikingly ob-
vious. Vilhjalmur Steffanson’s much publicized idea of the Arctic becoming
the world’s ‘new Mediterranean’ no longer seemed so far-fetched.14 With the
enemy waiting ominously across the North Pole while the technological ad-
vances of the war slowly strengthened its military arsenal, many strategists
came to see the Arctic as North America’s Achilles heel. Although the Soviet
Union possessed only a small strategic bomber force and no aircraft capable
of making a round trip bombing mission to the United States, American mil-
itary strategists and the press obsessed over the idea of enemy planes coming
over the Pole to launch raids on the continent’s industrial heartland. On 5
December 1945 General H.H. Arnold, Commander in Chief of the United
States Army Air Force (USAAF), the service most worried by the aerial threat,
declared to the public that the Arctic would be the heart of any new conflict.15
The strategic importance of Alaska and the Canadian North continued to
grow in the minds of defence planners in the years ahead.
Although these fears did not run rampant in Ottawa, wartime and early
postwar Canadian military operations in subarctic and arctic conditions
actually convinced some government officials that the northern approaches

72
 PETER KIKKERT

could become the focus of an attack by hostile ground forces.16 In the late win-
ter and spring of 1945 the Canadian military undertook Exercise Polar Bear in
northern British Columbia and Exercise Lemming in northern Manitoba and
the southern portion of the Northwest Territories.17 These exercises, coupled
with technological developments, led defence planners to claim “that the
inaccessibility of the Arctic is just another myth, and, providing supplies
are ensured, operations on the barren grounds which represent one-third of
Canada’s area can be as unhindered as operations on the Libyan Desert.”18
Officials worried that the enemy might use a diversionary land assault in
the North to tie down large numbers of friendly forces. In the winter of 1946
the Canadians conducted another large-scale exercise, Operation Musk Ox,
which gained international attention.19 In light of these new aerial and land
threats Canadian decision makers foresaw that the Americans would soon
be pressuring them to assist in continental defence.
In the last months of 1945, the American defence planners started to
press their Canadian counterparts to assist in reassessing continental defence
needs based on the new international situation and the potential threats it
created. In November the American section of the Permanent Joint Board on
Defence (PJBD) suggested that a joint revision of ABC-22, the wartime de-
fence plan, be undertaken as quickly as possible.20 The Canadians embraced
the opportunity, understanding the process would allow them to learn
as much as possible about American plans and assessments, help them to
prepare for the responsibilities the United States would impose on Canada,
and give them the opportunity to assist in preparing specific defence plans.
Almost immediately, however, concerns grew amongst Canadian officials in
Washington that the PJBD was starting premature and improper planning
for a formal defence treaty.21 Since the war, Canada had managed to create
some breathing room between it and the behemoth to the south and the pros-
pect of an even closer and connected defence relationship was disconcerting
to politicians and some senior bureaucrats. The Canadians, however, had
learned valuable lessons from the Second World War. Their attitude and ap-
proach changed, and they would not repeat the mistakes – or the apathy – of
1942 and 1943.

A New Canadian Approach

How could Canada handle the Americans and their defence needs? This
was one of the most pressing questions facing External Affairs during
the last two years of the war. As the Minister-Counselor at the Canadian
Legation in Washington, Lester B. Pearson criticized the overbearing

73
1946: THE YEAR CANADA CHOSE ITS PATH IN THE ARCTIC

Americans, as well as the Canadian habit of taking a hard line on issues

and then simply giving in when the Americans applied any pressure.22
“When we are dealing with such a powerful neighbour, we have to avoid
the twin dangers of subservience and truculent touchiness,” he suggested in

Map 3. From C.S. Beals, Science, History and Hudson Bay (Ottawa: Queen’s Printer, 1968).

74
 PETER KIKKERT

1944. “We succumb to the former when we take everything lying down, and
to the latter when we rush to the State Department with a note every time
some Congressman makes a stupid statement about Canada…”23 When it
found an issue worth fighting over, Pearson insisted that Canada should “go
to the mat with Washington” and pursue the matter until the end.24 During
the early Cold War era, Canada followed this advice while keeping its close
bilateral relationship intact.
Wartime urgency ensured a positive Canadian response to American
proposals in 1942 and 1943. To reject their defence plans was out of the ques-
tion. In the early postwar years, however, the imperative for urgent action
was less obvious. Reports from Canada’s analysts and diplomats did not
spark fear of an imminent threat and the Americans could not convince the
Canadians otherwise.25 Rather than conceding to American thinking on
strategic matters, the Canadians actually held their ground on certain issues,
investigated American requests, and evaluated them with the protection of
their country’s interests in mind.26 As Canadian officials, especially those in
the PJBD, engaged in bilateral defence planning and explored issues like the
standardization of military equipment, they demonstrated that they could
delay or reject proposals without fear of the United States taking drastic uni-
lateral action. When discussions shifted to the Arctic, this knowledge was
essential.
Officials were also far better prepared to carry out these defence discus-
sions than they had been during the war. Historian Elizabeth Elliot Meisel
has argued that the failure of External Affairs to properly regulate American
defence activities in Canada in 1942 stemmed from its small size and its rela-
tive inexperience. With a severe shortage of personnel, External Affairs had
to set feasible priorities – which did not include the Canadian North early
in the war – and did not plan for the difficult sovereignty issues that arose
or develop an effective way of dealing with American pushiness. As the
war progressed, however, External Affairs grew in size and sophistication
and began to handle complex problems more effectively.27 Accordingly, the
Canadians were much better prepared to meet the incoming onslaught when
defence planning began to heat up in 1946.

Planning the Defences

By early 1946 high-ranking Americans fully accepted the Soviet Union as an
enemy and the threat to the continent as reality.28 If the Americans believed
that the continent required defences, the Canadians would listen. They
would not, however, be cajoled into making swift and damaging decisions.

75
1946: THE YEAR CANADA CHOSE ITS PATH IN THE ARCTIC

By the spring, American defence planners began to pepper the

Canadians with defence proposals aimed at improving their capabilities
in the Arctic. The projects suggested for the Canadian Arctic Archipelago
in March, April and May 1946 all sought to give the United States military
greater knowledge of Arctic conditions. They did not demand large-scale in-
stallations, but relatively small operations with specific goals. On 14 March,
Major General Guy V. Henry, American chairman of the PJBD, alerted his
Canadian counterparts that the US War Department wanted to establish a
program of photographic and virtual reconnaissance in the western Arctic
Archipelago.29 From a military perspective, this project was sensible. The first
step to any military operation is to understand the lay of the land; the recon-
naissance proposed by the Americans would have provided this essential
knowledge. Any defence planning would also require detailed maps of the
Canadian Arctic, which Ottawa did not have. Photographic reconnaissance
would begin to resolve this problem.
Despite the military benefits inherent in the American request, the
Canadians attempted to sidestep it. The Canadian Joint Staff told an American
representative from the PJBD that the proposal created difficulties for the
King government. They chose not to give a definitive answer regarding
cooperation, nor did they give the Americans permission to act unilaterally.30
Although the reasons for the Canadian rejection are not stated, they likely
worried about the Americans exploring and taking pictures of a portion of
the Canadian Arctic that remained unoccupied and barely explored. In this
case, Canadian sovereignty trumped the defence needs of the Americans.
Undeterred by this initial rejection, in late April 1946 General Henry
wrote to the Canadian secretary of the PJBD requesting permission for the
USAAF to launch Operation Polaris, which would involve three B-29s flying
three round trips per week over the Canadian Arctic.31 The rationale for the
mission reflected the American desire to improve its operational capability
in the region, especially in Arctic aviation. If American bombers ever had
to cross the Polar Regions on a mission against the Soviet Union, the crews
required advance training and their equipment needed to be tested in condi-
tions unique to the Arctic. The Canadians did not immediately respond to
this proposal, however, and gave the issue more thought.
At the end of April, the American section of the PJBD also requested
the continuation of the low frequency long-range aid to navigation (Loran)
program established in northern Canada to assist in the air and ground
navigation for Exercise Musk Ox. The program consisted of three transmitter
stations at Dawson Creek, Himli and Gimli, and monitoring stations oper-

76
 PETER KIKKERT

ated by the RCAF in Yellowknife, Norman Wells and Edmonton, the army
at Baker Lake, and the Navy at Churchill. The United States operated and
provided equipment for the transmitter stations, while Canada did the same
for the monitoring sites and assisted in the messing, housing and transport
for the American controlled stations. On 10 May 1946 Cabinet approved the
extension of the Loran program until the following May.32 During that time,
the program would work its way into the less secure areas of the Canadian
Arctic.
In the early spring, an American proposal to establish a joint service
testing station in the Canadian North also bounced around Ottawa. Both
the Canadians and Americans agreed that the technical services required
a space where they could test equipment in Arctic conditions. Many sug-
gested that the ideal location would be Fort Churchill, Manitoba, which was
surrounded by a barren, Arctic landscape that was accessible year round
by plane and rail.33 This proposal did not unduly worry the Canadians, but
they still baulked at the idea of permitting the semi-permanent stationing of
American troops in the North.
On 14 May 1946 the Americans also alerted the Canadian section of the
PJBD that they wanted to carry out naval operations in the Arctic that sum-
mer. The objectives of Operation Nanook included the training of US naval
personnel in Arctic operations and the recording of detailed hydrographic,
electromagnetic and meteorological data. The Americans also sought
Canadian permission to land a force of 28 Marines for a one-month period,
preferably at Dundas Harbour on North Devon Island.34 The task force would
operate from 1 July to 1 October in the waters of Viscount Melville Sound and
Lancaster Sound, with several ships operating in the Northwest Passage.35
An internal Canadian memorandum reviewing the project explored the pos-
sibilities of the expedition and noted the ships would operate in an “area
that has seldom been penetrated before save in a spirit of adventure and
with ships of less than half the size.” The report speculated on the possible
commercial promise of the Northwest Passage, and highlighted the lack of
Canadian activity in the area. The document also admitted that no Canadian
naval ship ever entered the Arctic waters and no officers in the navy had any
Arctic experience.36 Despite these glaring deficiencies, no one in Ottawa wor-
ried about Canada’s claim to its northern waters at this time, and the project
did not stir up anxiety about sovereignty.
As important as these projects were to the Americans, they were more
adamant that a chain of weather stations be established across the Arctic
as quickly as possible. The roots of the proposed weather station program

77
1946: THE YEAR CANADA CHOSE ITS PATH IN THE ARCTIC

stretched back into the war years. In the fall of 1944, Hugh Keenleyside re-
ceived a letter from Lt.-Colonel Charles Hubbard of the USAAF, who insisted
that weather stations in the High Arctic would be essential to future military
operations.37 The following March, Hubbard, who gained northern experi-
ence through his work on the Crimson Route, met with Escott Reid and
Lester Pearson in the Canadian Embassy in Washington. Hubbard pointed
out that the North Atlantic air routes required advanced weather forecasting.
By 1944, forecasts for this area could only be made 24 hours in advance and
remained unreliable. To solve this problem Hubbard envisioned six or seven
stations spread across the Northwest Territories.38
While the Canadians neither approved nor disapproved of such a scheme,
Pearson commented that his government would be more comfortable with
an international plan of action that covered Alaska, the Canadian Northwest
Territories and Greenland.39 Pearson explained to Norman Robertson:

I pointed out to [Hubbard] that Canadians would look with some

hesitation on meteorological stations in Canada’s northern areas
unless they were under the control of Canada itself, or of an inter-
national organization set up with the knowledge and consent
of Canada and in the control of which Canada shared. Colonel
Hubbard quite appreciated this but suggested that some doubt
still existed as to the extent of our sovereignty over some of these
Arctic districts north of Canada.40

If Hubbard was trying to coax the Canadians into accepting his proposal on
weather stations, raising questions about Canada’s sovereignty was a grave
mistake. Robertson, however, was already aware of Hubbard’s ideas and
he questioned senior officials at the Arctic, Desert and Tropic Information
Centre of the USAAF about the plan. These officers told Robertson that
Hubbard’s suggestions should be taken with a certain amount of reserve.
“I gather that Hubbard is far from being persona grata to the Arctic experts
of that organization who, in fact, managed some months ago to forestall his
assignment work with them,” Robertson concluded.41
After Hubbard’s meeting with Reid and Pearson, the weather station
proposal fell off the Canadian government’s radar. On the other side of the
border, however, Hubbard remained hard at work trying to get someone in
a position of power to champion his idea. He finally found a willing and
powerful ear in Senator Owen Brewster of Maine, whom he convinced to
propose a bill requesting funds for the United States Weather Bureau to “con-

78
 PETER KIKKERT

struct and operate meteorological stations in conjunction with a number of

other countries.”42 As laid out in the Senate, the project would be initiated
and controlled by a civilian agency.
In early May 1946 the Americans formally presented their plan for Arctic
weather stations to the Canadian government. A memorandum from Lewis
Clark, the Counselor at the US Embassy, proposed the establishment of three
weather stations on islands in the western portion of Canada’s Arctic by the
summer of 1947. Clark made it clear that, while the United States was pre-
pared to establish these stations independently, it “assumed that this would
not be desired by the Canadian government in view of its general policy
of retaining control of establishments in Canadian territory.” 43 In this light,
Clark made two suggestions: that the United States establish and assist in
maintaining the stations which would be under Canadian control or that
Canada establish, operate and maintain the stations independently.
Most importantly, Clark “emphasized that his government wished to
work out a programme on a fully cooperative basis and had no thought of
interfering in any way with Canadian sovereignty.”44 Officials at External
Affairs worried despite these assurances. Norman Robertson, the Under-
Secretary of State for External Affairs, told the Deputy Minister of Transport
that Canada could not justify assuming the total cost of the project, but would
also be in a precarious position if the Americans established and controlled
the stations. Ideally, Canada required a compromise in which it retained con-
trol of the weather stations and made modest contributions to the program,
while the U.S provided the supplies, necessary personnel and equipment.45
By mid-May 1946 Charles Hubbard again stood before the Canadians
as a member of the American delegation at the first joint conference on the
Arctic weather stations. All of the key departments on the Canadian side
were represented at the conference, including Mines and Resources, the army
and navy, the Department of Transport, External Affairs and the meteoro-
logical service. Hubbard reiterated the important role these weather stations
could play in advanced forecasting and alluded to the military requirement
for these stations when he argued that they would provide essential infor-
mation about flying conditions in the North. In addition, the United States
Navy (USN) and AAF agreed to provide logistical support for the operation.
Lewis Clark argued for a quick decision, stating that “the international polit-
ical situation at the present time is important. Those on the other side of the
Arctic are very active. Because of this we can get funds at the present time
and later this may not be possible.”46 With these funds the Americans hoped
to establish weather stations at Winter Harbour on Melville Island in 1946,

79
1946: THE YEAR CANADA CHOSE ITS PATH IN THE ARCTIC

and on Banks Island, Prince Patrick Island, and on the west side of Ellesmere
Island or Axel Heiberg Island in 1947. Although the United States presented
a sound plan and seemed respectful of Canadian sovereignty, the Canadians
again refused to make a quick decision.

Map 4. From Globe and Mail, 5 January 1946, in Shelagh Grant, Sovereignty or Security?: Gov-
ernment Policy in the Canadian North, 1936-1950 (Vancouver: University of British Columbia
Press, 1988).

The defence projects proposed by the Americans in the first half of

1946 made sound strategic sense and all had valuable non-military appli-
cations. They had practical and achievable aims and would not involve as
many American personnel as the wartime mega-projects had required. The
Americans also provided multiple assurances that these programs would
not jeopardize Canadian sovereignty. These promises, however, did little to
counter the de jure and de facto sovereignty concerns of the Canadian govern-
ment. In the aftermath of the joint conference on the weather stations, the
Northwest Territories Council echoed the opinion of many Canadian officials
when it claimed that it “was concerned about the aspect of sovereignty in

80
 PETER KIKKERT

these remote sections of the Canadian Arctic Archipelago since most of these
stations were going to areas where our claims on the basis of actual occupa-
tion are very weak.” The council noted that the sector principle had never
been accepted internationally and that it believed any permanent northern
projects should be operated by Canada.47 As valuable as these military pro-
jects might be, they could not be allowed to derogate Canada’s sovereignty in
the North.

Sovereignty Worries in the Arctic

By 1946 Canadian sovereignty in the Arctic Archipelago was best encapsulat-
ed by Hume Wrong’s phrase: “unchallenged, but not unchallengeable.”48 Since
the early twentieth century Canada had taken slow but steady steps to secure
its claim over the region. In the interwar period the Eastern Arctic Patrol vis-
ited remote stations almost every year, and Royal Canadian Mounted Police
(RCMP) posts, post offices and customs houses dotted the mainland and
archipelago up to Ellesmere Island. The government paid the Norwegians
to drop their claims in the Canadian high Arctic and insisted that American
expeditions entering the region acquire a Canadian permit. From time to
time in the House of Commons a Canadian Minister would stand up and
make mention of the Sector Principle and declare Canada’s intent to protect
its Arctic islands.49 Other than the occasional statement, however, the govern-
ment showed little concern about the nature of Canada’s sovereignty in the
Arctic and did even less to develop or settle the region. During the war, the
Canadian government worried about its de facto control of the northwest, but
only rarely was official attention directed to the Arctic islands.
In 1944 a small number of officials in the Department of Mines and
Resources and External Affairs had begun to ponder the nature of Canada’s
sovereignty in the high Arctic. In February 1944, J.G. Wright, a member of the
Northwest Territories Administration, noted that “it is the far and western
islands, which are reached by our administration mostly in theory, where
our claims to sovereignty are most likely to be questioned.” Wright explained
that Russia strengthened its claims to its Arctic possessions by establishing
scientific and weather stations in the area. He surmised that “we may have
to do something like that ourselves, in which case we would require weather
stations to service air travel to reach some of our otherwise scarcely access-
ible islands.”50 He urged Canada to adopt a more active approach to secure its
own claims in the region.
One of the few reports on the issue of Arctic sovereignty released
by the Department of External Affairs during the war years argued the

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necessity of effective occupation under international law. Any attempt to

claim land based on discovery would generate possible rival claims from
different nations that had explored the archipelago. The report concluded
that the Arctic region required some degree of control and administration
and “even taking into account that such ‘control and administration’ need
not be as real in northern regions as in more temperate ones, there may
be some doubt whether Canada is actually extending enough jurisdiction
throughout lands already discovered to make her claim to these territor-
ies unquestionable.”51 The paper also recognized that there was no clear
definition of effective administration and control. “The principle generally
agreed to however, is that the possessing state must make its authority
felt in the occupied territory and maintain order therein,” it noted. “As a
matter of practice, I should think this is translated in the administration
of justice and the enforcement of national laws and regulations in the ter-
ritory concerned.” The report mused that in the near future this control
could be expanded to encapsulate stricter customs laws and regulations,
air regulations, immigration control, and the enforcement of specific
Northwest Territories (NWT) Acts, such as rules against the importation of
intoxicants, game laws, and permits for foreign scientists and explorers.52
Enforcing these regulations would strengthen Canada’s de facto control of
the region. Accordingly, demonstrating a reasonable level of control, rather
than making grand assertions of sovereignty based on discovery or the sec-
tor principle, became the government’s game plan.
Other Canadian commentators shared a more positive interpretation of
Canada’s legal claim to the Arctic. In response to Hubbard’s suggestion that
some doubt existed as to the extent of Canadian sovereignty in the region,
Charles Camsell, Deputy Minister of Mines and Resources, noted that three
wartime publications issued with the consent of the US War Department
“refer repeatedly to the islands north of the Canadian mainland as ‘the
Canadian archipelago.’”53 A 1946 report prepared by the United States also
employed the phrase “Canadian Arctic Archipelago.”54 These mentions,
however, did not allay the concerns of Canadian decision-makers involved
with continental defence planning.
The American defence proposals called for activity in areas not perma-
nently settled or even patrolled by Canada, claimed using the sector theory
which had no solid basis in international law. In particular, the weather sta-
tions would be established in areas that few Canadians ever visited and, in
many cases, they would be the only settlements and sources of authority for
hundreds of miles. The thought of tiny American-controlled stations pop-

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ping up throughout Canada’s Arctic, flying the stars and stripes, gravely
worried all branches of the Canadian government.
PJBD Recommendation 35, released in early May, did nothing to allevi-
ate the King government’s concerns. It attempted to establish the basic prin-
ciples for defence cooperation, calling for closer collaboration between the
two countries in intelligence sharing, the interchange of personnel, equip-
ment standardization, joint manoeuvres and training, and the right of transit
through either country’s territory. The recommendation, however, said little
about the protection of sovereignty. The safeguards that the King govern-
ment had anticipated were absent. Rather than meekly signing on to these
principles, Cabinet rejected the recommendation and ordered the PJBD to
begin revising the proposal.55 This time, the Canadian section would push
harder for clauses explicitly protecting Canada’s sovereignty.
The shortcomings in Recommendation 35 coincided with an equally
frightening revelation from R.M. Macdonnell, the Canadian secretary of
the PJBD. On 6 May 1946, he circulated a leaked report from the American
Standing Sub-committee on the Arctic that called into question Canada’s
sovereignty over undiscovered lands within its sector.56 The report, prepared
in November 1945, explained that a gap existed in the network of Arctic
aviation facilities extending from Spitsbergen to Greenland and across the
“Canadian islands” to Alaska. To fill this gap, the paper suggested American
reconnaissance flights to look for undiscovered islands in the Arctic upon
which to establish weather stations. The committee questioned whether
the United States recognized Canadian claims to the region north of Prince
Patrick Island and west of Grant’s Land, and asked if the United States could
claim newly discovered islands north of the Canadian mainland. 57 In short,
the report dismissed Canadian claims to the region based on the Sector
Principle.
Though the low level-planning document carried little political weight in
Washington, to a Canadian government already worried about sovereignty
the report raised some unsettling possibilities. The Americans wanted to im-
prove their capabilities in the Arctic and, it seemed, they might test Canada’s
de jure sovereignty to do so. The American report reinforced concerns ex-
pressed by Vice Chief of the General Staff General D.C. Spry that “hitherto
unknown islands may be discovered within the Canadian sector by a foreign
power, and claim laid to them by right of discovery and primary occupation.”
Spry’s analysis criticized the lack of Canadian occupation, settlement, or de-
velopment in the area and noted the apparent weakness of Canada’s claims.
“Thus it is of great importance that Canada should carefully safeguard her

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sovereignty in the Arctic at all points and at all times,” Spry remarked, “lest
the acceptance of an initial infringement of her sovereignty invalidate her
entire claim.”58
Solving Canada’s sovereignty concerns remained at the top of the list as
the Canadian government and military became more entwined in continent-
al defence. A meeting of the Military Cooperation Committee (MCC) made
resolving these concerns even more imperative. Canadian and American
military delegations met to hammer out a revised version of ABC-22 from
May 20-23, 1946. After a marathon session of planning and discussion, the
MCC released an “Appreciation of the Requirements for Canadian-United
States Security” and a “Joint Canadian-United States Basic Security Plan.”
The documents stressed that the military potential of North America would
be a major target in any outbreak of hostilities. In three to five years the of-
fensive capabilities of any potential enemy would steadily improve, making
the continent more vulnerable to attack. If the enemy acquired the atomic
bomb, an attack might come sooner and would be much more lethal. Any
aerial attack would come over the North Pole, making use of Spitsbergen,
Greenland, and the Canadian Arctic islands as stepping-stones to the con-
tinent. To protect the continent, the Canadians and Americans had to keep
ahead of the enemy capabilities by building an integrated air defence system,
air warning, weather forecasting, communications networks, surveillance,
anti-submarine capabilities and mobile strike forces to counter any possible
enemy lodgement in the north.59 The defence scheme of the MCC would force
Canada to invest ten-fold more resources into continental defence and brace
itself for a veritable Maginot Line in the Arctic. Acceptance of such a plan
would also have a drastic impact on Canadian sovereignty.

Defending Against Help

Canada was in a difficult position. Arnold Heeney, secretary to the Cabinet,
informed Prime Minister King that continental defence would become
the most serious problem facing the government in the postwar years.
Considering the importance the Americans placed on securing a continental
defence agreement, the Americans would probably approach Canada at the
highest levels. “The government will probably have to accept the United
States thesis in general terms,” Heeney concluded, “though we may be able to
moderate the pace at which plans are to be implemented and to some extent
the nature of the projects which are to be undertaken.”60
Historian Joseph Jockel has made a convincing case showing that the
American government did not intend to establish a massive air defence sys-

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tem on Canadian territory in 1946. Despite the threat assessment prepared

by the MCC, the USAAF remained predominately focused on offensive oper-
ations, not continental air defences, in the early postwar years.61 Jockel also
noted that early bilateral “negotiations were conducted before the higher au-
thorities had fully established what, precisely, the American interest was.”62
Furthermore, senior American officials tended to leave the details of bilateral
defence planning in the hands of lower ranking officers and diplomats and
often, as in the case of the MCC recommendation, knew little about the actual
plans.63 These senior officials had little interest in the grandiose plans of the
MCC, and suggestions for air defence bases and radar stations throughout
the Arctic faded away for the short-term.
Regardless of the intentions of senior American officials, the plans pre-
pared by the MCC, the multitude of proposed northern defence projects, and
the failure of the PJBD to create a set of basic principles for cooperation that
protected Canadian sovereignty left the King government reeling by June
1946. Everyone knew that Canada would participate in continental defence
with its closest ally, in spite of its sovereignty concerns.64 Furthermore,
Canadian military officials recognized the importance of the proposed
defence projects. After the conference on weather stations in May, Group
Captain Douglas Bradshaw, the RCAF representative, stated that he “hoped
that the project would not be turned down on the basis of the sovereignty
question as he felt there was a very great need of these stations for air activ-
ity in view of the rather disturbing political situation at the present time.”65
The Canadian Arctic would be one of the front lines of any new global war.
According to David Bercuson, this posed a series of important questions for
policy makers:

Did Canada have the resources to guard that front line to the
satisfaction of its powerful ally, the United States? It was obvious,
almost from the start, that it did not. But could Canada allow
the United States to mount that “long polar watch” alone, from
Canadian territory? Would this not be an admission that what-
ever sovereignty Canada claimed in the polar regions was weak
at best and nonexistent at worst?66

How would Canada respond to the proposals for American defence projects
in the Arctic? How would it protect its sovereignty in the region?
Canada required a solution to its problem that both protected sovereign-
ty and provided adequate continental defence: it needed to “defend against

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help.”67 The Canadians worried that the Americans might act unilaterally
if they did not attempt to defend the Arctic, which the United States per-
ceived as a strategically vulnerable position. To effectively defend the Arctic,
however, the Canadians had to partner up with the United States and allow
American soldiers onto Canadian territory. This, in turn, would raise grave
sovereignty concerns and in the process of securing the continent the United
States itself would become a threat to Canada. Canadian diplomats realized
that any policy in the Arctic would need to provide both sovereignty and
security. Defence against help guaranteed both.
Though this policy would eventually prove effective, the King govern-
ment continued to struggle to find the solution to its dilemma in the summer
of 1946. By the beginning of June, the Americans began to press the Canadian
government for a quick decision on the proposed defence projects, lest they
miss the narrow window of opportunity for operations during the Arctic’s
short summer. Canadian officials understood that their country had little
choice but to participate in continental defence, but as American pressure
mounted they became more determined to find a solution that would allay
their sovereignty concerns. The government learned lessons from its war-
time experiences, and did not plunge head first into defence cooperation with
the Americans by accepting every defence proposal immediately. Instead,
the government bided its time, pondered the problem, and attempted to
form a response that would protect Canada’s sovereignty and provide the
American’s with the security they desired.

An Activist Approach?
Throughout the spring and summer, several high-ranking officials proposed
that Canada solve its sovereignty problems in the Arctic by aggressively
pursuing formal American recognition of its claims. R.M. Macdonnell an-
ticipated that Arctic problems would be at the forefront of Canada’s foreign
affairs in years ahead. Soon “there will be extensive programmes of northern
exploration and development in which the United States will either be par-
ticipating with Canada or will have been given permission to act independ-
ently,” he predicted. With worrisome thoughts of American flags flying over
bases in the Canadian Arctic flashing through his mind, Macdonnell sug-
gested that the Canadians go on the offensive from the start and “endeavour
to secure [American] agreement to our claims about Canadian sovereignty.”68
Lester Pearson echoed this sentiment when he suggested that Canada use
the defence projects as leverage to attain from the Americans public recogni-
tion of Canada’s claims based on the sector principle.69 Both men advocated

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an activist approach to Canadian sovereignty – a radical departure from the

gradualist approach of the first half of the century.
After the Canadian-American Arctic weather stations conference in
May, James Allison Glen, the Minister of Mines and Resources, expressed
his worry to Louis St. Laurent about the prospect of permanent American
installations in a region where Canada did little to strengthen its sovereignty.
Glen thought that the project was not as urgent as the American alleged,
and he emphasized that any resolution should include “a clear and definite
understanding” of Canadian sovereignty over the Arctic islands.70 Senior
military officers seemed to agree that an aggressive offense was the best
defence, and also advocated formal recognition of Canada’s claims. Charles
Foulkes, the Chief of the General Staff, felt that “the whole question of
Canadian sovereignty should be settled now, and that if weakness is shown
at the present juncture it will only lead to increasing demands in future.”71
A memorandum concerning the army’s position highlighted its agreement
with the Department of Mines and Resources (DMR) and suggested that
Canada work to gain “full title” to the islands on which defence installations
might be built.72 The military’s leadership, usually so willing to work closely
with the Americans, remained wary of their chief ally setting up permanent
facilities in the Arctic during peacetime.
Historian Adam Lajeunesse alleges that Canada should have adopted
the approach endorsed by Foulkes, Macdonnell and Pearson. Canada should
have pushed the United States for acceptance of its claims, in return for the
defence rights the Americans wanted in the Arctic.73 Certainly a dramatic
activist approach had tremendous appeal. In theory, forcing the powerful
Americans to bend to Canadian demands while solving, once and for all,
Canada’s sovereignty worries is both alluring and idealistic. Given the world
situation of 1946, this approach surely would have failed. Neither Pearson,
Foulkes nor Macdonnell offered any evidence to support the assumption that
the United States might have formally accepted Canada’s claims. Strategic
and political considerations ensured that the Americans would not and
could not accept a forceful Canadian request for sovereignty recognition.
Although the State Department made it abundantly clear that the
United States did not want to violate Canada’s sovereignty in the Arctic, the
Americans never offered to formally accept Canada’s claims in 1946.74 Global
interests made such a declaration unrealistic, lest this be seen as acceptance
of the sector principle. In 1926 the Soviet Union issued a decree that pro-
claimed its recognition of the sector theory and claimed an enormous swath
of territory stretching from its eastern and western borders to the North Pole.

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Even if the United States did not object to Canada’s sectoral claims in prin-
ciple, it did not want to strengthen the position of the Russians. Any formal
acceptance of Canada’s claims would have done just that.

The Antarctic Connection to Canada’s Arctic

American political and strategic interests in the Antarctic also dictated its re-
sponse. In the first decades of the twentieth century countries used the sector
principle to claim vast portions of the southern polar continent. The United
States government refused to do so, and stated in 1924 that no Antarctic claim
could be made unless it satisfied a strict definition of effective occupation far
more stringent than the British version for polar regions (which only called for
the occasional visit and legislative act).75 In September 1929, the United States
Navy Department criticized the sector principle as an illegal attempt by a few
of the world’s powers to unfairly divide up a large portion of the globe.76
After the war the United States began preparing its territorial claim in
the Antarctic, and the strategic importance of the continent grew as the Soviet
Union began to express an interest in the region. The USN began planning
for a massive military project in the Antarctic, Operation Highjump, initiated
in August 1946 and involving 13 ships, nine aircraft and 4700 personnel. That
December, Dean Acheson, the Acting Secretary of State, indicated the polit-
ical importance of the American Antarctic expedition when he claimed that
the operation highlighted “a definite policy of exploration and use of those
Antarctic areas to which we already have a reasonable basis for claim…in or-
der that we may be in a position to advance territorial claims to those areas.”
Highjump, and a later expedition known as Windmill, provided the Americans
with a firm foundation for claims based on effective occupation.77
Between 1946 and 1948 the State Department crafted the American claim
in the Antarctic. Samuel Boggs, the State Department’s Geographic Adviser
and the man responsible for these plans, ignored all sector claims on the con-
tinent and formulated an American claim based on discovery and effective
occupation. As long as the sector principle was not established in international
law, the United States government could argue for a portion of the Antarctic
that it considered both accessible and economically attractive.78 Any recogni-
tion of the sector principle in one polar region would have established a pre-
cedent for the other, to the detriment of the American position in the Antarctic.
As long as the Americans rejected the sector claims in the Antarctic,
they could also continue to operate in any area of the region they chose. The
American military considered the Antarctic to be valuable for training and
experimentation. Learning to cope with the extreme conditions could prepare

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men and equipment for deployment in the Arctic, while avoiding the political
sensitivities involved with undertaking a project the size of Highjump in the
Canadian archipelago.79 Senior American officials realized that they would
lose this ability to train and prepare their forces for war against the Soviets
if they accepted the sector theory in the Arctic.80 Accordingly, if Canada had
insisted on formal American recognition of its sovereignty in the early post
war years, based on the sector principle, the United States would have in-
evitably rejected its request, weakening any Canadian legal claim based on
foreign acquiescence.
If the situation in the Antarctic made acceptance of the sector principle
impossible for the Americans, what was their opinion of Canadian sover-
eignty in the region? Two documents from this period illuminate American
thinking on the matter. While at times critical of Canadian claims, both
reports endorsed cooperation rather than unilateral American action. In
early 1946 Lt. Colonel James Brewster, Assistant Chief of Intelligence, Atlantic
Division Air Transport Command, noted that international acceptance of a
territorial claim and effective occupation were the only ways to take posses-
sion of a territory. Brewster pointed out, however, that the rigid American
conception of effective occupation did not align with the precedents estab-
lished by international law. In 1933, the Eastern Greenland Case decided that
Denmark had demonstrated sufficient authority over parts of Greenland to
claim the entire area as its own, although this jurisdiction was manifested
solely by Danish legislative acts which could not be effectively enforced in
most of the territory involved. The case indicated that the administration
established for areas like the Canadian Arctic could be adapted to local con-
ditions and meet only local requirements. Brewster recognized that develop-
ment or mass settlement of the region was not required.81
Although the report acknowledged Canadian efforts to assert their
sovereignty in the Arctic, Brewster maintained the northernmost regions
of North America remained susceptible to foreign intrusion. These islands
“represent[ed] either a potential spearhead pointed at Europe,” he noted, “…
or, on the other hand, an especially vulnerable area, a possible spring-board
for any foreign assault on the North American continent.” Brewster did not
suggest the United States take immediate unilateral action in the Arctic, or
that it should look for undiscovered islands to claim. Instead, he called for
joint defence activity in the region, including patrols and the deployment of a
network of meteorological, radio and air stations to ensure effective occupa-
tion before some other foreign power did so.82 The United States, after all,
would much rather see Canadians in the Arctic Archipelago than Russians.

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A second report entitled, “Problems of Canadian-United States

Cooperation in the Arctic,” also came from the intelligence branch of the
Atlantic Division, Air Transport Command.83 Released in October 1946,
the paper claimed that, while many of Canada’s senior military advisers
understood the interdependence of the two countries in continental secur-
ity, many Canadians opposed any American military presence in the Arctic
during peacetime lest it erode Canadian sovereignty. The Americans, how-
ever, did not want to challenge Canada’s position in the Arctic, and while
they may have thought that the Canadians had not done enough to effect-
ively occupy the region, “in light of the latter decision [East Greenland],
we are forced to conclude that the Canadian claim to sovereignty over the
entire American Arctic would be sustained by an international judicial
body.”84
There would, of course, be a backlash if the United States seized islands
that Canada considered its own. The Air Transport Command report listed
Prince Patrick Island, Banks Island and Grant Land as the only locations that
the American government could occupy with any hope of making a legal
defence of its actions. While such an occupation might be technically legal,
the violation of Canadian territorial rights “would lead to repercussions so
severe that the violation, except in the case of emergency, would not be worth
it.” The report emphasized that the United States should not undertake a
unilateral program of polar defence. Cooperation was preferable, even if this
meant grappling with Canada’s sovereignty concerns in ways that did not
prejudice American interpretations of international law. In short, the United
States could not accept the sector principle, but it did not seek to undermine
Canada’s sovereignty either.
Historian Shelagh Grant used the October 1946 report on the problems
of Canadian-American defence cooperation in the Arctic as proof of diabol-
ical American intentions. In her view, the Americans consistently considered
undertaking the defence of the Arctic unilaterally and thought seriously of
annexing certain Canadian islands.85 This judgement stems from a problem-
atic reading of the primary sources. In the end, this was a low-level planning
document prepared by a low-ranking officer attached to a unit that was one
small part of USAAF. “Sweeping internally generated ‘think’ pieces, discuss-
ing hypothetical situations does not represent actual policy,” David Bercuson
explained in a review of Grant’s book. “In fact, there is not a shred of evi-
dence that any top-level US policy body ever disputed Canada’s claims to the
Arctic Archipelago.”86 While the paper investigated unilateral action in the
Canadian Arctic, it actually concluded that Canadian sovereignty must be

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respected, even informally recognized by Washington. The report advocated

cooperation, not coercion or intimidation.
The majority of Canadian officials understood that the Americans would
not approve the sector principle. American proposals never suggested the
acceptance of the principle and often implicitly rejected the theory. One of
the clearest examples of this came in September 1946, when the American
section of the PJBD announced the intention of the United States to establish
a Great Circle Flying Route from the West Coast to Tokyo. General Henry
explained to the Canadian Section that these planes would not fly over terri-
tory between 60° and 142° without permission from Canada. The Canadian
report noted that “the selection of 142° as the Western limit rather than 141°
which is the boundary between Alaska and Canada, was made so as to avoid
giving support to the Sector principle.”87 Officials in External Affairs also
recognized American concerns about the sector principle in the Antarctic
and suggested not placing the United States government in a position where
it had to officially reject Canada’s application of the theory in the Arctic.88
Canadian diplomat Hume Wrong understood the situation best. From
the start he realized that the Antarctic interests of the United States would
keep it from publically endorsing the sector principle. In fact, Wrong dis-
suaded Pearson from adopting a more aggressive approach to the Arctic. A
gradualist approach to sovereignty seemed to be Canada’s best option. For
many years Canada proceeded without “difficulty on the assumption that
our sovereignty was not challenged,” Wrong observed. “A declaration of this
sort would revive discussion of an issue which may in practice turn out to
have been closed.”89 In addition, while the Antarctic prevented the United
States from accepting Canada’s claims, Wrong realized the region provided
a testing ground for the principles of polar sovereignty. He maintained “that
it now seems probable that the Antarctic area rather than the Arctic will
provide the field for working out general rules of international law concern-
ing the relative merits of claims based on occupancy, formal annexation and
discovery…There is a long way to go, however, before a generally recognized
definition of what constitutes effective occupancy can be developed.”90
Rather than risk a unilateral assertion of Canada’s sovereignty, why not wait
and see if developments in the southern polar region clarified the situation
in the Arctic?
Although several prominent officials still promoted an activist approach
to Arctic sovereignty, others supported Wrong’s views. On 8 May 1946, E.R.
Hopkins, a member of External Affairs’ Third Political Division, advised “we
should not raise any question concerning our sovereignty in the Arctic in

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advance of necessity.” Instead, the government required time to consolidate

its knowledge about Arctic sovereignty and establish a firm position before
it made any decision.91 Since the days of O.D Skelton, External Affairs had
promised to update its file on sovereignty in the North. By the summer of
1946, the department still had done nothing.92 Soon an in depth exploration of
Canada’s sovereignty in the North, and ways to safeguard it, was underway.

Debating the Options

Given the relatively permanent nature of the Arctic weather stations and the
long-term plan proposed by the Americans, the most substantive discussions
revolved around this proposed program. A few public servants believed that
Canada should take full responsibility for the weather stations, erecting and
operating all of the facilities itself. The Northwest Territories Council ques-
tioned why Canada, after spending an obscene amount of money buying
back all the wartime American bases in the North, would once again invite
the U.S. into the region?93 Canada might as well construct, operate, supply
and man the stations on her own, rather than spend money to purchase them
from the U.S. later.94 The Minister of Mines and Resources took this idea ser-
iously and recommended to External Affairs that:

Canada should establish and operate any necessary stations

even if U.S. official publications admit Canada’s sovereignty. This
looks like one of those defence (?) proposals that seem as though
we were getting everything for nothing at the beginning and
then we wake up after a while to find that the U.S. Senate has
turned everything upside down and that the U.S diplomats are
back again to ask us to pay for work we could have done better
and more cheaply ourselves.95

After the joint weather stations conference in May, J.G. Wright, the Acting
Superintendant of the Eastern Arctic, proposed that if Canada scraped the
bottom of the barrel in the Meteorological Service and the military it might
be able to find enough personnel to operate the stations.96
Most Canadian officials, however, recognized that it would be impos-
sible for Canada to independently establish and operate such stations in the
Arctic. Representatives from Canada’s Meteorological Service complained
that to supply the necessary personnel to operate the proposed station, they
would have to close at least one, and possibly two, current stations. They also
doubted the likelihood of recruiting enough qualified personnel to staff all of

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the proposed Arctic stations. Andrew Thomson and Commander Edwards

noted that Canada’s position on sovereignty seemed “unduly cautious,” and
Edwards suggested that Canada only needed to supply three of the ten staff
members when the first stations were established. (In the future, this number
could increase so that Canadians made up at least half of all weather station
personnel.)97 In his sober appraisal, this personnel ratio would effectively
protect Canada’s claims. Other officials also worried about the high cost of
taking on the project alone, and thought that surely some American invest-
ment should be accepted.98
At the end of May, the Department of External Affairs produced a memo-
randum discussing the different courses of action available to Canada.99 Either
the United States or Canada could undertake the weather station program
independently, although sovereignty concerns and the huge price tag made
this option unattractive. The King government could refuse to cooperate with
the project, although this would elicit a strong reaction from the United States
and, in a worst case scenario, could lead to unilateral American action. The
Canadians might defer decision on the program until a joint planning group
could go over the plans and establish the specific parameters of the project.
Finally, approval could be given immediately for the program, with the stipu-
lation that it be a joint project with as many Canadian observers as possible.100
In External Affairs’ opinion, none of the courses of action did enough to
protect Canada’s sovereignty. It wanted to create a set of guidelines for the
weather station program that would safeguard Canada’s claims and control
over the Arctic. Acknowledging American assurances that Canadian sover-
eignty would not be threatened, the Department suggested that the weather
stations program be approved as a joint project so long as Canada controlled
the stations, the United States had no vested interests or claims in the facili-
ties, Canadians replaced American personnel as soon as possible, and the
two countries shared the annual operating costs.101 This approach reflected
the steps taken during the final years of the war to gain control of the defence
projects in the Northwest. Using these tested methods, the Canadians hoped
to secure their sovereignty.
Major General D.C. Spry’s report listed the same possible courses of ac-
tion as the External Affairs memorandum. The general embraced the idea
of establishing a clear set of formal guidelines for all defence projects in the
North. Spry added that the Americans should be required to seek permis-
sion before starting any exercise or project on or over Canadian territory, that
the majority of personnel involved at permanent installations be Canadian,
that Canadians participate in all projects (even if only as observers), and that

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any publicity on the projects stress their joint nature.102 The Cabinet Defence
Committee accepted his recommendations at its meeting on 6 June 1946.103 At
last, the Canadians seemed ready to offer the Americans a positive answer
on their Arctic defence projects.

Deferring the Decision

As Canadian officials discussed their preferred course of action, the United
States attempted to hasten a Canadian decision. At first the Americans tried
to alleviate Canadian concerns by making the northern defence plans appear
less threatening. For instance, the original plan for the weather stations pro-
gram called for extensive air facilities at the Melville Island site. In early June,
the Americans informed the Canadian government that “this programme
has now been scaled down considerably. Strategic Air Command have been
put in charge instead of Air Transport Command and they do things more
simply than the somewhat grandiose Air Transport people.” Strategic Air
Command downgraded the proposed permanent airstrips to small scale
temporary ones.104 When these changes failed to elicit a quick and favourable
Canadian response, however, the United States government re-applied pres-
sure to expedite the Canadian decision.105
Unwilling to make a decision without King (who was in England at the
time), the Cabinet decided to defer decision on the weather stations at their
meeting on 12 June 1946.106 As the month went on, worries continued to sur-
face about Canada’s interests and continental security. On 21 June Pearson
told Norman Robertson that he asked “the War Department…not press us
too hard with urgent requests for quick action in the field of defence in the
North. I said that, while developments in the north were perhaps relatively
small items in the defence plans of this country, they were for us matters
of great importance, strategically and politically.”107 In a letter to Arnold
Heeney, Hume Wrong noted that the United States utilized “a number of
different channels in an effort to extract a prompt and favourable decision.”
The Canadian government was still in a precarious position.108
Prime Minister King returned from England to find the weather sta-
tions one of the most pressing issues on his agenda. In his discussions with
several key British politicians, the real prospect of a Soviet war of conquest
loomed large and his British peers suggested he reach a defence agreement
with the Americans.109 King understood the magnitude of the situation and
considered continental defence to be necessary. Nonetheless, he would not
rush into a decision without taking careful steps to protect his country’s in-
terests – and his legacy.

94
 PETER KIKKERT

At a 27 June Cabinet meeting, King and his ministers decided to deny

the American request to start the weather station program that summer.110
The Prime Minister emphasized that the government required more time
to study the general problem of continental defence and to formulate a co-
herent policy.111 The absence of formal guidelines regulating the Canadian-
American defence relationship and unresolved questions about the extent of
Canada’s participation in the project troubled the government.112 King would
not take risks without an urgent threat forcing Canada’s hand, so his govern-
ment adopted a cautious policy of delaying decisions on continental defence
until the complex situation could be sorted out to Canada’s benefit.
On 2 July R.M. Macdonnell informed a disappointed Lewis Clark about
the Canadian decision over the telephone, carefully noting that this “did not
rule out future consideration of the project.” In his memorandum describ-
ing the Canadian decision, Macdonnell argued that “there were not lacking
indications of developments not calculated to increase Canadian confidence
in the intentions of some United States officials. Some irresponsible enthusi-
asts in lower levels in Washington were known to have made ill considered
remarks about the possibility of raising the Stars and Stripes in unoccupied
Arctic territory.” The Americans, for instance, had already collected vast
amounts of material for the project and started to recruit personnel for ser-
vice in the Arctic. These hasty actions did little to alleviate Canadian concern
about American intentions. After hearing the decision, Clark relayed the
disappointment of the United States government and Macdonnell expected
that the Americans would continue to place pressure on the Canadian gov-
ernment to accept defence plans.113
Despite Macdonnell’s fears, the Americans actually shifted tactics.
In August and September, the State Department and the United States
military stopped pressuring the Canadians to accept continental defence
proposals. Instead, they set about reassuring their Canadian counterparts.
Major General Victor Henry wrote to Graham Parsons and explained why
he believed the Canadians resisted the American defence plans. Henry
argued that Canada’s response was shaped by the large costs, the perceived
threat to sovereignty, the possibility of negative public opinion, unwilling-
ness to desert the Commonwealth in favour of the United States, and the
fear of becoming another Belgium. To fix these insecurities, he suggested,
“Canadian public opinion must be convinced of a potential threat before the
Dominion Government will feel fully justified in carrying out this new, and
from a Canadian point of view, revolutionary policy.” The General urged
that the two countries reach an agreement in principle on defence to show

95
1946: THE YEAR CANADA CHOSE ITS PATH IN THE ARCTIC

the Canadian public that their government took the threat to the continent
seriously and to alleviate Canadian sovereignty fears.114
In early September, Henry attempted to convince the Canadian section
of the PJBD to reach an agreement on continental defence. The international
situation dictated that the “security of the homeland of both Canada and the
United States is unalterably bound up one with the other and will require the
utmost of coordination.” He emphasized that the American High Command
did not want to violate Canada’s sovereignty or its rights: it was a purely
military problem that required joint defence cooperation.115 Despite Henry’s
best efforts, the Canadians continued to defer their decision.
At this critical juncture, the British added their input into the situa-
tion. As King struggled to make a decision, Bernard Montgomery, the
chief of the Imperial General Staff, paid a visit to Canada and met with
the Prime Minister and key military personnel. The old soldier, whom
King held in high regard, insisted that there would be another war in ten
to fifteen years. “There was no possibility of Russia attempting to invade
the North American continent at any time during the next fifteen years,”
Montgomery noted, “but … she might attempt air raids either direct or
from a base, or bases, established in the Arctic Islands.”116 Although the
inaccessibility of the North provided some security for the continent,
Montgomery recommended implementing an air defence scheme to thwart
any Soviet raid across the northern approaches. If Canada could not afford
such a scheme on its own, he urged that it reach an agreement with the
Americans.117 King, however much he respected Monty’s opinion, still kept
the American’s waiting.
While the Canadian government stubbornly withheld permission for
permanent projects in the Arctic like the weather stations, they tried to ap-
pease the Americans by approving less ambitious projects throughout the
summer. Despite misgivings about the Americans overflying the Arctic,
the Cabinet Defence Committee (CDC) accepted the proposal for Operation
Polaris. In the middle of June the government also approved Operation
Nanook, as long as the USN adopted a less “military” sounding title. If the
United States needed to land Marines somewhere in the Canadian Arctic, the
Canadians requested Dundas Harbour, where an RCMP detachment dem-
onstrated Canadian sovereignty.118 Cabinet also decided to allow the United
States to continue to operate certain weather stations in the southern portion
of the Canadian North.119 Although the Americans appreciated these con-
cessions, they grew increasingly restless for action on the larger continental
defence projects as fall began.

96
 PETER KIKKERT

Bringing the Canadians to the Table

On 19 September 1946 the PJBD amended its 35th Recommendation to bet-
ter protect the sovereignty of both countries.120 King, however, still refused
to sign off on the recommendation until he had a better understanding of
American defence plans for the Arctic. By October, acting Secretary of State
Dean Acheson suggested to President Truman that the Canadians might
require a nudge before they agreed to defence collaboration. “The planning
and application of joint defence measures remains the most active of our cur-
rent relations with Canada,” Acheson explained. “Our military authorities
are naturally insistent on closing the gap between Alaska and Greenland
and on pushing the defence of our industrial centers north of our border.
For this we are dependent on the cooperation of the Canadian government.”
Acheson understood that this decision was a matter of great importance to
the Canadians, who worried about the political risk and the danger it posed
to their sovereignty.121 He urged the President to tell King that the civilian
members of the United States Administration, and not just the military,
wanted more defence cooperation.122
As the State Department grew increasingly anxious, Hume Wrong
observed that the Canadians still did not have a clear understanding of
US planning or American conclusions about the Soviet threat. Wrong also
commented to King that there “is still…a lot to be learned in Washington
about our position and our problems.” Closer military cooperation was
necessary, but Wrong did not believe that such a relationship should be
based on the current defence appreciation created by the MCC. 123 He urged
King to tell the President that the Canadians wanted high-level diplomatic
discussions to determine exactly what the Americans really planned for
the Arctic.
During a meeting at the White House on 28 October 1946, Truman
attempted to get King on the same page about continental defence. The
President stressed the need for cooperation, and spoke on the value of the
Arctic weather stations. Truman approached the situation calmly and did
not place undue pressure on the Prime Minister. The next day, however, King
received an oral communiqué from the President that presented quite a dif-
ferent message. Truman urged the Canadians to quickly approve the defence
scheme created by the MCC and to concur to PJBD Recommendation 35 and
its principles regulating continental defence.124
On 12 November 1946, Lester Pearson responded. Any discussion on
defence needed to take into consideration the world political situation, and
the fact that Canada could not escape a global conflict if one broke out. It

97
1946: THE YEAR CANADA CHOSE ITS PATH IN THE ARCTIC

would be extremely difficult to work out a tolerable relationship with the

Soviet Union as long as it was “governed by ruthless despots” and inhabited
by “millions of fighting men to whom life is hard and cheap.” Armed con-
flict remained unlikely in the next few years, but “the way the world is now
going, there can only be one ultimate result – war.”125 Canada had obliga-
tions in continental defence, Pearson stressed, and had to cooperate with the
Americans. It was time to commit.
During meetings of the Cabinet Defence Committee on 14 and 15
November, officials debated Canada’s next move. Many urged that Canada
accept Recommendation 35 to give the two countries some principles on
cooperation with which to work. However, Brooke Claxton, who in a month
would become the Minister of National Defence, reminded all present of
the fundamental difference between the viewpoints of the Americans and
Canadians.126 In the end, the Canadians wanted to accept the principles
of defence cooperation as proposed by the PJBD, but remained wary of
American intentions for the Arctic. On 21 November 1946, senior Canadian
and American officials, led by Pearson and Atherton, met to lay the ground-
work for high-level defence discussions that would hopefully answer all of
Canada’s questions about American intentions.127 Interestingly, one of the
few subjects that the Americans stated they would not discuss was the sector
principle,128 because this was not a basis upon which they could officially
support Canada’s claims. If any Canadian officials still believed that a for-
mal recognition of Canadian sovereignty in the Arctic based on the sector
principle would be forthcoming from the Americans, their hopes were now
finally dashed.

Two Days in December

On 16 December 1946 senior Canadian officials found themselves sitting
across from their American counterparts in the Chateau Laurier, Ottawa.
Given the sensitive nature of the discussions the meeting was kept as
secret as possible and the military men arrived at the hotel in their civil-
ian clothes to avoid drawing any undue attention. Over the next two cold
winter days, the allies attempted to work out a deal on bilateral defence
cooperation that would provide for American security concerns without
sacrificing Canada’s national interests. Of all the defence meetings between
the Canadians and Americans following the war, this one stands out as the
most important. Both sides came to the negotiating table willing to com-
promise and these men worked out the principles for a defence relationship
that would last for years and have a significant impact on Canadian inter-

98
 PETER KIKKERT

ests and sovereignty. Out of the meeting emerged an informal relationship,

based on careful negotiations and agreement. “In the all important area of
joint defence planning, both sides agreed that all the defence plans were
‘somewhat utopian’ and that their implementation had to be ‘decided step
by step,’ with the rate of implementation ‘under constant review,’” conclud-
ed David Bercuson.129 The Canadians also discovered that the Americans
had little interest in creating a vast air defence system, which undoubtedly
soothed their anxieties.130
The Americans conducted the meeting in a friendly and informal man-
ner, sending some of their best men for the occasion (including George
Keenan, the resident Russian expert).131 Political scientist Denis Smith has
asserted that “as the diplomatic catalyst of the policy of firmness, and the
American diplomat most respected by the Canadian Department for his judg-
ment of the Soviet Union, Keenan was an inspired choice for the American
delegation.”132 These men made a reasonable case and allowed the Canadians
to draw their own conclusions. They did not attempt to “present demands
or to insist on certain things being done.”133 Indeed, the Americans behaved
impeccably.
“So far from being in an excitable or panicky frame of mind, the
Americans had shown themselves very cool, level headed and realistic,” a
Canadian report on the meeting observed.134 The American contingent told
the Canadians that, while they did not believe a war would break out in
the near future, measures should be taken to safeguard the continent. “In
their general game of power politics Russians usually carried on with their
bludgeoning tactics until ‘A quarter of an hour before midnight,’ and only
modified their policy at the last minute.”135 The North American continent
required defences if they decided to go “five minutes past midnight.” The
Americans believed that Arctic defences were long-term insurance, and
they promised that any defence plan would proceed cautiously and grad-
ually year-by-year, based on the international situation.136 The Canadians
questioned the Americans extensively about their global strategy and were
pleased to hear that the US strategic focus remained offensive in nature.137
For the most part, Canadian and American officials at the meeting saw eye-
to-eye on Soviet intentions and the steps required to counter the communist
threat.
The Americans also told the Canadians exactly what they had in mind
for the North. They did not want to dash into grandiose proposals, but
“seemed as anxious as the Canadians to keep the whole business as modest
as possible.”138 The United States wanted weather and Loran stations in the

99
1946: THE YEAR CANADA CHOSE ITS PATH IN THE ARCTIC

Arctic, but Pearson acknowledged that these proposals were moderate and
benign. Financing would be discussed for each specific proposal and allot-
ted proportionately. “The general intention,” he explained, “would be that
the Canadians should themselves finance in toto any measures which they
themselves would have undertaken for their own purposes apart altogether
from United States interest.”139 The American proposals would not unduly
burden Canada’s budget and promised to assist in the development of the
North.
Pearson felt that this quieter tempo on the part of the Americans
resulted largely from six months of stalling on the Canadian side.140 The
Americans recognized Canadian insecurities about sovereignty and made
the price of defence cooperation significantly easier to bear. They agreed
on a policy of firmness and patience. Accordingly, Canada finally commit-
ted to a joint continental defence agreement. Canada’s de jure sovereignty
would be protected and its rights respected. On 16 January 1947 Cabinet ap-
proved the final version of Recommendation 35, which laid out regulatory
principles for all continental defence projects. Renamed Recommendation
36, the document represented, in the words of David Bercuson, “an explicit
U.S assurance to Canada that the United States had no wish to violate the
de jure sovereignty Canada claimed over the north.”141 All defence pro-
jects would remain under the control of the host country, no permanent
rights would be granted to the visiting forces, and both countries would
study each project individually and approve all public statements about
the defence projects.142 The Recommendation ensured that the principles of
bilateral defence cooperation safeguarded Canada’s sovereignty and pro-
tected its interests. By February these provisions had been applied to the
weather stations program, and the contested project was finally approved.
It had been a long road, but the negotiations of 1946 finally paid off for both
countries.

* * *

After the meeting at the Chateau Laurier, Canadian policy-makers

lost some of their reservations about cooperating with the United States in
continental defence. As the defence relationship between the two countries
began to heat up, however, and the Arctic became the scene of more activity,
the Canadian government still worried about its de facto sovereignty. Paper
agreements were important, but Canada still needed to maintain control of
developments on the ground. Despite minor indiscretions, most Americans,

100
 PETER KIKKERT

especially high-ranking ones, would apply the spirit of the defence principles
on the ground in the North. This respectful attitude, coupled with Canada’s
growing ability to maintain control of events on the ground, would effect-
ively safeguard Canada’s de facto sovereignty.
In 1946 the Canadians adopted a different attitude towards their de-
fence relationship with the Americans than they had in the Second World
War. They tried to be more assertive and defensive in handling their close
ally, and they succeeded by continuing to learn from their mistakes and
improving their efforts to control activities. Officials, especially those from
External Affairs, worked to delay defence planning and decision-making,
allowing time to ponder problems and formulate appropriate responses.
Rather than capitulating to pressure and rushing to fill the Arctic with
defence projects desired by the United States, Canadian decision-makers
dictated the pace at which security planning progressed to suit their own
interests. They adopted a strategy of defending against help and, while it
was not the most dramatic plan, it allowed the Canadians to secure their
sovereignty effectively while leaving the primary financial burden for de-
fence on their key ally.
In 1946 the Canadian government was constrained by security concerns,
international law, and the strategic interests of the United States. In the con-
text of the time, the Canadians adopted the only realistic policy available
to them: gradual acquisition. The Americans would have rejected any ac-
tivist assertion attempting to trade defence rights for a public recognition
of Canada’s sovereignty based on the sector principle. In turn, Canada’s
quiet diplomacy secured de jure sovereignty over its terrestrial claims in the
Arctic. The policy of ‘agreeing to disagree,’ used so effectively by Mulroney
and Reagan in response to the voyage of the Polar Sea, (see chapter 13) did
not appear out of thin air. They adopted an old and familiar position that
had roots in the defence negotiations of 1946. Canada and the United States
found space to coexist in the name of continental defence, finding a solu-
tion to Canada’s sovereignty woes that both governments could accept while
averting intractable disagreements on core legal issues. Franklyn Griffiths
and other commentators continue to suggest that a functional Canadian
approach to managing and controlling its internal waters, based on “agree-
ing to disagree” with the Americans on the legal status of the Northwest
Passage, remains a feasible and realistic option. Such a policy has proven
effective since 1946, and may remain the key to managing bilateral relations
in the twenty-first century Arctic.143

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1946: THE YEAR CANADA CHOSE ITS PATH IN THE ARCTIC
Notes
I would like to thank Richard Goette,
Whitney Lackenbauer and Dan Heidt for
graciously sharing their archival research
with me.
1 Ken Coates, Whitney Lackenbauer,
William Morrison, and Greg Poelzer,
Arctic Front (Toronto: Thomas Allen
Publishers, 2008), 1.
2 Franklyn Griffiths, “Canadian Sover-
eignty and Arctic International Rela-
tions,” in The Arctic in Question, ed. E.J
Dosman, (Toronto: Oxford University
Press, 1976), 144-148.
3 Sovereignty is officially defined as
“The possession of supreme author-
ity within a territory.” This concept is
further split into de jure and de facto
sovereignty. De facto “is the reality of
control or possession, but not by right
of law,” and basically involves exercis-
ing control over land and water. De
jure is legitimate ownership under the
law, and the recognition of others that
one can use force in a designated ter-
ritory; Elizabeth Elliot-Meisel, Arctic
Diplomacy: Canada and the United States
in the Northwest Passage, (New York:
Peter Lang, 1998), 5; In 1946, Vice Chief
of the General Staff D.C Spry defined
sovereignty as “as power, right or
authority over a clearly defined and
delimited area, Sovereignty in the Can-
adian Arctic in Relation to Joint Defence
Undertakings, Memorandum from
Department of National Defence to
Cabinet Defence Committee, 18 May
1946, Department of External Affairs,
Documents on Canadian External Rela-
tions (DCER) Volume 12, 1946, (Ottawa:
Queen’s Printer, 1967- ), 1555-1561.
4 Donald Creighton, The Forked Road:
Canada 1939-1957, (Toronto: McClel-
land and Stewart, 1976).
5 Shelagh Grant, Sovereignty or Secur-
ity? Government Policy in the Canadian
North, 1936-1950, (Vancouver: Univer-
sity of British Columbia Press, 1988).
6 Adam Lajuenesse, “Lock, Stock,
and Icebergs? Defining Canadian
102
Sovereignty from Mackenzie King to
Stephen Harper,” CMSS Occasional
Paper No. 1 (Calgary: Centre for Mil-
itary and Strategic Studies, 2007), 3.
7 Whitney Lackenbauer, “Right and
Honourable: Mackenzie King, Can-
adian-American Bilateral Relations,
and Canadian Sovereignty in the
Northwest, 1943-1948,” in Mackenzie
King: Citizenship and `Community, eds.
John English, Kenneth McLaughlin,
and Whitney Lackenbauer. (Toronto:
Robin Brass Studio, 2002), 153.
8 Cuff and Granatstein, Canadian-Amer-
ican Relations in Wartime: From the Great
War to the Cold War, 105.
9 Lackenbauer, “Right and Honourable:
Mackenzie King, Canadian-American
Bilateral Relations, and Canadian
Sovereignty in the Northwest, 1943-
1948;” Elizabeth Elliot-Meisel, Arctic
Diplomacy: Canada and the United States
in the Northwest Passage, (New York:
Peter Lang, 1998); David Bercuson,
“Continental Defence and Arctic
Sovereignty, 1945-1950: Solving the
Canadian Dilemma,” in The Cold War
and Defence, eds. Keith Neilson and
Ronald Haycock (New York: Praeger
Press, 1990); Joseph Jockel, No Bound-
aries Upstairs, (Vancouver: University
of British Columbia Press, 1987).
10 For further work on this theme see,
“Sovereignty and Security: The De-
partment of External Affairs, the
United States, and Arctic Sovereignty,
1945-68,” that I co-authored with
Whitney Lackenbauer, and reflects his
research and thinking on this topic as
well as my own. Work from our joint
research appears in this article with
his expressed permission.
11 Lackenbauer, “Right and Honourable:
Mackenzie King, Canadian-American
Bilateral Relations, and Canadian
Sovereignty in the Northwest, 1943-
1948,” 154.

12 King, 11 September 1945. Eayrs, In De-
fence of Canada Vol. 3: Peacemaking and
Deterrence, 320.
13 Dana Wilgress to the Secretary of State
for External Affairs, 12 November
1945, King Papers, 389: 359440-42. Re-
produced in Smith, Diplomacy of Fear,
118.
14 Eyre, Custos Borealis: The Canadian Mil-
itary in the North.
15 David Beatty, The Canadian-United
States Permanent Joint Board on Defence,
(Ann Arbor: University Microfilms
International, 1969), 117.
16 Post-War Canadian Defence Interests in
United States Defence Projects in North-
west Canada, Preliminary Draft by
Army Representatives on Joint Draft-
ing Group, Working Committee on
Post-Hostilities Problems, 6 July 1945,
Department of External Affairs, DCER
Volume 11, 1944-45, 1588.
17 Hugh Halliday, “Exercise “Musk Ox”
Asserting Sovereignty “North of 60,”
Canadian Military History, Vol. 7, No.
4, (Autumn 1998) 37-44. Exercise Polar
Bear, held between February and
March 1945, tested wet cold conditions
and used 1150 soldiers. Exercise Lem-
ming, held between 22 March and 6
April 1945, tested transportation in
the North and used a small convoy of
vehicles based out of Churchill, Mani-
toba.
18 Post-War Canadian Defence Interests in
United States Defence Projects in North-
west Canada, Preliminary Draft by
Army Representatives on Joint Draft-
ing Group, Working Committee on
Post-Hostilities Problems, 6 July 1945,
DCER Volume 11, 1944-45, 1582.
19 Hugh Halliday, “Exercise “Musk Ox”
Asserting Sovereignty “North of 60,”
Canadian Military History, Vol. 7, No. 4,
(Autumn 1998) 37-44.
20 Smith, Diplomacy of Fear, 153.
21 Ambassador in U.S. to Secretary of
State for External Affairs, 19 January
1946, DCER Volume 12, 1946, 1604-1605.
PETER KIKKERT
While the Canadians were worried
about defence planning getting out
of hand, they also took hope in Rec-
ommendation 34 of the Permanent
Joint Board. Accepted in early 1946,
the Recommendation allowed for the
“free and comprehensive exchange of
information” between Canadian and
American intelligence agencies.
22 Cited in Denis Stairs, “Realists at
Work: Canadian Policy Makers and
the Politics of Transition from Hot War
to Cold War,” in Canada and the Early
Cold War, ed. Greg Donaghy, (Ottawa:
Canadian Government Publishing,
1998), 99.
23 Minister in United States to First Sec-
retary, 21 March 1944, DCER Volume
11, 1944-45, 1406. In order to be suc-
cessful in its broader relationship with
the United States, Canada had to be
careful not to use the “strong glove
over the velvet hand” type diplomacy.
24 Stairs, “Realists at Work: Canadian
Policy Makers and the Politics of Tran-
sition from Hot War to Cold War,” 99.
25 Memorandum on Soviet Motives in
Relation to North America, 2 February
1946, LAC, RG 25, vol. 5749, file 52-c(s).
26 For more on this argument see Andrew
Richter, Avoiding Armageddon: Canadian
Military Strategy and Nuclear Weapons
1950-1963, (Vancouver: University of
British Columbia Press, 2002).
27 Elliot-Meisel, Arctic Diplomacy, 56.
28 Smith, Diplomacy of Fear, 122.
29 Major General Henry to Members of
the Permanent Joint Board on Defence,
14 March 1946, LAC PJBD files 113.
30 Ibid.
31 Senior United States Army Member,
PJBD, to Secretary, Canadian Section,
PJBD, April 30, 1946, DCER, Volume 12,
1946, 1541-1542.
32 Extract of Memorandum from Secre-
tary to the Cabinet to Under-Secretary
of State for External Affairs, 10 May
1946, DCER, Volume 12, 1946, 1547.
103
1946: THE YEAR CANADA CHOSE ITS PATH IN THE ARCTIC
33 An Introduction to Churchill and
Surrounding Area, by 7099th ASU,
NARA, RG 156, Entry 646-A, Box
A764. According to Andrew Iarocci,
“Most significant was its geographic
location at an ecotone, a transitional
zone between two ecological systems:
the arctic barrens to the north and the
boreal forest to the south. As such,
the terrain around Churchill broadly
represented the character of arctic
lands across the north.” Andrew Iaro-
cci, “Opening the North: Technology
and Training at the Fort Churchill
Joint Services Experimental Testing
Station, 1946-1964,” Canadian Army
Journal, Vol. 10.4 (Winter 2008), 76.
34 J. Graham Parsons, Secretary, United
States Section to R.M. Macdonnell,
Secretary, Canadian Section, PJBD, 22
May 1946, LAC, RG 24, vol. 8152, file
NSS 1660-12 (part 1).
35 J. Graham Parsons, Secretary, United
States Section to R.M. Macdonnell,
Secretary, Canadian Section, PJBD, 14
May 1946, LAC, RG 24, vol. 8152, file
NSS 1660-12 (part 1).
36 Memorandum to ACNS and CNP
from P.T.O., Reference – PJBD Amer-
ican Section Letters of 14 May 1946
and 22 May 1946, LAC, RG 24, vol.
8152, file NSS 1660-12 (part 1). When
the American Coast Guard Cutter
Polar Sea transited the same waters
in its journey through the Northwest
Passage in 1985, it sparked outrage in
Canada and elicited a strong response
from the Canadian government. In
late 1946, however, the government ex-
pressed little concern over the status of
the Arctic waters. While it consistently
worried about the impact of perma-
nent or semi-permanent stations on
Canada’s claims to the Arctic islands,
large scale American naval operations
did not seem to pose the same kind
of threat. Terrestrial sovereignty re-
mained the government’s primary
focus.
37 C. W. Jackson, Acting Deputy Minister
Mines and Resources, to Deputy Min-
104
ister of Transport, 13 October 1944,
LAC, RG 25, vol. 3347, file 9061-A-40C.
38 Meteorological Stations in the North
American Polar Region, 2 March 1945,
LAC, RG 85, vol. 823, file 7140.
39 Ibid.
40 L.B. Pearson to N.A. Robertson, 6
March 1945, LAC, RG 85, vol. 823, file
7140.
41 N.A. Robertson, Under Secretary of
State for External Affairs to L.B. Pear-
son, Canadian Ambassador to the US,
8 March 1945, LAC, RG 85, vol. 823, file
7140.
42 Public Law 296, 79th Cong., 2nd Sess..
1946, S. Doc. 765.
43 Under-Secretary of State for External
Affairs to Deputy Minister of Trans-
port, 4 May 1946, DCER, Volume 12,
1946, 1544.
44 Under-Secretary of State for External
Affairs to Deputy Minister of Trans-
port, 4 May 1946, DCER, Volume 12,
1946, 1544.
45 Ibid.
46 Memorandum by the Department of
Mines and Resources, 18 May 1946,
DCER, Volume 12, 1946, 1551.
47 Memorandum by the Department of
Mines and Resources, 18 May 1946,
DCER, Volume 12, 1946, 1553.
48 Hume Wrong to A.D.P. Heeney, 24
June 1946, LAC, RG 25, vol. 3347, file
9061-A-40, part 1.
49 The Sector theory was first officially
used by the Department of the Interior
in 1904, when it cut out a slice of the
Arctic on a map of the country. In 1907
Senator Pascal Poirier proposed that
Canada make a formal declaration of
its sovereignty in the Arctic using the
sector principle. An American report
on the Canadian Arctic remembered
that on 10 June 1925 Charles Stewart
“definitely and officially” stated in
the House of Commons that Canada
claimed everything, “known and
unknown, west of Davis Strait – Baf-

fin Bay – Smith Sound – Robeson
Channel – 60th Meridian, east of the
meridian that divides Alaska from
Canada (141°W), and north of the Can-
adian mainland up to the Pole.” Arctic
Aviation Development Program for
the United States Recommended by
the Standing Subcommittee on the
Arctic, 6 November 1945, NARA, RG
330, Entry 341A, Box 451, Folder 1, File
“Geophysics and Geography.”
50 Wright to Gibson, 9 February 1944,
LAC, RG 85, vol. 823, file 7140.
51 Memorandum to Legal Adviser, 31
May 1944, DCER, Volume 11, 1944-1945.
52 Memorandum to Legal Adviser, 31
May 1944, DCER, Volume 11, 1944-1945;
Under-Secretary of State for External
Affairs to Director, Lands, Parks and
Forests Branch, Department of Mines
and Resources, 1 June 1944, LAC, RG
25, vol. 3347, file 9061-A-40.
53 Charles Camsell, Deputy Minister
Mines and Resources to Under-Sec-
retary of State for External Affairs, 13
March 1945, LAC, RG 25, vol. 3347, file
9061-A-40.
54 Sovereignty in the Canadian Arctic in
Relation to Joint Defence Undertakings,
Memorandum from Department of
National Defence to Cabinet Defence
Committee, 18 May 1946, DCER Volume
12, 1946, 1557.
55 Bercuson, “Continental Defence and
Arctic Sovereignty,” p. 160.
56 Memorandum from Head, Third
Political Division Legal Division:
Sovereignty in the Arctic, 6 May 1946,
DCER, Volume 12, 1946, 1545-1546. She-
lagh Grant made much out of the full
version of this report, which the Can-
adians did not have access to, in her ef-
forts to depict an American conspiracy
to take over the Canadian North.
57 Arctic Aviation Development Program
for the United States Recommended
by the Standing Subcommittee on the
Arctic, 6 November 1945, NARA, RG
330, Entry 341A, Box 451, Folder 1, File
“Geophysics and Geography.”
PETER KIKKERT
58 Sovereignty in the Canadian Arctic in
Relation to Joint Defence Undertakings,
Memorandum from Department of
National Defence to Cabinet Defence
Committee, 18 May 1946, DCER Volume
12, 1946, 1557.
59 Memorandum by Joint Canadian-
United States Military Cooperation
Committee, 23 May 1946, DCER Vol-
ume 12, 1946, 1615-23.
60 Memorandum from Secretary to the
Cabinet to the Prime Minister, 12 June
1946, DCER, Volume 12, 1946, 1627-29.
61 In March 1946 the AAF created an Air
Defence Command, but gave it few
resources. Only after the Berlin crisis
of 1948 did the Americans initiate
their first active air defences, and not
until the following year did Congress
provide funding for a permanent air
defence system. Jockel, No Boundaries
Upstairs, 9.
62 Jockel, No Boundaries Upstairs, 11.
63 Jockel, “The Canada-United States
Military Co-operation Committee and
Continental Air Defence, 1946,” Can-
adian Historical Review 64/3 (September
1983), 352-77.
64 Bercuson, “Continental Defence and
Arctic Sovereignty, 1945-1950: Solving
the Canadian Dilemma,” 154.
65 Memorandum by the Department of
Mines and Resources, 18 May 1946,
DCER, Volume 12, 1946, 1554.
66 Bercuson, “Continental Defense and
Arctic Sovereignty,” 154.
67 Historian Whitney Lackenbauer in-
sists that this concept was the driving
force behind Canada’s approach to
the Cold War Arctic. “From Defence
Against Help to A Piece of the Ac-
tion: The Canadian Sovereignty and
Security Paradox Revisited,” CMSS
Occasional Paper No.1. Calgary: Cen-
tre for Military and Strategic Stud-
ies, 2000. See also Donald Barry and
Duane Bratt, “Defense against Help:
Explaining Canada-U.S. Security Re-
lations,” American Review of Canadian
Studies, Vol. 38 (2008).
105
1946: THE YEAR CANADA CHOSE ITS PATH IN THE ARCTIC
68 Memorandum from Head, Third
Political Division, 6 May 1946, DCER,
Volume 12, 1946, 1545-1546.
69 Ambassador in the United States to
Acting Undersecretary of State for
External Affairs, 5 June 1946, Depart-
ment of External Affairs, Documents on
Canadian External Relations (DCER) Vol-
ume 13, 1946, (Ottawa: Queen’s Printer,
1967- ), 1565-66.
70 Minister of Mines and Resources to
Louis St. Laurent, 25 May 1946, LAC,
RG 25, vol. 3347, file 9061-A-40.
71 Lieutenant-General C. Foulkes, Chief
of the General Staff, to Chief of the Air
Staff, 31 May 1946, Directorate of His-
tory and Heritage (DHH) 2002-17, Box
113, File 2, pt. 1.
72 Chiefs of the General Staff Memoran-
dum 2 June 1946, DHH 2002-17, Box
113, File 2, pt. 1.
73 Lajuenesse, “Lock, Stock, and Ice-
bergs? Defining Canadian Sovereign-
ty from Mackenzie King to Stephen
Harper,” 6.
74 Letter to Dr. Charles Camsell from
R.M. Macdonnell, Associate Under
Secretary of State for External Affairs,
11 May 1946, LAC, RG 25, vol. 3346,
file 9061-A-40C, pt. 1; Memorandum
for File: “Canadian Sovereignty in the
Arctic,” 25 September 1946, LAC, RG
25, Vol. 3047, File 113.
75 W. Hughes to Norwegian minister,
2 April 1924, Foreign Relations of the
United States 1924 (Washington: U.S.
Government Printing Office, 1939),
519-520.
76 Report on the Arctic, Atlantic Division
Air Transport Command, Headquarters,
Atlantic-Division Air Transport Com-
mand, Report on the Arctic, 1946, RG
319, Entry 82 (A1), Box 2975.
77 Acheson to Secretary of Navy, 14 De-
cember 1946, Foreign Relations of the
United States 1946 (Washington: U.S.
Government Printing Office, 1972),
1497.
106
78 Jeffrey Myhre, The Antarctic Treaty Sys-
tem: Politics, Law, and Diplomacy, (Lon-
don: Westview Press, 1986). The other
idea prevalent in the State Department
in the post war years focused on mak-
ing the Antarctic into an international
zone administered by a commission of
nations or the United Nations. Regard-
less, this idea still required the sector
principle not to be enforced in the
Antarctic.
79 Peter Beck, International Politics of
Antarctica, (London: Croom Helm,
1986), 37. A close contemporary par-
allel to the American issues with the
sector principle is the United States’
position on the Northwest Passage. If
the Americans accept Canada’s pos-
ition on the passage and allow it to be
treated as Canadian internal waters, a
precedent would be set for more stra-
tegically important straits through-
out the world. Strategic and political
implications ensure that the U.S. will
never accept the Northwest Passage as
Canadian internal waters, just as simi-
lar considerations kept the U.S. from
accepting the sector principle in 1946.
80 Coates et al, 83.
81 Report on the Arctic, Atlantic Division
Air Transport Command, Headquarters,
Atlantic-Division Air Transport Com-
mand, Report on the Arctic, 1946, RG
319, Entry 82 (A1), Box 2975.
82 Report on the Arctic, Atlantic Division
Air Transport Command, Headquarters,
Atlantic-Division Air Transport Com-
mand, Report on the Arctic, 1946, RG
319, Entry 82 (A1), Box 2975.
83 Problems of Canadian-United States
Cooperation in the Arctic, Headquarters,
Atlantic Division, Air Transport Com-
mand, 29 October 1946, RG 319, Entry
82 (A1), Box 2785. Excerpts from this
document were used in the Standing
Subcommittee of the Arctic report
cited by Macdonnell.
84 The report went on to list the North-
west Territories permits required be-
fore any foreigner could enter the Can-

adian Arctic, the creation of an Arctic
Game Preserve and the establishment
of police posts as signs of Canada’s
occupation of the region. The report
concluded that even in areas only oc-
casionally patrolled by the RCMP an
international tribunal would accept
this activity as “sufficient to fix sover-
eignty.”
85 Grant, Sovereignty or Security?, 67.
86 David Bercuson, “Review of Sover-
eignty or Security? Government Policy
in the Canadian North, 1936-1950,” The
Canadian Historical Review, Vol. 70 (De-
cember 1989): 587.
87 Memorandum for File: “Canadian
Sovereignty in the Arctic,” 25 Sep-
tember 1946, LAC, RG 25, PJBD File
113; Throughout 1946, the USAAF
instructed all crews participating in
Operation Polaris to remain within
the area bounded by 60 degrees W and
142 degrees W. SAC Historical Material,
Strategic Air Command, 4 October
1946, OI No. 2, NARA, RG 27, Entry 5,
Box 1, Air Force.
88 United States Claims in the Antarctic,
Note for Mr. Wrong from R.A.J. Phil-
lips, 12 June 1946, LAC, RG 25, vol.
3347, file 9061-A-40.
89 H.H Wrong to D.C Abbot, 13 June 1946,
LAC, RG 25, vol. 3347, file 9061-A-40,
part 1.
90 Hume Wrong to Pearson, 30 December
1946, RG 25, Vol. 2145, File A-2/2-10,
Vol. 1
91 Memorandum from E.E. Hopkins,
Legal Division, to Head, Third Polit-
ical Division, 8 May 1946, DCER, Vol-
ume 12, 1946, 1547. The Department of
Mines and Resources was particularly
annoyed by this.
92 Deputy Commissioner to Dr. Camsell,
Re – Sovereignty in the Arctic, LAC,
RG 85, vol. 823, file 7140, 11 May 1946.
93 J.G. Wright to R.A. Gibson, 18 May
1946, LAC, RG 25, vol. 3347, file 9061-A-
40.
PETER KIKKERT
94 J.G.Wright, Acting Superintendant of
the Eastern Arctic, to R.A Gibson, Dir-
ector, Northwest Territories Council,
18 May 1946, LAC, RG 25, vol. 3347, file
9061-A-40, pt. 1.
95 Wright, Department of Mines and
Resources to Head, Third Political
Division, 20 May 1946, DCER, Volume
12, 1946, 1550.
96 Memorandum by the Department of
Mines and Resources, 18 May 1946,
DCER, Volume 12, 1946, 1550-1554.
97 Andrew Thomson to R.M. Macdon-
nell, 18 May 1946, LAC, RG 25, vol.
3347, file 9061-A-40.
98 External Affairs Memorandum for
Cabinet Defence Committee, United
States Prospects for Arctic Weather
Stations, 21 May 1946, LAC, RG 25, Vol.
3347, File 9061-A-40.
99 External Affairs Memorandum for
Cabinet Defence Committee, Subject:
United States proposals for an Arctic
Weather Station Programme, 30 May
1946, LAC, RG 25, vol. 3347, file 9061-
A-40. The report outlined the benefits
of the program, underlining that these
stations would supply meteorological
information needed for civil aviation,
provide intelligence for Service De-
partments undertaking future exercis-
es in the North, offer bases from which
further study of the Arctic could be
undertaken, and create the occupa-
tion necessary to halt encroachment
by foreign powers in the region. The
weather stations program could, how-
ever, endanger Canadian sovereignty
in the region if the United States was
given to long of a leash.
100 External Affairs Memorandum for
Cabinet Defence Committee, Subject:
United States proposals for an Arctic
Weather Station Programme, 30 May
1946, LAC, RG 25, Vol. 3347, File 9061-
A-40.
101 Ibid.
102 Sovereignty in the Canadian Arctic in
Relation to Joint Defence Undertakings,
107
1946: THE YEAR CANADA CHOSE ITS PATH IN THE ARCTIC
Memorandum from Department of
National Defence to Cabinet Defence
Committee, 18 May 1946, DCER, Vol-
ume 12, 1946, 1555-1561; Bercuson,
“Continental Defence and Arctic
Sovereignty, 1945-1950,” 157-158.
103 “The Associate Under Secretary of
State for External Affairs observed
that Canada’s claim was somewhat
better established than might appear
from the memorandum. It could be
said that our claims had never been
seriously contested. In his opinion,
the challenge of sovereignty was less
serious than the user’s rights which
would come about through occu-
pancy.” (Hume Wrong) Cabinet De-
fence Committee Minutes, 6 June 1946,
LAC, RG 25, PJBD File 113.
104 Weather Stations in the Arctic, Memo-
randum for Hume Wrong, Mr. Heeney,
Colonel Gill and PJBD File, 5 June 1946,
LAC, RG 25, vol. 3347, file 9061-A-40.
105 Memo for U.S. Ambassador by Lewis
Clark, 20 June 1946, LAC, RG 25, vol.
3347, file 9061-A-40.
106 Bercuson, “Continental Defence and
Arctic Sovereignty, 1945-1950,” 158.
107 Pearson to Robertson, 21 June 1946,
LAC, RG 25, vol. 3347, file 9061-A-40.
108 Hume Wrong to Albert Heenery, 24
June 1946, LAC, RG 25, vol. 3347, file
9061-A-40. If it allowed the Americans
into the Arctic, even on joint projects,
Canadian sovereignty might be ques-
tioned as incomplete. If, however, the
Canadians did not allow the Amer-
icans to establish posts “to which they
attach a high degree of importance,
they may seek to attain their ends
eventually by claiming sovereignty
themselves and treating some of the
islands – especially those far from po-
lice and trading posts and not covered
by Canadian patrols – as their own
territory by right of occupation.”
109 William Lyon Mackenzie King, King
Diaries, Vol. 154, 1 June-15 August 1946,
entry for 20 June 1946, 572.
108
110 Memo for file by R.M. Macdonnell, 28
June 1946, LAC, RG 25, vol. 3347, file
9061-A-40.
111 U.S Request for Arctic Weather Station,
Memorandum by Under-Secretary of
State for External Affairs, 28 June 1946,
DCER, Volume 12, 1946, 1571.
112 Note for Mr. Pearson from R.A.J. Phil-
lips, 30 October 1946, LAC, RG 25, vol.
3347, file 9061-A-40.
113 Memorandum from R.M. Macdonnell,
4 July 1946, LAC, RG 25, vol. 3347, file
9061-A-40.
114 United States – Canadian Relations, 23
August 1946 and attached oral mes-
sage, NARA, RG 59, Series PJBD, vol.
10, file “Correspondence – 1946.”
115 Memo for members of PJBD by Maj.
Gen. Henry, 9 September 1946, DHH
File 955.013 (D10), Vol. 5.
116 Smith, Diplomacy of Fear, 160.
117 Charles Foulkes, Notes on Confer-
ence, Prime Minister-Field Marshall
Montgomery, 10 September 1946, King
Papers, 389: C274007-13, cited in Smith,
Diplomacy of Fear, 160.
118 A/Lt. Cdr. J. W. C. Barclay, Secretary
Chiefs of Staff Committee (CSC), to
Secretary, Canadian Section PJBD, 19
June 1946, LAC, RG 25, vol. 3347, file
9061-B-40; SS EA to Canadian Ambas-
sador Washington, No. EX-1583, 20
June 1946, LAC, RG 25, PJBD File 113.
119 Macdonnell to Henry, 24 September
1946, LAC, RG 85, vol. 823, file 7140.
120 Memorandum for the Cabinet, 21
October 1946, LAC, RG 2, vol. 74, file
D-19-2.
121 Memorandum by the acting secre-
tary of state to president Truman, 1
October 1946, Foreign Relations of the
United States, 1946, vol. 5, (Washington:
USGPO, 1969), 55.
122 Memorandum by the acting secre-
tary of state to president Truman, 26
October 1946, Foreign Relations of the
United States, 1946, vol. 5, (Washington:
USGPO, 1969), 57.

123 Memorandum from Ambassador to
the United States to Prime Minister, 26
October 1946, DCER Volume 12, 1946,
1654-1658.
124 Jockel, No Boundaries Upstairs, 25-26.
125 Memorandum from the Under-Sec-
retary of State for External Affairs to
the Prime Minister, 12 November 1946,
DCER, Volume 12, 1946, 1670-1672.
126 Cabinet Conclusions, 15 November 1946,
DCER, Volume 12, 1946, 1686-1695.
127 Record of Conclusion, Informal Can-
ada-United States Meeting, 21 Nov-
ember 1946, DCER, Volume 12, 1946,
1699-1702.
128 Joint Defence Discussions, 21 Novem-
ber 1946, NARA, RG 59, PJBD Series,
vol. 2, file Basic Papers.
129 Bercuson, “Continental Defence and
Arctic Sovereignty, 1945-1950,” 161.
130 Jockel, No Boundaries Upstairs, 28.
131 Defence Cooperation Between the
United States and Canada, Annex I:
Copy of a telegram No. 1770 dated 19th
December 1946 from Canada to the
Dominions Office, Cabinet Defence
Committee, 26 December 1946, PRO
CAB 131/3 DO (46) 146.
132 Smith, Diplomacy of Fear, 175
133 Memorandum from Under-Secretary
of State for External Affairs to the
Prime Minister: Defence Discussions
with the United States, 23 December
1946, DCER, Volume 12, 1946, 1721-25.
134 Defence Cooperation Between the
United States and Canada, Annex I:
Copy of a telegram No. 1770 dated 19th
December 1946 from Canada to the
Dominions Office, Cabinet Defence
Committee, 26 December 1946, PRO
CAB 131/3 DO (46) 146.
135 Defence Cooperation Between the
United States and Canada, Annex II:
Copy of a telegram No. 1771 dated 19
December 1946, from Canada to Do-
minions Office, Cabinet Defence Com-
mittee, 26 December 1946, PRO CAB
131/3 DO (46) 146.
PETER KIKKERT
136 Defence Cooperation Between the
United States and Canada, Annex I:
Copy of a telegram No. 1770 dated 19th
December 1946 from Canada to the
Dominions Office, Cabinet Defence
Committee, 26 December 1946, PRO
CAB 131/3 DO (46) 146.
137 Defence Cooperation Between the
United States and Canada, Annex II:
Copy of a telegram No. 1771 dated 19
December 1946, from Canada to Do-
minions Office, Cabinet Defence Com-
mittee, 26 December 1946, PRO CAB
131/3 DO (46) 146.
138 Defence Cooperation Between the
United States and Canada, Annex I:
Copy of a telegram No. 1770 dated 19th
December 1946 from Canada to the
Dominions Office, Cabinet Defence
Committee, 26 December 1946, PRO
CAB 131/3 DO (46) 146.
139 Defence Cooperation Between the
United States and Canada, Annex II:
Copy of a telegram No. 1771 dated 19
December 1946, from Canada to Do-
minions Office, Cabinet Defence Com-
mittee, 26 December 1946, PRO CAB
131/3 DO (46) 146.
140 Defence Cooperation Between the
United States and Canada, Annex I:
Copy of a telegram No. 1770 dated 19th
December 1946 from Canada to the
Dominions Office, Cabinet Defence
Committee, 26 December 1946, PRO
CAB 131/3 DO (46) 146.
141 Bercuson, “Continental Defence and
Arctic Sovereignty, 1945-1950,” 161.
142 Memorandum for Cabinet, 21 October
1946, LAC, RG 2, vol. 74, file D-19-2.
143 Whitney Lackenbauer, “From Polar
Race to Polar Saga: An Integrated
Strategy for Canada and the Circum-
polar World,” paper for the Canadian
International Council, July 2009.
109
Calgary Papers in Military and Strategic Studies, Occasional Paper No. 4, 2011
Canadian Arctic Sovereignty and Security: Historical Perspectives Pages 111–120

“Advertising for Prestige”: Publicity in

Canada-United States Arctic Defence
Cooperation, 1946-48
David J. Bercuson

A
t the end of the Second World War, Canada and the United States
began to cooperate more closely than ever on questions of contin-
ental defence.1 Both nations held similar views about the political
nature of the Soviet Union although there was some difference in the per-
ceptions that United States and Canadian military leaders held about Soviet
military capabilities and intentions at that time. It was also clear to Canadian
leaders that the United States was determined to make its defensive stand
as far forward as it could – in the Canadian Arctic – and that it was not in
Canada’s own interests to attempt to deny American access to the Canadian
north. That situation created a number of defence and foreign policy dilem-
mas for Canadian policymakers. One of the most difficult to resolve was how
much to tell the world – and the Canadian people – about what was happen-
ing in the North, and why.
By the summer of 1946 Canadian-American negotiations, discussions,
and planning about joint continental defence had begun although they
were not far advanced. There were a small number of American troops sta-
tioned on Canadian soil in places such as the cold weather testing facilities
at Churchill, Manitoba. In addition, American naval units were about to
mount a small-scale exercise in the Arctic islands, and US Air Force B-29s
were conducting regular long range training and weather survey flights
from Iceland to Alaska over the Canadian Arctic. The joint Canadian-US
Military Cooperation Committee was busy drawing up a grandiose plan for
a continental air-defence system that was never instituted and the United
States had sought permission to construct a chain of weather stations across
the Canadian Arctic. The stations would be operated by the United States
Weather Bureau, a civilian agency, but they were clearly military in intent.2
This was something new for Canada. Prior to 1940, there had been vir-
tually no Canada-United States defence relationship. American troops or
installations, civil or military, on Canadian soil, or joint Canadian-American
defence planning, would have been unheard of. That had changed after the

© Centre for Military and Strategic Studies http://cmss.ucalgary.ca/ 111

“ADVERTISING FOR PRESTIGE”

fall of France with the issuance of the Ogdensburg Declaration and the estab-
lishment of the Permanent Joint Board on Defence (PJBD) in August 1940. But
that change had taken place under the pressures of wartime and the extreme
danger that Britain had been in 1940.3 Now, peace had come again and al-
though Canadian leaders fully realized that the world had changed dramat-
ically and that the United States was now the only nation that could help
safeguard Canada, they feared that the Canadian people and the Canadian
press would be slower to come around. Britain had always been Canada’s
great ally and, in 1945, Canada was as Anglophilic as ever. The safest course
in mid-1946 seemed to be to conceal as much of the Canada-US cooperative
effort as possible.
If anyone in Ottawa truly believed that that was feasible, a series of stor-
ies in the Financial Post in June and July 1946 must have smashed that illusion.
With lurid headlines Ken Wilson of the Post declared that Canada was go-
ing to be “Another Belgium in U.S. Air Bases Proposal” but that Ottawa had
managed to kill “U.S. Plans to man weather stations in the Canadian Arctic.”4
There was no “U.S. Air Bases Proposal,” but Wilson’s story about the weather
stations was fact; the Cabinet had turned down the American request on 29
June.5 How had Wilson found out? Obviously a matter highly sensitive to
both governments had been leaked. That in itself pointed to the difficulty of
keeping these things under tight wraps.
The Canadian government’s effort to keep the details of the new Canada-
United States defence partnership under cover was not helped by an incident
that took place in late September 1946. In an off-the-record conversation with
Time magazine correspondent Larry Laybourne during a visit to New York,
Secretary of State Paul Martin said that the Canadian government faced
important decisions in the field of joint defence and that he was “staggered
by the expense of the installations which Canada would have to finance.”6
Martin was undoubtedly referring to the MCC’s soon-to-be-shelved air
defence plans. Laybourne then contacted American government officials
to try to pry more information out of them but was told that any publicity
regarding Canada-United States defence activities at that point would em-
barrass US Secretary of State James Byrnes, then attending the Paris Peace
Conference. Laybourne chose to sit on the story but Time’s representative in
Ottawa tried to get details about Arctic defence installations from the United
States embassy there. At the same time Maclean’s reporter Blair Fraser and
the Financial Post’s Wilson were also poking around. Ottawa asked the State
Department to help and Laybourne was contacted a second time and told to
back off but not before the Canadians were reminded “where the responsibil-

112
 DAVID J. BERCUSON

ity for putting Time magazine on the trail lay.” The Americans might not
have been so compliant if they were not “alive to the danger of prejudicing
Canadian Government decisions by unfortunate publicity.”7
By the end of November 1946, both the United States State Department
and the Canadian Department of External Affairs were trying to patch up a
problematic defence relationship. Then, at the end of the month, came “The
Watch on the Arctic” by Blair Fraser. This was a lengthy article in Maclean’s
which sketched out the extent of the joint defence projects underway, dis-
cussed Operation Musk Ox – a recent joint exercise in the north – and which
offered a pretty complete analysis of the backstage negotiations between
Ottawa and Washington to settle the terms of further continental defence
planning. There were numerous quotes from unnamed sources who were
obviously in the Canadian or US military.8 The American embassy in Ottawa
thought the piece of “more than ordinary importance” because of Fraser’s
reputation and Maclean’s circulation. In their view, the article reflected “con-
versations with officials who were very conversant with recent negotiations.”
The Americans did not find the article unfriendly, but thought it showed “a
pre-occupation with what the Russians will think and with the need for a
cautious and gradual approach to the problem.” As they themselves admit-
ted, that attitude seemed to be “prevalent among certain Canadian officials;”9
it was certainly the view of the Prime Minister.10
The growing press attention – and the increasing accuracy of the spate
of newspaper and magazine stories – undoubtedly provided the motive for
both governments to put the subject of “publicity with regard to joint defence
projects” on the agenda for an important high level (and top secret) meeting
on continental defence held in Ottawa on 16 and 17 December 1946.11 The
meeting brought Canadian and American diplomats (including the State
Department’s leading Soviet expert, George Kennan) and military men
together to try to break the log jam of continental defence issues that had
been building up since early summer. The discussions were wide ranging; in
two days many misunderstandings were cleared up and the stage was set for
a successful long-term defence partnership.12
There were two issues related to publicity that needed to be resolved at
the get-together. The first was connected to Recommendation 35 of the PJBD
which had been adopted by the Board and forwarded to the two governments
in late September. This document (eventually approved as Recommendation
36) was, in essence, a joint Canada-United States defence treaty that estab-
lished the principles upon which virtually all post-war continental defence
arrangements were to be based. The original version approved by the PJBD

113
“ADVERTISING FOR PRESTIGE”

the previous spring had not gone far enough in protecting Canadian sover-
eignty and had been referred back to the Board by the Canadian Cabinet.
The new version had been accepted by King’s government in mid-November
but details about its promulgation and what to say about it in public were still
unresolved.13 The second issue was the stickier question about how the two
governments ought to handle general publicity about joint defence projects.
The first matter was resolved simply; both governments would issue a
statement summarizing, but not quoting, the PJBD recommendation on the
same day.14 Regarding the second problem, Ottawa recognized that “it would
clearly be impossible to maintain complete secrecy about [northern defence
plans] even if secrecy were desirable” and thus that some information about
defence projects would have to be shared with the press and public. The
course suggested was to first “state unequivocally but unsensationally that
certain defence activities were regarded as necessary in order to insure the
security of the continent against the possibility of future air attack over the
Pole.” If that did not work and the public reaction proved too great, then “it
might well be possible to place a minimum of emphasis on preparations for
defence and to stress the civil benefits that can be anticipated from improv-
ing our knowledge of northern conditions.”15 Such a course had, in fact, first
been suggested by US President Harry S. Truman when he had met with
the prime minister in Washington in late October.16 Although the Americans
saw the problem as a “purely Canadian one” both delegations at the Ottawa
meeting agreed that “there might be advantages to carrying out certain of
the earlier parts of the projected programme under civilian auspices.” The
United States would help with the subterfuge where it could.17
That solved little, as both governments soon found out. On Sunday,
22 December, the American liberal daily P.M. published an inflammatory
article by Leslie Roberts claiming that Canada feared being the “ham” in a
US-Soviet “Sandwich.” The tone of the piece was set early: “official Canada
today is more frightened of American militarism than of Soviet expansion.
For more than a year Uncle Sam’s northern neighbor has been the victim of
continuing pressures from the US Army to permit American occupation of
the Canadian Arctic.”18 Undersecretary of State Lester B. Pearson sent a copy
of the Roberts’ article to King along with a note that although he did not
think the story would cause any harm, it was “irritating to see this kind of
thing in print.”19 The State Department took note of the article but thought it
“up to the Canadian government to comment if it so wishes.”20
The Americans did not react to the Roberts piece, but the Soviets cer-
tainly did. The Soviet ambassador to the United States called on Hume

114
 DAVID J. BERCUSON

Wrong at the Canadian embassy in Washington to inquire about the article

and was told that it was “a tissue of falsehoods and exaggerations which
should not be taken seriously.” Wrong tried to re-assure the Russian that the
American presence in the Canadian Arctic was nowhere near as extensive as
Roberts had indicated. He told him that future articles of that ilk were to be
expected but that if the Russians were concerned, he would be happy to give
them as much information as he could on the truth behind the press stories.21
In attempting to reassure the Soviets that they had nothing to fear, Wrong
was again echoing the attitudes of many Canadian policymakers. Canada’s
Minister of National Defence, Brooke Claxton was so worried about what the
Russians would think that he actually invited the Soviet military attaché in
Ottawa to take part in a tour of foreign military attaches of the Churchill test
facilities in the spring of 1947.22 The US consul general in Montreal thought
the invitation amounted to an “appease-Russia” attitude.23
On 12 February 1947, Canada and the United States issued formal state-
ments declaring to the world that they had both endorsed Recommendation
36 of the PJBD. The actual text of the recommendation was not released. It
was the explicit beginning of a continental defence relationship that exists to
this day, but it did not solve the problem of how information about defence
activities in the Canadian Arctic were to be publicized by either of the two
governments or, indeed, if they were to be publicized at all. Claxton was
particularly worried about information regarding American activities in the
Canadian north getting out. When the cabinet finally approved the American
request to begin construction of a chain of weather stations in the north,
Claxton ordered the RCAF to ensure that United States Air Force transports
bringing men, supplies and equipment to the construction sites stay away
from “heavily populated and urban areas.”24
Claxton may well have been more sensitive than most of his colleagues
to a possible adverse public reaction to the news of American presence in the
Canadian north. He had an overdeveloped sense of smell when it came to
sniffing out political trouble. But on this issue, he was not wrong, as he and
the government found to their consternation in early June 1947. That was
when Claxton introduced a bill into the House of Commons to give Canadian
courts complete jurisdiction over American troops for all matters which were
offences under Canadian law. American service courts would retain their
jurisdiction only for crimes committed under United States military law,
which were not also covered by Canadian statute.25
The bill was innocuous enough, but many opposition members saw
a good opportunity to embarrass Claxton and the government. They de-

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manded to know how many US troops there were in Canada, what they
were doing, and why they were there at all. There were heated claims that
Canada was surrendering its sovereignty to the United States: “Where will
it end?” one opposition member demanded to know, “What will happen
when the Chinese are here? What will happen if the Russians come here?”26
Cooperative Commonwealth Federation MP Harry Archibald declared that
the bill represented the last step to American absorption of Canada.27
Given the government’s majority, the bill passed without difficulty,
but the length and tone of the debate were disturbing to both Ottawa and
Washington.28 Newly appointed US Secretary of State General George C.
Marshall told Truman there was “an element in [Canada] which declares that
the arrangements constitute a violation of Canadian sovereignty and preju-
dice the chance of Canada maintaining peaceful relations with the Soviet
Union.” He suggested that discussions about joint defence issues with King
on Truman’s forthcoming visit to Canada (he was to visit Ottawa from 10-12
June 1947) be done only “informally and privately.”29 Claxton told the US
ambassador that he hoped if the press asked Truman about American troops
in Canada, the president would say only that “the numbers are very small
and the operations of a routine character but that it is not desirable to give out
the information.”30
As defence activity in the north increased following the spring break-
up in 1947, the problem of press leaks and publicity grew apace. In Ottawa
the debate centred on the question of whether the government should issue
press releases only to correct “damaging and incorrect” press speculation
or whether it should strike first with “initial governmental guidance in the
form of suitable...press statements.”31 The problem was much more serious
in Washington where the three armed forces seemed to compete with each
other in the publicity arena in order to position themselves more favourably in
the ongoing battle for a bigger piece of the defence spending pie. As one State
Department official put it: “Press officers in War and Navy are evidently under
considerable pressure to hand out stories about plans and operations in the far
north. The pressure comes from some of their own people who want adver-
tising for prestige and appropriations purposes and who are ignorant of the
international implications....” The Canadian experts at State were both well
aware of and sensitive to Ottawa’s desire to play down American activity in
the Canadian north. The question was how to do it in a free society with a free
press where it was both impossible and undesirable to try to muzzle the press
entirely. State suggested that a standard policy be drawn up and that a direc-
tive implementing that policy be “issued at a high level” to keep the American
military in line, “off the necks of the Canadians,” and acting in concert. 32

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 DAVID J. BERCUSON

In mid-September 1947, the PJBD discussed the publicity problem at

great length. It concluded that the lack of a policy to guide the release of
information regarding Canada-United States operations in the north had
“resulted in unnecessary confusion and misunderstandings... [and] need-
lessly irritated relationships between... [government] departments...and...has
been a cause of some difficulty to the Canadian government.” The Board
even found that military secrets were in danger of being compromised. It
thus urged the US Secretary of State and Secretary of Defense to “establish
a clearly-defined policy with respect to publicity...that appropriate directives
be issued from a high level...and that measures should be taken to coordinate
and expedite through prescribed channels proposed publicity concerning
a given project.”33 As a result, Secretary of State Marshall approached US
Secretary of Defense James Forrestal with a proposal that both men work
to implement the PJBD’s recommendation.34 Forrestal replied that, with one
minor exception, the views of the PJBD were “quite in line with my own
ideas.”35 With such powerful support, it was only a matter of time before the
American military establishment was brought into line.
On 19 November Marshall, Forrestal and the Secretaries of the Army,
Navy and Air Force issued a “Directive Concerning Publicity Relating to
Joint Canadian-United States Defense Plans and Operations.” The document
laid out the basic principles that would underlay the release of information
from the United States regarding continental defence projects. It was based
on the notion that such defence arrangements should be made known when-
ever and wherever possible, subject only to “limitations necessarily imposed
by the requirements of military security.” Thus the United States pledged
itself to release as much information as it could as early as possible on an
unclassified basis, subject to cooperation and coordination with Canada. It
pledged, among other things, that public announcements would always be
approved in advance by both governments. It placed the burden of deciding
what to release and how to do so on the American members of the PJBD
and it reigned in overly zealous American military personnel who had been
in the habit of communicating directly with the Canadian government and
Embassy.36 It was everything Ottawa could have asked for.
In Ottawa, the departments of External Affairs, National Defence and
Transport were busy working on a policy of their own that would parallel
the one being formulated in the United States. It was approved by Claxton,
Secretary of State for External Affairs Louis St. Laurent, and Transport
Minister Lionel Chevrier at the end of November 1947. The Canadian docu-
ment paralleled the one that had been issued in Washington and declared:

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“secrecy is counter to the traditions of the United States and of Canada and
the desired objective is to reach the position where the press and public alike
recognize that joint undertakings in the Canadian Arctic are normal and
sensible developments.”37 That, of course would not come for several years
and certainly not until the threat of Soviet air-atomic attack was palpable to
nearly everyone.
The final step in the process of trying to manage public information
about northern defence activities came with the issuance of a joint under-
standing on 1 April 1948 which essentially repeated the separate but parallel
documents that had already been promulgated in the two capitals. The two
governments agreed on four basic principles:

(1) defence arrangements ought to be publicized “in so far as the

requirements of Government policy, military security and the
international situation will permit”;

(2) the question of how much information to release and when

would be decided on a case-by-case basis;

(3) the chief responsibility for the release of information would

lie with the country on whose territory the defence project was
based;

(4) any public announcement should have the approval of both

governments.38

The joint policy was re-issued with minor modifications in late September
1950.39
The problem of just what information to release and when and the re-
lated issue of how to handle publicity leaks and press reports that reflected
unfavourably on Canadian-American defence arrangements did not dis-
appear, of course. Press stories that had no basis in fact or which implied
that Canada was compromising its sovereignty in the Arctic and elsewhere
would continue to appear through the years.40 That was to be expected. A
joint policy on how much information to release, and under what circum-
stances, could never be expected to stop the press from writing about one
of the biggest Canadian stories of post-war era, nor was it intended to do
so. At least the competition among American military men for an edge on
each other, at Canada’s expense, ended. At the same time, Canadian sensitiv-
ity about the American presence in the north did ease somewhat after 1950
when Canada actually found itself fighting alongside the United States in a

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 DAVID J. BERCUSON

shooting war against a communist adversary and after the USSR gained an
air-atomic offensive capability.
What this entire episode does show is that the United States took its lead
from Canada from start to finish even when some US officials thought the
Canadians were too sensitive and too eager to placate the Soviets. When this
small part of the larger story of Canada-United States defence cooperation is
examined, the long-standing myth still perpetuated by some Canadian his-
torians of the period that the United States consistently bullied, bludgeoned,
and blasted Canada to do its bidding, is once again called into question.41 In
this, as in other aspects of that relationship, Canada benefitted from a neigh-
bour which defined its self-interest in enlightened terms.

Notes
1 The Canadian-US defence relationship
in the immediate post-war era, and
some of the issues that flowed from it,
have been tackled in a growing num-
ber of books. The pioneering work was
James Eayrs, In Defence of Canada, Vol.
III, Peacemaking and Deterrence (Toronto:
University of Toronto Press, 1972). More
recent works include Joseph T. Jockel,
No Boundaries Upstairs: Canada, the
United States and the Origins of North
American Air Defence, 1945-1958 (Van­
cou­ver: UBC Press, 1987); Shelagh D.
Grant, Sovereignty or Security: Govern-
ment Policy in the Canadian North, 1936-
1950 (Vancouver: UBC Press, 1988); and
David Jay Bercuson, True Patriot: The
Life of Brooke Claxton, 1898-1960 (Toron-
to: University of Toronto Press, 1993).
2 On MCC planning see Jockel, No
Boundaries Upstairs, 6-25. On the
weather stations, see Grant, Sover-
eignty or Security, 213-215. For a general
overview of sovereignty issues arising
out of continental defence, see David
Jay Bercuson, “Continental Defence
and Arctic Sovereignty, 1945-1950:
Solving the Canadian Dilemma,” in
Keith Neilson and Ronald G. Haycock
(eds.), The Cold War and Defense (New
York: Praeger, 1990), 153-170.
3 The issue is succinctly explored in J.L.
Granatstein, How Britain’s weakness
forced Canada into the arms of the United
States (Toronto: University of Toronto
Press, 1989), 19ff.
4 Grant, Sovereignty or Security, 177.
5 Library and Archives Canada (LAC),
RG 2, 16, various volumes, Cabinet
conclusions, 27 June 1946. They were
later approved.
6 National Archives, Washington
(NAW), RG 84, Ottawa Post Files, Ot-
tawa Conference File 1946, 710 Joint
Defence, Box 1514, Vol. 113. Parsons,
Memorandum for File, 1 October, 1946.
7 Ibid., 2 October, 1946.
8 Blair Fraser, “The Watch on the Arc-
tic,” Maclean’s, 1 December, 1946.
9 NAW, RG 59, Records of the PJBD, File
“Correspondence of the PJBD,” Ather-
ton to Secretary of State, 9 December,
1946.
10 Bercuson, “Continental Defence,” 160.
11 Cabinet conclusions, 3 December 1946.
12 Jockel, No Boundaries Upstairs, 27-28.
13 Eayrs, In Defence of Canada, vol.III, 347.
14 LAC, Privy Council Office Records, In-
terim Box #12, D-19-2, Vol. 246, “Work-
ing papers for use in discussions with
the United States,” 6 December 1946.
15 Ibid.

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“ADVERTISING FOR PRESTIGE”
16 Grant, Sovereignty or Security, 180.
17 LAC, PCO Records, Interim Box #12,
D-19-2, Vol. 246, minutes taken by
E.W. Gill of the meeting of 16-17 De-
cember 1946. The volume contains
both the Canadian and US minutes of
the meeting (US minutes are headed
“Memorandum of Canadian-United
States Defense Conversations...”). The
wording of both sets of minutes on
this subject is virtually identical.
18 Leslie Roberts, “Canada Fears Being
Ham in U.S.-Soviet Sandwich,” P.M.,
22 December, 1946.
19 LAC, RG 2, 18, Vol. 74, File D-19-2 1946
(September-December), “Memoran-
dum for the Prime Minister,” 23 De-
cember 1946.
20 NAW, RG 59, Records of the PJBD, File
“PJBD Correspondence,” Parsons to
White, 23 December 1946.
21 LAC, RG 2, 18, Vol. 74, File D-19-2 1947
(January to June), Wrong to Pearson,
21 January 1947.
22 Eayrs, In Defence of Canada, vol.III, 355-
356.
23 NAW, RG 84, Ottawa Post Files, Ot-
tawa Conference File 1947, Box 1517,
Vol. 28, Winship to Atherton, 18 Febru-
ary 1947.
24 Bercuson, True Patriot, 170.
25 Cabinet conclusions, January 29, 1947;
NAW, RG 84, Ottawa Post files, Ot-
tawa Conference Files, Box 1517, Vol.
129, memorandum “Jurisdiction over
Armed Forces of the United States in
Canada.” 29 April 1947.
26 Canada, House of Commons Debates, 4
June 1947, 3797.
27 Montreal Star, 7 June, 1947.
28 New York Times, 8 June, 1947.
29 NAW, RG 59, General Records of the
Department of State, Decimal File
1945-49, 842.20 Defense/6-947, “Memo-
randum for the President,” 9 June, 1947.
30 NAW, RG 84, Ottawa Post files, Ottawa
Conference Files, Box 1517, Vol. 126,
120
“Memorandum for the ambassador,”
n.d.
31 Department of National Defence, Dir-
ector General of History, File 112.3M2
(D214); draft agenda for a joint meeting
of the Canadian section of the PJBD
and the cabinet defence committee, 3
July 1947.
32 NAW, RG 59, General Records of the
Department of State, Decimal File
1945-49, 842.20 Defense/7-1447, Wailes
to Matthews, 14 July 1947.
33 NAW, RG 59, 842.20 Defense/10-1447,
Foster to Marshall, 14 October 1947.
34 NAW, RG 59, 842.20 Defense/10-2347,
Marshall to Forrestal, 23 October 1947.
35 NAW, RG 59, 842.20 Defense/11-647,
Forrestal to Marshall, 6 November
1947.
36 LAC, PCO records, vol. 74, file D-19-2
(1948), PJBD, “Directive Concerning
Publicity Relating to Joint Canadian-
United States Defense Plans and Oper-
ations,” 19 November 1947.
37 Ibid., “Memorandum on Policy with
respect to Publicity on Defence Ar-
rangements,” 29 November 1947.
38 Ibid., “Memorandum on Publicity
Relating to Joint Defence Projects,” 6
January 1948.
39 NAW, RG 59, General Records of the
Department of State, Decimal File
1950-1954, F770007-1486 - 8, “Memo-
randum of Policy regarding the Re-
lease of Information on Canada-U.S.
Defence Matters,” 29 September 1950.
40 One series that greatly embarrassed
Ottawa dealt with US rights on its
bases in Newfoundland. See Blair
Fraser, “Where the Yanks Rule a Part
of Canada,” Maclean’s Magazine, 15
November 1949.
41 The theme was first mooted in Eayrs,
In Defence of Canada, vol.III, and re-
peated years later in Grant, Sovereignty
or Security.
Calgary Papers in Military and Strategic Studies, Occasional Paper No. 4, 2011
Canadian Arctic Sovereignty and Security: Historical Perspectives Pages 121–143

Arctic Focus: The Royal Canadian

Navy in Arctic Waters, 1946-1949
Elizabeth B. Elliot-Meisel

What the Aegean Sea was to classical antiquity, what the

Mediterranean was to the Roman world, what the Atlantic Ocean
was to the expanding Europe of Renaissance days, the Arctic
Ocean is becoming to the world of aircraft and atomic power.
— H.L. Keenleyside, 1949.1

D
uring World War II the United States and Canada cooperated in joint
defence projects in the Canadian North. These projects included
such ventures as the Northwest Staging Route, the Alaska Highway,
the Crimson Project, and operations in the Aleutian Islands. In the postwar
period continental security, mainly air defence, focused on the previously
ignored Arctic and Arctic Ocean.2 Less well-known is Canada’s Arctic pres-
ence, especially that of the Royal Canadian Navy (RCN), in the immediate
postwar years. Wartime development in the Canadian North raised con-
cerns about sovereignty and security, which led Canadians to look to their
northern waters.3 In assessing the postwar world, Canadians were forced to
size up the increasing tension between the United States and the USSR and
to evaluate the likely impact of this tension on their own nation. In addi-
tion, Canadians had to weigh the potential strength of the nascent United
Nations; take into account the increasingly close relationship with the United
States on the traditional British connection; and determine the size and com-
position of Canada’s contribution to its own and to continental defence. To
help in these deliberations, the Post-Hostilities Problems Committees began
work in mid-1943. After the war, the Arctic’s strategic significance reinforced
the wisdom of Canada’s wartime look at the North.
The events of and attitudes toward Canada’s immediate postwar de-
mobilization and military budget cuts have been analyzed by historians
and retired naval personnel, as have the Canadian role in the North Atlantic
Treaty Organization, and Canada’s military contribution to the Korean
War.4 But just what the military in general and the RCN in particular did
between 1945 and 1949 is less well-known. That Canadian warships engaged
in Arctic cruises during this period is not generally realized. According to

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ARCTIC FOCUS

Commander Barry Coombs, USN, “[t]he period which preceded the Korean
conflict had a marginal impact on the shaping of the Canadian Navy.”5 Some
might criticize Coombs’ comment as that of an American unappreciative of
the difficulty the RCN faced in attempting to carve out a postwar balanced
fleet and an Arctic presence. Coombs never mentioned the RCN’s attempt
to operate in the North or the intangible tie Canadians have to that region.6
But even former RCN officers neglect the Arctic. Canadian defence analyst
Commander Peter Haydon, RCN (ret), who believed that “the 1945-1955 per-
iod forms an interesting window through which to look at the origins of
many basic policies that shaped Canada’s Cold War navy,” did not address
the Arctic in his chapter of the third volume of Canada’s naval history, A
Nation’s Navy. Commander Tony German, RCN (ret) only devotes two sen-
tences to the Arctic, and those relate to Labrador in the 1950s.7 Other Canadian
authors who do note the North fail to delve deep; few papers or chapters of
books on the RCN mention the Northern Cruise of September 1948. And yet
it was an important mission, not so much for what it accomplished militarily,
which was quite limited, but for what it represented in terms of Canada’s
emotional attachment to the North and the difficulty, if not impossibility, of
the RCN reflecting that emotional attachment with an active presence.

The RCN and Postwar Dreams

This chapter looks at the RCN in these post-World War II/pre-NATO years, in
order to illuminate the multiple theatres in which the RCN hoped to operate,
explain the role it proposed to play, assess the feasibility of maintaining a
presence in these theatres, and highlight the 1948 Northern Cruise. While
an Arctic presence was consistently a goal of the RCN, the reality of budget
cuts, personnel shortages, and allied commitments forced it reluctantly to
abandon the dream. It did not, however, die without a concerted effort.
Canada has the world’s longest seacoast, over 40,000 miles long, and a
history of trans-Atlantic trade. It relied on the Royal Navy (RN) to protect
its maritime commerce in the nineteenth century and increasingly on the
United States for continental defence when the prospect of war with that na-
tion faded after the War of 1812. When Canada at last got its own navy in 1910
it began the long struggle to develop and maintain a balanced fleet.
George Baer of the US Naval War College maintains that a navy is de-
veloped upon “the interaction of purpose, experience, and doctrine.”8 But
in Canada’s case, naval purpose and doctrine have to be balanced against
limited finances and manpower, as well as a government and populace
traditionally reluctant to support a large military establishment. There are

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 ELIZABETH B. ELLIOT-MEISEL

two competing forces that have traditionally been at odds in Canada. On

the one hand, Canadians on the whole have never appreciated the costs of
maintaining a truly independent navy that did not need to rely on its al-
lies for sovereignty protection. While the public expects its navy to protect
Canadian sovereignty on all three oceans and to rely on its allies only when
continental security is threatened, it is unwilling to divert scarce resources to
build and operate a navy with such capabilities. On the other hand, Canada
has a proud maritime tradition and naval personnel willing and able to pro-
tect its sovereignty and to contribute to multinational alliances if the funds
are forthcoming.
“For the professional Navy [World War II] had produced the ultimate
victory … [a navy] with smaller versions of the fleet units employed by the
large navies.” The RCN had grown from a fleet of six destroyers, four mine-
sweepers, 1500 RCN regulars and 1500 RCN Reserves (RCNR) in 1939, to 400
ships (excluding auxiliary ships) and nearly 100,000 naval personnel. While
the very real problems encountered by a force growing so quickly have been
documented, by 1943 the RCN hit its stride and a Canadian, Rear Admiral
Leonard Murray, was in command of the northwest Atlantic theatre.9 The
RCN objective was to maintain as much of its fleet as possible after the war
and avoid the disastrous lesson of unpreparedness that occurred in the inter-
war years.
Both the USN and the RCN began postwar planning by 1943, and in 1945
both faced postwar governments committed to heeding the public’s cry for
rapid demobilization. Navies in a democracy need public support. In Canada
this meant that the RCN had to be convincing in its actions in order to “sell”
its postwar agenda of a modern, balanced fleet comprising destroyers, cruis-
ers, and a naval aviation branch with aircraft carriers. New ships built and
contributing to the war effort “would offer the RCN an opportunity to win
battle honours … and so greatly enhance the chances of their acceptance by
public opinion as part of the postwar Canadian Navy.”10
During the war the navy “achieve[d] its own independence and signifi-
cance,” with particular expertise in anti-submarine warfare (ASW) and the
defence of shipping. Emerging as the third largest Allied navy by the end of
the war, the RCN’s professional sailors did not want to lose their unpreced-
ented blue-water capabilities. The RCN ended the war with 93,000 personnel
and 939 ships, two cruisers, fourteen destroyers and a former Axis subma-
rine.11 Two British escort carriers had Canadian commanders and crews.
What was envisioned for the peacetime RCN can be seen from the
1943 appreciation by Lt. Commander G.F. Todd, RCNVR. The RCN’s policy

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planner from 1940-1943 and Secretary to the Canadian Joint Staff Mission
in London from 1944-1945, Todd proposed RCN cooperation with the Royal
Canadian Air Force (RCAF) in protecting Canada, Newfoundland, and
Labrador’s coastal waters “against all attacks except sustained battleship at-
tacks launched by major naval powers.” In addition, the RCN would “con-
tribute to the maintenance of Imperial sea communications at least to the ex-
tent of providing trade protection forces proportionate to the size of Canada’s
merchant marine; [and] contribute to the joint defence of the oceans adjacent
to North America.”12 This could be done by “a post-war navy of three cruis-
ers, two light fleet carriers, 16 fleet destroyers, 19 frigates and eight Algerine
minesweepers.”13
In his 1944 report, “Post-war Strategic Security of Canada,” Todd main-
tained that any attacks on Canada would be “[s]poradic attacks … essentially
diversionary operations.” Threats to Canadian security would come by air
or sea, or from forces using islands in close proximity to Canada, such as
St. Pierre and Miquelon, Greenland or Iceland, among others. While he
supported joint North American defence, Todd believed that Canada was
responsible for continental defence “on an appropriate scale.” With regard
to the Arctic, Todd referred to a two-ocean, not a three-ocean navy. He
mentioned the Aleutians as a possible base for invasion, but expected them
to be defended by the United States. To defend Canada and contribute to
continental defence, Todd believed that Canada needed “adequate naval and
air forces, including anti-submarine, anti-surface vessels and anti-aircraft
escort ships, with heavy covering ships and striking forces, and ship-borne
and shore-based aircraft, and necessary operational and repair naval and air
bases.”14
Reality for the postwar RCN came in the form of a government and na-
tion resolved to downsize. Of Canada’s three services, it was the RCN that
had the greatest difficulty establishing a postwar role, in part because the
government had not determined the country’s naval commitments. Not un-
like the dilemma facing the USN, the RCN had to redefine itself and its role in
the postwar world. In both nations, navies faced military and political lead-
ers who saw the navy of the future as no more than an escort and transport
branch, stripping it of its aviation arm and reducing the size and composition
of the fleet to no more than “a support service.” In fact, Jan Drent, RCN (ret.)
suggests that “[i]t is arguable that these vociferous power struggles [between
the USAF and USN] could have raised questions in the minds of Canadian
politicians and reinforced doubts.” There were also threats in both nations of
service unification and cost-cutting measures.15

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 ELIZABETH B. ELLIOT-MEISEL

In an effort to provide justification for “a `big ship’ navy, not an escort

force,” the RCN and USN had to prove their worth and outline their postwar
roles and missions. This was made all the more difficult by both govern-
ments, which had yet to formalize their postwar foreign policy. Canada was
unsure of the place it would occupy in the world. Without clear direction
from the government, military planning is at best difficult, and it is certainly
risky, as capital expenditures are not only extremely expensive but also ne-
cessitate long-term planning. “Flexibility was the keynote of naval policy,”
but it was a challenge for the RCN to define the type and extent of the navy
and its desire for an Arctic presence, in light of its other commitments, the
Liberal government’s traditional “anti-militarism,” and the current govern-
ment’s determination, led by Prime Minister Mackenzie King, to fund little
more than, in the words of Minister of National Defence, Douglas Abbott, “a
good workable little fleet.”16
Convinced of its unique and essential value to Canadian defence, stub-
bornly committed to preserving a robust fleet manned by professional sail-
ors, and determined to carve out an indispensable postwar role, the RCN
looked North. Arguably, the Arctic provided the navy with an important
theatre and function in the postwar era, one that was instrumental to not
only Canadian but also continental defence. In addition, it would buttress the
naval case against Ottawa’s proposed drastic budget cuts that could severely
curtail, if not eliminate, an RCN Arctic presence, thus undermining both
defence and the politically-sensitive issue of sovereignty assertion. But the
RCN was unable to sustain its case. Retrenchment in the services was severe
and by 1947 only a skeleton fleet was left. Manpower had fallen and the RCN
“officer corps [was] down to a core of RN-trained professionals.” Mackenzie
King initially opposed an aircraft carrier, considering it “overly grandiose”
for Canada. He also believed that the USN and the RN could be counted on
to defend Canada’s maritime interests. Although he finally came around to
supporting the acquisition of a single carrier for Canada, as long as it could
operate in northern waters, his anti-military attitude permitted little in the
way of a robust, balanced fleet.
In assessing the postwar world the Post-Hostilities Problems Working
Committee’s (PHP) 1944 report, “Post-war Canadian Defence Relationship
with the United States,” concluded that the North American continent
was “vulnerable” to attack by air from the north. It maintained that the
Soviet-American relationship was of “special concern to Canada” and that
while Canada “must accept full responsibility for defence measures within
Canadian territory,” as well as for Newfoundland and Labrador, “it [was]

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clear that defence planning for Canada and the United States should be co-
ordinated.” To this end, Canada needed to “maintain larger armed forces
than before the war.”17
The Canadian military did not dispute the PHP’s findings or its recom-
mendations. In late 1947, the American and Canadian governments endorsed
the Permanent Joint Board on Defense’s (PJBD) 35th Recommendation (1946)
for military cooperation and collaboration. But there were also those within
the Canadian government who sought to assert a greater Canadian presence
in the North in order to solidify sovereignty claims. They feared that joint
defence arrangements with the United States could hinder that end. The
military was aware of its limitations and, efforts to increase its presence and
knowledge of the North notwithstanding, was convinced that bilateral mil-
itary cooperation was necessary for the defence of North America. During
the war, Major-General Maurice Pope noted that “[t]o the American[s] the
defence of the United States is continental defence, which includes [Canada]
…. [and, in the event of war, it] would look to [Canada] to make common
cause … [without] delay.”18 In the postwar period, the military supported
Pope’s recommendation for continued bilateral cooperation and argued that
“exclusive claims to sovereignty must be fitted into the overall requirements
of continental security and defence.”19
In “this trying period, between a war that is over and a peace that is not
yet secure,” the world struggled for stability as the new balance of power took
shape.20 The Canadian government’s view of the USSR as a menace to world
stability was reached independently of the United States, but its conclusion
was similar to that of its southern neighbour. The Canadians subscribed to
George Kennan’s view that while “the Russians were not planning a direct
attack … a Russian misunderstanding or miscalculation” might lead to war
and to his advocacy of containment. Yet even though the Soviets were en-
gaged in developing their Arctic regions, the government wanted to ensure
that Canadian northern development “would not be provocative” and that
there would be “as much civilian `cover’ for defense projects as possible.”
Canada determined that collaboration with the United States was in its best
interest; it did not enter cooperative agreements because of pressure from
the south. Overall, “there was no substantial difference between the view-
point of the Canadian and United States representatives as to the objective of
the Soviet Union and as to the effect on Soviet foreign policy of joint North
American defense measures.”21 As postwar planning continued, in fact, the
Americans noted that “[w]here the Canadians diverge from us, or oppose us,
is chiefly in matters of execution, method and timing.”22

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 ELIZABETH B. ELLIOT-MEISEL

The RCN and Postwar Realities

The new arena for the postwar RCN was the Arctic. Previously, Canadian
military commitments in the Arctic had been solely to protect Canadian
sovereignty. A prewar presence had been maintained by the Royal Canadian
Mounted Police and the Eastern Arctic Patrol. After the war, the RCN had no
“definite tactical doctrine for Northern operations,” but like the US military,
the other Canadian services, and even the Canadian public and govern-
ment, it “was swept up in the `polar passion.’” This passion, however, had
a catalyst and a price tag. According to Rear Admiral A.H.G. Storrs, RCN
(ret), American military interest in the North spurred Canada into action,
directly contributing to the decision for the RCN cruise into Hudson Strait
and Hudson Bay.23
The USN had a history of Arctic involvement which continued after the
war. In March 1946, Operation “Frostbite” sent the aircraft carrier Midway,
three destroyers and a tanker into Davis Strait. The carrier held take-off and
landing exercises with planes and helicopters in snow and freezing tem-
peratures. Operations in the Labrador Sea were intended to test “the feas-
ibility of carrier operations in the Arctic.” Later that same year, Operation
“Nanook,” a joint USN/Marine exercise in Canada’s territorial waters of
Viscount Melville and Lancaster Sounds, included a landing near Dundas
Harbor on North Devon Island. The Americans were careful to obtain per-
mission, and although Canada declined the offer to participate, a Canadian
observer was aboard.24
In 1947 the USN was back in the Arctic when it supplied materials for
the first of five Joint Arctic Weather Stations (JAWS) in Canadian territory.
The Canadians were again invited to participate but declined. Although the
RCN at this point still had one carrier, two cruisers, eighteen frigates and
destroyers, and nine minesweepers, it had no submarines or icebreakers,
and was suffering severe manpower difficulties.25 The Americans, for their
part, not only sent surface ships into the Arctic waters but also experimented
with submarines. USS Atule had attempted to submerge in Baffin Bay in 1946,
but was forced to abandon the mission when its periscope was damaged. In
1947 the Navy Electronics Laboratory in San Diego, which employed some
Canadian scientists, experimented with submarines maneuvering through
ice packs while on the surface and, later that year, transited under the ice of
the Chukchi Sea. But, even with successful trials and enthusiasm on the part
of its participants and sponsors, the USN did not see the immediate promise
of submarines. “[T]here was no thought at the time of military operations

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in Arctic areas.”26 Tight budgets also precluded anything more than supply
missions to the weather stations in 1947.27
American interest in the North was not only maritime. While it is be-
yond the scope of this paper to chronicle the other American projects in
the Canadian North, “U.S. requests to fly over, march over, or sail through
Canadian territory seemed to be coming thick and fast, especially through
military channels.” An overriding Canadian concern, regardless of the service
making the request, was to protect Canadian sovereignty and independence.
For their part, the Americans made it clear in the 36th Recommendation of
the PJBD, and in President Truman’s 11 February 1947 speech to the Canadian
parliament, that they were committed to respecting that sovereignty. “It was
totally unrealistic for Ottawa to consider denying the United States access to
the Arctic when the U.S. thought of Canada’s arctic frontier as a continental
front line and when the two countries had been so closely tied together in
continental defence matters since 1940.” Canada believed that collaboration
was in the national interest, and permission granted to the United States was
not motivated by American pressure. But lessons had been learned during
the war. The military wanted to be certain that, unlike in World War II, it was
made “more fully aware” of the American assessment of North American
“defence requirements” in order to better evaluate American demands on
Canadian land and facilities. This would be facilitated by a postwar role for
the PJBD.28

Planning an Arctic Cruise

For its part, the Canadian military also wanted a larger role in the North.
RCN interests included “Arctic oceanography, the re-supply of northern sta-
tions, and anti-submarine activity in Northern waters.” Sovereignty asser-
tion was not a priority, but the navy wanted to be able to operate in its own
backyard and to be recognized as the owner of the real estate. In 1946, the
year of the Midway transit, the Canadian Army approached the RCN with a
plan for joint exercises in the Arctic. The army’s plan was not enthusiastically
received by the RCN. Commander Storrs believed that “[t]he exercise pro-
posed [by the Army] is extremely ambitious and the light-hearted approach
to the Naval angle seems to indicate a somewhat superficial consideration of
the problems involved.” He did not see the need to freeze in a ship during the
winter and felt that more preliminary work needed to be carried out before
committing the RCN to such an exercise.29
Captain H.N. Lay, Director of Naval Plans and Intelligence from
December 1945 to April 1948, wrote in October 1946 “that the idea of a

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 ELIZABETH B. ELLIOT-MEISEL

purely Canadian Arctic Expedition is an excellent one. As the Army paper

mentions, we know that U.S.S.R. are [sic] taking a considerable amount of
interest in the Arctic regions, and we have some reason to suspect that a
Russian submarine has been operating in the Davis Strait.” He observed
that the United States was actively interested in the Arctic and that the
Americans believed there was an “urgent [need for] … the collection of in-
formation of a topographical, hydrographical and climatic nature, together
with information as to how equipment and personnel stand up to Arctic
conditions.”30
Lay also noted that he had already held two meetings to ascertain the
state of Arctic research and what the army had thus far completed. He also
interviewed individuals with Arctic experience and discussed the require-
ments for ships that could be used in such an expedition. The vessels needed
to be strengthened to operate in ice-infested waters and to withstand being
“frozen in” during the winter. Since Canada did not have the necessary ships
for the joint exercise, one option considered was to call on the USN. This was
rejected, however, because, according to Lay, “this would almost certainly
mean that the USN would wish to be the dominant partner in the expedition,
and … if Canada is able to do it herself, she should do so.” Thus, the RCN
needed to ice-strengthen one of its own ships.31
At the Naval Staff meeting one week later, members noted the wide
range of objectives and experiments that could be completed during such an
exercise, but the expense in funds and time to refit a ship, they concluded,
was not worth the expense. Other venues already existed or were planned
that could provide much of the same information. The Naval Staff preferred
an Arctic cruise – sending ships north “during the season of open naviga-
tion to study navigational and operational conditions.” The Naval Board
concurred.32
In April 1947, the Naval Staff discussed such a northern voyage. The
members noted that there was interest in the Canadian Arctic at this point in
time, but they did not identify who was interested. The Staff supported the
idea of a cruise into Hudson Bay and Hudson Strait, as it “would be of benefit
to the Canadian defence programme,” but they did not say how. As there
were to be no USN expeditions like Operation “Nanook” in 1947, joining the
Americans was not an option. But the “Naval Staff was of the firm opinion
that it would be preferable to undertake a northern cruise under Canadian
auspices.” The chief difficulty was “the recent drastic curtailment in fuel sup-
plies available to the RCN.” The pros and cons of the cruise were discussed
and the Naval Staff recommended that plans be prepared for 1947. The RCAF

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ARCTIC FOCUS

and the Canadian Army would be contacted about sending liaison officers.
The Naval Board approved both the cruise and the approach.33
In May 1947 Captain Lay noted that expeditions into the Canadian
Arctic had been mounted by the RN, USN, RCMP, Hudson’s Bay Co., and
other Canadian government departments, such as Mines and Resources.
While the USN had operated in Baffin Bay and transited west to Melville
Sound in 1945-1946, the RCN could only look at this with envy, as it had not
been in these waters. As the North grew in importance, Lay felt that the RCN
needed to become familiar with the challenges posed by these waters. He
proposed a cruise into Hudson Bay and Hudson Strait, waters that the RCN
had never transited. The agenda was to include “familiarization” with the
waters, radio testing “within the auroral belt,” bathythermographic readings,
hydrographic soundings, and magnetic observations. Later projects included
work on L/F LORAN stations, oceanographic temperature and salinity read-
ings, and RCAF “tracking and other exercises.”34 The cruise needed to be
conducted when the strait and bay were ice free, between mid-August and
mid-September, since the hulls of the destroyers could not withstand the ice.
Three routes were proposed. Fuel requirements were a major considera-
tion and tables outlined distance, tons of fuel, and days of travel. Fuel was
more expensive in Churchill than in Halifax ($5.25/barrel versus $3.12), so
the planners needed to keep the amount needed in Churchill to a minimum.
The cost of the Churchill fuel was to be deducted “by an equivalent amount”
from the year’s quota. Lay suggested the tanker CNAV Dundalk be utilized
between Halifax and Churchill for refuelling. Since navigational problems
off the Labrador coast included “inadequate charts, large magnetic variation
and frequency of fog and poor visibility,” a gyro compass or radar was ne-
cessary for Dundalk to operate in the western end of Hudson Strait and the
northern part of Hudson Bay. Lay proposed that Dundalk travel with a ship
that had a gyro compass, but eventually approval was given for Dundalk to
be outfitted with its own at a cost close to $1000.35
Ironically, at the same time that planning was taking place for the
Northern cruise, the Canadian government placed even more restrictions on
the military. For the RCN, government-dictated cuts required further reduc-
tions in recruiting, ships, and fuel allowances.36 This was at a time when the
RCN was already struggling with a “critical shortage of manpower.” There
were “more trained men going out than coming in, and [there was] the diffi-
culty of tr[ainin]g the new entries with existing facilities.”37 These reductions
and problems were contributing factors to the cancellation of the cruise of
1947.38

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 ELIZABETH B. ELLIOT-MEISEL

Even with government-mandated reductions, the RCN was committed

to training its personnel in efficient ASW which, it was convinced, necessitat-
ed a submarine. Discussed in mid-1947, proposals for submarines included

Map 5. From C.S. Beals, Science, History and Hudson Bay (Ottawa: Queen’s Printer, 1968).

131
ARCTIC FOCUS

loans from the USN and the RN, but no submarine was purchased at this
time.39

Northern Cruise, 1948

As plans for the cruise were resurrected for 1948, the issue of fuel shortages
remained. Care had to be taken to allocate fuel to last the entire year and thus
avoid “drastic curtailment of activity during the latter part of the year.” The
ships eventually employed for the cruise were the newly “arcticized” aircraft
carrier HMCS Magnificent, under the command of Commodore G.R. Miles,
with 19 Carrier Air Group aboard; tribal destroyer HMCS Haida, commanded
by Lieutenant-Commander A.F. Pickard; and HMCS Nootka, under the com-
mand of Commander A.H.G. Storrs.40 The voyage took place 2-28 September
1948. These were the first Canadian warships to enter Canada’s Arctic waters.
Magnificent, Haida, and Nootka sailed from Halifax and proceeded north
to Wakeham Bay, Labrador. Sufficient leeway was left on the route from
Halifax to Wakeham Bay to enable senior officers to react to conditions en-
countered. Magnificent only travelled as far north as Wakeham Bay, where it
topped off the destroyers with fuel. Magnificent did not venture into Hudson
Bay, although Lay had recommended it. Lay believed such a voyage would
save fuel costs, which were incurred both by shipping oil to Churchill and by
using Dundalk. It also would have provided more RCAF training time.41 But
only the destroyers entered Hudson Bay and proceeded to Churchill.
A ship of impressive size, Magnificent did much to publicize the voyage.
But its inclusion also had a military purpose. It was to give the Air Force an
opportunity:

to familiarize RCAF crews with Naval operations, to carry out

shadowing exercises with the Carrier Force and to carry out pa-
trols … From a Naval stand point it was to enable their fighter
aircraft to deal with enemy attacks from the air, make fighter
interceptions and to familiarize the Task Force personnel with
RCAF tactics.42

While the Director of the Naval Air Division advised against the carrier par-
ticipating in the cruise, the Chief of Naval Staff held firm.43
Two RCAF search-and-rescue planes from 103 SAR (Search and Rescue)
Flight, Greenwood, Nova Scotia, took part in joint tactical exercises: a Canso
and a Lancaster (the Canso being the slower of the two). Fog was relatively
constant, but simulated war conditions were employed, with Task Force

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 ELIZABETH B. ELLIOT-MEISEL

interceptions, shadowing, homing, and patrols carried out in the Strait of

Belle Isle. Unfortunately, naval aircraft shadowing and interception exercises
with Magnificent were only possible on 4 September, due to “weather and
other causes.” The Lancaster was able to practice radar and homing exercises
and patrols with the destroyers on other days. Officials put a positive spin
on the practice flights. “[T]he cooperation exercises with the Task Force were
quite successful, … ET communication was excellent, and … a good time
was had by all.” The word from Magnificent was that “Joint exercises now
completed. Thank you for your ready co-operation. The exercises have been
of great value to Magnificent.”44
On the voyage to and from Churchill, the two destroyers carried out radio,
L/F LORAN and hydrographic observations, and temperature and salinity
tests. The four day visit to Churchill, 11-15 September, was called Operation
“Seadog.” Nootka and Haida were open to the public for tours; an evening
with the Governor General was planned; sailors toured Churchill; and par-
ties were arranged for the officers.45 Departing Churchill, the ships docked at
Port Burwell, after a two-day stop at Coral Harbour on Southampton Island.
Refuelling at Port Burwell from Dundalk, which had been sent from Halifax
for just this purpose, was successful and the ships then sailed for home.
Prior to the voyage there had been RCN interest in not only working
with the RCAF but also the Department of Mines and Resources. In 1947 the
Naval Staff, recognizing that survey work was needed, suggested that the
RCN could help Mines and Resources by conducting surveys when its ships
were in northern waters. The Naval Board, however, rejected the idea, believ-
ing such surveys were the responsibility of the civilian department. But offi-
cials at Mines and Resources were persistent. In 1948, Deputy Minister Hugh
Keenleyside contacted the Department of Defence when the RCN’s northern
cruise was scheduled. He stated that sea and air navigation would benefit
from better magnetic information in that area of the world and offered the
services of Dominion Astronomer Dr. C.S. Beals to carry out the appropriate
observations. Deputy Minister Mills replied that the Department of Defence
had already contacted a Dominion Observatory astronomer.46
It has been claimed that “[i]t is a sound nile that the amount of work an
expedition accomplishes is in inverse proportion to the amount of publicity
it gets.”47 And it can be claimed with some justification that although there
was value in the scientific observations, readings and limited air exercises,
“the accomplishment [of the Northern Cruise] was minimal” and “[c]om-
pared to the rigours of winter patrols in the Northern Atlantic, these voyages
were pleasure cruises.”48 But, it can also be argued that the real value of the

133
ARCTIC FOCUS

cruise was the national pride of seeing the Canadian flag in the Arctic, and
RCN pride in its ability to transit these northern waters for the first time.
The expedition involved 300 sailors during its twenty-seven-day trip, and
the destroyers went to 62 degrees N, the farthest north any RCN ship had yet
reached. These were the first RCN ships in Hudson Bay, and although they
encountered fog, snow and icebergs, the cruise was successfully navigated.
There was no lack of publicity. The RCN made sure there were photo-
graphs of the cruise, and newspapers carried both RCN photos and state-
ments from the commanders.49 In addition, the RCN had observers from the
United States, UK, and other Canadian services on board. Observers aboard
Haida were the UK’s Senior Naval Advisor to the British High Commissioner
in Canada, Capt. Sir Robert Stirling-Hamilton; US Naval Attaché to Canada,
Capt. Benjamin Scott Custer; a representative of the Defence Research Board,
Lieutenant William Bailey, RCN (R); geophysicist A.A. Onhausser from the
Dominion Observatory; three representatives of the Canadian Army; and
three servicemen from the RCAF.

Post-Cruise Realities
While there is no doubt that the RCN was proud of the Northern cruise, it
was concurrently evaluating its role in other theatres; its relationship with
allies and potential enemies; and the reality of even more budget cuts. In
1947 Commander Storrs predicted that future wars would necessitate a navy
that utilized submarines and aircraft. Mines would also be a factor, while
surface ships would not be the source of major attacks. Storrs concluded that
the RCN’s role would be similar to that of World War II plus “direct defence
of coastal and overseas sea communications.”50 This necessitated ships of
“greater speed, better sea keeping qualities, and … of such construction as
to promote rapid production in an emergency. The ultimate development
may well be a form of modified Hunt class Destroyer.” Since Canada’s naval
budget was limited, Storrs believed that the RCN must concentrate on “anti-
air, anti-submarine and anti-mining forces.” He advised a fleet with “the
nuclear operational forces suitable for the kind of war in which Canada will
be engaged.”51
While “Canada had the rudiments of a maritime strategy that considered
the Arctic’s geostrategic location,” such a broad range of commitments
placed a strain on the RCN’s limited resources. Thus, while the cruise did
take place in late 1948, an Arctic presence was not sustainable. Consideration
for acquiring an icebreaker and continuing northern cruises “during ice-free
periods” was made by the Naval Board, but in 1948 the RCN remained at a

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 ELIZABETH B. ELLIOT-MEISEL

crossroads.52 To grow, it needed a mandate and for the mandate to be funded

it needed to fit the government’s foreign policy objectives. There were in-
creases in both manpower and equipment that year, and the government’s
1949 White Paper noted the RCN’s responsibility for protecting Canadian
coastal waters, but it also committed the Navy to protect allied Atlantic
shipping lanes. Consequently, while the navy’s responsibilities included the
Arctic coast, and the naval icebreaker Labrador was approved, subsequent
NATO commitments and tight budgets eventually closed the curtain on an
Arctic presence.53
HMCS Labrador reflected a traditional problem facing Canada: American
interest in Canadian territory was perceived as a threat to sovereignty and it
elicited a response.54 But the wisdom and ability of such action is question-
able. Jan Drent, RCN, contends that Labrador “was the result of a political de-
termination to underline Canadian sovereignty … [a] decision to use a war-
ship for an essentially peacetime role.”55 Its 1958 transfer to the Department
of Transport was highly controversial both within the RCN and the govern-
ment. There was debate as to whether a naval ship in the Arctic was a better
symbol of Canadian sovereignty than a Department of Transport vessel.56
Although important as a research and escort ship, Labrador was unable to
find a niche in the RCN of the 1950s. After only seven years in naval service,
four of them in the High Arctic, Labrador was turned over to the Department
of Transport.57
Lt. William Hessler, USN, maintains that military policy needs to ac-
knowledge and address the “interplay of geography and technology.” The
former is a constant and “dictates the main contours of any nation’s strategy,”
while the latter “is the prime arbiter of weapons and their tactical use.” But
surely another crucial factor in formulating military policy is budgetary real-
ity. This is most certainly true for Canada. Ultimately, NATO commitments,
which were affordable, utilized the new Canadian-built St. Laurent class
ships and highlighted RCN expertise in ASW and sea lane defence. These
became the driving forces in RCN equipment acquisitions, and personnel
and training plans. “Adherence to [NATO] … marked the end of what little
independence Canada had retained in post-war naval planning.” With lim-
ited men and finances, this was really the RCN’s only option. World War II
had “defined the role for the modern Canadian navy within an alliance;” to
choose NATO responsibilities (an alliance role) over Arctic patrols (an unilat-
eral role) made sense. A decision to commit forces against a known enemy,
as opposed to asserting sovereignty against perceived threats to sovereignty
by an ally, was understandable. Faced with government skepticism over

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ARCTIC FOCUS

the need for a blue-water navy, the RCN realized “that the survival of the
fleet was a function of continental defence” and NATO responsibilities. Joel
Sokolsky has gone so far as to claim that “[t]he commitment to NATO saved
the RCN from oblivion in the nuclear age by providing it with a sound stra-
tegic role.”58
This postwar naval role concurrently supported the government’s
foreign policy, proving and providing Canadian commitment to an active
involvement in western security and justifying a Canadian voice in such
matters. Without a clear naval threat to continental security in Arctic wat-
ers, Canadians were unwilling to fund a navy capable of maintaining a
Northern presence. The end of the Cold War has only reinforced this attitude.
Canadians have the same strong emotional attachment to the North that
existed in 1948 and they still condemn an American presence in the disputed
Northwest Passage. But Canadians also continue to support bilateral defence
arrangements which provide continental security and relieve them of the
expense of fielding a force to protect the North. Thus, in terms of accommo-
dating the conflicting realities of being responsible for three oceans but liv-
ing with a government and public reluctant to provide the funds necessary
to carry out this mandate, the present Canadian Navy is not so very different
from what it was fifty years ago.

Notes
Reprinted from The Northern Mariner IX/2
(April 1999): 23-39.
1 H.L. Keenleyside, “Recent Develop-
ments in the Canadian North,” De-
partment of Mines and Resources,
statement based on lecture at Mc-
Master University, Hamilton, Ontario,
14 May 1949, in Statements and Speeches
(Ottawa, 1940-1964), 1.
2 Blair Bolles, “Arctic Diplomacy,” For-
eign Policy Reports XXIV/6 (June 1948),
58.
3 Shelagh Grant, Sovereignty or Security
(Vancouver, 1988), 239; and Matthew
D. Evenden, “Harold Innis, the Arctic
Survey, and the Politics of Social Sci-
ence during the Second World War,”
Canadian Historical Review LXXIX/1
(March 1998), 37.
4 Peter Haydon, “Sailors, Admirals, and
Politicians: The Search for Identity
after the War,” in A Nation’s Navy eds.
M.Hadley, R. Huebert and F.W. Crick-
ard (Montréal, 1996); Jan Drent, “‘A
Good, Workable Little Fleet: Canadian
Naval Policy 1945-1950,” in A Nation’s
Navy.; R.J. Diubaldo and S.J. Schein-
berg, A Study of Canadian-American
De-fence Policy (1945-1975) – Northern
Issues and Strategic Resources (Ottawa,
1978); D. Middlemiss and J. Sokolsky,
Canadian Defence: Decisions and Deter-
minants (Toronto, 1989); S. Mathwin
Davis, “The St. Laurent Decision: Gen-
esis of a Canadian Fleet,” in The RCN
in Transition ed. W.A.B. Douglas (Van-
couver, 1988); Joel Sokolsky, “Canada
and the Cold War at Sea, 1945-68,” in
RCN in Transition.; and D. Middlemiss,
“Economic Considerations in the
Development of the Canadian Navy
since 1945,” in RCN in Transition. On
NATO, see Escott Reid, Time of Fear
and Hope: The Making of the North At-

136

lantic Treaty 1947-49 (Toronto,1979);
James Eayrs, In Defence of Canada:
Growing Up Allied (Toronto, 1980); and
Joseph Jockel and Joel Sokolsky, Can-
ada and Collective Security: Odd Man
Out (New York, 1986). On Korea, see
Denis Stairs, Diplomacy of Constraint:
Canada, the Korean War, and the United
States (Toronto, 1974).
5 Commander Barry L. Coombs, USN,
United States Naval Cooperation with
Canada (unpublished manuscript, US
Naval War College, 1995), 20.
6 Although beyond the scope of this
essay, the immediate postwar years
were, in fact, important in shaping
the postwar RCN. These years laid
the groundwork for a more Canadian,
and less British navy in terms of estab-
lishing a Canadian naval identity; see
Commander A.B. German, RCN (ret),
”Canada’s Navy 1910 to 1985,” Can-
adian Defence Quarterly XV (Decem-
ber 1985/January 1986), 26. The RCN
increasingly replaced RN technology
with USN technological and tech-
nical equipment and weaponry in the
postwar years. See John D. Harbron,
“Royal Canadian Navy at Peace 1945-
1955: The Uncertain Heritage,” Queen’s
Quarterly LXXIII (Fall 1966), 315-320.
7 Haydon, “Sailors,” 222; and German,
“Canada’s Navy,” 27.
8 George Baer, One Hundred Years of Sea
Power: The US Navy, 1890-1990 (Stan-
ford, 1994), 1.
9 Marc Milner, “The Second World War:
Canada’s Formative Naval Experi-
ence,” in Canada ‘s Maritime Tradition
eds. Peter Haydon and Katherine Orr
(Halifax, 1996), 26; German, “Canada’s
Navy,” 17-18; Marc Milner, North At-
lantic Run: The Royal Canadian Navy
and the Battle for the Convoys (Toronto,
1985); J.A. Boutilier, ed., The RCN in
Retrospect, 1910-1968 (Vancouver,
1982); and RCN in Transition.
10 Baer, One Hundred Years, 2; James
Eayrs, In Defence of Canada: Peace-
making and Deterrence (Toronto, 1972),
ELIZABETH B. ELLIOT-MEISEL
81; National Archives of Canada (NAC
– now Library and Archives Canada),
Record Group (RG) 24 DI, vol. 3844,
NS1017-10-34, Lt. Commander G.F.
Todd, “Canada’s Post-war Navy,” 17
November 1943, cited in W.A.B. Doug-
las, “Conflict and Innovation in the
Royal Canadian Navy, 1939-1945,” in
Naval Warfare in the Twentieth Century,
1940-1945 ed. Gerald Jordan (New
York, 1977), 224; and Davis, “St. Lau-
rent Decision,” 189.
11 W.A.B. Douglas, “Alliance Warfare
1939-45: Canada’s Maritime Forces,”
Revue Internationale d’Histoire Militaire
LIV (1982), 159; Davis, “St. Laurent De-
cision,” 188; Brian Cuthbertson, Can-
adian Military Independence in the Age
of the Superpowers (Toronto, 1977), 118,
122; and Ken Macpherson and John
Burgess, The Ships of Canada’s Naval
Forces 1910-1993 (St. Catharines, ON,
1994), 158.
12 NAC, RG 25 1989-90/029, Box 10, file
7-AB(s), pt. I, Lt. Commander G.F.
Todd, “Some Naval Aspects of Post-
Hostilities Problems,” 28 October
1943. Canadian political scientist Joel
Sokolsky was “surprised” by this com-
ment, as battleships were not used to
bombard North America during the
war. Sokolsky, telephone conversation
with author, 28 May 1998.
13 Douglas, “Conflict and Innovation,”
224. Davis, “St. Laurent Decision,” 189,
states that the plans called for four
cruisers.
14 NAC, RG 2/18, series B-2, vol. 19, file
W-22-8, vol. 6, Lt. Cdr. G.F. Todd, “Post-
war Strategic Security of Canada,”
paper presented to Post-Hostilities
Problems Working Committee, 27
April 1944.
15 Eayrs, Peacemaking and Deterrence, 56;
Lt.-Col. D.J. Goodspeed, The Armed
Forces of Canada, 1867-1967 (Ottawa,
1967), 230; Baer, One Hundred Years,
276; and Stephen Howarth, To Shining
Sea: A Hundred Years of the United States
Navy, 1775-1991 (New York, 1991),
476-477. For the RCN, see Commander
137
ARCTIC FOCUS
A.B. German, The Sea is at Our Gates
(Toronto, 1990), 204; Drent, “Good,
Workable Little Fleet,” 210-211; and
Michael Palmer, Origins of the Maritime
Strategy: American Naval Strategy in the
First Postwar Decade (Washington, DC,
1988), 3-4.
16 German, Sea at Our Gates, 204; Michael
Isenberg, Shield of the Republic: The
United States Navy in an Era of Cold
War and Violent Peace, Vol. 1 (New
York, 1993), 46, 116; Eayrs, Peacemaking
and Deterrence, 75-77, 86; Goodspeed,
Armed Forces, 230; Jack Pickersgill,
The Mackenzie King Record (4 vols., To-
ronto,1960-1970), IV, 6; Canada, Parlia-
ment, House of Commons, Debates, 22
October 1945. In late 1945 the postwar
fleet proposed was “two cruisers,
probably two light fleet carriers, ten
to twelve destroyers, auxiliary ships,
and 10,000 personnel.” Naval Minister
Angus MacDonald was a firm sup-
porter of the Navy and its desire for a
balanced fleet but he resigned in 1945
and his successor, D.C. Abbott, was
more in line with Mackenzie King’s
military wariness and hence was
not as supportive of the Naval Staffs
desires. M. Hennessy, “Who Minds
the Pacific: Canadian Naval Policy
and Canada’s Other Coast 1943-1950”
(paper presented at Canadian Histor-
ical Association Conference, Calgary,
Alberta, 1994), 9 and 18-19. Abbott be-
came Minister of Finance in 1947 and
cut military spending even further.
Minister of Defence Brooke Claxton
(December 1946-June 1954) weighed
naval requests against not only
budgets but political considerations
like public opinion. Claxton believed
that if World War III were to occur,
the RCNs duties would be the same
as they were in World War II. Eayrs,
Peacemaking and Deterrence, 100.
17 Marc Milner, “A Canadian Perspec-
tive on Canadian and American Naval
Relations Since 1945,” in Fifty Years of
Canada-United States Defense Cooper-
ation: The Road from Ogdensburg ed. J.
Sokolsky and J. Jockel (Lewiston, NY,
138
1992), 150; Harbron, “Navy at Peace,”
316; Drent, “Good, Workable Little
Fleet,” 210; Paul Kennedy, “Naval
Mastery: The Canadian Context,” in
RCN in Transition, 30; and Pickersgill,
Record, IV, 9.
18 NAC, RG 25, Acc. 89-90/029, box 34,
file 52-C(s), pt. I, “Post-war Canadian
Defence Relation-ship with the United
States: General Considerations,” 24
October 1944.
19 Keenleyside, “Recent Developments,”
6; Grant, Sovereignty or Security, 191;
O.M. Solandt, “Defence Research in
Canada,” 18 January 1947, in Depart-
ment of External Affairs, Statements
and Speeches (Ottawa, 1947), 3; NAC,
RG 25, 89-90/029, box 34, pt. I, Major-
General Maurice Pope to “J,” Canadian
Embassy in Washington, 4 April 1944;
Canada, Department of National De-
fence to Cabinet Defence Committee,
“Sovereignty in the Canadian Arctic
in Relation to Joint Defence Under-
takings,” n.d., in Donald Page (ed.),
Documents of Canadian External Re-
lations, 1946 (Ottawa, 1977), XII, 1558.
See also Shelagh Grant, “Northern
Nationalists: Visions of a New North,
1940-1950,” in For Purposes of Dominion:
Essays in Honour of Morris Zaslow ed. K.
Coates and W. Morrison (North York,
ON, 1989), 64.
20 Harry S. Truman addressing the Can-
adian Parliament in United States, De-
partment of State, A Decade of American
Foreign Policy Basic Documents, 1941-
1949 (rev. ed., Washington, DC, 1985),
464.
21 Middlemiss and Sokolsky, Canadian
Defence, 17; NAC, RG 25 89-90/029,
box 34, file 52-C(s), pt. 3, US version
of “Canadian-United States Defence
Conversations Held in Ottawa,” 16-17
December 1946. See also Canadian
assessment of meeting: “Memoran-
dum for the Prime Minister: Defence
Discussions with the United States,”
23 December 1946. In 1946 this Amer-
ican assessment of the Canadian pos-
ition was correct. For an interesting

summary of the various Canadian
opinions in the government between
mid-1944 and 1946, see Diubaldo and
Scheinberg, Canadian-American De-
fence Policy, 1-4.
22 Foreign Affairs of the United States
(FRUS), Memorandum by the Officer
in Charge of Commonwealth Affairs
(Avery Peterson) to Secretary of State
Acheson, 19 November 1952, IV, part 2,
2054.
23 R.B. Byers and Michael Slack, eds.,
The Polaris Papers 4: Strategy and the
Arctic (Toronto, 1986), 6; Captain J.J.
Goodspeed, A History of the Defence
Research Board of Canada (Ottawa, 179);
Kenneth Eyre, “Forty Years of Mil-
itary Activity in the Canadian North,
1947-87,” Arctic XL/4 (December 1987),
295; Bolles, “Arctic Diplomacy,” 58;
and A.H.G. Storrs to W.A.B. Douglas,
21 October 1991. I would like to thank
Dr. Douglas for providing a copy of
this letter.
24 Donald W. Mitchell, A History of the
Modern American Navy (New York,
1946), 310; Lt. E.B. Salsig, USN, “Oper-
ation Frostbite – A Strategic Success,”
United States Naval Institute Proceed-
ings, LXXII (September 1946), 1199-
1204; Isenberg, Shield, 118; NAC, RG
2 Series B-2, vol. 56, file A-25-1, J. Gra-
ham Parsons, Secretary, US Section of
PJBD to R.M. Macdonnell, Secretary,
Canadian Section of PJBD, 14 and 22
May 1946; and NAC, RG 24, vol. 8153,
file 1660-18, vol. I, F.L. Houghton to
Admiral Jones, 3 June 1947.
25 NAC, RG 24, vol. 8153, file 1660-18, vol.
I, Commodore F.L. Houghton, RCN
to Rear Admiral J. Cary Jones, USN, 3
June 1947; and Sokolsky, “Cold War at
Sea,” 212.
26 Dr. Waldo Lyon of NEL quoted in Wil-
liam Leary and Leonard LeSchack,
Project Cold fleet: Secret Mission to a
Soviet Ice Station (Annapolis, 1996), 47.
It would take the advent of nuclear-
powered submarines, which did not
have batteries that needed recharging
approximately every thirty hours, and
ELIZABETH B. ELLIOT-MEISEL
inertial navigational systems, which
replaced the inaccurate gyroscopic
compasses, to make Arctic waters a
theatre for submarines.
27 NAC, RG 24 vol. 8153 1660-18, v. I, Rear
Admiral Jones, USN to Commodore
Houghton, RCN, 12 March 1947.
28 David Bercuson, “Continental Defense
and Arctic Sovereignty, 1943-50,” in
The Cold War and Defence ed. K. Neilson
and R. Haycock (New York, 1990), 158,
160 and 163; Douglas, “Conflict and In-
novation,” 224; Permanent Joint Board
on Defense, 36th Recommendation;
Canadian approval: 16 January 1947;
American approval: 4February 1947;
President Harry S. Truman to Can-
adian Parliament, II February 1947 in
Canadian-American Summit Diplomacy,
1923-1973 ed. R.F. Swanson (Toronto,
1975), 118-119; Pickersgill, Record, III,
24; Middlemiss and Sokolsky, Canadian
Defence, 17; and NAC, RG25 89-90/029,
box 34, file 52-C(s), pt. 1, Major-General
Maurice Popes response to Major-
General Guy Henry, US Army, “Con-
tinental Defense Value of Canadian
Northwest [and] Canada-United States
Post-War Collaboration,” 28 July 1945.
29 Goodspeed, History of Research Board,
177; and Directorate of History (here-
after DHist – now Directorate of His-
tory and Heritage),Director of Naval
Plans and Intelligence file, Cdr. A.H.G.
Storrs to DNPI, “Memorandum,” 10
October 1946.
30 DHist, ACNS file, Capt. H.N. Lay to
ACNS, “Proposed Joint Exercise in the
Arctic – 1947-48,” 21 October 1946.
31 Ibid.
32 DHist, Northern Cruise Planning
Discussions, Naval Staff and Naval
Board, Naval Staff Meeting, Minutes,
28 October 1946. At the Naval Staff
Meeting sovereignty assertion or
recognition of other nations in Arc-
tic waters was not noted. Objectives
included scientific information; com-
munication testing; meteorological
and radar observation; navigational
139
ARCTIC FOCUS
methods; establishing and main-
taining air bases on ice; ship to ice
unloading of heavy equipment; ser-
vice clothing, vehicle and equipment
trials; and studying Arctic transit and
living conditions. See also Northern
Cruise Planning Discussions, Naval
Staff and Naval Board, Naval Board,
Minutes, 6 November 1946.
33 DHist, Northern Cruise Planning
Discussions, Naval Staff and Naval
Board, Naval Staff Meeting, Minutes,
21 April 1947; and Informal Discussion
of Naval Board, 29 April 1947.
34 DHist, ACNS file, Capt. H.N. Lay to
ACNS, “Operation ‘Iceworm,’” 23 May
1947. See also Flag Officer Atlantic
Coast file, Naval Secretary to Flag Of-
ficer Atlantic Coast, “Northern Cruise
Operation Plan,” 7 May 1948; and
ACNS file, “Northern Cruise Draft
Operation Plan,” 2 June1947.
35 DHist, ACNS file, Capt. H.N. Lay to
ACNS, “Operation ‘Iceworm,’” 23
May 1947; and Flag Officer Atlantic
Coast file, Naval Secretary to Flag
Officer Atlantic Coast, “Northern
Cruise Operation Plan,” 7 May 1948.
Later plans continued to include fuel
consumption information; see, for
example, ACNS File, Annex B to Ap-
pendix 1 of proposed plan, 2 June
1947. See also VCNS file, Memoran-
dum by Director of Weapons and Tac-
tics, Capt. D.L. Raymone, “Proposed
fitting of gyrocompass in CNAV
Dundalk,” 8 July 1948; Flag Officer
Atlantic Coast file, Naval Secretary to
Flag Officer Atlantic Coast, “Northern
Cruise Operation Plan,” 7 May 1948;
and Northern Cruise Planning and
Discussions, Naval Staff and Naval
Board, Naval Staff Meeting, Minutes,
20 July 1948.
36 Recruitment was to be “3/4 of their
authorized complements” and the re-
duction of the fleet to “1 [aircraft] car-
rier, 1 trg [training] cruiser, and 6 DDs
[destroyers] in commission, and [the]
Reserve Fleet will have to be reduced
to half auxiliary vessels and yard craft
140
reduced by one third, SCOTIAN and
GIVENCHY paid off, and the Elec-
trical Trg Centre and Mechanical TRG
EST. at NADEN closed down;” DHist,
Northern Cruise Planning Discus-
sions, Naval Staff and Naval Board,
vol. Il [summary of meetings], Naval
Secretary memo on “Employment of
the Canadian Naval Forces,” 31 Janu-
ary 1947. Major reductions in fuel
allowances for 1947-1948 also neces-
sitated very careful planning of naval
exercises and cruises. Ibid., 21 Febru-
ary 1947. See also Naval Staff Meeting,
Minutes, 17 March 1947.
37 DHist, Northern Cruise Planning Dis-
cussions, Naval Staff and Naval Board,
vol. II [summary of meetings], “Plan
C. Naval Plan for Fiscal Year 1948-49,”
26 September 1947. This state of affairs
was “mainly caused by unsatisfactory
conditions of service: including (a)
poor accommodation in Barrcks [sic]
and civilian housing at naval ports; (b)
rising costs of living and fixed rates of
pay; and (c) cancellation of travelling
concessions.” See also NSHQ Memo to
Commands, 23 January 1948.
38 DHist, Northern Cruise Planning Dis-
cussions, Naval Staff and Naval Board,
vol. II [summary of meetings], “Signal
211319Z, NSHQ to COAC,” 21 June
1947.
39 DHist, Northern Cruise Planning Dis-
cussions, Naval Staff and Naval Board,
vol II [summary of meetings], Memo
DWT A/S (Bremner) to DWT on “Anti-
Submarine Training in the RCN,”
14 May 1947; and Northern Cruise
Planning Discussions, Naval Staff
and Naval Board, vol. II [summary of
meetings], Memo DWT (Raymond) to
ACNS, DNPI, 15 May 1947.
40 DHist, Northern Cruise Planning Dis-
cussions, Naval Staff and Naval Board,
vol. II [summary of meetings], Navy
Secretary memo re: RCN (R)Train-
ing – Summer 1948 [with Reference to
DNPl (Lay) to VCN, 24 January 1948],
29 January 1948; and Lt. Commander
Nathaniel F. Caldwell, Arctic Leverage

(New York, 1990), 42. Initially, the Flag
Officer Atlantic Coast had wanted
Captain H.F. Pullen, RCN to command
Nootka, but Pullen was unavailable.
“It would appear rather unfair to
Commander Storrs to have him make
his first voyage in Command of HMCS
Nootka in these poorly charted wat-
ers.” But Storrs was obviously up for
the task. DHist, VCNS file Flag Officer
Atlantic Coast to Naval Secretary, 19
May 1948.
41 DHist, Flag Officer Atlantic Coast
file, Naval Secretary to Flag Officer
Atlantic Coast, “Northern Cruise,” 16
July 1948; and Director of Naval Plans
and Intelligence file, Lay to VCNS, 25
February 1948.
42 NAC, RG 24 vol 8153, v.2, E. Publicover,
OC Detachment, “RCN-RCAF Com-
bined Operations,” n.d.
43 DHist, VCNS file, “Memorandum
to VCNS,” 27 February 1948, hand-
written note in margin. The Director
of the Naval Air Division, Capt. G.
A. Rotherham, was against Magnifi-
cent going into the northern waters
because of aircrew personnel sched-
uling problems and ice conditions in
Hudson Bay which might make flying
“hazardous if high speed was a re-
quirement owing to lack of wind and
speed had to be reduced owing to the
presence of ice.”
44 NAC, RG 24, vol. 1853 1660-18, vol. 2,
Commodore G.R. Miles, Command-
ing Officer, HMCS Magnificent to
Flag Officer Atlantic Coast,” Northern
Cruise,” 7 December 1948; vol. 8153,
v. 2, E. Publicover, OC Detachment,
“RCN-RCAF Combined Operations,”
n.d.; vol. 8153, v. 2, E. Publicover,
“RCN-RCAF Combined Operations,
Appendix A, Daily Diary 103 SAR
Detachment,” n.d.; and vol. 8153, v. 2,
“Narrative of Exercises,” appendix A,
7 October 1948.
45 DHist, VCNS file, Major P.E. Q.
MacKinnon, Fort Churchill, “Oper-
ation Seadog” [Memorandum], 9 Sep-
tember 1948.
ELIZABETH B. ELLIOT-MEISEL
46 DHist, Northern Cruise Planning Dis-
cussions, Naval Staff and Naval Board,
Naval Staff Meeting, Minutes, 21 April
1947, and “Informal Discussion of
Naval Board,” 29 April 1947; NAC, RG
24, vol. 8153, 1660-18, v. 1, Keenleyside
to W. Gordon Mills, Deputy Minister
of National Defence, 22 June 1948; and
Mills to Keenleyside, 28 June 1948.
47 NAC, RG 25, vol. 2668, file 9058-40, M.J.
Dunbar to Keenleyside, “Northern
Study Program,” 7 April 1943.
48 Eyre, “Forty Years,” 295.
49 DHist, Director of Naval Plans and
Operations file, Commander R.J.J.
Bridge, RCN, Superintendent of Pho-
tography to DNPO, 20 August 1948.
Commander Pickard said that “A
great deal of navigational knowledge
was gained … northern areas were
inadequately charted because of the
short navigational seasons.” DHist,
Northern Cruise Planning Discus-
sions, Naval Staff and Naval Board
file, press reports, Globe and Mail, 29
September 1948. A picture provided
by the RCN had the caption from
Commander Storrs, who claimed “It
was high time the Royal Canadian
Navy saw something of the Far
North.”
50 DHist, VCNS file, Major P.E.Q.
MacKinnon, Fort Churchill, “Oper-
ation Seadog” [Memorandum], 9 Sep-
tember 1948. During the voyage, there
was an RCAF rescue of an USN plane
with five persons in northern Mani-
toba. All were survivors of the largest
Canadian air rescue in history, called
Operation “Attache,” 12-25 September.
Two of the passengers were Captain
Stirling-Hamilton and Captain Custer,
the two senior naval officers on the
Northern cruise. Their plane went
down en route from Churchill to The
Pas in northern Manitoba. DHist,
Northern Cruise Planning Discus-
sions, Naval Staff and Naval Board file,
Naval Staff Meeting, 25 February 1948.
The final Naval message from Custer
to Nootka and Haida after his rescue:
141
ARCTIC FOCUS
“Thank you for your [congratulatory
message]. I will always travel by RCN
in future when possible. It saves walk-
ing.” “Naval Message,” 27 September
1948.
51 DHist, Northern Cruise Planning Dis-
cussions, Naval Staff and Naval Board,
Memo from Cdr. Storrs to ACNS, 17
Jan 1947. This report was largely re-
produced by Lay (without attribution
to Storrs) in his memo, “Planning the
Post-War Navy,” which was sent to
DCNS on 14 March 1947.
52 Caldwell, Arctic Leverage, 42; DHist,
Northern Cruise Planning Discus-
sions, Naval Staff and Naval Board,
Naval Staff Meeting, Minutes, 25 Feb
1948; and NAC, RG 2, Series B-2, vol.
56,file A-25-I, “Memorandum for the
Cabinet: Navy; Provision of Ice-break-
er,” 6 March 1948.
53 Mathwin Davis’ very brief discus-
sion of the icebreaker highlights not
the implications of an Arctic focus,
but rather its indication of the RCNs
“return to naval shipbuilding and …
a changed approach,” that of utilizing
US designs. Davis, “St. Laurent Deci-
sion,” 197.
57 It is interesting to note that Drent,
54 Sokolsky and Jockel, Fifty Years, 151.
55 Drent, “Good, Workable Little Fleet,”
220. Interestingly, Jack Pickersgill
maintained that the icebreaker Lab-
rador “was entirely Prime Minister
St. Laurent’s initiative;” that the RCN
wanted anew ship; and that St. Lau-
rent insisted that it be an icebreaker,
one capable of High Arctic operations.
Pickersgill, interview by author, 23
October 1991.
56 Kenneth Eyre, “Forty Years,” 295,
called Labrador “yet another symbolic
gesture of sovereignty through pres-
ence.” Captain Thomas Pullen, RCN
denounced the ship’s transfer [DHist,
Pullen Diary, 19 August 1957]. He felt
“No ship has done more for Canada
than Labrador. No ship is better known
to people in Canada or abroad than
Labrador.” [Ibid., 11 October 1957]. But
142
Navy brass insisted that it could bet-
ter spend scarce resources elsewhere.
Storrs to Douglas, 21 October 1991;
NAC, RG 24, vol. 11,185, ACS 8700-
AW50, Naval Secretary to Flag Officer
Atlantic Coast, 27 February 1958; John
Leeming, “HMCS Labrador and the
Canadian Arctic,” in RCN in Transi-
tion, 307. While German, Sea at Our
Gates, 258, commented on the differ-
ence between merchant and military
servicemen, government officials, like
military men, were also divided. Gor-
don Robertson, former Deputy Min-
ister of the Department of Northern
Affairs and National Resources and
Chairman of the ACND, felt the mil-
itary ship “was a far more convincing
and impressive demonstration” of
Canada’s arctic presence. [Interview
with author, 13 January 1992]. But
R.A.J. Phillips, former civil servant
responsible for the Arctic Sovereignty
portfolio in the 1950s, and Jack Pick-
ersgill contended that the government
was not convinced that sovereignty
was better protected by a military
ship than a civilian one. Interviews
with author, Phillips, 22 October 1991,
Pickersgill, 23 October 1991.
“Good, Workable Little Fleet,” 220,
characterized the decision to build
Labrador “as an instrument of sover-
eignty … [a] key development.” And
yet only four paragraphs of the fifteen-
page text and one sentence in the
conclusion deal with it, and the ship is
never mentioned by name. In fact, the
Arctic receives only seven paragraphs
in the entire chapter. In some ways,
Drent reflects that larger picture, not-
ing for the reader an issue close to the
Canadian heart – sovereignty in the
North – but giving it only passing ref-
erence, as it is just not that large in the
broader picture of Canadian priorities
and commitments. For the govern-
ment, Canadian sovereignty assertion
is just that – rhetoric. It has not been
consistently supported by concrete
commitments to equipment, fund-
ing or personnel, largely because the

Canadian public remains unwilling
to see scarce national resources appro-
priated to the Arctic. Sovereignty in
the Arctic is an area and issue that re-
mains dormant until and unless there
is a perceived challenge to Canadian
sovereignty claims.
58 Lt. William H. Hessler, USN, “Geog-
raphy, Technology, and Military
Policy,” US Naval Institute Proceedings
LXXIII/4 (April 1947), 382 (emphasis in
text); Goodspeed, “Armed Forces,” 231;
ELIZABETH B. ELLIOT-MEISEL
Milner, “The Second World War,” 31;
Drent, “Good, Workable Little Fleet,”
207; G.M. Dillon, Canadian Naval Policy
since World War II: A Decision-Making
Analysis (Halifax, 1972), 46; Haydon,
“Sailors,” 224; Joel Sokolsky, “A One
Ocean Fleet: The Atlantic and Can-
adian Naval Policy,” Cahiers de Geo-
graphic du Quebec XXXIV (December
1990), 303; and Milner, “A Canadian
Perspective,” 150-151.
143
Calgary Papers in Military and Strategic Studies, Occasional Paper No. 4, 2011
Canadian Arctic Sovereignty and Security: Historical Perspectives Pages 145–169

Clenched in the JAWS of America?

Canadian Sovereignty and the Joint
Arctic Weather Stations, 1946-1972
Daniel Heidt

S
overeignty is a complex subject but can be roughly separated into two
forms. De jure sovereignty is the degree to which other states accept a
country’s claim to a geographic area. It is the diplomatic or “official”
territorial claim. If there is no competing claim for territory then Canada is,
at least ostensibly, sovereign. De facto sovereignty is how these claims are
manifested “on the ground” within a geographic region. The two aspects
are complementary. For instance, if one country invades another but is con-
demned by the international community, the invader may eventually chose
to withdraw despite exercising de facto sovereignty. Conversely, insufficient
de facto sovereignty can compromise a de jure claim by making a state’s claim
seem unjustified.1
Given the Arctic’s remoteness and expansiveness, continuous occupa-
tion is not required or expected. Routine patrols, the delivery of mail, or the
administering of law are all means of asserting control. Many historians
argue that Canada’s de facto sovereignty initiatives have been insufficient.
Shelagh Grant argues that “‘paper guarantees’ did not always translate into
practice” as Americans violated Canadian laws or diplomatic agreements.
Accordingly, she concludes that the result was “a compromise: optimum se-
curity with minimal, but perceived unavoidable loss of sovereignty.”2 More
moderately, Adam Lajeunesse argues that the United States was “exceed-
ingly careful and tactful with issues of sovereignty,” but that:

rather than seeking the effective control which would have al-
lowed Canada to assert a firm policy, the government focused
its efforts on using the American need for continental defence to
secure implicit recognition from the U.S. while trying to mini-
mize the perception of American control and involvement in the
Arctic.3

Thus, Canada tried to “minimize the public perceptions of American con-

trol and involvement in the Arctic” while exaggerating its own to the press.4

© Centre for Military and Strategic Studies http://cmss.ucalgary.ca/ 145

CLENCHED IN THE JAWS OF AMERICA?

Unlike Grant, Lajeunesse does not describe American violations of Canadian

sovereignty, but instead insists that the dominance of the United States in
joint Arctic programs, by definition, compromised Canada’s ability to control
events “on the ground.” Moreover “securing actual control over the Arctic
was never its [Ottawa’s] primary concern” as Canada continued to rely on
mere de jure sovereignty to maintain its claims.5 Although Canada’s lim-
ited investment in de facto sovereignty was not a problem at the time, “the
Canadian reliance on the U.S. military throughout the 1940s and 1950s in the
Arctic left the country incapable of asserting any official claim” to combat
subsequent explicit challenges to Arctic sovereignty such as the 1969 sailing
of the SS Manhattan through the Northwest passage.6
Revisionist scholars describe Canadian and American past Arctic
cooperation more favourably. Joseph Jockel argues that mutual respect
dominated the Canadian-American defence relationship and that American
officials did not “spend endless hours plotting to rob Canada of its sover-
eignty.”7 Focusing more on the Canadian side of events, David Bercuson
contends that: “Canada established the policies and procedures by which
it safeguarded its interests and protected its sovereignty while still satisfy-
ing the defense needs of its superpower partner… Canada’s claim to the far
north emerged stronger than ever.”8 P. Whitney Lackenbauer agrees: Canada
secured “both sovereignty and security” during and immediately follow-
ing the Second World War.9 These revisionists use examples spanning the
Second World War and early Cold War to make their arguments, and turn
to macro-level material such as memoirs, cabinet conclusions, or minutes
of the Advisory Committee on Northern Development (ACND). Precedent
setting projects during Second World War included the Alaska Highway
or the Canadian Oil Road (CANOL); early Cold War examples included
the Basic Canada-United States Defence Plan, LOng Range Air Navigation
(LORAN) systems, American Arctic training over-flights, and Joint Arctic
Weather Stations (JAWS). While these examples and sources are legitimate,
they rarely provide an “on the ground” account. As such, their arguments
concerning de facto sovereignty (the chief critique of Grant and Lajeunesse)
remain somewhat abstract. Focused studies of particular joint programs,
such as JAWS, facilitate understanding what happened “on the ground” by
narrowing the scope of research and demonstrate that the Canada-United
States Arctic relationship was healthy and mutually beneficial.10
The JAWS program was born in a climate of serious American interest
in the Canadian north. Rather than bowing to American pressure, Canadian
officials remained conscious of Canadian interests ensured, both during the

146
 DANIEL HEIDT

negotiations and throughout the program’s tenure, that the United States
respected Canadian sovereignty. Given the respect Canadian sovereignty
received as well as Canadian personnel limitations, Ottawa’s slowness to
“Canadianize” the JAWS program was understandable. Ottawa remained
wary of the press’ tendency to sensationalize the American presence, but
gradually developed confidence in the JAWS program’s publicity potential.
In the end, despite Canada’s financial and operational limitations, its de jure
and de facto sovereignty were strengthened by the JAWS program.

Map 6. From P.W. Lackenbauer, “Politics of Race, Gender and Sex,” in Aboriginal Connec-
tions to Race, Environment and Traditions ed. Jill Oakes and Rick Riewe (Winnipeg: Aborig-
inal Issues Press/University of Manitoba Press, 2006).

Beginnings
During the Second World War, the United States and Canada both estab-
lished military weather stations across Canadian territory. These included
American-operated stations in the Canadian Arctic such as Padloping Island
off the coast of Baffin Island. In 1944 American Colonel C.J. Hubbard of
the US Army (and associated with the Department of Meteorology at the

147
CLENCHED IN THE JAWS OF AMERICA?

Massachusetts Institute of Technology) pushed Ottawa to agree to the estab-

lishment of permanent bases in the high north to monitor arctic weather.11
Little resulted, however, as Ottawa wished to limit American encroachment.12
At war’s end Canada purchased all of the American bases on its soil so
that it could regain its solitary claim of ownership in its Arctic.13 By 1946,
however, the Americans again desired heightened continental defence col-
laboration. Ottawa was flooded with a host of specific American defence
and civil projects, including LOng Range Air Navigation (LORAN) systems,
American Arctic training over-flights, and what would become JAWS. The
respective outcomes of these negotiations have been detailed elsewhere, but
two general Canadian problems came to light. First, its Arctic islands were
not yet fully explored and in some regions Canada’s claim relied on the sec-
tor principle.14 This principle was not widely accepted in international law
and, at least theoretically, American personnel could have discovered new
islands and claimed them as American territory.15 These fears were partially
allayed on 16 January 1947 when both Canada and the United States agreed
to Permanent Joint Board on Defence (PJBD) Recommendation 36, promis-
ing to “safeguard the sovereignty and protect the interests of the country in
whose territory joint exercise [were] undertaken.”16 Canada’s sector principle
claims were not recognized, but these projects would not be used to challenge
Canada’s de jure sovereignty. Indeed, McNaughton and subsequent scholars
argue that Canada’s de jure sovereignty was strengthened by America’s “im-
plicit recognition.”17
Undaunted by Canada’s unwillingness to grant further access, Hubbard
continued to press for weather stations in the high Arctic. He convinced
Senator Owen Brewster of Maine to propose a bill requesting funds for the
United States Weather Bureau to construct, operate, and maintain weather-
reporting stations “in cooperation with… the meteorological services of for-
eign countries.”18 Thus the project would be under civilian auspices. Critical
writers have dismissed the civilian framework for JAWS as fraudulent.
Grant decries Canada’s general preference for a “civilian cover” regarding
American Arctic projects. Lajeunesse similarly describes JAWS as a “mil-
itary project” in which the United States “played its part” by using a civilian
guise.19 Admittedly, Canada preferred American civilians to military person-
nel. At times, both the American and Canadian military resupplied JAWS
and the military obviously desired arctic weather information for Arctic
flights. American Senator Brewster recognized the military importance of
meteorology but also described the “farming, construction, transportation,
merchandising, and many other activities” that would benefit from accur-

148
 DANIEL HEIDT

ate weather forecasting.20 Thus the American Senate bill explicitly assigned
responsibility for the stations to the United States Weather Bureau without
any Canadian input.
After the Senate passed this legislation on 12 February 1946, the United
States began to stockpile building supplies and post recruitment ads for
meteorologists.21 Although Ottawa kept “an eye” on these developments,
American officials did not consult their Canadian counterparts.22 Only in
May 1946 did Americans arrive in Ottawa to discuss constructing stations
in Canada’s Arctic islands. Hubbard emphasized the need for such stations
as well as the urgency given the limited Arctic shipping season. If Canada
approved, the American transport mission “would start Monday.”23
Shocked by this pressure, as well as number of other American arctic
requests, the Canadians took their time to consider the American proposal.
At the forefront of Ottawa’s considerations was Canada’s Arctic sovereignty.
If approved, the new American stations would be the only occupants in the
region and possibly compromise Canada’s sovereign claims. After months of
debate, the Cabinet declined the American request, at least for the time be-
ing, to better situate the proposed weather program within the larger scope
of continental defence.24 The Americans were “considerably upset and are
faced with the problem of what to do with the stores and equipment which
had been loaded at Boston in the hope that a favourable reply would be forth-
coming from the Canadian government.”25 The United States’ presumptive-
ness, however, did not lead it to ignore Canada’s decision, nor force Canada
to reconsider. Instead they continued to allay Canadian concerns, explaining
both informally and formally (via Recommendation 36) that the United
States “had no intention of questioning Canadian sovereignty.”26
Eventually, negotiations approved the construction of nine weather
stations under a “joint” framework. Canada would provide the Officer-in-
Charge (OIC), pay for the supplies and incomes of its half of the base person-
nel, as well as maintain ownership of all land and structures. The United
States would construct the buildings, a Weather Bureau official would serve
as Executive Officer at each station, supply the other half of the personnel
and most of the site construction personnel, and provide both the sealift and
airlift required to build and resupply the stations. As time passed, Ottawa
was free to “Canadianize” any of the American responsibilities. At the
outset, however, the United States dominated the program in terms of both
personnel and expenditures.27
Astoundingly, this informal agreement was never formalized by a more
elaborate exchange of notes. Drafts were discussed and exchanged, but de-

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lays continued for a variety of administrative reasons – including the “over-

worked” U.S. section at the Canadian Department of External Affairs. With
a sense of irony, Escott Reid (Deputy Under-Secretary for External Affairs)
noted that his departmental officials were delayed because “no small part
of their time has, incidentally, been devoted to keeping various phases of
the Arctic weather station programme moving smoothly.”28 Discussions con-
tinued into 1949 and the desire for a formal agreement slowly evaporated as
the program’s smooth running made such action seem unnecessary.29 Each
year the previous precedents were renewed and the unusually informal, but
successful, bilateral relationship continued.
Initially, start-up materials were flown to Eureka Sound on Ellesmere
Island in April 1947 and assembled. By mid-July a trio of ships consisting of
the icebreakers USS Edisto and USS Whitewood, in addition to the freighter
USS Wyandot, departed from Boston. After stops in Greenland to resupply
bases there, they ventured west into Canadian waters. Eureka was sup-
plied without major incident but the ice surrounding the planned station at
Winter Harbour on Melville Island proved impenetrable. After four attempts,
Resolute on Cornwallis Island was selected as an alternative location and
became the main site from which all other subsequent JAWS stations were
resupplied. In 1948 two more stations were established at Isachsen on Ellef
Ringnes Island and Mould Bay on Prince Patrick Island. During the voyage,
the two American icebreakers ventured to Cape Sheridan and dropped sup-
plies for a future weather station.30 The ships then turned further north and
set a new record for the most extreme northern latitude reached by ship. The
Americans also dominated airlift missions; the RCAF did not even partici-
pate in a limited capacity until 1950. Due to the limitations of the American
Weather Bureau’s budget and the utility of the existing locations, no further
JAWS stations were constructed.31
Despite Ottawa’s concerns about Canadian sovereignty, Canada only
slowly assumed a more active role in the JAWS program for two import-
ant reasons. First, it lacked the personnel to operate the stations which
typically had a crew of eight that included weather observers, radiosonde
operators, general maintenance personnel, and a cook.32 Canada suffered
from a shortage of meteorologists and radio operators willing to go to the
Arctic. Lajeunesse doubts that the shortage was real, and quotes a meeting
where some participants argued that: “if we [Canada] scrapped the bottom
of the barrel and secured the co-operation of the Meteorological Service and
the Army, Navy and Air Force, we could surely get enough technicians to
take care of the matter.”33 That this suggestion was not adopted is hardly

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surprising. Throughout the remainder of the 1940s Ottawa continued to em-

phasize that Canadians would replace Americans at the stations “as soon as
possible,” but the joint personnel arrangements continued.34 A host of other
weather stations in Canada, as well as Canadian ships in the Atlantic and
Pacific Oceans, also required similarly trained personnel.35 Moreover, due
to metrological requirements, Canada permitted the United States to reopen
a few of the former American Second World War weather stations, such as
Padloping Island. Canadian officials worried that these stations posed a
much greater hazard to Canadian sovereignty due to the lack of Canadian ac-
companiment.36 The American presence was to be temporary, and Canadian
officials prioritized stations such as Fort Chimo and Padloping Island for
Canadianization as soon as Department of Transport (DOT) personnel be-
came available. Padloping was scheduled to be among the last stations taken
over in 1949-1950.37 Unfortunately, “the manpower requirements for these
north-eastern stations would not leave any surplus to replace U.S. personnel
at the two Arctic weather stations.”38 The Canadian military also suffered
from similar shortages and it was not until 1953 that the Royal Canadian
Navy (RCN) finally stepped in (instead of DOT) and took over the Padloping
station – three years later than planned.39 Ottawa justifiably focused on bases
that lacked any Canadian personnel rather than the JAWS installations,
where the Americans were not sole occupiers.
Cost was the second deterrent to Canadianizing the JAWS program.
During the Second World War, the Advisory Committee on Post-Hostilities
Problems concluded “that in joint planning with the United States, Canada
should accept full responsibility for all such defence measures within
Canadian territory.”40 This policy was not followed. Lajeunesse argues that
Ottawa’s “claims that the construction of these weather stations was beyond
Canada’s capability appear more like an exercise in parsimony than an ac-
curate assessment of Canada’s capabilities.”41 Indeed each station only cost
$200,000 to construct and the program’s operating costs (excluding resupply)
were estimated to be approximately $465,000.42 Unfortunately Lajeunesse
misrepresents the way Canadian officials conceived cost policy by insisting
that Canadian officials were unwilling to pay these paltry sums. Ottawa
coupled personnel and costs when conceptualizing Canadianization of the
program. Because Ottawa was far more concerned about American personnel
in the Canadian Arctic, Canadianization of costs was delayed. Documents
discussing personnel rarely mention these expenses, and when they were
mentioned, they were considered affordable.43 It seems that the option of
Canada paying American personnel was dismissed because it would not have

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strengthened Canadian de facto sovereignty. Furthermore, the Americans re-

quested that their participation remain significant. It was a “joint” program
after all, and American meteorological equipment was particularly import-
ant. Thus, while incremental Canadianization was within Canada’s rights,
the Americans did not welcome it and excessive haste to achieve it could
have led to technical difficulties.44
Moreover, Ottawa was concurrently negotiating other Arctic projects
with the United States and it was clear that the list would continue to grow.
A financial precedent regarding Canadian contributions was required; but
as Bercuson explains:

Canada was reluctant to explore the idea of a specific cost-shar-

ing formula based, for example, on a ratio of national incomes
or populations because of the inflexibilities that would have
introduced. One memorandum prepared for King suggested it
was best to share costs on a project-by-project basis with Canada
supplying sites, buildings, administration, and housekeeping,
and some or all of the operating personnel. The United States
could supply technical equipment, personnel, and the bulk of the
transport services.45

With some permutation, this became the precedent for subsequent joint
Arctic projects. Sometimes Canadian participation in joint projects would
be “token,” but Washington recognized the symbolic importance. Although
Ottawa was not concerned about the minimal sums of the JAWS program,
it was concerned about the wider precedent it could set. Canadianizing a
project over time created a very different precedent than insisting on heavy
Canadian participation at the outset. Bercuson insists that this policy suc-
cessfully guarded Canada’s sovereignty, but he only provides a very minimal
“on the ground” account of the programs discussed.46 Did Canada’s limited
investment of personnel and money compromise its sovereignty? Although
there were some initial problems, the United States respected both Canadian
de jure and de facto sovereignty. In fact, Canadian de facto sovereignty was
strengthened rather than weakened.

Resupply
Although violations did occur during the decreasingly American annual sea-
lift operations for the Joint Arctic Weather Stations, the severity and number
of infringements declined after 1948 and remained black marks on otherwise

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respectful and successful operations. Moreover the infringements that did

occur resulted from the apathy of some American personnel and were not
normative statements of the American government as critics such as Grant
have contended. Ottawa remained understandably eager to Canadianize the
operations, and did so once it possessed the necessary transportation vehicles.
The interim, however, was also used to demonstrate continued de facto sover-
eignty. Infringements were brought to the attention of Canadian officials,
action taken, and American compliance secured. Moreover, such initiatives
were exceptional; American personnel generally respected Canadian wishes.
Thus, even while the United States dominated the sealift, Canada continued
to exercise de facto sovereignty. American personnel and equipment domin-
ated the initial resupply missions. The RCAF possessed transport aircraft,
but they were tasked elsewhere and did not have enough aircraft and crews
to do everything.47 Similar naval deficiencies resulted in American domin-
ance of the annual sealift. Although the American government was more
than willing to work with Canadian vessels, Canada declined since its few
Arctic-capable ships, such as the CCGS N.B. MacLean, were already commit-
ted in Hudson Bay and the St. Lawrence.48 Both the Canadian Departments of
National Defence and Transport were constructing new, modern icebreakers
based on the American “Wind” class to resupply northern outposts includ-
ing the JAWS sites, but the construction program was still in its early stages.
An RCN vessel was scheduled for completion in 1950, but steel shortages and
design changes delayed its deployment until 1954. Canada offered the N.B.
MacLean as a backup for the American icebreakers in case of an emergency,
but fortunately it was never required.49 Accordingly, Canadian representa-
tion on the early resupply sealifts was limited to Canadian observers on
American ships and aircraft.
Initially, Ottawa was wary about JAWS publicity. During the negotiation
phase, the Financial Post published a series of condemnatory articles argu-
ing that Washington had issued Ottawa “a virtual ultimatum” to increase
its commitment to continental defence.50 A subsequent article commented
that the United States was “anxious and eager to get at the work of establish-
ing a proper North American weather service, irrespective of who claimed
sovereignty over the ice-bound wastes where they wanted to operate.”51 This
was precisely the sort of publicity that Ottawa wanted to avoid. The PJBD
recommended that:

Public information in regard to military projects, tests or exer-

cises, jointly conducted or conducted by one country in the other

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country, or in the territory leased by it, should be the primary

responsibility of the country whose territory is utilized. All pub-
lic statements on these subjects shall be made only after mutual
agreement between the appropriate authorities of the two coun-
tries.52

Because joint projects remained essential to future continental cooperation,

Ottawa tried to downplay the military aspects of the JAWS program – an
argument that both Lajeunesse and Grant consider to be a guise. When
introducing it to the House of Commons Prime Minister King described the
program as “primarily a civilian one to which contributions are made by the
armed forces.”53 Indeed, aside from the resupply mission, JAWS was civil-
ian run; and it was the United States, not Canada, that selected a civilian
framework. As such, it would not facilitate an American military invasion
of Canada’s north. Nonetheless, many Canadians continued to worry, as the
Visiting Forces debate of 4-6 June 1946 demonstrated.54 Given these emo-
tional arguments, the Canadian government worried, rightly, that import-
ant northern joint projects could be jeopardized by negative public opinion.
Press releases would be carefully drafted and interviews were not to venture
beyond released content.55
These plans were frustrated before the sealift (dubbed Task Force 80) even
departed. At an American Meteorological Society dinner Colonel Hubbard
spoke about the JAWS program, and while he did utilize the existing press
releases he also ventured well beyond their content discussing the resup-
ply roles of Resolute and even envisioned an “indefinite” number of future
subordinate stations. Normally the venue was free of newsmen, but on that
evening a journalist from the Washington Star was present and published a
summary that was then used by Canadian papers. Hubbard and the US State
Department apologized, but Ottawa bureaucrats were unimpressed.56
This mishap was merely the beginning. After resupplying Thule,
Greenland, the Edisto and Eastwind ventured north into Cape Sheridan
where Colonel Hubbard noticed some cairns. On August 4, after unloading
supplies at what would later become the Alert site, Hubbard flew to the
cairns and discovered that they held a liquor bottle containing documents.
After the bottle was returned to the Eastwind, Commander T. Fife (the sen-
ior Canadian observer) was called was to the bridge, handed the bottle,
and asked to open it. The bottle contained brief notes from the American
Peary expedition of 1905-1906 documenting when the expedition arrived in
the region. The bottle also contained copies of notes from the British Neary

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expedition of 1875-1876, briefly describing latitudes explored and scurvy

among the crew.57
The documents posed no threat to Canadian sovereignty, but a squabble
ensued regarding their custody. The Canadian observers argued that the find
was subject to the Archaeological Sites Ordinance (which, because Hubbard
lacked a permit granted by the Northwest Territories Commission, would
require the Canadian officials to seize the documents), while the Americans
argued they had done nothing wrong and were merely reclaiming docu-
ments from an American expedition (and therefore desired that the docu-
ments be retained by the US Navy). After considerable disagreement Fife
allowed the Americans to retain the documents. In his assessment, “it would
be neither polite nor politic to make any such demands at the moment. A
demand of that nature would very likely result in us being left out of any
further discovery which might be made.”58 He left it to his superiors to decide
whether corrective action was necessary.
After another stop at Eurkea Sound, the Eastwind and Edisto headed
home. The Wyandot returned to Boston via Godhaven, Greenland, but the
two icebreakers returned via Fury and Hecla Strait. This was the first time
the strait had been navigated and many chart errors were corrected. The
Americans had not asked Canada’s permission to sail this route. Angry
Ottawa bureaucrats cited documents stating that the United States would
“consult” Canada prior to any significant route changes. Washington coun-
tered arguing that the planned routes had only be described as “probable,”
that the American commander retained “operational” prerogative based on
sea conditions, and that Chouinard (the senior Canadian observer on the
Edisto) had approved of the route change.59 Since the Wyandot returned via
the proposed route, Canadian officials later concluded that:

it is plain from the information already available that the change

was made not for operational reasons but because Captain Dufek
wished to do so and because he had forgotten the instruction
which said he was not to change his route without permission.60

Thus, a host of problems including the embarrassment of American ships

setting a record at Cape Sheridan, the questionable discovery of the Peary
documents, and the illegal passage through the Fury and Hecla Strait await-
ed frustrated federal bureaucrats.
Ottawa knew that the dramatic events of the sealift could not be kept
secret. While Canadian officials were concerned about Canadian sover-

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eignty, they did not worry that the United States would use the voyage to
make claims in the Canadian Archipelago and were far more worried about
“some possible embarrassment for the Canadian Government, vis-à-vis the
Canadian public, in issuing a statement indicating that the U.S. Navy has
accomplished these feats on Canadian territory.”61 An initial draft press
release mentioned the Edisto and Eastwind’s trip to Cape Sheridan, but was
described as revisiting a region discovered by Neary rather than as record
setting. Similarly, the voyage of the two icebreakers through the Fury and
Hecla Strait was not described as a “first.”62
Ottawa’s efforts to withhold facts about the voyage proved futile. Before
the joint press release was approved, the New York Times published a front-
page story describing Hubbard’s discovery of the Peary cairn in minute
detail. The article also described the Task Force’s voyage through “straits
and channels believed never to have been navigated before.”63 After brief cor-
respondence it became apparent that Hubbard had “a mania for publicity”
and conducted the interviews without even consulting American officials.64
William Snow, Assistant Chief of the Commonwealth Affairs Division at
the US State Department, was “as indignant over this flagrant breach” as
Canadian officials.65 Although the US State Department wanted a more de-
tailed release than the Canadian draft, it immediately agreed to Canada’s
proposed text, seized the Peary documents from the USN, and refused to
publish them until it obtained Ottawa’s consent. Unfortunately this initiative
failed to calm editorial opinion. The Canadian and American press was now
aware of the Peary documents, and demanded their publication. According
to Murray Schumach of the New York Times, the State Department desired
publication and “the basic cause for delay is the ruffled pride of representa-
tives of Canada.”66 The Montreal Gazette published an abbreviated version of
Schumach’s piece,67 and ironically criticized the Canadian government for
not bending to the United States’ wishes. Had Hubbard not violated bilateral
agreements regarding publicity for joint projects, the Canadian government
would not have been embarrassed by the utterly innocuous documents.
Escott Reid was furious: “It was… primarily the Government’s fear of adverse
reaction from the Canadian public that led it to lay down in the directives the
general pattern of issuing only one brief release in connection with each ma-
jor development in Canada – U.S. activities.”68 Canada received bad press for
American misbehaviour, but the texts were released on 30 September with
Canadian consent.69
Individuals such as Hubbard, who ignored Canadian sovereignty,
remained a minority. Canadian sovereignty was generally respected and

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the operation achieved its goals. ”Considering everything, the Task Force
went off well,” an internal DEA memorandum commented.70 Nevertheless,
Ottawa rejected further corrective publicity for Task Force 80, preferring
that northern activities be “left as inconspicuous as possible” “for political”
(rather than sovereignty) reasons.71 Even Deputy Minister of Transport Jean
Lessard’s benign request to publish a photograph of himself receiving a tin
of potatoes left by the Neary expedition in 1875-76 was rejected. Recognizing
that “it does seem somewhat ridiculous that there should be any difficulty in
releasing such a photograph,” the Under-Secretary for External Affairs still
insisted that:

its release might involve us in some embarrassment since, after

the recent Washington leakages regarding the Sea Supply Mission
which led to widespread interest in the activities of the Mission,
we not only took the U.S. authorities to task for the leakages but
informed them that, in accordance with the decisions reached at
an interdepartmental meeting at which your Department was
represented, the authorities here wanted the Mission to drop into
obscurity.72

The Under-Secretary speculated that if Ottawa continued to publicize Task

Force 80, American Departments involved in the sealift might have legitim-
ately done the same.73 Canadian diplomats in Washington vocally denounced
the American-made situation but their foremost concern remained editorial
perceptions.74
Planners for the 1949 sealift acknowledged the mistakes of the previous
year. When proposing their route for 1949, the Americans mentioned the pos-
sibility of again passing-through the Fury and Hecla Strait.75 Canada asked
that: “the greatest care… be taken to ensure that information regarding the
expedition will only be released in accordance with the terms of the Canadian
and U.S. directives.”76 Mechanisms for joint approval of photographs for the
press were also developed.77 Sure enough, the publicity for the 1949 and 1950
sealifts was favourable and coordinated.78 There would be no more rude sur-
prises, the Americans fully disclosed and coordinated their plans with their
approving Canadian counterparts.
Most importantly, Canadian observers received proper training. In 1948
Canada selected its observers well in advance, but these individuals only
received the appropriate security clearance a few days before the ships de-
parted. Due to the short time remaining, “no attempt to brief even the leaders

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of the two Canadian parties in their responsibilities, let alone the remaining
members of the Canadian party or the Americans” was possible.79 Canadian
observers were thus ill prepared to correct similarly ignorant American be-
haviour. For instance, Chouinard would have likely objected to their passage
through the Fury and Hecla Strait had he received this education. The 1949
sealift observers received three full days of instruction.80
Subsequent sealift missions involved more stops but created far fewer
difficulties. During 1949, Colonel Hubbard discovered a couple of wooden
mallet heads in the vicinity of Radstock Bay. Hubbard later showed the arti-
facts to J.W. Burton, the senior Canadian observer for that year:

and explained that he intended taking them home as souven-

irs. I [Burton] explained to Mr. Hubbard that according to the
Archaeological Sites Ordinance it was not permissible for anyone
to disturb Eskimo ruins or sites of historical importance or to
pick up and carry away objects connected with such sites, unless
he was a holder of an Archaeologists and Ethnologist permit.

Although Hubbard denied knowledge of this ordinance, he likely recalled

the troubles of 1948, and insisted that: “it was not his intention to contravene
any Canadian Law, Ordinance or Regulation” and “without any further re-
marks” he gave the mallet heads to Burton.81 In his letter recounting the event,
Burton advised that the pieces be forwarded to Hubbard since he doubted
their archaeological value and was pleased that “Canadian Sovereignty
has been recognized by an Official of the United States Government.”82 The
government of the Northwest Territories agreed, and Hubbard received
his mallet heads a few months later.83 The mistakes of the past were not re-
peated. Moreover, this event was the sole exception to an otherwise smooth
operation. Continuing seaborne resupply operations in the early 1950s were
similarly uneventful.
Thereafter, Canada began to take over the resupply missions for the
JAWS program. The RCAF flew the occasional mission in 1950. By 1951 it re-
supplied Mould Bay and Isachsen from Resolute and was responsible for the
operation of USAF and its own aircraft during the spring and fall airlift re-
supply missions. In 1952 and 1953 Canadian ships independently transported
some supplies to Resolute.84 By 1954, Ottawa’s press release emphasized that:
“for the first time in Canada’s history, a convoy of Canadian vessels” supplied
all JAWS locations with the exception of Alert. Dubbed “Operation Nors I,”
the new Canadian icebreaker CGS d’Iberville and the older CGS N.B. MacLean

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were joined by the CGS C.D Howe and the chartered vessels SS Gander Bay
(freighter) and MV Maruba.85 The press barely noted this Canadianized initia-
tive.86 By 1955, with the exception of limited USAF participation, the resupply
of JAWS stations was fully Canadianized. Canada’s increased participation
was facilitated by its new icebreakers as well as new C-119 Boxcar aircraft.87
This pattern continued until the 1960s when Ottawa gradually commercial-
ized the airlift.88 Naturally, the annual resupply mission did not produce
further challenges for Canadian de facto sovereignty.

JAWS Stations
Like the resupply operations, the initial working relationship at the Joint
Arctic Weather Stations was occasionally strained; but on the whole it was
much healthier than its resupply counterpart. Again, violations of Canadian
sovereignty occurred in the program’s first years of operation, but these were
soon resolved in ways that satisfied both Canadian and American officials.
Operations at the Joint Arctic Weather Stations demonstrated de facto sover-
eignty. Moreover, as time passed, this increasingly harmonious environment
facilitated a more relaxed and trusting attitude in Ottawa.
In 1947 two tangible questions arose regarding personnel at Joint Arctic
Weather Stations: the consumption of alcohol and interaction with wildlife.
Purchasing or selling alcohol without a permit in the Northwest Territories
was illegal. Neither American nor Canadian JAWS personnel purchased
the $1 consumption permits, however, and instead imported alcoholic bev-
erages from home in their luggage. In the American case, this smuggling
also violated duty laws. The Department of Mines and Resources was aware
of the practice but had “never taken any action to stop it because we [mis]
understood that the practice was tacitly approved by” the Department of
External Affairs. Apparently “the American officers are rather surprised that
they have been allowed to get away with this for so long.”89 American JAWS
personnel were violating Canadian de facto sovereignty, but since the laws
were not enforced, and since Canadian JAWS personnel behaved similarly, it
was difficult to fault American personnel. The lack of an established system,
rather than disregard of Canadian sovereignty, was to blame.
During a joint meeting on 11 March 1948, Colonel Hubbard agreed that
the importation of liquor needed to be regularized and requested a solution
from the Canadian government.90 The main problem was delivery logistics
to such remote locations.91 In the end, Canadian OICs purchased permits
to sell Canadian alcohol, and all JAWS personnel purchased consumption
permits.92 The problem briefly resurfaced when a still was discovered during

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the construction of Alert. It is unclear whether the owner was Canadian or

American, but the OIC promptly ended production of illicit brew.93 This was
hardly a deliberate challenge to de facto sovereignty; there are no records of
further violations.
There was considerable debate regarding interaction with wildlife dur-
ing early JAWS operations. For instance, J. G. Wright, Superintendant of the
Eastern Arctic and Secretary of the Northwest Territories Council, feared
JAWS personnel consumed insufficient meat and therefore pushed for lim-
ited caribou hunting – which also helped to relieve boredom. R.A. Gibson,
the Deputy Commissioner of the Northwest Territories, believed that hunt-
ers would quickly exceed quotas.94 As Peter Kulchyski, Frank Tester, and
John Sandlos have all noted, in the post-war period bureaucrats like Gibson,
motivated by modernist scientific discourses, justified imperial policies
such as the modernization of native life-ways by strictly limiting the native
caribou hunt. By focusing on the resistance of Canada’s native peoples to
this modernization discourse, however, these scholars overlook the minor-
ity of Arctic government employees who were also subject to the govern-
ment’s conservation-focused policies.95 The Joint Arctic Weather Stations
were located on a Game Preserve where only natives (who required game for
subsistence) or those possessing permits issued by the Northwest Territories
Commissioner could hunt. The populations of caribou and other species
remained somewhat limited, and Musk-Ox were out of bounds for every-
one. Since few permanent residents lived nears the stations, JAWS personnel
at Eureka were permitted to kill up to two caribou per year per person if
permitted by the Commanding Officer (a Canadian).96 Unfortunately, confu-
sion abounded and in March 1948 Hubbard asked if hunting caribou was
permitted. Summarizing a subsequent meeting, Wright realized that the
Canadian government had “never advised the weather station people about
this concession.”97 The Northwest Territories Council ended the confusion
the following January when it decided to stop issuing hunting permits be-
cause it believed previous estimates of the caribou population were exagger-
ated and that the species was in serious trouble. From thenceforth, hunting
was only permitted in emergency situations with the permission of the Royal
Canadian Mounted Police at Resolute Bay.98 There are no records of further
hunting by JAWS personnel.
Interest in Arctic wildlife continued. Of particular note is the Smithsonian
Institute’s request to use JAWS personnel to retrieve a pair of Musk-Ox as
well as some Polar Bears for the National Zoo. Although this request was
first issued to the United States Weather Bureau, it was quickly forwarded to

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the Canadian government. Ottawa instructed that the Smithsonian should

reissue its request to the Canadian government directly (thereby formally
recognizing Canadian sovereignty), and also advised that, due to the haz-
ards involved, JAWS personnel would not be permitted to help.99 In short,
Canada continued to control what happened “on the ground” in the Arctic.
Beyond diplomatic concerns, Canadian and American JAWS personnel
developed a strong working relationship. American personnel were particu-
larly compliant during the construction stage. An American recorded that
relations between American and Canadian personnel during the construc-
tion of Eureka Sound’s station were “good” and all were satisfied with their
work.100 At Resolute inter-national relations were also good, although “there
have been minor misunderstandings and some differences of opinion on
both sides, but these are to be expected in any normal operation of this kind.”
“Stress and overwork, rather than any personal animosity” were blamed for
any tension.101 In 1948 a report on the construction of the Isachsen station
described no nationalistic problems and classified morale as “first-class.”102
Canadian bureaucrats continued to worry about de facto sover-
eignty. Some cited potential structural command problems to justify the
Canadianization of the Joint Arctic Weather Stations. However, Canadian
personnel limitations and continued amicable relations prevented these
demands from gaining traction. One memorandum arguing for the full
Canadianization of JAWS specifically targeted the power structure between
Canadian OIC and the US Weather Bureau Executive Officer. According
to the report, the OIC did not exercise overall control of JAWS personnel
as Americans could also seek recourse through the Executive Officer to
American channels. Although the author admitted that: “this double chan-
nel does not appear to have caused serious problems” he insisted that the
potential remained. Moreover, the system also over-relied on strong person-
alities. As an example, the American Executive Officer had slowly taken the
initiative of command at the Resolute station due to the OIC’s depression
and eventual suicide. A Canadian replacement was flown in, however, and
only a year later another observer recorded that “the morale at Resolute was
exceptionally high and all the personnel appeared to get along together
very well.”103
As could be expected there were some personnel problems. One U.S.
Executive Officer at Mould Bay was a “constant source of friction,” but he
did not complete his term and was relieved of duty.104 Reports from both the
Canadian OIC and the American Executive Officer at Isachsen continually
emphasized good working relations. Cooperation between American and

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Canadian personnel was occasionally described as “fairly good” but more

often as “excellent.”105 American personnel at Joint Arctic Weather Stations
did not compromise Canadian de jure or de facto sovereignty. Furthermore,
American involvement in JAWS improved Canadian meteorological know-
ledge. Reflecting on the JAWS program in 1955, J.R. Baldwin (Deputy Minister
of Transport) wrote:

With regard to our relations with the Americans at the Joint

Weather stations I am pleased to advise that any differences
experienced with the United States personnel have been of such
minor character that they could be considered as non-existent.
We have also enjoyed the full cooperation and understanding of
the United States officials in our dealings with them.106

Historian Peter Kikkert appropriately concludes that: “individual personal-

ity, not nationality, created most of the tension at the stations.”107 That these
clashes were so rare is testament to the quality of personnel sent by both
countries to the Joint Arctic Weather Stations.
Nevertheless, some Canadian departments, such Mines and Resources,
continued to push for a Canadian takeover, emphasizing the relatively small
expense and personnel commitment involved. Most departments, however,
such as National Defence, Transport, and External Affairs, argued that “ef-
fective occupation was demonstrated by the fact that the officers in charge
at the stations were also postmasters, justices of the peace, and game war-
dens.”108 Indeed, Canadian bureaucrats eased into an increasingly casual
attitude regarding JAWS diplomacy. J.H. Taylor of External Affairs’ Defence
Liaison (1) Division requested that fewer representatives be sent to the an-
nual Canadian-American meetings regarding JAWS since the proceedings
had become “largely a matter of administration.”109 Previously the ACND
had discussed JAWS issues at length, but by 1956 merely noted the annual
joint Canada-United States JAWS meeting.110 By 1961 the joint annual meet-
ings were shortened.111 The JAWS program facilitated amicable and trusting
relations among bureaucrats from both countries.
Canadian publicity sensitivities similarly eased with the passing of time.
By the 1950s journalists were allowed to join resupply missions. Canadian
briefings for newsmen emphasized Canadian contributions and non-sen-
sationalized reporting led Canada to liberalize reporters’ access to these
trips.112 Journalists were encouraged by Canadian bureaucrats to visit the
stations to end any speculation regarding American activities in the Arctic.113

162
 DANIEL HEIDT

Although the sealift was Canadianized by this point, the stations remained a
joint effort. Ottawa no longer had anything to hide. It trusted the Americans
to respect Canadian sovereignty and reporters to record this cooperation.

Conclusion
The Joint Arctic Weather Station program was an example of a successful
partnership. Both countries were interested in developing meteorological
knowledge, but Canadian concern for its sovereignty complicated arrange-
ments. Ottawa was rightfully worried about preserving Canadian sover-
eignty, but resources were limited and Ottawa weighed its options. Canadian
officials recognized that de facto sovereignty was not invalidated by dual
occupancy. Furthermore, most Americans respected Canadian sovereignty.
While Hubbard indicated disdain for Canadian sovereignty when talking
with the press, he clearly respected it in terms of hunting and liquor rights.
Rather than a systematic attempt to challenge Canadian sovereignty, wil-
ful disregard for Canadian de facto sovereignty tended to be contextual.
Sometimes Canadian sovereignty was inconvenient and thus overlooked; at
other times simple ignorance was to blame. Ottawa needed to take action to
correct innocent or wilful threats to Canadian de facto sovereignty, and by so
doing it strengthened both its de jure and de facto sovereignty. Mutual trust
increased each time Americans accepted Canadian sovereignty assertions,
and yielded a stable working relationship. Writing in 1956, E.F. Gaskell of the
Privy Council Office reflected on the program’s successful record:

As a general observation, I would say that the informal arrange-

ments governing these activities constitute a rather unique situa-
tion. Here is a major project involving two countries and a very
considerable capital investment flourishing after nearly ten years
without having been authorized, in the first instance, by a formal
Exchange of Notes. However [unconventional] this may be, the
informal agreement – for it is largely that – has paid ample divi-
dends in productive activity.114

It required the sovereignty fervour swirling around the voyage of the SS

Manhattan 1969 for both sides to contemplate full Canadianization, and all
American personnel left the JAWS in 1972. Thereafter, the weather stations
at Alert, Eureka, Isachsen, Mould Bay, and Resolute became part of the
High Arctic Weather Stations (HAWS) program.115 Contrary to the insistence
of Lajeunesse and Grant, Canadian officials sought, and achieved a “firm

163
CLENCHED IN THE JAWS OF AMERICA?
policy” that assured “effective control” of Canada’s Arctic while enjoying
the advantages of American contributions to the Joint Arctic Weather Station
system.
Notes
I wish to thank Wendy Papenburg from
Library and Archives Canada for her heroic
efforts which ensured that the archival ma-
terial examined herein was available for my
brief visit in December 2008. Pete Kikkert
and Whitney Lackenbauer also generously
shared primary material.
1 Elizabeth Elliot-Meisel, Arctic Diplo-
macy: Canada and the United States in
the Northwest Passage, (New York: Peter
Lang, 1998), 5.
2 Shelagh D. Grant, Sovereignty or Secur-
ity? Government Policy in the Canadian
North, 1936-1950, (Vancouver, Univer-
sity of British Columbia Press, 1988),
241, 243.
3 Adam Lajeunesse, “The True North As
Long As It’s Free: The Canadian Policy
Deficit 1945-1985,” MA thesis. (Univer-
sity of Calgary, 2007), 25.
4 Lajeunesse, “The True North As Long
As It’s Free: The Canadian Policy Defi-
cit 1945-1985,” 25.
5 Ibid., 19, 25.
6 Ibid., 84-86.
7 Joseph Jockel, No Boundaries Upstairs,
(Vancouver: University of British Col-
umbia Press, 1987), 118.
8 David Bercuson, “Continental De-
fense and Arctic Sovereignty, 1945-50:
Solving the Canadian Dilemma,” The
Cold War and Defense, (New York: Prae-
ger Publishers, 1990), 166.
9 Emphasis is Lackenbauer’s. Whitney P.
Lackenbauer, “Right and Honourable:
Mackenzie King, Canadian-American
Bilateral Relations, and Canadian
Sovereignty in the Northwest, 1943-
48,” Mackenzie King: Citizenship and
Community, (Toronto: Robin Brass Stu-
dio, 2002), 154.
164
10 See for example: Peter Kikkert, “The
Polaris Incident: ‘Going to the Mat’
With the Americans.” Vol 11 Iss 3
Journal of Military and Strategic Studies
(Spring, 2009).
11 Gordon Smith, “Weather Stations in
the Canadian North and Sovereignty,”
Edited and introduced by P. Whitney
Lackenbauer. (Unpublished, 2008), 14.
12 Smith, “Weather Stations in the Can-
adian North and Sovereignty,” 3-14.
13 Morris Zaslow, The Northward Expan-
sion of Canada 1914-1967, Volume 17 the
Canadian Centenary Series, (Toronto:
McClelland and Stewart, 1988), 225-
227.
14 A state uses the sector principle when
it claims all territory (and inland
waters) within set boundaries. The
Canadian sector claim encompasses
all land in the Arctic Ocean between
the Canada-Greenland Border and
the 141st meridian stretching from the
southern shores of the Arctic Ocean to
the North Pole.
15 American officials recognized this
possibility and some low-level of-
ficials did consider exploiting the
opportunity. However top American
officials recognized the importance
of Canadian cooperation and thus set
aside such notions. Grant, Sovereignty
or Security?, 185.
16 Reproduced in Bercuson, “Continental
Defense and Arctic Sovereignty, 1945-
50: Solving the Canadian Dilemma,”
159-160.
17 Lajeunesse, “The True North As Long
As It’s Free: The Canadian Policy
Deficit 1945-1985,” 25; Cabinet Defence
Committee Meeting, 12 August 1947,
Library and Archives Canada (herein-

after LAC) RG2 Vol 60 File C-10-9-M Pt
7, 7.
18 Public Law 296, 79th Cong., 2nd Sess..
1946, S. Doc. 765.
19 Lajeunesse, “The True North As Long
As It’s Free: The Canadian Policy Defi-
cit 1945-1985,” 18, 24; Grant, Sovereignty
or Security?, 174, 215-216, 238.
20 “Arctic Weather Stations”, US Senate,
79th Cong. 1st session, 2.
21 Memorandum for File, 28 June 1946,
LAC RG25 Vol 3047 File 113, 1; US
Weather Bureau, “Apply for Arctic
Service,” 1946, LAC RG25 Vol 3347 File
9061-A-40C pt 1.
22 Memorandum on Proposed United
States Arctic Weather Stations, 25 June
1946, 1. LAC RG25 Vol 3047 File 113.
Hubbard did meet informally with the
federal government, but after listening
to Canadian concerns about a renewed
American presence in the Canadian
Arctic Hubbard apparently “sug-
gested that some doubt still existed
as to the extent of our [Canada’s]
sovereignty over some of these Arctic
districts north of Canada.” Pearson to
Robertson, 6 March, 1945, LAC RG85
Vol 823 File 7140.
23 To Gibson, May 18 1946, LAC RG 85
Vol 823 File 7140, 1-3.
24 Cabinet Conclusions, LAC RG2 ��� Se-
ries A-5-a , Volume 2638 , Reel T-2364,
27 June 1946, 5.
25 Memorandum for File, 28 June 1946,
LAC RG25 Vol 3047 File 113, 1.
26 Memorandum – The United States
Proposals for Weather Stations in the
Arctic, 4 July 1946, LAC RG25 Vol 3347
File 9061-A-40C pt 1, 4.
27 Bercuson, “Continental Defense and
Arctic Sovereignty, 1945-50: Solving
the Canadian Dilemma,” 162.
28 Reid to Wrong, 4 June 1948, LAC RG25
Vol 6298 File 9061-A-40 Pt 3-1.
29 Canadian Ambassador to Secretary
of State for External Affairs, 3 January
DANIEL HEIDT
1949, LAC RG25 Vol 6298 File 9061-A-
40 Pt 3-1. A formal exchange of notes
did occur in 1951 and 1952 regarding
the RCAF’s responsibility for resupply,
but this was hardly the encompass-
ing agreement envisioned. “Weather
Stations: Exchange of Notes Between
Canada and the United States of
America,” 1952 Treaty Series, RG25 Vol
4254, File 9061-P-40.
30 Establishment of this station (later
named Alert) was delayed until 1950
due to the Berlin airlift.
31 Joint Arctic Weather Stations: 25 Years.
LAC MG31 G-34 File 188; Jean Lesage
to Cabinet, “Canadian Operation of
the Joint Arctic Weather Stations,” 5
March 1954, Directorate of History and
Heritage (hereinafter DHH) 2002/117
File Meeting 562, 1; Canadian Ambas-
sador to Secretary of State for External
Affairs, 3 March 1949, LAC RG25 Vol
6298 File 9061-A-40 Pt 3-1, 1.
32 Some documents describe “weather
observers” as meteorologists. Though
“meteorologists” may have been
short­hand for “weather observer”
among bureaucrats, the two titles
would usually require a different
level of training. Further research re-
garding the training of station person-
nel will facilitate understanding re-
garding their subsequent shortage. A
Radiosonde operator uses equipment
attached to large balloons that, when
released into the atmosphere, transmit
basic meteorological information such
as temperature, pressure, and humid-
ity. “Duties of Radiosonde,” LAC RG25
Vol 3841 File 9061-A-40 Pt 2.
33 To Gibson, 16 May 1946, LAC RG85 Vol
823 File 7140, 5.
34 See for example: Political III to Pear-
son, 22 December 1947, LAC RG25 Vol
3841 File 9061-A-40 pt 2.
35 For a concise list of Canadian commit-
ments consult: Cabinet Conclusions
LAC RG2 Series  A-5-a, Volume 2639,
Reel  T-2365, 28 January 1947, 2-4; For
more information on weather ships
165
CLENCHED IN THE JAWS OF AMERICA?
consult: LAC RG25 Vol 6190 File series
2403-A-40.
36 External Affairs to Chiefs of Staff Com-
mittee, 29 August 1946, “Weather Sta-
tions in Northeastern Canada,” LAC
RG25 Vol 3347 File 9061-A-40C pt 1, 2.
37 Memorandum for Advisory Com-
mittee on Northern Development,
“Northern and Arctic Projects,” 28
January, 1948, Documents on Canadian
External Relations (DCER), No. 930.
38 Political III for file, “Re Arctic Weather
Stations,” 30 April 1947, LAC RG 25 Vol
3841 File 9061-A-40 Pt 2.
39 Extract from Meeting of Permanent
Joint Board on Defence, 11-12 Septem-
ber 1947, LAC RG24 Vol 8148 File NSS
1616-9 Pt 4; Drury to Commander Ed-
wards, 22 August 1949, LAC RG12 Vol
620 File 1170-25; Extract from Minutes
of Joint Planning Committee, 6 April
1954, LAC RG 24 Vol 8148 File NSS
1616-9 Pt 8.
40 Report of the Advisory Committee on
Post-Hostilities Problems, ‘Post War
Canadian Defence Relationship with
the United States: General Considera-
tions’, 23 January 1945. Reprinted
in James Eayrs, In Defence of Canada:
Peacemaking and Deterrence Vol 3, (To-
ronto: University of Toronto Press,
1972), 376.
41 Lajeunesse, “The True North As Long
As It’s Free: The Canadian Policy Defi-
cit 1945-1985,” 19-21.
42 Ibid.
43 Gill to Cabinet Defence Committee,
“Implications of defence co-operation
and planning with U.S.A.: Sovereignty
and financial aspects,” 5 August 1947,
LAC MG32 B-5 Vol 126 File United
States – Canada – Ogdensburg; “Ex-
tract from Minutes of the 550th Meet-
ing of the Chiefs of Staff Committee”
20 November 1953, DHH 2002-117 File
Meeting 550; Lesage to Cabinet, “Can-
adian Operation of the Joint Arctic
Weather Stations,” 5 March 1954, DHH
2002-117 File Meeting 562.
166
44 Reichelderfer to Chief, USAF, 17 June
1949, National Archives and Records
Administration RG 27 Entry 5, Box
5, File Annual Ottawa Meeting, 1947-
1952.
45 Bercuson, “Continental Defense and
Arctic Sovereignty, 1945-50: Solving
the Canadian Dilemma,” 161.
46 Ibid., 162.
47 See sample estimates. AVM Dunlap, to
CAS, “Re-Supply of Northern Weather
Stations,” January 1947; and Depart-
ment of National Defence, “Re-Supply
of Northern Weather Stations and
Take-over of U.S. Airbases,” 4 January,
1949, LAC RG24 File 6169 File HQ 15-
24-56.
48 Naval Secretary, “Establishment of
Arctic Weather Stations,” 6 March
1947, LAC RG 24 Vol 11191 File Acc.
1280-230; “Provision of Ice-Breakers,”
20 February 1948, DCER No. 945;
Lessard to Acting Under-Secretary
of State for External Affairs, 7 March
1949, LAC RG25 Vol 3841 File 9061-G-1-
40.
49 F/L Houghton to Admiral Libby, 23
March 1949, LAC RG25 Vol 3841 File
9061-G-1-40.
50 Wilson, Kenneth, R. “Canada ‘Another
Belgium’ In U.S. Air Bases Proposal?”
Financial Post, 29 June, 1946.
51 Wilson, Kenneth, R. “Ottawa Scotches
U.S. Plan to Man Weather Bases in
Canadian Arctic,” Financial Post, 20
July 1946.
52 Permanent Joint Board on Defence,
“Recommendations of 20 November,
1946,” LAC MG32 B-5 Vol 126 File US-
Defence Policy.
53 Canada, Commons Debates, 12 February
1947, 347.
54 Ibid, 4-9 June 1947, 3790-3926.
55 “Memorandum on Policy with Re-
spect to Publicity on Canada-United
States Defence Arrangements,” 1 April
1948, DHH 2002-17 Box 113 File 4 Pt

1. See example of 4 June 1948 in LAC
RG25 Vol 3841 File 9061-H-40.
56 Johnson to AVM Cowley, 26 June 1948,
LAC RG25 Vol 3841 File 9061-H-40.
57 Department of State, “For the Press,
No. 791” 30 September 1948, LAC
RG25 Vol 3831 File 9061-H-40.
58 Fife, “Observers Narrative of U.S.N.
Task Force 80,” LAC RG25 Vol 3841 File
9061-G-40, 3; To Lloyd, 5 August 1948,
LAC RG85 Vol 302 File 1009-5-1.
59 Magann to Snow, 27 September, 1948
and Snow to Magann, 11 October 1948,
LAC RG 25 Vol 3841 File 9061-G-40.
60 Magann to Johnson, 13 October 1948,
LAC RG 25 Vol 3841 File 9061-G-40.
61 Memorandum to the Secretary of State
for External Affairs, “Press Release on
the Sea Supply Mission to the Arctic
Weather Stations,” 23 September 1948,
LAC RG25 Vol 3841 File 9061-H-40, 1;
Johnson to Magann, 25 September
1948, LAC RG25 Vol 3841 File 9061-H-
40, 1-2.
62 To Secretary of State for External Af-
fairs, “Press Release on the Sea Supply
Mission to the Arctic Weather Sta-
tions,” 23 September, 1948, LAC RG25
Vol 3841, File 9061-H-40, 1; “Draft Press
Release,” 27 September 1948, LAC RG
25 Vol 3841 File 9061-G-40.
63 Murray Schumach, “U.S. Vessels Find
1906 Peary Cache,” 28 September 1948,
New York Times, 1.
64 Johnson to Magann, 29 September
1948, LAC RG25 Vol 3841 File 9061-H-
40.
65 Ibid.
66 Murray Schumach, “Peary Texts Make
Red Tape Chowder,” 30 September
1948, New York Times, 29.
67 Schumach, Murray, “Canadians’ Sens-
ibilities Blamed for Holding Up the
Peary Letters,” Montreal Gazette, 30
September, 1948.
68 Reid to Keenleyside, 20 October 1948,
LAC RG25 Vol 3841 File 9061-H-40, 2.
DANIEL HEIDT
69 Department of State, “For the Press,
No. 791” 30 September 1948, LAC
RG25 Vol 3831 File 9061-H-40.
70 Defence Liaison Division to Act-
ing Head, Defence Liaison Division,
“Item No. 3. [Advisory Committee
On Northern Development, Agenda
For Meeting Of November 231 Joint
Arctic Weather Stations; Task Force
80; And U.S. North Eastern Air Fields
And Weather Stations - Doc. N.D.11,”
DCER, No. 942.
71 Reid to Wrong, 20 October, 1948, LAC
RG25 Vol 3841 File 9061-H-40.
72 Johnson to Lessard, 1 November 1948,
LAC RG25 Vol 3841 File 9061-H-40.
73 Ibid.
74 Contrary to Lajeunesse’s assertion,
Canada did not file a formal protest
with the State Department because
“one or two leakages on other matters”
by Canadian officials during the same
period. Lajeunesse, “The True North
As Long As It’s Free: The Canadian
Policy Deficit 1945-1985,”�����������
16-17; De-
fence Liaison Division to Acting Head,
Defence Liaison Division, “Item No.
3. [Advisory Committee On Northern
Development, Agenda For Meeting Of
November 231 Joint Arctic Weather
Stations; Task Force 80; And U.S.
North Eastern Air Fields And Weather
Stations - Doc. N.D.11,” DCER, No. 942.
75 “U.S. Navy Sea Supply Mission to the
Canada-U.S. Joint Weather Stations in
the Canadian Arctic, Summer 1949,” 7
May 1949, DCER, No. 881.
76 Secretary of State for External Af-
fairs to Canadian Ambassador to the
United States, 23 May, 1949, LAC RG25
Vol 3842 File 9061-J-40.
77 Heeney to Claxton, “Publicity on
Return of U.S. Navy Supply Mission
from the Joint Arctic Weather Sta-
tions,” 2 September 1949, LAC RG 85
Vol 302 File 1009-5-1.
78 See for examples: “Arctic Supplies,”
Globe and Mail, 30 June 1949, 17;
“Weather Station Only 500 Miles from
167
CLENCHED IN THE JAWS OF AMERICA?
North Pole,” Globe and Mail, 7 April
1950, 10.
79 Wright to Gibson, 22 November 1948,
LAC RG85 Vol 2083 File 7140-3, 1. The
personnel did not receive their orders
until four days prior to sailing. John-
son to Deputy Minister of Transport.
6 July 1948, LAC RG85 Vol 2083 File
7140-2; Keenleyside to Gibson, 6 July
1948, LAC RG85 Vol 2083 File 7140-2;
Lessard to Chouinard, 7 July 1948,
LAC RG85 Vol 828 File 87-2-1 pt 2.
80 Burton, “Briefing: Canadian Observ-
ers, accompanying the Arctic Weather
Station Re-Supply Mission, Summer
1949,” 27 June 1949, LAC RG85 Vol 302
File 1009-5-1.
81 Burton to Wright, 30 September 1949,
LAC RG85 Vol 2083 File 7140-C, 1.
82 Burton to Wright, 30 September 1949,
LAC RG85 Vol 2083 File 7140-C, 2.
83 Gibson to Hubbard, 14 November
1949, LAC RG85 Vol 2083 File 7140-C.
84 “Weather Stations: Exchange of Notes
Between Canada and the United States
of America,” 1952 Treaty Series, RG25
Vol 4254, File 9061-P-40.
85 Department of Transport, “Press Re-
lease #500,” 18 June 1954, LAC RG25
A-4-B Vol 4253 File 9061-G-1-40 Pt 2,
1-2.
86 “Canada Is Supplying Arctic Area by
Ship,” 29 August 1954, New York Times,
12.
87 C-119s were more suitable than the
Canadair North Stars. Advisory Com-
mittee on Northern Development,
Minutes of the Thirteenth Meeting, 23
November 1953, DHH 73-1223 Box 89
File 1800-1801, 5.
88 Smith, “Weather Stations in the Can-
adian North and Sovereignty,” 42-43.
89 Keenleyside to Pearson, 18 June 1948,
LAC RG85 File 2083 File 7140-2; Gibson
to Thomson, 8 July 1948, LAC RG85
File 2083 File 7140-2, 2.
90 “Minutes of Canada-United States
meeting to Discuss Plans for Arctic
168
Weather Station Programme for 1948,”
11 March 1948, LAC RG25 Vol 3841 File
9061-A-40 Pt 2, 13.
91 Clifford to Wright, “Liquor for Can-
adian – United States Weather Stations
N.W.T.,” 23 June 1948, LAC RG85 File
2083 File 7140-2; Wright to Gibson,
23 July 1948, LAC RG85 File 2083 File
7140-2, 2.
92 Wright to Gibson, 23 July 1948, LAC
RG85 File 2083 File 7140-2.
93 J. Peter Johnson, Jr. “The Establish-
ment of Alert, N.W.T, Canada,” Arctic
Vol 43 No. 1 (March 1990), 29.
94 Wright to Gibson, 26 March 1947 and
Gibson to Wright, 29 March 1947, LAC
RG85 Vol 2084 File 1730.
95 Peter Kulchyski and Frank James
Tester, Kiumajut (Talking Back): Game
Management and Inuit Rights, 1900-70
(Vancouver: UBC Press, 2007); John
Sandlos, Hunters at the Margin: Native
People and Wildlife in the Northwest Ter-
ritories (Vancouver: UBC press, 2007).
96 Precis Northwest Territories Council,
“Re: Meteorological Stations – Taking
of Game for Food purposes,” 1 May
1947, LAC RG85 Vol. 2084 File 1730.
Initial documents in the same folder
state three per person per year, but
this appears to be a typo because sub-
sequent documentation consistently
cites two per person per year.
97 Wright to Gibson, 13 March, 1948, LAC
RG85 Vol. 2083 File 7140-2, 2.
98 “Extract from the Minutes of Special
Meeting of the Northwest Territories
Council held on Jan. 20, 1949,” LAC
RG85 Vol. 2084 File 1730. Consult
Kulchyski and Tester, Kiumajut, chap-
ter 4 for detailed commentary on the
well-intentioned but erroneous con-
clusions of these studies.
99 Mann to Reichelderfer, 9 June 1953,
and Thomson to Reichelderfer, 14
August 1953, LAC RG12 Vol 2805 File
6754-12 Pt 4. Since JAWS personnel
were no longer relevant, the file does
not detail whether the Smithsonian
 DANIEL HEIDT

followed up the request by offering to 110 Advisory Committee on Northern

retrieve the mammals with their own Development, “Minutes of the Thirty-
personnel. Second Meeting,” 12 March 1956,
DHH 73-1223 Box 89 File 1802, 7.
100 “Report on Inspection of Eureka
Sound and Thule Weather Stations 111 Advisory Committee on Northern
During April 1947,” LAC RG25 Vol Development, “Minutes of the Fifty-
3841 File 9061-A-40 Pt 2. Ninth Meeting,” 20 February 1961,
101 Sgt. Cleghorn, “Arctic Weather Sta- DHH 73-1223 Box 89 File 1804, 3.
tions,” 1 October 1947, RG25 Vol 3841 112 Advisory Committee on Northern
File 9061-A-40 Pt 2, 2. Development, “Minutes of the Eight-
102 “Memorandum on Isachsen Island eenth Meeting,” 26 April 1954, DHH
Operation As Observed on April 13, 73-1223 Box 89 File 1800-1801, 3.
1948,” LAC RG25 Vol 6298 File 9061-A- 113 Phillips to Thomson, 30 November
40 Pt 3-1, 2. 1954, LAC RG25 Vol 6510 File 9061-A-
103 Rae, “Report on Visit to Joint Arctic 40 Pt 5-1.
Stations during Spring Airlift,” 11 May 114 Gaskell to Brown, “Joint Arctic Weath-
1953, LAC RG12 Vol 2805 File 6754-12 er Stations,” 12 March 1956, LAC RG 25
Pt 4, 6. Vol 7718 File 9061-A-40 pt 6.1.
104 Ibid., 8. 115 Smith, “Weather Stations in the Can-
105 Murray, OIC, 3 August, 1955. Murray, adian North and Sovereignty,” 49-50.
OIC, 2 November 1955, Stotts, Execu-
tive Officer, 1 November 1956, LAC
RG12 Vol 2806 File 6754-1291 Pt 14.
Indeed, these reports were sometimes
co-authored. See for example: Boynton
and Frank, 28 February 1957, LAC
RG12 Vol 2806 File 6754-1291 Pt 15.
106 Baldwin to Under-Secretary of State
for External Affairs, 3 October 1955,
LAC RG25 Vol 6511 File 9061-A-40A Pt
5-2. This comment was later repeated
by Jules Leger: Leger to Copland, 12
October 1955, LAC RG25 Vol 6511 File
9061-A-40A Pt 5-2.
107 Peter Kikkert, “��������������������
Pragmatism and Coop-
eration: Canadian-American Defence
Activities in the Arctic, 1945-1951,”
MA Thesis. University of Waterloo,
2009, 134.
108 Advisory Committee on Northern De-
velopment, Minutes of the Thirteenth
Meeting, 23 November 1953, DHH 73-
1223 Box 89 File 1800-1801, 3; MacKay
to Secretary (ACND), “Canadian
Operation of the Joint Arctic Weather
Stations,” 26 May 1954, LAC RG25 Vol
6510 File 9061-A-40 Pt 5-1.
109 Taylor to File, 21 January 1955, LAC
RG25 Vol 6511 File 9061-A-40A Pt 5-2, 5.

169
Calgary Papers in Military and Strategic Studies, Occasional Paper No. 4, 2011
Canadian Arctic Sovereignty and Security: Historical Perspectives Pages 171–200

A Practicable Project: Canada, the

United States, and the Construction of
the DEW Line
Alexander W.G. Herd

“We are talking just as if we could move up in Canada and do

what we damn please without the Canadians and anything else,
and not getting them into it.”
— US Secretary of Defense Charles Wilson, 19531

C
harles Wilson’s comment counters conventional Canadian percep-
tions: here, during the early Cold War, a high-ranking American
official expresses concern for the American intrusion into Canadian
affairs. Wilson was in the minority within the American government of the
day, a time in which both Canadian and American political and military
leaders made critical decisions on their countries’ respective national se-
curity and jointly on the overall defence of the North American continent.
One joint decision involved the construction of the Distant Early Warning
(DEW) Line, a line of radar stations to detect a Soviet aerial attack, across the
Arctic. This decision was fraught with challenges and embodied aspects of
Canada-United States continental defence relations also witnessed in later
events.2 From the Canadian perspective, during the Cold War these relations
were characterized by American pressure to coordinate Canadian defence
policies with United States defence policy, Canadian concern for territorial
sovereignty – particularly in the Canadian Arctic, tense competition between
American and Canadian business interests, Canadian and American public
opinion on the extent of defence cooperation between the two countries, and
the Canadian struggle for equal partnership with the United States in con-
tinental defence projects.
An understanding of Canada-United States defence cooperation re-
quires recognition of American and Canadian popular views of each other.3
Canadians typically pay more attention to the United States than vice versa,
being sensitive to American public opinion of their country and influenced
in their thought by major American social, economic, military, and polit-
ical events. Conversely, Americans are generally limited in their interest in

© Centre for Military and Strategic Studies http://cmss.ucalgary.ca/ 171

THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE DEW LINE

Canada, take Canada for granted, and commonly assume that Canadians
take the same attitude on domestic and foreign issues.4 American and
Canadian views of the Soviet Union during the Cold War illustrate the differ-
ences of opinion between the two countries. Though both countries’ citizens
viewed the Soviets as a threat to Western democracy, mistrust of the Soviets
was more deeply embedded in the American psyche.5 Canadians adopted a
reserved and pragmatic approach to the Cold War, displaying “very little of
the doctrinaire self-righteousness inherent in the American approach.”6 As
a result of this situation, the Canadian government’s decision to participate
with the United States in continental defence projects was due to the gov-
ernment’s perception that the United States directly threatened Canadian
sovereignty more than the Soviet Union.7

Map 7. Federal Electric Company, 1960.

172
 ALEXANDER W.G. HERD

The air defence system was the key component to North American con-
tinental defence during the Cold War. The years 1953 and 1954 represent the
crucial period in Canada-United States continental air defence cooperation.
These years were preceded by a decade of moves on both sides of the border
that brought Canadian and American defence policies closer together in a
common effort to defend North America from the threat of Soviet nuclear at-
tack. Canada-United States continental defence cooperation in the modern era
began with the Ogdensburg Agreement between Canadian Prime Minister
William Lyon Mackenzie King and US President Franklin D. Roosevelt in
August 1940. This agreement committed the two countries to “consider
jointly the defence of North America as a single problem.”8 The Permanent
Joint Board on Defence (PJBD) was created at this time to fulfill this role. The
Joint Board was composed of two national sections, each consisting of a civil-
ian chairman, two representatives from the State Department/Department of
External Affairs, and three or four military representatives.9
Continental defence cooperation increased proportionately in the post-
war era. During the winter following the end of the Second World War, the
two countries undertook a joint defence exercise in the Arctic.10 In February
1946 the Military Cooperation Committee (MCC) was created, consisting of
the American and Canadian military members of the PJBD. Whereas the
PJBD was an advisory body, the MCC formulated joint defence plans for the
Joint Board’s approval.11 The MCC drafted the Joint Canadian-United States
Basic Security Plan in June 1946. The Plan’s Joint Task No.1 was the protection
of vital areas in Canada and the United States from air attack.12 In the winter
of 1947 jointly constructed weather stations were established in northern
Canada13 and in February 1947 the two governments made a joint public an-
nouncement on their decision to continue continental defence collaboration
in peacetime, without any formal treaty or contractual obligation.14
With the increased urgency of continental air defence, a close relation-
ship developed between the Royal Canadian Air Force (RCAF) and the
United States Air Force (USAF) during the late 1940s. At the 1948 May Day
Parade, the Soviets displayed new long-range bomber aircraft and in August
1949 the Soviets conducted their first atomic detonation. Shortly afterwards,
American defence analysts predicted that the Soviet Union would have 150
atomic bombs for delivery in a devastating attack on the United States by
1954.15 At this time another joint organization was formed and served as
a vehicle for continental defence development: the Canada-United States
Regional Planning Group (CUSRPG), one of five North Atlantic Treaty
Organization (NATO) regional defence groups. Within the framework of

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this group, the United States’ Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS) realized that the
principal military requirement for the Canada-United States region was
defence against Soviet atomic attack.16 The USAF began construction of the
“Permanent” early warning radar network across the United States at the
end of the decade, submitting requests for its extension into Canada at the be-
ginning of the 1950s. In the early years of this decade, the two air forces made
numerous plans for tactical cooperation in air defence training, interception
of enemy aircraft over North American territory, and other complicated air
defence arrangements.17
Meanwhile, the first Canadian studies of early warning were conducted
in the Arctic in 1946. This project had been discarded, however, due to its
high costs and impracticality.18 By 1951 the United States government had
initiated more extensive continental air defence studies, including plans
for Arctic early warning systems. That year at the Massachusetts Institute
of Technology (MIT), scientists conducted a study, Project Charles, on the
technical problems of air defence.19 Project Charles resulted in the forma-
tion of the MIT Lincoln Laboratory, which designed computerized early
warning data-handling equipment, known as Semi-Automatic Ground
Environment (SAGE). In 1952 the United States Department of Defense col-
laborated with the National Security Resources Board and the Federal Civil
Defense Administration on a study called Project East River. This project’s
report recommended an early warning network in the Canadian Arctic at
the head of a defence-in-depth system (anti-aircraft units and interceptor
fighter planes in Canada stationed behind the Arctic line). That same year
the Lincoln Laboratory conducted its own Summer Study Group (SSG) re-
port. This report recommended two distant early warning lines across the
Canadian Arctic, one at the 70th parallel, another at the 75th parallel.20 The
Summer Study Group involved two Canadians, one from McGill University
in Montreal, the other from the Defence Research Board (DRB). As a result
of these individuals’ work at MIT, the DRB began developing cost-saving,
unmanned radar equipment. The “McGill Fence” was initially proposed to
form a back-up warning line along the 54th parallel to the SSG’s two “DEW
lines.”21
By the end of 1952, US President Harry S. Truman’s National Security
Council (NSC) had formulated plans it believed were necessary for the de-
fence of the continent against Soviet aerial attack. On 31 December, in one of
his last acts as president, Truman approved NSC-139. This plan called for the
establishment, by 31 December 1955, of an air defence system (particularly
in the Arctic) to provide three to six hours early warning of Soviet aerial

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attack. The implementation of these plans, however, was left to Dwight D.

Eisenhower’s administration, which first took office in 1953.22
This chapter discusses one of the most important developments in
Canada-United States defence relations during the Cold War. A careful as-
sessment of the primary evidence reveals that the Canadian government
did not passively subordinate its continental defence policy to the United
States in the joint arrangements of 1954 for the construction of the DEW
Line. Canadian political and military officials withstood American pressure
and shaped this continental air defence project to protect their interests.
Canadian-American collaboration on the DEW Line was part of the two coun-
tries’ cooperation on the other two early warning lines, the Pinetree network
in southern Canada and Newfoundland and the Mid-Canada Line along the
55th parallel. Scholars have largely focused on the significance of the North
American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD) to joint North American
Cold War defence, to the neglect of the cooperation on the early warning
lines.23 However, these collaborative efforts during the first two years of the
Eisenhower administration and Prime Minister Louis St. Laurent’s second
administration in Ottawa produced the most important results in contin-
ental air defence: the early warning lines were conceptually established (if
not materially), the level of Canada-United States cooperation significantly
increased and moved both countries toward a unified air defence command,
and, in a twist of historical irony, both nations’ governments realized that
the pending intercontinental ballistic missile threat would render the early
warning programmes obsolete by 1960. The particular case of the Canada-
United States decision in 1954 on the construction of the DEW Line illustrates
Canada’s struggle for control in continental air defence projects and provides
a microcosm of Canada-United States defence relations.
In June 1954 the Joint Canada-United States Military Study Group (MSG)
– composed of air force planners and created in 1953 to determine the oper-
ational requirements for a chain of Arctic radar stations – recommended the
establishment of the Distant Early Warning Line. The MSG reported this
line was necessary to keep “abreast of anticipated improvements in Soviet
capabilities” and allow the timely employment of US Strategic Air Command
forces and other military and civil defence measures.24 The MSG recom-
mended that the Canadian and American governments “agree in principle”
on the establishment of this line across the “most northerly practicable part
of North America.”25 While the United States government’s approval of this
report was prompt, the Canadians hesitated. At a July meeting of the PJBD,
the American chairman declared that the DEW project was “receiving great

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emphasis within the U.S. Government” and the president, the NSC, and the
American Joint Chiefs of Staff had approved its construction.26 The American
section of the board pressed the Canadians for an “agreement in principle
between the two Governments on the need for such a line.”27
The United States government’s enthusiastic response to the MSG re-
port caused consternation among Canadian officials. These officials feared
a quick decision by their government would result in complete American
control of the DEW Line, limiting Canada’s “freedom of action” in this pro-
ject and threatening the country’s sovereignty. R. A. MacKay, an official with
long experience in Canada’s Department of External Affairs,28 saw only two
alternatives: let Canada build the Mid-Canada Line and the United States
build the DEW Line, or “evolve” another joint enterprise to build both lines.29
MacKay pushed for the latter alternative and stressed the importance of full
Canadian participation in the DEW Line’s construction.
A major sticking point in discussions of the Distant Early Warning Line
was, like the other lines, the choice of equipment. In July, US Admiral Arthur
Radford, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, argued that Canadian con-
cerns with the proposed American equipment inhibited the two countries
from reaching a full agreement on the procedure for establishing the DEW
Line. Radford claimed that the Canadians were “fearful” that the Soviets
would deliberately and constantly trigger off (“spoof”) American radar
equipment.30 Eisenhower confirmed with his staff, however, that one of
the Mid-Canada Line’s purposes was to determine whether the DEW Line
was being “spoofed” or an actual enemy aircraft was inbound. Secretary of
Defense Wilson knew Canadian officials were sensitive about the extent of
their participation in the DEW Line, particularly from a financial standpoint.
A Canadian contribution of “a few million dollars” was the equivalent of US
“two or three billion dollars.”31
Eisenhower and his officials also discussed with Robert C. Sprague the
technical and economic advantages of American equipment for the Distant
Early Warning Line. Sprague was chairman of the board of the Sprague
Electric Company of North Adams, Massachusetts and an authority on elec-
tronic devices. In 1953, Sprague had been appointed to a subcommittee of the
US Senate Armed Services Committee to participate in a full study of contin-
ental defence. He provided the senators on the subcommittee with his expert
analysis of the various proposals for the protection of the United States by
various types of radar fences.32 At the end of this study, Sprague submitted
a detailed report on continental defence to the Senate committee in March
1954.33 In late July 1954, as a consultant to the NSC, Sprague stated that the

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 ALEXANDER W.G. HERD

MSG had proven, through experiments, that the American-made Western

Electric manned radar stations were “workable” for operation of the DEW
Line and also claimed that the Canadian-made McGill unmanned detection
stations were more easily “spoofed” than Western Electric’s equipment.34 As
a result of these discussions, Eisenhower pressed Wilson to persuade his
Canadian counterparts of the importance of the early warning lines’ oper-
ational readiness, “with a view to getting a decision as soon as possible.”35
In Canada, the concern over the DEW Line’s equipment choice was an
element of officials’ overall concern with the nature and extent of Canada’s
participation in the construction of the Arctic line. The Canadian govern-
ment had assumed overall responsibility for the Mid-Canada Line in June,
the same month that the MSG recommended the establishment of the
DEW Line. Despite MacKay’s suggestion for a joint effort for both lines, the
Canadian government’s defence policymaking body, the Cabinet Defence
Committee (CDC), decided to maintain the Mid-Canada Line as a Canadian-
built project, to ensure the government’s authority in decision-making and
control of costs and to avoid subordinating Canadian plans to those of its
American neighbour. Additionally, Canadian construction of the Mid-
Canada Line had demonstrated to American officials and to the Canadian
public that Canada was doing its share to protect the continent. However,
the Mid-Canada Line commitment limited Canada’s ability to contribute to
the DEW Line. American pressure to construct the DEW Line according to
American designs made the domestic “political consequences [for Canada]…
most undesirable.”36 The CDC, to avoid this situation and protect Canadian
sovereignty, recommended that the government maintain its responsibil-
ity for sole construction of the Mid-Canada Line, reach an agreement with
the United States government on the division of costs of the DEW Line, and
undertake this line as a joint Canada-United States project.37
On 29 July 1954, Ralph Campney, Canada’s Minister of National Defence
(MND), suggested in Cabinet that “approval in principle be given” for the
establishment of the DEW Line.38 On 18 August the Canadian administra-
tion agreed on the need for this line. Cabinet officials left considerable lee-
way in their commitment, however, requesting that the United States accept
this agreement “without prejudice” to the extent of Canadian participation,
which was subject to further preliminary studies on the costs involved in the
DEW Line.39 Prime Minister St. Laurent hoped this decision quelled earlier
“suggestions in U.S. quarters” that Canada was not proceeding as rapidly as
capable on continental defence development.40
From August 1954 to year’s end, Canadian officials grappled with
the overall Canadian contribution to early warning and how to balance

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American control of projects. General Charles Foulkes, Canada’s Chairman,

Chiefs of Staff Committee (CCOS), was critical of the government’s plans
for the Mid-Canada and DEW Lines. As CCOS, Foulkes was at the top of
Canada’s military hierarchy and served as the MND’s principal military
advisor. A politically astute military chief, he supported closer Canada-
United States military relations and therefore had a direct interest in joint
continental defence projects. Foulkes disapproved of an External Affairs
draft submission to the CDC that authorized the United States to proceed
with preliminary work on the DEW Line before the MSG had completed
further studies on the location of this line and its organization and equip-
ment. These studies would determine cost and manpower estimates, en-
abling the government to assess its potential participation in the project.
The CCOS did not believe that the Pinetree network, the Mid-Canada Line,
and the DEW Line could form an effective early warning system. Nor did
Foulkes believe that an integrated early warning system would be econom-
ically beneficial to Canada. He questioned the value of the Mid-Canada
Line in such a system, since the DEW Line was designed to both identify
and detect aircraft, the latter the Mid-Canada Line’s main purpose. For
Foulkes, American construction of the DEW Line gave the impression to
the American and Canadian publics that the Americans were responsible
for and controlled the Canadian Arctic. He also accused the US Western
Electric Company as “in this business for profit.”41 According to the general,
his American counterpart, Admiral Radford, had similar views of the DEW
and Mid-Canada Line projects.42
Further studies by the two air forces convinced Foulkes and the Chiefs of
Staff (who, as a group, shared the chairman’s scepticism) that a comprehen-
sive early warning system at the earliest possible date was “vital.”43 The two
air forces established the RCAF-USAF Military Characteristics Committee,
DEW Group. This group’s purpose was to develop “mutually acceptable”
military characteristics and operational requirements for the DEW Line.44 The
group’s studies provided the basis for the selection of equipment, manpower
and cost estimates, and “other related actions essential to early installation
of the land based segment of the DEW line.”45 The Military Characteristics
Committee subsequently concluded that the Mid-Canada Line and the air
control and warning system (the Pinetree network) were insufficient for
the required state of preparedness for Canadian and American air defence
forces.46
The above group’s report, in addition to the MSG’s Fourth Interim
Report, helped the Chiefs of Staff view the establishment of the DEW Line by

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 ALEXANDER W.G. HERD

1957 as “a requirement of great military importance.” Both countries believed

that an effective continental defence first protected the North American
bases possessing retaliatory capability and then protected major industrial
and population centres. In the chiefs’ estimate, the DEW Line would provide
the two hours warning required by the Strategic Air Command and “other
users.” The change in the chiefs’ attitude towards the early warning lines
as a whole was expressed in their belief that a completed DEW Line aug-
mented the Pinetree and Mid-Canada radar stations.47 With the top military
leaders’ support, Canada’s Secretary of State for External Affairs, Lester B.
Pearson, and Campney affirmed the CDC’s earlier recommendation that the
Canadian government agree with the United States on the construction of
the DEW Line as a joint project, the extent of Canadian participation in this
construction to be determined in the future.48

Map 8. From Matthew Farish, “Frontier Engineering: From the Globe to the Body in the
Cold War Arctic,” The Canadian Geographer 50/2 (2006)

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THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE DEW LINE

To balance Canadian participation in the DEW project with American leader-

ship of the programme, the CDC also worked to consolidate the early warn-
ing programmes. At an October meeting of the PJBD, the American section
had informed the Canadians that the United States government, as a result of
a report by the Western Electric Company, considered the construction of the
DEW Line as feasible. The Western Electric report stated that if work began
in 1955, then the line would be operable by 1957. This report based its data
on the potential DEW Line consisting of a combination of scanning radars
and modified McGill Fence equipment, running from Cape Lisburne in
northwestern Alaska to Davis Strait (between Baffin Island and Greenland).
The estimated cost of the line was approximately $200 million, with a total
manpower requirement of 700 – 1000 personnel.49 The chair of the American
section, PJBD stressed the importance of the two governments reaching an
early agreement on the construction of the line, in order for the DEW Line
to be operational by 1957. The American officers declared that the American
government was prepared to accept full responsibility for this line, granting
Western Electric the construction contract.50
At a meeting on 12 November, the CDC considered the Western Electric
study and the American requests for construction of the DEW Line. The
challenge still remained whether Canadian military personnel were able to
participate in the DEW project because of Canadian responsibility for the
Mid-Canada Line. The Chiefs of Staff had agreed that the Arctic line should
be built between Cape Lisburne and Davis Strait, but they found it “undesir-
able” for the RCAF to participate in the line’s construction, as the air force’s
technical resources were heavily committed to the Mid-Canada Line. Due to
the urgency of the project, the chiefs recommended that, if the Canadian gov-
ernment decided to participate in construction, then it should authorize the
United States government to take “necessary” preliminary measures, includ-
ing the stockpiling of supplies and transportation arrangements. Conversely,
if the Canadian government decided not to participate in the DEW Line’s
construction, the chiefs recommended that the United States be authorized
to proceed immediately, but under “certain terms and conditions.”51
The Cabinet Defence Committee came to the conclusion that the
American proposals, as presented to the Canadian section of the PJBD,
amounted to a “crash programme.” Canadian officials were sceptical about
the construction cost and manpower estimates. There were more problems
inherent in establishing the DEW Line than US officials realized. To solve
the Canadian government’s dilemma over control of the DEW project, the
CDC decided that the early warning lines, though distinct in location and

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 ALEXANDER W.G. HERD

purpose, “should be regarded as one whole project.” This meant that each
country would have responsibility (but not exclusive control) for a seg-
ment of the system. For “administrative reasons,” the United States would
be responsible for the construction of the system’s “far northern element.”
This did not, however, mean complete American control of construction.
The establishment of exclusively United States installations on the northern
border of Canada was “undesirable from the point of view of the general
national interest.” Canadian entities would provide transportation facilities
and some of the equipment during the construction phase of the line.52
This scenario slightly altered the previous arrangements for the joint
air defence projects. The three early warning lines were now considered
elements constituting “an over-all continental defence warning system, the
establishment of which is being undertaken as a joint Canada – United States
project.”53 Canadian policy, both publicly and privately, aimed to preserve
Canadian rights in control and in participation of the overall system. The
Cabinet Defence Committee recommended that both governments issue a
public announcement, explaining the overall early warning system to both
countries’ citizens and the responsibilities of each government in its estab-
lishment. This statement, Canadian officials hoped, would also clarify that
any construction and operation of the northern line was subject to the same
general principles of other joint defence projects in Canada, in particular the
Pinetree network.54
Thereafter, in November 1954 the responsibility of DEW Line negotiations
moved from the PJBD to Canadian-American high-level foreign relations
officials, with discussions now run through diplomatic channels.55 On 16
November, the Canadian ambassador to the United States, A.D.P. Heeney, in-
formed US Secretary of State John Foster Dulles of the Canadian government’s
plans for an overall joint warning system. As a matter of formality, the am-
bassador reviewed the components of the system. The Canadian government
agreed that its responsibility was the Mid-Canada Line, north of the “settled
areas of Canada.” Heeney’s government also agreed that the United States’
responsibilities were the DEW system, across the “most northerly practicable
part of North America,” and the seaward extensions of the system, covering
the seaward approaches. Heeney also informed Dulles that American author-
ities could proceed with preliminary measures for the DEW Line, including
the procurement, shipment, and placement of construction materials.56
Canadian policymakers realized that they were financially and ma-
terially unable to fully construct the DEW Line; in the face of inevitable
American construction of this line, the Canadian government wanted as-

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surances that any American plan was carried out with Canadian consent.
Therefore, Heeney informed Dulles, the United States’ role in the DEW pro-
ject was subject to particular Canadian government guidelines.57 These terms
and conditions for American participation in the DEW Line were formulated
and submitted to the United States government in mid-November. Many of
the conditions were similar to statements made with respect to the construc-
tion of the Pinetree radar stations in early 1953.58 The list of conditions read
like a litany of Canadian sovereignty sensitivities and desire for control. All
DEW plans were dependent on mutual consultation. A DEW Project Office,
established by American officials and the management contractor appointed
by the United States, would be the “instrument for effective consultation be-
tween the Canadian and United States agencies concerned.”59 The location of
station sites, airstrips, roads, buildings, and construction plans were subject
to Canadian inspection and discussion with the appropriate Canadian au-
thorities, “if requested.”60
The United States was also required, “to the fullest extent practicable,”
to give Canadian construction contractors, commercial air carriers, and
shipping equal opportunity for participation in the construction phase of
the DEW project.61 Preference for Canadian labour in this phase was also
required. Canadian law applied to all aspects of the project, including immi-
gration and customs regulations, taxes, and ownership of “removable prop-
erty.”62 Under Canadian law, special attention was given to the protection
of wildlife and “objects of archaeological interest or historic significance” in
the Northwest Territories and Yukon Territory. American personnel were
also asked to respect the Inuit communities living in close proximity to the
project. They were also required to provide relevant scientific data (such as
geological, topographical, hydrographical, and geophysical information) to
Canadian officials.
Moreover, the Canadian government would allow the stationing of US
military and civilian government personnel at the DEW Line stations, but
only after consultation between the two governments. The United States was
authorized to initially operate and man the DEW Line, but the Canadian
government reserved the right at any time to take over the operation and
manning “of any or all of the installations.” The two governments agreed to
maintain the DEW system in operation for ten years; the duration of oper-
ation would change only “in the light of their mutual defence interests.” After
this period of time, the PJBD was to address any questions on the continuing
need of the DEW system. Following the Joint Board’s consideration, either
government could decide to close installations along the line.63

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 ALEXANDER W.G. HERD

The Canadian government’s conditions were similar to previous stipula-

tions on continental air defence projects, particularly on the provision of elec-
tronic equipment for the DEW Line. The Canadian government reaffirmed
“the principle that electronic equipment at installations on Canadian terri-
tory should, as far as practicable, be manufactured in Canada.” The “prac-
ticability” of using Canadian electronic equipment was a matter of consul-
tation, through the DEW Project Office, between Canadian and American
agencies.64 This condition promptly became a matter of dispute, with argu-
ments familiar to the debate surrounding equipment for the Pinetree Line.
American air defence planners had long-favoured their own equipment for
the early warning lines; they summarily requested a revision to the above
condition that “equalized” the chances of American-made equipment being
used on the DEW Line.65
In response, Lester Pearson instructed the Canadian embassy in
Washington to relay his views on the proposed American revision to the
State Department. Pearson stated that neither the strategic importance of
industrial production nor the need to develop alternate sources of supply
in Canada could be neglected in defence planning. He believed that the
Canadian electronics industry must be given the opportunity to participate
in the actual production of equipment (especially in the field of radar) to
“play an effective part in the joint defence of the North American continent.”
The external affairs minister also argued that it was only through the experi-
ence of manufacturing this type of equipment that Canadian industry could
“be kept in readiness to meet wartime demands.”66
Pearson reiterated the principle that electronic equipment for radar
systems on Canadian territory should be made in Canada “as far as practic-
able.” The basis of Canada-United States consultation on this matter, Pearson
opined, was the mutual recognition that “practicability” must include stra-
tegic, commercial, and economic considerations. From Pearson’s standpoint,
the proposed American revision was the “antithesis” of this concept of “prac-
ticability” and if applied, the Canadian electronics industry would find itself
in an “impossible position” to meet the proposed American requirements.
Pearson rebutted the American claim that the American proposal granted
equal opportunity to both the United States and Canadian electronics indus-
tries and postulated that the opposite would occur. The American proposal
would load the conditions for equipment procurement “heavily in favour” of
its industry and make the Canadian government’s position in dealing with
its own industry “untenable.”67
Having made clear his views on the American proposal, the Secretary
of State for External Affairs assured his American counterparts that the

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Canadian government had no intentions to impose unreasonable conditions

or demands on them. Pearson commented that “[i]n our view it is not too
much to ask” the United States government to defer, on account of previous
cooperative ventures, to Canadian judgment on the importance of “practic-
ability.” Pearson would not support the provision of Canadian-made equip-
ment for the DEW Line if that equipment would adversely affect the project.
Pearson knew, despite these assurances, that the issue of the DEW Line’s
electronic equipment would not be immediately resolved. He noted to the
embassy in Washington that this matter was “one likely to present a diffi-
culty in the early conclusion of an agreement on the DEW Line.”68
Another slight problem occurred with respect to the joint announce-
ment on Canada-United States continental air defence. This announcement
was issued simultaneously in Ottawa and Washington at noon EST on 19
November 1954 and made public the governments’ decision to “proceed
with the construction of the Distant Early Warning Line” and that the
United States government was responsible for the construction and instal-
lation of this line.69 The Pentagon, however, delivered the text of this an-
nouncement to reporters 18 hours before the scheduled release by both gov-
ernments to their respective presses. Consequently, as Pearson told Heeney,
“You should draw to the attention of the State Department the difficulty
which this has caused us.”70
The problem was that the Canadian cabinet had wanted to include in both
governments’ press releases its earlier statement that the same general condi-
tions and principles that governed other joint defence projects in Canada also
applied to this latest project. The Pentagon’s early issue of the draft public an-
nouncement precluded this addition to the United States government’s press
release. The Canadian government’s press officer nevertheless released this
information to the Canadian press. The press officer summarized the gov-
ernment’s conditions on the reservation of Canadian title to all land required
for the DEW system, the application of Canadian law, the Canadian right to
take over the operation and manning of any of the American installations,
and the equal consideration to Canadian and American contractors for con-
struction and procurement of materials. Additionally, the Canadian press
was informed that American agencies were to give preference to Canadian
labour, respect Inuit interests, and were accountable to the “underlying prin-
ciple” that all cooperative arrangements were not to impair either country’s
control over activities in their own territory.71
As a result, the Canadian and American publics received different re-
ports on a vital joint defence project between their two countries, leading

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 ALEXANDER W.G. HERD

to a disparity between the respective publics’ perceptions of continental

air defence. The Pentagon’s early release of its information undercut the
Canadian government’s attempts to ensure that citizens from both countries
understood the role of Canadian sovereignty in continental air defence. The
American public therefore did not understand the extent to which their DEW
Line agencies were subject to Canadian conditions. This situation had the
potential to cause further problems down the road; if the American public
perceived that the Canadian government was delaying the urgent task of
establishing defence against the Soviet threat, the United States govern-
ment would feel public pressure to bring the Canadians in line with stated
American objectives. Then the Canadian government would face more
American obstinacy in defence cooperation. The lesson learned, Pearson
noted, was that both governments had to specify both the release time of a
joint announcement and the time of delivery to the press.72
Obviously, the establishment of the DEW Line in the Canadian Arctic
was not a straightforward task. This fact was not only true in Canada –
United States cooperation, but also among the numerous departments of
Canada’s government with a hand in the DEW project. On 22 November
1954, External Affairs circulated a review of the cabinet conclusions on DEW
Line arrangements and copies of the draft conditions for American partici-
pation. These documents were sent to the deputy ministers of Northern
Affairs and National Resources, Transport, National Revenue (Customs and
Excise Division), National Revenue (Income Tax Division), Citizenship and
Immigration, and Labour, and to the Commissioner of the Royal Canadian
Mounted Police.73
Some of the department heads approved of the conditions. The deputy
minister of Northern Affairs suggested, in order to enforce sovereignty, that
the Canadian flag should be flown at all major DEW system installations
and anywhere the United States flag was displayed outdoors.74 Others re-
sponded with queries demonstrative of the Canadian concern for controlling
American participation. David Sim, the deputy minister of National Revenue
(Customs and Excise), was concerned with the exemptions granted for the
disposal of American material on Canadian territory under “Ownership of
Removable Property.”75 Sims noted that his department was one whose con-
currence was required before the disposal of any duty- and tax-free goods
occurred. He referred to his department’s previous experience with the
Pinetree network, stating that there were “substantial problems” with the
United States on similar matters related to this project and that these prob-
lems may bear on the granting of future exemptions.76

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THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE DEW LINE

As a result of Sim’s comments, External Affairs planned to add a provi-

sion to the conditions on removable property. An exchange of notes between
the governments on 11 and 18 April 1951 concerning the disposal of excess
American property in Canada would apply to the DEW project. External
Affairs requested Sim’s opinion, based on his experience with Pinetree, on
the necessary procedures in this matter for the Distant Early Warning Line.77
Sim found it difficult to formulate specific procedures at this point in time for
the DEW project and first needed answers to several pertinent questions. He
requested from External Affairs information on the extent of the US Corps of
Engineers’ role in construction work, whether or not there would be a main
contractor or subcontractors, and whether American or Canadian equipment
was to be used. Similarly, the deputy minister requested information on
what portion of and types of supplies would be bought in Canada directly
or through Canadian Crown Agencies.78 With Sim’s queries, External Affairs
officials were now concerned that the appropriate American officials under-
stood the deputy minister’s standpoint and contacted their defence counter-
parts on this matter. External Affairs’ Benjamin Rogers wrote to the deputy
minister of National Defence that “I am not at all sure that the United States
authorities concerned with the project appreciate the need for giving early
attention to these problems.” He recommended that representatives from the
Western Electric Company and the USAF come to Ottawa to clarify this issue
with National Revenue officials.79
Other federal ministries also expressed pertinent concerns about
American participation. J. R. Baldwin, the deputy minister of Transport,
informed Under Secretary of State for External Affairs Jules Léger that
Canadian telecommunications carriers should have, “to the fullest extent
practicable,” the opportunity to handle telecommunication circuits and traf-
fic during both the construction phase and the period of the DEW Line’s
operation. Baldwin pushed for preference for Canadian shipping; he also
wanted a Canadian observer placed on board any ship used in the sealift of
equipment.80 External Affairs official Max H. Wershof noted to Baldwin that
his recommendations regarding the use of Canadian telecommunications
“may have important operational implications” requiring consideration by
the Department of National Defence (DND).81
Wershof forwarded Baldwin’s recommendations to Deputy Minister of
National Defence C. M. Drury, commenting that “[i]t seems to me that a pro-
vision of this sort would have serious implications both with respect to the
construction and operation of the Distant Early Warning System.”82 Drury,
the deputy defence minister extraordinaire,83 disagreed with Baldwin’s

186
 ALEXANDER W.G. HERD

conditions. He informed Wershof that the US military was free to choose

its telecommunications provider, whether Canadian or American, civilian or
military. Drury stressed that under normal regulations Baldwin’s condition
would not apply to Canadian forces. Therefore, in Drury’s opinion, Canadian
government officials could not object to the American establishment of mil-
itary circuits under military control for operational purposes. Drury did state
that the Canadian government reserved the right, under Canadian laws, to
refuse at any time additional American civil circuits established in Canadian
territory.84
The additional conditions recommended by the Departments of National
Revenue and Transport were two examples of the complexity Canadian offi-
cials faced in regulating American participation in the DEW Line. Establishing
the extent of Canadian participation proved to be equally complex. At the
end of November 1954 Drury provided Léger with his own views on the ex-
tent of Canadian participation in the DEW project, in reference to the CDC’s
recommendation on 12 November “that at the same time the United States
government be informed of Canada’s intention to participate in the project,
the nature and extent of such participation to be more precisely determined
in the near future.”85 Drury argued that the main purpose of Canadian par-
ticipation in the Distant Early Warning Line was to “give an indication of
joint responsibility” and make it clear to the Canadian people that the United
States was “not being permitted to carry out large projects in Canada on its
own.” This purpose was partly achieved through the joint press release on the
19th (i.e. north of the border). The central question, according to Drury, was
what further measures of Canadian participation were necessary.86
The Distant Early Warning project, Drury noted, was divided into two
phases: (a) construction and installation; and (b) operation and maintenance.
With respect to the latter, he noted, it was too early to consider the extent of
Canadian participation, other than a few exceptions. He recommended that
the RCAF consider its participation in the manning of the line and associ-
ated communications and proposed that Canadian agencies conduct logistic
support studies of the line. The construction and installation phase was con-
strained, as noted, by the Canadian agencies’ technical and managerial com-
mitment to the Mid-Canada Line. Consequently, it was in the deputy minis-
ter’s opinion that USAF designs and plans for the DEW Line “will have to be
accepted, largely without scrutiny and that any financial responsibility that
Canada might undertake would be in the way of a nearly blank cheque.”87
Drury suggested three possible courses of action for Canadian participa-
tion in the construction and installation phase of the DEW Line and their

187
THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE DEW LINE

advantages and disadvantages. First, the Canadian government could pay

for all the electronic equipment produced in Canada, encouraging the line’s
general contractor to place orders in Canada. In Drury’s view, however, pro-
duction became expensive when the design authority spent “someone else’s
money.” Secondly, the Canadian government could pay for the transporta-
tion costs for services rendered by Canadian agencies. Drury believed that
this action, however, would be a limited one. He did not see this move in-
fluencing the volume of business for Canadian agencies, either positively or
negatively. Total sum payments for transportation would not be very large
because of Canada’s limited resources in this field. Consequently, in Drury’s
opinion, this choice would relegate Canadian participation to a “subsidiary
activity.”88
The third possibility was for the Canadian government to contribute
a stipulated sum towards the overall cost of the DEW Line. This decision
would limit Canadian liability but, Drury cautioned, if the sum was not sub-
stantial, then Canadian participation would be relegated to a minor role in
the project. Though Drury did not necessarily advocate either of the first two
courses of action, he was against the last option. As a result of increasing
expenditures for air defence in the future, a gratuitous Canadian offer “of
this character” would cause more difficulties than a solution to the current
debate over the extent of Canadian participation.89
At the beginning of December 1954, Lester Pearson was in New York
for a session of the United Nations (UN) General Assembly. R. A. MacKay,
upon review of Drury’s suggestions, sent a report to Pearson, appending his
own suggestions in light of Drury’s thoughts on DEW Line participation. The
theme was constant: MacKay recommended, due to the Canadian commit-
ment to the Mid-Canada Line, that “we should direct our part in the DEW
Line in such a way that the Canadian economy will get the maximum benefit
from our contribution and should not be concerned that the dollar value of
our participation in the DEW Line will be low relative to the total cost of
the project.”90 In reference to the last part of his analysis, MacKay claimed
that sums spent on improvements to the DEW Line’s transportation system
would benefit local communities.
MacKay favoured Drury’s first suggestion. If the Canadian government
committed to pay up to $20 or $30 million (MacKay’s example) for Canadian-
produced electronic equipment, this decision would encourage the con-
tinued use of this equipment and maintain employment in the Canadian
electronics industry. MacKay rebutted Drury’s belief that this decision would
prove excessively expensive. The Canadian electronics industry, with respect

188
 ALEXANDER W.G. HERD

to the DEW Line, was limited in what it was expected to produce. Therefore,
in MacKay’s opinion, Drury’s objections to this course of action were not
to be taken too seriously. Conversely, MacKay agreed with Drury’s oppos-
ition to the contribution of a stipulated sum. He recommended instead the
earmarking of additional Canadian funds for the Southern Canadian early
warning system (the Mid-Canada Line). After all, MacKay observed, any
attempt to maintain a similar financial position vis-à-vis the United States
would put a tremendous strain on Canadian resources.91
A week later MacKay reported to Pearson that Drury had convened
a meeting on 7 December to discuss the continuing debate on Canadian
participation in the DEW Line. In attendance were the deputy ministers of
Northern Affairs and National Resources and Defence Production, prom-
inent Canadian economist John J. Deutsch, General Foulkes, Wershof, and
Drury. The participants agreed that the purpose of Canadian participation in
the DEW project was two-fold. The first dimension was to indicate the joint
nature of the project and make clear to the Canadian people that the United
States was not being permitted to carry out, on its own, large defence projects
in Canada. The second was to ensure Canada’s continuing control of affairs
in remote regions in which the operation of the DEW Line was the principal
activity.92
The group also considered the two phases of the project. Discussion
of construction and installation again centred on the tension between the
previous Canadian commitment to the Mid-Canada Line and the resulting
American responsibility for this phase of the DEW Line. The representatives
from National Defence and Defence Production ceded control of this phase
to the United States. Along with Deutsch, Drury and the deputy minister
of Defence Production argued that a Canadian financial contribution of
anything less than $50 million to construction and installation was “mean-
ingless.” These men argued that an inadequate financial contribution would
prove to be no more than a “grant” to the United States government since
there was no apparatus to supervise the expenditure of these funds. In their
opinion, Canadians obtained nothing from a gesture of this sort. Rather,
the Canadian government and its agencies should focus their efforts on the
second phase, the operation and manning of the line.93
Drury and Foulkes repeated Drury’s earlier claim that National Defence
intended to participate in the operation and manning of the line, but it was
too soon to advise the government as to the scale and character of a sustain-
able degree of participation. The RCAF had been instructed to conduct stud-
ies of manning problems through the Joint Canada – United States Military

189
THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE DEW LINE

Study Group. In the defence representatives’ view, the government was to

limit itself to vague statements about Canadian participation in this phase.
In other words, they suggested that the government “should not go beyond
a general assertion that Canada intended to participate in the project when
it advanced to the operation phase.” The group did agree to include to the
conditions governing the project the statement that Canada had a continuing
interest in questions of resupply of the line and that the Canadian govern-
ment reserved the right of consultation by the Americans on arrangements
of this matter.94
This meeting demonstrated the division of opinion between diplomats
and defence officials on the matter of Canada’s participation in the DEW Line.
Wershof was disappointed that Drury and the deputy minister of Defence
Production “could not see their way clear to recommending participation
in the construction phase of the project.” The deputy minister of Northern
Affairs and National Resources also sided with the defence officials, stating
that he was more concerned with Canadian participation in the operation
phase than in construction. Drury, despite Wershof’s opposition, informed
the group that he was going to encourage his minister, Ralph Campney, to
recommend that the Canadian government inform the United States gov-
ernment that Canada did not intend to participate in the construction and
installation of the line, but did intend to participate in the line’s operation, the
nature and extent of this participation to be determined at a later date.95
This meeting did not resolve the interdepartmental debate, which re-
mained an open question by the end of 1954. MacKay reported to Pearson
that Wershof, after Drury had made his concluding remarks, “reserved the
position of this Department [External Affairs] on the proposed negative rec-
ommendation (1) [for no participation in construction] but of course under-
took to bring the views of the meeting to your attention.”96 Pearson stood
by his subordinates; his close relationship and “identity of views” with St.
Laurent (Pearson had succeeded him as head of External Affairs) granted
Pearson a more substantial amount of influence in the cabinet than his de-
fence counterpart.97 He noted to MacKay, “I am not prepared without further
information to agree that we should have nothing to do with construction of
this line.”98
Whatever the degree of Canadian participation in the construction of
the DEW Line, the United States shouldered the burden of its cost. In its early
years, considerable controversy surrounded the DEW Line. The Canadian
government, especially its external affairs and defence ministries, failed to
curb American actions in the Arctic. American military and civilian person-

190
 ALEXANDER W.G. HERD

nel did not respect Canadian sovereignty, leading scholar James Eayrs to
make the apt observation that:

Disturbing rumours trickle down from the northlands into parlia-

ment and the press, having a greater influence on public opinion
than the fine print of the ‘Statement of Conditions to Govern the
Establishment of a Distant Early Warning System in Canadian
Territory,’ an agreement negotiated in 1955 and made public by
the government in an attempt to allay just such misgivings.99

The Pentagon’s early release of the 19 November 1954 joint announce-

ment had the effects Canadian officials feared: Many American citizens
allegedly believed that their country had taken over the Canadian Arctic.
The Canadian public also debated whether Canada should have been solely
responsible for the DEW Line. This debate led to questions on the utility of
the Mid-Canada Line in an integrated radar warning system, in light of the
DEW Line’s capabilities.100
The Distant Early Warning Line became operational on 15 May 1957. The
line ran from Cape Dyer, Baffin Island, to Lisburne, Alaska. A second seg-
ment was added between Umnak, Aleutian Islands and Midway Island in the
Pacific Ocean. The line was also extended to include Greenland. The line was
composed of Doppler radars every 80 kilometres, smaller “gap filler” radar
stations, and auxiliary radar stations every 160 kilometres. Station crews
were a mix of military and civilian personnel, including Inuit employees.101
During its existence, the DEW Line provided Canada and the United States
both military advantages with its early warning system and non-military
benefits with its system of logistics.102
Part of the line’s construction involved the construction of airstrips ad-
jacent to the stations. These airstrips were built by USAF Hercules transport
planes parachuting Caterpillar D9 bulldozers onto the selected site. These
bulldozers then levelled the ground for the airstrip. The bulldozers, too ex-
pensive to lift back out of the site, remained permanently with their work.
Once the airstrip was complete, a hole was dug at the end of the runway
and the bulldozer was buried. These airstrips were a boon to both military
and civilian groups. Prior to their construction, planes landed only on natur-
ally flat parts of the Arctic, such as raised beaches. The man-made runways
permitted access to areas of the Arctic previously limited by the landscape.
Many took advantage of these opportunities.
Geological field teams, for example, were able to undertake mapping
projects of areas previously not available to them. These types of teams were

191
THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE DEW LINE

based out of DEW Line radar stations, such as “Foxe 2,” on Baffin Island. To
the west of Foxe 2 was “Foxe-Main” or Hall Beach, located on the Melville
Peninsula. To the east of Foxe 2 was another station, Dewar Lakes. Stations
were named for the terrain which they occupied. Foxe 2 was named for
the Foxe Basin, north of the Great Plain of the Koukdjuak on Baffin Island.
The topography around Foxe 2 was relatively flat, with relief in some parts
ranging from 10 to 30 metres in height. Foxe 2 was sited for the DEW Line
because its location enabled the station’s military personnel to look over the
horizon.
Stations such as Foxe 2, located at the eastern end of the line, were
serviced by the major air hub at Sondre Stromfjord, Greenland. Transport
planes designed for short take-off and landing (STOL), such as DC-3 Dakotas
and deHavilland Twin Otters, brought in supplies via the built airstrips.
Field teams, such as the aforementioned one located at Foxe 2, usually re-
ceived their equipment, mail, and groceries from Winnipeg; in many cases
the only telephone available was at the closest DEW Line station. The entire
DEW Line was maintained on Central Time because the lines of longitude
converged in the Arctic.103
The Distant Early Warning Line had a major military and scientific im-
pact on the Arctic. The logistical benefits it provided were just as important
as its military purposes. DEW Line stations were also serviceable beyond
tracking potential enemy aircraft or intercontinental ballistic missiles. The
stations provided local security. If a civilian helicopter, contracted for re-
search, became unserviceable in the field, personnel from the nearest DEW
Line station could track the aircraft’s last known position and help in its
recovery.104 Additionally, after all the Canadian government’s concerns over
the establishment of the early warning lines, the DEW Line had a major posi-
tive impact on Canadian sovereignty in the Arctic. Increased accessibility
translated into an increased Canadian presence in the Arctic, military and
civilian. In the case of the latter, civilian researchers were able to discover
new natural resources. One example was the discovery of some of the world’s
largest iron deposits in the northern part of Baffin Island. These deposits,
however, await the appropriate form of logistics for their proper exploitation.
The limitations of the original technology of the 1950s meant that more
stations were initially built than eventually needed. By the 1960s, techno-
logical advances allowed for greater radar coverage with fewer stations. In
1963, all 31 gap filler sites (also known as Intermediate Sites, or “I Sites”) were
abandoned.105 This decision had environmental consequences. These sta-
tions produced debris and pollution, caused by PCBs in their transformers.106

192
 ALEXANDER W.G. HERD

Clean up began in the late 1980s, when DEW Line stations were shut down or
modernized as part of the North Warning System.
Canada’s cooperation with the United States on the DEW Line formed
the major part of the Canadian government’s struggle for control of the early
warning systems on its territory. In the end, the United States government
paid the DEW Line’s construction and installation costs and sent large num-
bers of personnel to the Arctic to operate the line’s radar stations. Canadian
officials worked hard to avoid American domination of the DEW project.
Despite these officials’ worries, the DEW Line had the unintended conse-
quence of bolstering Canadian sovereignty through commercial exploration
and exploitation.
1953 and 1954 were crucial years in North American air defence cooper-
ation. Friendly relations between Canada and the United States, coupled
with the growing threat of the Soviet Union, brought the two countries closer
together through joint plans to defend the continent. In the face of American
pressure to build an effective air defence network, the realities of interest,
history, and geography meant that the Canadian government possessed few
other alternatives other than to support American designs. Canadian polit-
ical and military leaders also accepted the reality of the Soviet Union’s power
and its increasing capabilities to inflict crippling damage on North America.
Additionally, the Canadian commitment to effective continental air defence
was in line with the country’s military commitments to NATO in Europe and
to the UN in Korea (1950-1953). The Canadian government, in a challenging
balancing act, made continental air defence efforts one element of its three-
pronged defence policy following the tradition of collective security.
Canadian authorities struggled to control continental air defence on
their territory. Once committed to the concept of defence-in-depth, with
early warning networks, anti-aircraft units, and interceptor fighter aircraft,
Canadian officials attempted to make a significant contribution to each joint
defence project. They worked to control the overall costs of each project and
maximize their country’s economic benefits by establishing a principle of
preference for Canadian industry. The term “sovereignty” in continental air
defence meant more than respect for Canadian territory. In effect it meant
obtaining American respect for Canadian decisions in each step of a joint
effort, regardless of the degree to which these decisions deviated from the
plans of Canada’s southern neighbour. Unfortunately, this respect was not
always forthcoming.
The joint Canada-United States decision in 1954 on the construction
of the DEW Line represents Canada-United States Cold War defence rela-

193
THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE DEW LINE

tions in microcosm. For the Canadian officials involved in this decision,

these relations were often characterized by American pressure to coordin-
ate Canadian defence policies with American defence policy, concerns over
territorial sovereignty, tense competition between American and Canadian
business interests, heightened Canadian and American public awareness on
the nature of joint defence cooperation, and a Canadian struggle for equal
partnership in continental defence projects. Canadian officials’ attempt at de-
lineating the American role in the DEW Line project was symptomatic of the
Canadian struggle for control. The Canadian government did not passively
subordinate its continental defence policy to the United States in this regard,
but an unwieldy list of conditions governing American participation in the
DEW Line did not have the desired result. Charles Wilson’s observations not-
withstanding, Canadian public concerns over the American presence in the
Arctic remained for many years after the DEW Line’s construction began.
This examination of Canada-United States collaboration on the DEW Line
during 1954 is important for an understanding of Canadian and American
perspectives of each other over a fundamental issue. There certainly is a trad-
ition of Canada-U.S continental defence cooperation; this cooperation began
in earnest during the Second World War, entered its crucial period in the
Cold War in the 1950s, and has continued to the present day. A constant ele-
ment in this cooperation is the issue of national control. Consistently missing
in North American defence cooperation is an appropriate understanding of
the national perspectives behind desires for control. With respect to the con-
struction of the DEW Line, each side attempted to exert its degree of control
as much “as practicable.”

Notes
1 Quote from a press conference.
Despatch No. 1934, The Canadian
Ambassador, Washington, D.C., to the
Secretary of State for External Affairs,
8 October 1953, File CSC 1855:1 Part
1 Continental Air Defence of North
3 An important element to keep popu-
America, Volume 21417, Series B-1, RG
24, Library and Archives Canada, Ot-
tawa (hereafter LAC), 2.
2 In the late Cold War and early twenty-
first century, American leaders at-
tempted to garner Canadian support
for the extensive missile defence
of North America. In the 1980s, US
President Ronald Reagan proposed
such a defence through the Strategic
Defense Initiative (SDI) programme.
In 2005, the Canadian prime minister
rejected Canadian participation in US
President George W. Bush’s ballistic
missile defense (BMD) proposal.
lar views in perspective is the coun-
try’s population. In 1953 there were
159,565,000 Americans and in 1954
there were 162,391,000. United States
Department of Commerce, Bureau of
the Census, Historical Statistics of the
United States: Colonial Times to 1970,
Bicentennial ed., part 1 (Washington,
D.C.: GPO, 1975), 8. In 1953 and 1954
there were 14,845,000 and 15,287,000

194

Canadians, respectively. M.C. Ur-
quhart, ed., Historical Statistics of
Canada (Toronto: The Macmillan Com-
pany of Canada, Ltd, 1965), 14.
4 Willis C. Armstrong, “The American
Perspective,” in Canada-United States
Relations, ed. H. Edward English
(New York: The Academy of Polit-
ical Science, 1976), 1-13; Joseph Barber,
Good Fences Make Good Neighbors: Why
the United States Provokes Canadians
(Indianapolis and New York: The
Bobbs-Merrill Company, Inc., 1958);
David H. Flaherty and William R.
McKercher, eds., Southern Exposure:
Canadian Perspectives on the United
States (Toronto and New York: Mc-
Graw-Hill Ryerson Ltd, 1986); Hugh
L. Keenleyside, Canada and the United
States: Some Aspects of Their Historical
Relations (New York: Alfred A. Knopf,
1952); and Peyton Lyon, “The Can-
adian Perspective,” in Canada-United
States Relations, 14-26.
5 Benson L. Grayson, ed., The Amer-
ican Image of Russia 1917-1977 (New
York: Frederick Ungar Publishing
Co., 1978); Deborah Welch Larson,
Anatomy of Mistrust: U.S.-Soviet Rela-
tions During the Cold War (Ithaca, NY:
Cornell University Press, 1997); and J.
D. Parks, Culture, Conflict, and Coexist-
ence: American-Soviet Cultural Relations,
1917-1958 (Jefferson, NC: McFarland &
Company, Inc., 1983).
6 Larry D. Collins, “Canadian-Soviet
Relations During the Cold War,” in
Canadian-Soviet Relations 1939-1980,
ed. Aloysius Balawyder (Oakville,
ON: Mosaic Press, 1981), 43. Collins
explains that the Canadian govern-
ment and its people did not accept
“uncritically the seemingly almost
senseless hostility which had created
the [post-Second World War super-
power] bipolarity.” Ibid., 42.
7 Collins, “Canadian-Soviet Relations
During the Cold War,” 43. The “basic
patterns of her [Canada’s] Soviet policy
in particular were calculated to a sig-
nificant extent to minimize pressures
ALEXANDER W.G. HERD
on Canadian sovereignty emanating
from south of the border.” Ibid., 42.
8 William R. Willoughby, The Joint
Organizations of Canada and the United
States (Toronto and Buffalo: University
of Toronto Press, 1979), 109.
9 Ibid., 110.
10 John W. Warnock, Partner to Behemoth:
The Military Policy of a Satellite Canada
(Toronto and Chicago: New Press,
1970), 106-107.
11 Willoughby, The Joint Organizations of
Canada and the United States, 10.
12 Brian Cuthbertson, Canadian Military
Independence in the Age of the Super-
powers (Toronto: Fitzhenry & White-
side, 1977), 24.
13 Warnock, Partner to Behemoth, 107-108.
14 Cuthbertson, Canadian Military In-
dependence, 27.
15 Ibid., 31.
16 “Estimate of Military Requirements
for the Defense of the Canada-U.S.
Area,” 5 January 1950, in Records of the
Joint Chiefs of Staff: Europe and NATO:
Part II: 1946-53 reel 5, fr. 2194.
17 For details on the various joint air force
plans approved through the PJBD, see
Joseph T. Jockel, No Boundaries Up-
stairs: Canada, the United States, and the
Origins of North American Air Defence,
1945-1958 (Vancouver: University of
British Columbia Press, 1987), 50-59.
18 Cuthbertson, Canadian Military In-
dependence, 26.
19 Ibid., 37.
20 Before the Distant Early Warning Line
was recommended for construction in
summer 1954, this line was referred
to as the Northern Canadian Detec-
tor Line, Northern Canadian Line, or
Northern Detector Line.
21 The two Canadians were John S. Foster
(McGill University) and G. R. Lindsey
of the Defence Research Board (DRB).
For a review of the study groups and
195
THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE DEW LINE
their reports in 1951 and 1952, see
Jockel, No Boundaries Upstairs, 61-67.
22 At the time of this presidential transi-
tion, the “agreed-upon” US military
strategy was the development of of-
fensive capabilities at the expense of
defence. Jockel, No Boundaries Upstairs,
61. For the domestic bureaucratic and
ideological reasons behind the Amer-
ican emphasis on Strategic Air Com-
mand’s offensive strike capabilities,
see James Meikle Eglin, Air Defense in
the Nuclear Age: The Post-War Develop-
ment of American and Soviet Strategic
Defense Systems (New York: Garland,
1988).
23 For a historiographical review of con-
ventional interpretations on NORAD
and early Cold War North American
continental defence, see Alexander
W.G. Herd, “As Practicable: Canada-
United States Continental Air Defense
Cooperation 1953-1954” (M.A. thesis,
Kansas State University, 2005), 6-11.
24 At the time of this report, the MSG
study of the Arctic line, formerly
known as both Project Counterchange
and Project Corrode, was titled “Pro-
ject 572.” Report by the Canada-United
States Military Study Group, 3 June
1954, in U.S. Department of State,
Foreign Relations of the United States,
1952-1954, Vol. VI, pt. 2, 2127-2128
(hereinafter referred to as FRUS, with
appropriate year and volume num-
bers).
25 Report by the Canada-United States
Military Study Group, 3 June 1954, in
FRUS, 1952-1954, Vol. VI, pt. 2, 2128.
26 Extract from Journal of Permanent
Joint Board on Defence, Enclosure to
Memorandum from Acting Under-
Secretary of State for External Affairs
to Secretary of State for External Af-
fairs, 17 July 1954, in Canada, Depart-
ment of External Affairs, Documents on
Canadian External Relations (Ottawa:
Queen’s Printer, 1967), 1954, Vol. 20,
Doc. 468 (hereinafter referred to as
DCER, with appropriate year and vol-
ume numbers).
196
27 Extract from Journal of Permanent
Joint Board on Defence, Enclosure to
Memorandum from Acting Under-
Secretary of State for External Affairs
to Secretary of State for External Af-
fairs, 17 July 1954, in DCER, 1954, Vol.
20, Doc. 468.
28 In 1954, MacKay served as Deputy
Under-Secretary before his promotion
to Associate Under-Secretary. John
Hilliker and Donald Barry, Canada’s
Department of External Affairs, Vol. 2,
Coming of Age, 1946-1968 (Toronto: The
Institute of Public Administration of
Canada; Montreal, Kingston, ON and
Buffalo: McGill-Queen’s University
Press, 1995), 88-90.
29 Memorandum from Acting Under-
Secretary of State for External Affairs
to Secretary of State for External Af-
fairs, 10 June 1954, in DCER, 1954, Vol.
20, Doc. 463.
30 Memorandum, Discussion at the 208th
Meeting of the National Security
Council, 29 July 1954, Box 5, NSC Ser-
ies, Papers of Dwight D. Eisenhower
as President, 1953-61, Dwight D.
Eisenhower Library, Abilene, Kansas
(hereafter DDEL), 5.
31 Ibid. In 1953 the US Department of
Defense spent $17,054,333,000 (US).
The US government’s total expendi-
ture that year was $74,119,798,000
(US). In 1954 American defence spend-
ing reached $40,625,674,000. That
year total US federal outlays were
$70,889,744,000 (US). Historical Statis-
tics of the United States: Colonial Times to
1970, Bicentennial ed., part 2, 114. On
the other side of the border, the Can-
adian government spent $1,857.8 mil-
lion (CDN) on “Defence and mutual
aid” in 1953. Total Canadian federal
expenditure that year was $4,350.5
million (CDN). The next year spend-
ing was $1,687.9 million (CDN) and
$4,275.3 million (CDN), respectively.
Urquhart, ed., Historical Statistics of
Canada, 200, 202.
32 Extract from the New York Times, 11
October 1953, File CSC 1855:1 Part

1 Continental Air Defence of North
America, Volume 21417, Series B-1, RG
24, LAC. Sprague was joined on the
subcommittee by Senators Leverett
Saltonstall (Republican, Massachus-
setts; head of the Senate Armed
Services Committee), Styles Bridges
(Republican, New Hampshire), and
Richard B. Russell (Democrat, Geor-
gia).
33 Report on Continental Defense to the
Senate Armed Services Committee, 18
March 1954, Sprague, Robert C. Ma-
terial, Box 33, Administration Series,
Papers of Dwight D. Eisenhower as
President, 1953-61, DDEL.
34 Memorandum, Discussion at the 208th
Meeting of the National Security
Council, 29 July 1954, Box 5, NSC Ser-
ies, Papers of Dwight D. Eisenhower as
President, 1953-61, DDEL, 5.
35 Ibid., 6.
36 Extract from Minutes of Meeting of
Cabinet Defence Committee, 25 June
1954, in DCER, 1954, Vol. 20, Doc. 466.
37 Record of Cabinet Defence Committee
Decision, 100th Meeting, 25 June 1954,
File CSC 1855:4 Part 1 Continental
Air Defence of North America – Mid
Canada Line (Secret), Volume 21419,
Series B-1, RG 24, LAC; and Extract
from Minutes of Meeting of Cabinet
Defence Committee, 25 June 1954, in
DCER, 1954, Vol. 20, Doc. 466.
38 Memorandum from Minister of Na-
tional Defence to Cabinet, 29 July
1954, Enclosure to Deputy Minister of
National Defence to Secretary of State
for External Affairs, 9 August 1954, in
DCER, 1954, Vol. 20, Doc. 471.
39 Extract from Cabinet Conclusions, 18
August 1954, in DCER, 1954, Vol. 20,
Doc. 474.
40 Extract from Cabinet Conclusions, 11
August 1954, in DCER, 1954, Vol. 20,
Doc. 473.
41 Memorandum from Head, Defence
Liaison (1) Division, to Assistant
Under-Secretary of State for External
ALEXANDER W.G. HERD
Affairs, 5 November 1954, Enclosure
1 to Memorandum from Assistant
Under-Secretary of State for External
Affairs to Under-Secretary of State for
External Affairs, 6 November 1954, in
DCER, 1954, Vol. 20, Doc. 479.
42 Ibid.
43 Memorandum from Secretary of State
for External Affairs and Minister of
National Defence to Cabinet Defence
Committee, 10 November 1954, in
DCER, 1954, Vol. 20, Doc. 481.
44 Terms of Reference, RCAF-USAF Mil-
itary Characteristics Committee, DEW
Group, Incl. 1 of Report of USAF-RCAF
Military Characteristics Committee
DEW Group, 7 September 1954, File
50210-C-40 Part 2 Canada U.S. Radar
Defence System – Distant Early Warn-
ing Line, Volume 5926, Series A-3-b,
RG 25, LAC.
45 Ibid.
46 Report of USAF-RCAF Military Char-
acteristics Committee DEW Group, 7
September 1954, File 50210-C-40 Part
2 Canada U.S. Radar Defence System
– Distant Early Warning Line, Volume
5926, Series A-3-b, RG 25, LAC, 3. (TAB
C of “Proposed Revisions to the Re-
port of the USAF-RCAF Military Char-
acteristics Committee, DEW Group,
and Comments thereon by the U.S.
Section, Canada-U.S. Military Study
Group,” 10 December 1954).
47 Draft Cabinet Defence Committee
Minute, Continental Defence, Distant
Early Warning Line, 12 November
1954, File 50210-C-40 Part 2 Canada
U.S. Radar Defence System – Distant
Early Warning Line, Volume 5926, Ser-
ies A-3-b, RG 25, LAC, 3.
48 Memorandum from Secretary of State
for External Affairs and Minister of
National Defence to Cabinet Defence
Committee, 10 November 1954, in
DCER, 1954, Vol. 20, Doc. 481.
49 Draft Cabinet Defence Committee
Minute, Continental Defence, Distant
Early Warning Line, 12 November
197
THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE DEW LINE
1954, File 50210-C-40 Part 2 Canada
U.S. Radar Defence System – Distant
Early Warning Line, Volume 5926, Ser-
ies A-3-b, RG 25, LAC, 1-2.
50 Ibid., 2.
51 Ibid., 3-4.
52 Ibid., 5-6.
53 Memorandum for the Minister –
Continental Defence: Distant Early
Warning Line, 17 November 1954, File
50210-C-40 Part 2 Canada U.S. Radar
Defence System – Distant Early Warn-
ing Line, Volume 5926, Series A-3-b,
RG 25, LAC, 1.
54 Draft Cabinet Defence Committee
Minute, Continental Defence, Distant
Early Warning Line, 12 November
1954, File 50210-C-40 Part 2 Canada
U.S. Radar Defence System – Distant
Early Warning Line, Volume 5926, Ser-
ies A-3-b, RG 25, LAC, 11-12.
55 Numbered Letter No. D-1369, The
Under-Secretary of State for External
Affairs to The Canadian Embassy,
Washington, D.C., 16 November 1954,
File 50210-C-40 Part 2 Canada U.S.
Radar Defence System – Distant Early
Warning Line, Volume 5926, Series A-
3-b, RG 25, LAC.
56 Note No. 791, A.D.P. Heeney to John
Foster Dulles, 16 November 1954, File
50210-C-40 Part 2 Canada U.S. Radar
Defence System – Distant Early Warn-
ing Line, Volume 5926, Series A-3-b,
RG 25, LAC, 1-2.
57 Ibid.
58 In 1951, Canadian and American of-
ficials initially agreed to construct 33
radar stations in eastern Canada as
the Pinetree network. By early 1953,
American officials had requested nine
additional stations, six in Ontario
and three in British Columbia. The
Canadian government then pressed
certain conditions to the joint con-
struction and operation of the Pinetree
stations, including the exclusive use
of Canadian electronic equipment.
See Herd, “As Practicable: Canada-
198
United States Continental Air Defense
Cooperation 1953-1954,” 16-20.
59 Draft Conditions to Govern partici-
pation by the United States in the
establishment of a Distant Early Warn-
ing System in Canadian Territory, 15
November 1954, File 50210-C-40 Part
2 Canada U.S. Radar Defence System
– Distant Early Warning Line, Volume
5926, Series A-3-b, RG 25, LAC, 2.
60 The Canadian government considered
the appointment of a “Special Com-
missioner for the Project” and liaison
officers for the American construction.
Ibid., 1.
61 Draft Statement of Conditions, 15
November 1954, Enclosure to Letter
D-1369, Under-Secretary of State for
External Affairs to Ambassador in
United States, 16 November 1954, in
DCER, 1954, Vol. 20, Doc. 483.
62 Draft Conditions to Govern partici-
pation by the United States in the
establishment of a Distant Early Warn-
ing System in Canadian Territory, 15
November 1954, File 50210-C-40 Part
2 Canada U.S. Radar Defence System
– Distant Early Warning Line, Volume
5926, Series A-3-b, RG 25, LAC, 3-6.
63 Ibid., 2-5.
64 Ibid., 2.
65 No. EX-2136, The Secretary of State
for External Affairs to Head of Post,
Washington, D.C., 22 November 1954,
File 50210-C-40 Part 2 Canada U.S.
Radar Defence System – Distant Early
Warning Line, Volume 5926, Series A-
3-b, RG 25, LAC, 1.
66 Ibid.
67 Ibid., 1-2.
68 Ibid., 1-3.
69 Press Release No. 81, 19 November
1954, File 50210-C-40 Part 2 Canada
U.S. Radar Defence System – Distant
Early Warning Line, Volume 5926, Ser-
ies A-3-b, RG 25, LAC.
70 No. EX-2122, The Secretary of State
for External Affairs to The Canadian

Ambassador, Washington, D.C., 19
November 1954, File 50210-C-40 Part
2 Canada U.S. Radar Defence System
– Distant Early Warning Line, Volume
5926, Series A-3-b, RG 25, LAC, 1.
71 Ibid., 2.
72 Ibid., 3.
73 The Under-Secretary of State for Exter-
nal Affairs to various departments, 22
November 1954, File 50210-C-40 Part 2
Canada U.S. Radar Defence System –
Distant Early Warning Line, Volume
5926, Series A-3-b, RG 25, LAC, 1.
74 Deputy Minister of Northern Affairs
and National Resources to The Under-
Secretary of State for External Affairs,
25 November 1954, File 50210-C-40
Part 2 Canada U.S. Radar Defence
System – Distant Early Warning Line,
Volume 5926, Series A-3-b, RG 25,
LAC.
75 “Removable property” was defined
as anything “brought into Canada or
purchased in Canada and placed on
the sites, including readily demount-
able structures.” Draft Conditions to
Govern participation by the United
States in the establishment of a Distant
Early Warning System in Canadian
Territory, 15 November 1954, File
50210-C-40 Part 2 Canada U.S. Radar
Defence System – Distant Early Warn-
ing Line, Volume 5926, Series A-3-b,
RG 25, LAC, 3.
76 Deputy Minister of National Revenue,
Customs and Excise, to The Under-
Secretary of State for External Affairs,
29 November 1954, File 50210-C-40
Part 2 Canada U.S. Radar Defence Sys-
tem – Distant Early Warning Line, Vol-
ume 5926, Series A-3-b, RG 25, LAC.
77 The Under-Secretary of State for Ex-
ternal Affairs to The Deputy Minister,
Department of National Revenue,
Customs and Excise Division, 7 De-
cember 1954, File 50210-C-40 Part 2
Canada U.S. Radar Defence System –
Distant Early Warning Line, Volume
5926, Series A-3-b, RG 25, LAC.
ALEXANDER W.G. HERD
78 Deputy Minister of National Revenue,
Customs and Excise, to The Under-
Secretary of State for External Affairs,
9 December 1954, File 50210-C-40 Part
2 Canada U.S. Radar Defence System
– Distant Early Warning Line, Volume
5926, Series A-3-b, RG 25, LAC.
79 Under-Secretary of State for Exter-
nal Affairs to The Deputy Minister,
Department of National Defence, 10
December 1954, File 50210-C-40 Part
2 Canada U.S. Radar Defence System
– Distant Early Warning Line, Volume
5926, Series A-3-b, RG 25, LAC, 1.
80 Deputy Minister of Transport to The
Under-Secretary of State for External
Affairs, 2 December 1954, File 50210-C-
40 Part 2 Canada U.S. Radar Defence
System – Distant Early Warning Line,
Volume 5926, Series A-3-b, RG 25,
LAC.
81 Under-Secretary of State for External
Affairs to The Deputy Minister, De-
partment of Transport, 6 December
1954, File 50210-C-40 Part 2 Canada
U.S. Radar Defence System – Distant
Early Warning Line, Volume 5926, Ser-
ies A-3-b, RG 25, LAC, 2.
82 Under-Secretary of State for Exter-
nal Affairs to The Deputy Minister,
Department of National Defence, 6
December 1954, File 50210-C-40 Part
2 Canada U.S. Radar Defence System
– Distant Early Warning Line, Volume
5926, Series A-3-b, RG 25, LAC, 2.
83 Having had previous MND Brooke
Claxton’s “utmost confidence” after he
moved to DND from External Affairs
in 1948, Drury worked faithfully for
both Claxton and Campney. As the
sole deputy minister for all the mil-
itary services, Drury assumed a cen-
tral position in the making of Canada’s
defence policy. His duties included
the department’s administrative pro-
curement and financial supervision.
James Eayrs, In Defence of Canada, Vol.
3, Peacemaking and Deterrence (Toronto:
University of Toronto Press, 1972), 113;
and David J. Bercuson, True Patriot: The
Life of Brooke Claxton 1898-1960 (Toron-
199
THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE DEW LINE
to and Buffalo: University of Toronto
Press, 1993), 162, 202.
84 Deputy Minister, National Defence
to The Under-Secretary of State for
External Affairs, 9 December 1954, File
50210-C-40 Part 2 Canada U.S. Radar
Defence System – Distant Early Warn-
ing Line, Volume 5926, Series A-3-b,
RG 25, LAC.
85 Draft Cabinet Defence Committee
Minute, Continental Defence, Distant
Early Warning Line, 12 November
1954, File 50210-C-40 Part 2 Canada
U.S. Radar Defence System – Distant
Early Warning Line, Volume 5926, Ser-
ies A-3-b, RG 25, LAC, 11.
86 C. M. Drury to Jules Léger, 30 Novem-
ber 1954, File 50210-C-40 Part 2 Canada
U.S. Radar Defence System – Distant
Early Warning Line, Volume 5926, Ser-
ies A-3-b, RG 25, LAC, 1.
87 Ibid., 1-2.
88 Ibid.
89 Ibid.
90 The Secretary of State for External Af-
fairs to Head of Post, Canadian Dele-
gation to Ninth Session of the General
Assembly, New York, N.Y., 2 December
1954, File 50210-C-40 Part 2 Canada
U.S. Radar Defence System – Distant
Early Warning Line, Volume 5926, Ser-
ies A-3-b, RG 25, LAC, 3-4.
91 Ibid., 4.
92 Memorandum for the Minister, Can-
adian Participation in the Distant
Early Warning Line, 9 December 1954,
File 50210-C-40 Part 2 Canada U.S.
Radar Defence System – Distant Early
Warning Line, Volume 5926, Series A-
3-b, RG 25, LAC, 1.
93 Ibid., 2.
94 Ibid., 3.
95 Ibid.
96 Ibid., 4.
97 Lester B. Pearson, Mike: The Memoirs of
the Right Honourable Lester B. Pearson,
vol. 2, 1948-1957, ed. John A. Munro
200
and Alex I. Inglis (Toronto and Buffalo:
University of Toronto Press, 1973), 28.
98 Handwritten note by LBP, Memo-
randum for the Minister, Canadian
Participation in the Distant Early
Warning Line, 9 December 1954, File
50210-C-40 Part 2 Canada U.S. Radar
Defence System – Distant Early Warn-
ing Line, Volume 5926, Series A-3-b,
RG 25, LAC, 4.
99 Eayrs, Northern Approaches: Canada and
the Search for Peace (Toronto: Macmil-
lan, 1961), 10.
100 Warnock, Partner to Behemoth, 114-117.
101 Don Nicks, John Bradley, and Chris
Charland (NBC Group), A History of the
Air Defence of Canada 1948-1997 (North
Bay, ON: Commander Fighter Group,
1997), 39.
102 Richard K. Herd, B.Sc, D.I.C., PhD,
Curator, National Collections, Geo-
logical Survey of Canada, interview
by author, Ottawa, Canada, April 2005.
Dr. Herd undertook field work from
June to September, 1974 based out of
Foxe 2 (also known as Longstaff Bluff)
DEW Line radar station, on the west
coast of Baffin Island.
103 Information courtesy Dr. R.K. Herd.
104 This information is based on the per-
sonal experience of Dr. R.K. Herd in
the summer of 1974.
105 NBC Group, A History of the Air Defence
of Canada 1948-1997, 40.
106 Information courtesy Dr. R.K. Herd.
See also P.W. Lackenbauer and Mat-
thew Farish, “The Cold War on Can-
adian Soil: Militarizing a Northern
Environment,” Environmental History
12, no. 3 (2007): 940-41; and Heather
Myers and Don Munton, “Cold War,
Frozen Wastes: Cleaning up the Dew
Line,” Environment and Security 4
(2000): 119-38.
Calgary Papers in Military and Strategic Studies, Occasional Paper No. 4, 2011
Canadian Arctic Sovereignty and Security: Historical Perspectives Pages 201–231

The Military and Nation Building in

the Arctic, 1945-1964
K.C. Eyre

T
he generation after the Second World War marked the high point of
military presence and activity in the Canadian North. Yet in reality,
little of this activity was directly related to a specific military threat.
During the bomber era, infantry troops trained to snuff out “lodgements”
and the radar stations of the Distant Early Warning Line kept their long polar
watch. These two organizations, however, accounted for but a small portion
of the military activity in the region. A host of other programs brought the
soldiers, sailors and airmen of Canada and the United States to the North. It
was generally recognized in all branches of the service that existing know-
ledge of the North was imperfect and that special techniques and equipment
were required to operate there. In the absence of specific operational roles,
many military elements set about learning how to live and work in the iso-
lated northern environment against the day when a wider military threat
might develop. As a corollary to these programs, steps were taken to estab-
lish necessary support facilities, to permit these activities to be carried out
with greater efficiency and safety.
An important by-product of this activity was a major contribution by
the military to general knowledge about the North and the establishment of
many important components of social infrastructure. It would be a serious
error to assume that all these military contributions to northern develop-
ment were coincidental. There are three categories into which all military
activity during the 1945-1964 period could be grouped. The first is that small
class of activities that were undertaken for purely military purposes and the
development spin-off was truly accidental. By far, the largest category is the
second class wherein military projects were executed in a manner designed
to optimize developmental aspects. The third group are those government
designated activities undertaken purely to meet the needs of national de-
velopment, and which promised no particular value to the military.

The Northwest Territories and Yukon Radio System

After the departure of the Yukon Field Force from Fort Selkirk and Dawson
City in 1900, and the disbandment of the Dawson Rifles of Canada five years

© Centre for Military and Strategic Studies http://cmss.ucalgary.ca/ 201

MILITARY AND NATION BUILDING IN THE ARCTIC

later, no soldiers appeared in the North until 1923, when communicators of the
Royal Canadian Corps of Signals opened the first stations of the Northwest
Territories and Yukon Radio System. The event is of interest for it marks the
first occasion when a Canadian government turned to the military to support
national development activities in the North. The radio system remained in
operation throughout the Second World War, expanding and contracting in
response to commercial and industrial development in the Yukon and the
Mackenzie Valley and the needs of American- sponsored defence projects.
The outbreak of the Second World War disrupted the NWT & YRS, as
it did most other Canadian institutions. In the autumn and winter of 1939,
calls were made upon the system to support mobilization by providing men
and materials. In the final analysis the system was a training facility for the
RC Sigs and, in the crisis of war, the army did not hesitate to draw upon the
distant posts to fill its needs. On the other hand, the RC Sigs had acquired a
responsibility to the residents of the Northwest. People had come to depend
upon the radio facilities over a period of sixteen years and the entire network
could not be abandoned overnight. Those stations whose closure would not
cause a breakdown in the whole system or whose services could be provided
by alternate means were closed and their equipment and personnel were
withdrawn to the South. At the remaining stations personnel cuts reduced
the level of services that could be provided, meteorological services suffering
particularly in this respect.1
The entry of the United States into the war and the defence projects
undertaken by that nation in the Northwest provided an impetus that took
the system out of its initial war time slump. To support the Canol project, the
United States Corps of Signals established a communications network, but it
soon became evident that the American equipment did not have the power
or the reliability to handle the traffic on the net. The temporary expedient of
patching into the nearest NWT & YRS station for onward transmission of
messages was adopted, but in 1943 the two governments agreed that because
the RC Sigs were already established at key locations in the Mackenzie Valley
and had long experience in northern operations, the Canadian system would
provide the main communication grid for Canol. Accordingly, the Corps in-
stalled a powerful station at Norman Wells capable of transmitting direct to
Edmonton and later took over an American station that had been established
at Fort Providence. By the end of the year the NWT & YRS was operating
fourteen stations and the System was again in the process of expansion.2
The System’s role in supporting flying operations was greatly expanded
the following year. Flying activities relating to the Alaska Highway, Canol,

202
 K.C. EYRE

and the North West Staging Route continued unabated and civil aviation in
the Mackenzie underwent resurgence. The increased level of air activity pro-
duced a demand for more and better weather forecasts and the RC Sigs was
requested by the Meteorological Department to open stations at Fort Good
Hope and Port Radium, and to increase the frequency of weather reports
from all other existing stations. Manpower requirements in 1944 were not as
critical as in 1939 in the sense that the requirements for a few dozen men to
operate the NWT & YRS were insignificant to an army of over a half million
men. The RC Sigs also took over small stations that had been established
by the Americans at Wrigley, Hay River and Embarras. These developments
brought the system back to its pre-war level of nineteen stations. The fol-
lowing year, the main stations at Edmonton, Fort Smith, Fort Simpson and
Norman Wells received powerful new 10 KW low frequency transmitters,
thus further increasing the System’s capacity to support the anticipated
northern boom that it was thought would follow the end of the war.
During the war years, the system continued, in the main, to follow its
traditional pattern of supporting contemporary activity in the Canadian
Northwest. The Canol project replaced the mining activities of pre-war
years as the main user of facilities. The system also continued to provide
its traditional weather forecasts and commercial facilities for the permanent
residents of the North. Wartime programs provided Canada with a surfeit of
trained signallers. During the war there was no suggestion made by the RC
Sigs that the system’s continued value lay in the training it provided to mil-
itary communicators. The system had become a thing unto itself – a service
to the Northwest, which, by tradition, was provided by the Royal Canadian
Corps of Signals.
With the coming of peace, the NWT & YRS continued in its now well
established pattern of serving the North. Any military, commercial or gov-
ernmental group that required quick and efficient communications turned to
the Royal Canadian Corps of Signals. One could graph the level of develop-
ment activity in the Northwest simply by studying the various expansions
and contractions that the northern signals system underwent over the years.
While the post-war experiences of the System differed somewhat from pre-
war and wartime activity in the specific nature of services provided, on the
whole, meteorological forecasting, air support, communications for other
departments of government, and commercial traffic occupied the bulk of the
signallers’ time.
During 1946, all the wartime stations continued in operation and new
sites were opened at Snare River, north of Yellowknife, and at Baker Lake.3

203
MILITARY AND NATION BUILDING IN THE ARCTIC

The Snare River station was short lived, but its establishment illustrated
again the flexibility of the army to respond to reasonable requests. A major
hydro-electric power project was to be carried out on the Snare to provide
the energy-starved mining interests in the Yellowknife area with a source of
cheap and reliable power. To facilitate the construction phase, a radio station
was required and on 8 July 1946 the RC Sigs was on the air from the new site.
The project was completed late 1948, but the signallers stayed on until mid-
1949 at which time a conventional land line between the power plant and
Yellowknife was completed.

Map 9. Graphic Arts Section, Mobile Command Headquarters.

During 1948 and 1949, the System was drawn further into the web of
the Meteorological Service. The first year weather stations were stalled at
Brochet in northern Manitoba, and at Fort Reliance at the eastern tip of Great
Slave Lake. Both of these stations were transmitting weather data by freeze
up, but their establishment was costly in both men and support equipment.
The RCAF had to be called on to fly in construction crews, operators, and
equipment, although a barge brought in most of the heavy plant to Fort
Reliance. Both of these locations were noteworthy because of their isolation.
At Brochet the population consisted of two traders, four missionaries, a game
warden and a fluctuating group of up to fifty Cree and Chipewyan Indians

204
 K.C. EYRE

who came and went with the hunting and fishing seasons. At Fort Reliance,
the entire population consisted of two members of the RCMP who used the
post as the base of patrol operations at the east end of Great Slave. The follow-
ing year, the NWT & YRS reached its nadir of isolation when it responded
to a Meteorological Service request to establish a post at Ennadai Lake. At
Ennadai, there was nobody except the four man signals detachment. This
forlorn post was on the air with regular weather broadcasts by October 1949,
but perhaps its most important function during the years the RC Sigs oper-
ated the station was the humanitarian role it played in support of the local
natives.
The Kazen River Band of Caribou Eskimos4 had traditionally hunted in
the general region at Ennadai Lake, but during the winter of 1949-50, disas-
ter struck when the route of the annual caribou migration changed and the
herds by-passed the area. The 45 members of the band were facing starvation
by April 1950 when their plight became known to the soldiers of Ennadai.
The signallers radioed Churchill for assistance and later arranged for the air
evacuation of the band to Neutlin Lake, a hundred miles to the southeast,
where game and fish were plentiful. Before the natives could be moved, how-
ever, they had to be collected and concentrated at a central pick-up point. The
soldiers ranged the area bringing in their starving charges who subsisted
on army emergency rations until the aircraft arrived. Had the Ennadai Lake
station not been established it is most likely that the whole band would have
died of starvation.
By 1951 the Eskimos had drifted back to their traditional hunting ground.
In the interval, the government had taken steps to provide them with rifles,
ammunition and traps. Rather than relying upon the caribou for their entire
subsistence, the natives were now able to bring furs into Ennadai where the
signallers baled them up and shipped them to the RCMP at Churchill. There
the police sold the furs, bought food, ammunition and supplies with the pro-
ceeds and shipped these to Ennadai where they were distributed. This change
in the economic base of the Eskimo livelihood, from complete dependence
upon the caribou to a barter economy based on fur trapping, was probably
an undesirable side effect of the changed caribou migration patterns. The
alternative: cultural purity – and starvation – was even less acceptable in
the middle of the 20th century. Although many of the so called “benefits” of
white society have ultimately proved to be culturally devastating to northern
native peoples, there can be no question that the Ennadai station personnel
were on more than one occasion instrumental to the survival of the Kazen
Band. Medical services were provided to the best of the detachment’s abil-

205
MILITARY AND NATION BUILDING IN THE ARCTIC

ity and in the spring of 1954, the detachment commander nursed the band
through a devastating influenza epidemic. Weather conditions precluded a
doctor’s landing at the post. Instructions for treatment were radioed to the
soldiers who brought their charges through the crisis without a single loss.
The outbreak of the Korean War in 1950, like the war in 1939, put severe
demands upon the personnel of the System. By this date the original purpose
of the System to provide otherwise unavailable training to army signallers
had long since become meaningless. In reality the System was a drain on
RC Sigs resources. Since the beginning of the Second World War, the Corps
had been operating the necessary trades schools to support all their work.
Before a man could be usefully employed in the North he had to be highly
trained to operate an ever increasing array of complex equipment. It was also
necessary to provide additional instruction in meteorological reporting, and
in the operation of the diesel generating plants that provided the electricity at
many of the more remote locations. Still, the RC Sigs clung onto the System.
They had a job to do and were doing it well, but sometimes it was only pos-
sible to keep operating by curtailing services or by placing heavy long term
demands on the operators.
The requirements for troops for Korea reduced the System to the point
where it was operating with only 75 per cent of its authorized establishment.
As the demands of an expanding regular, army would take up the recruit
signaller output for the foreseeable future, authority was obtained to employ
civilians to fill some of the vacancies. Qualified civilians who were willing
to live in the North were hard to find. The NWT & YRS position was made
even more difficult by the Department of Transport which was expanding
its northern radio services and was authorized to pay much higher salaries.
Faced with these manpower problems and a steadily increasing volume of
radio traffic, the Department of National Defence decided to cut back on some
of its stations. Agreement was reached with DOT whereby that Department
took over operation of some of the more isolated stations whose sole function
was weather reporting. Embarras Lake was turned over in mid 1952 and the
others were slated for hand ever as soon as DOT could hire men to run them.
Ennadai Lake went in 1954 and along with it the inevitable responsibility
for the Kazen River Eskimos. Wrigley went the following year and Brochet
followed in 1956.
In February 1955 construction began on the Distant Early Warning Line.
A tremendous airlift was required to support the construction of the western
portion of the project in Canada, from Cambridge Bay to the Alaska Border.
As a result, weather messages, air movement messages, and construction

206
 K.C. EYRE

related messages increased dramatically. Three hundred thousand more sig-

nals were handled in 1955 than during the previous year, the vast majority
of these attributable to the radar construction project. The communications
tempo grew with construction activity the following year when a hundred
per cent increase in all classes of message traffic was recorded, despite the
fact that the western part of the construction phase was completed by the end
of July. At the beginning of 1957, the DEW Line’s own internal radio system
came into operation and this relieved much of the remaining pressure from
the NWT & YRS. Much to the disgust of many veterans of the RC Sigs, the
civilian firm holding the DEW Line contract offered fabulous salaries by the
standards of the times, and hired numerous civilian and military operators
away from the NWT & YRS.
That another program would emerge to replace the DEW Line traffic
was perhaps inevitable. In 1957, the project was the construction of a new
town site for the village of Aklavik. Aklavik, sited in low lying ground in
the Mackenzie Delta, was subject to regular floodings and was an unsuitable
site for further urban growth which the Department of Northern Affairs and
National Resources wished to foster in the area. Accordingly it was decided
to relocate the community to higher ground 35 miles to the east. The new
town was named Inuvik in 1958, but during 1957 it went by the more prosaic
title of Aklavik East Three. The radio traffic associated with this major con-
struction project was largely responsible for the System recording its all time
high of messages passed in one year – 3,172,628.
The cost of operating a system that could handle this volume of traf-
fic, however, was proving to be increasingly unacceptable to the Canadian
Army. By 1957 this amounted to 1.5 million dollars annually. In 1957 commer-
cial traffic had brought in revenue of 200,000 dollars, and had government
messages been computed at the commercial rate, another five million dol-
lars would have been realized. Unfortunately, from DND’s point of view, all
revenues went to the Receiver General of Canada and not to the Department
of National Defence. A detailed traffic analysis carried out in 1956 revealed
that DOT was the major user of the System, with over ninety per cent of all
messages being concerned with that department’s affairs. DND, on the other
hand, accounted for only four per cent of the total message traffic and most
of these related to the internal administration of the System. In an attempt to
redress this financial anomaly, DND requested that it either be relieved of
responsibility for running the network, or else that costs be shared by DOT.
A cabinet decision taken in September, 1957 directed that the Army hand
over the System to DOT.5

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It would appear that those signallers who had been involved with the
NWT & YRS for many years regretted the government’s decision when it
dawned upon them that they were to leave the North and give up control of
the System that had been so important to northern life for over three decades.
The actual handover was done on a station-for-station basis and took over
two years to accomplish. In September, 1958 the detailed inventories and pro-
cedures for handover were complete and Fort McMurray, Alberta joined the
DOT net. Before the year ended, Fort Chipewyon, Fort Smith, and Hay River
were transferred. By the end of 1959, Dawson and Mayo, the two original sta-
tions, and Port-Radium and Fort Resolution remained. On 25 March, the last
station, Resolution, changed hands and the Northwest Territories and Yukon
Radio System quietly vanished from the northern scene.
By all accounts, most northerners were sorry to see them go. At a cere-
mony held at Yellowknife in November 1959, northerners of all persuasions
and backgrounds said their formal good-byes. Letters poured into System
Headquarters from airlines, transport companies, mining firms, other de-
partments of government and private individuals, all thanking the RC Sigs
for the work of years and expressing regret that the soldiers were leaving.
Their contribution to northern development, northern life, and northern so-
ciety over the years was not insignificant.
On the whole, the signallers of the NWT & YRS entered fully into the
spirit of northern life. They gave much more than basic communications
services, which were extremely important in themselves. Signallers acted
as postmasters and magistrates. They ran airfields and weather stations.
Between 1949 until 1958 when the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation took
over the job, signallers voluntarily ran a rebroadcast service of commercial
radio programs in the larger communities. Signallers supported search and
rescue operations and vice-regal visits to the North with mobile and efficient
communications to the “outside.” Upon occasions they acted as special po-
lice constables and, more mundanely as doctors, nurses and midwives. The
Royal Canadian Corps of Signals gave much to the North. The full story of
their accomplishments is yet to be chronicled.6

The Alaska Highway

When peace came in the summer of 1945, the future of the great wartime
highway to Alaska was by no means clear. By the terms of the original inter-
national agreement, the United States was committed to maintaining the road
for six months after the war’s end at which time it was to be transferred to
Canadian control. Canada had the option of incorporating the highway into

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the national road grid, but was not legally committed to do so. The Dominion
had the choice of simply abandoning it on the grounds that it was a wartime
measure that the return to peace had rendered superfluous. If Canada did
opt to keep the road in operation it had been agreed that there would be
no “discriminating conditions in relation to the use of the road as between
Canadian and U.S. civilian traffic.” 7
The singling out of civilian traffic is important. In the original nego-
tiations, the PJBD had recommended certain post-war rights for American
military traffic to and from Alaska. The Canadian government had declined
to commit itself to the post-war military situation, but stated that it was
prepared to give due consideration to any future PJBD recommendation
on the subject. The matter was dropped from the original agreement. The
United States government raised the issue again in March I943, expressing
“a desire to extend the interpretation of the original agreement in regard to
post-war military use.”8 Canada again declined to do so. Towards the end of
1944, the American government began pressing Canada to agree to take over
and maintain the highway, but in July 1945, Canada was still considering the
proposition.9
In the interval the Canadian Army in the form of the Royal Canadian
Engineers (RCE) entered the debate. The military case was that if and when
the highway was taken over by Canada, it should become an army respon-
sibility. The Royal Canadian Engineers, it was argued, could run the system
efficiently and at the same time use it as a means of peacetime training for
gaining experience “in connection with large scale engineering works.”10
Despite all the prophecies of post-war development that had accompanied
the construction of the highway during 1942-43, it was still not clear in
Canada that the advantages in keeping up the road would have merited the
cost. The government’s focus of interest remained the Northwest Staging
Route, which, it was thought at the time, would develop into a major route
of international air traffic in the post-war world. The importance of the
highway in supporting airway operations had been clearly demonstrated
during the war, thus providing an incentive to the government to keep it in
operation.
The other side of the coin was American concern over the future secur-
ity of Alaska. It was evident that the United States did not want to have to
embark on another crash construction project if the changing international
situation were to produce a new threat to the northern territory. A bill intro-
duced in the United States House of Representatives in the summer of 1945
was interpreted in Ottawa as reflecting the official American position, when

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Map 10. From Ken Coates, North to Alaska (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1992).

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 K.C. EYRE

it called for the creation of a board to be known as the Alaska International

Highway Commission. Another American official spoke to the effect that:

A properly controlled air route to Alaska is considered indispens-

able to the permanent defence of the continent … The only feas-
ible way to properly provide these necessary items to a controlled
airway (i.e, fuel supplies, auxiliary strips, weather stations, etc.) is
a highway generally along the same route.11

It is evident that the United States was prepared to bring considerable

pressure to bear on Canada to keep the route open, for the highway was
seen in the United States as an important feature in the defence of Alaska.
Inasmuch as it was possible to differentiate between national defence and
continental defence, the road was not significant to Canada. However, the
magnitude of American interest when compared to that of her northern
neighbour was such that Canada, in all probability, had little choice but to go
along with American wishes. From that point of logic, it was but a short step
to give responsibility for the highway to the Canadian Army. Here there was
also a strong precedent in the form of the NWT & YRS, for military involve-
ment in the operation of basic northern services.
In October 1945, “the Canadian Army, was authorized to take over the
maintenance responsibility of the Highway until such time as this respon-
sibility might be assumed by a civilian department.”12 The official handover
date was fixed for 1 April 1946. In the interval the Canadian Army began
to come to terms with the burden it had so willingly taken on. In January
and February, advance parties were dispatched to the North to familiarize
themselves with the road and to study the American system of maintenance.
In Ottawa, staff officers were deciding upon the size of the force that was
required and the myriad of other, technical problems that had to be shelved
prior to the actual change of control. By mid-February, the outline plan for
the take-over was complete. The Alaska Highway became known to the
Canadian Army as the Northwest Highway System (NWNS). Arrangements
were made to take over American equipment, accommodation facilities, and
stores. Contracts were made with civilian agencies to provide needed servi-
ces. Land leases were re-negotiated. It was estimated that the capital cost of
just the take-over would be in excess of 5.7 million dollars.13 The American
experience had indicated that it would be wise to permit the troops to bring
their families with them to the North, and plans were made to build married
quarters in a new suburb on the plateau above the town site of Whitehorse.14

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Meanwhile, in the North, the engineer advance party was surveying

with some dismay the job they were faced with. The senior officer of the
group, Lieutenant Colonel J. R. B. Jones, wrote of his first impressions:

We took over a strange unknown ribbon of road covered with

snow. We knew the vehicles and equipment left to use were old
and worn and needed immediate replacement (they aren’t re-
placed yet). We had no married quarters and I, like most of the
army up there, had been home only a few months after 5 or 6
years separation. It looked grim. We read the records of how the
rivers rose suddenly in the spring and took out dozens of bridges,
we were told of flash floods that spring from mountain slopes to
wash out miles of highway. It looked grimmer. We took another
look at the old and decrepit road machinery, the tremendous task
of sorting out warehouses full of unlisted tools and spare parts,
and the way our proposed establishment had been pared down.
It looked hopeless.15

At the time of take-over, the Alaska Highway was still a military road.
Civilians wishing to use the route had to show evidence that their trip was
really necessary and also meet certain rigid standards of vehicle serviceabil-
ity prior to being given a travel permit. In early 1946, the only hotel north
of Fort Nelson was at Whitehorse – six hundred miles distant. There was a
similar lack of garages and filling stations. The engineers’ task was in reality
much more complex than just maintaining the 1221.4 miles of highway that
lay in Canada. Over 200 miles of access roads leading to the seven emer-
gency landing strips spaced along the highway also had to be kept open,
as did the airfields themselves. There was also a requirement to keep open
during summer the 120 miles of secondary road from Haines, Alaska to the
point where it joined the Alaska Highway at mile 1016. The NWHS troops
were also responsible for providing support to RCAF units operating the
North West Staging Route. This included supplying rations, hauling ground
freight, and maintaining vehicles. At Whitehorse, the army provided a wide
range of services and utilities for the use of RCAF and other departments of
federal government.16
To do the job, the army was allocated about 670 personnel vacancies, of
which 450 were to be filled on a permanent basis by civilian employees.17
The NWHS Headquarters located at Whitehorse included an operational
wing which dealt with bridge and road design and an administrative wing

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which concerned itself with personnel and logistic services for the system as
a whole. Under this headquarters came several units, the most important of
which was the Highway Maintenance Establishment (HME). HME, with its
headquarters also in Whitehorse was, as the name indicates, primarily con-
cerned with the actual maintenance of the road. The highway was divided
into three sectors, and in each sector there were static maintenance camps
every sixty or seventy miles. The men working in these camps carried out
road patrol, grading, and minor repairs. The sector superintendents and the
staff of the maintenance camps were all civilian.
Major repairs and construction were initially the responsibility of the
Road Maintenance Company, RCE. This military unit had a reconnaissance
and survey section as well as a bridging platoon and a road construction pla-
toon. All new construction as well as emergency work beyond the capability
of HME fell to this unit. In addition to the operational units, NWHS included
a full range of support service units such as ordinance, service corps, electric-
al and mechanical engineers, medical and dental units, and engineer works.
The organization, in fact, closely resembled that of an independent brigade,
with the combat arms being replaced by the units and detachments of the
Highway Maintenance Establishment.
During the years that the army operated the NWHS there was an on-
going program of improvement of the road and a similar upgrading of sup-
port facilities and accommodation. There was a lot of work to do. The original
survey in 1942 had been pushed through under the urgency of the moment.
In many cases the road simply followed local trails which were admittedly
not in the best location. The actual road turned over to Canada was, in fact,
only an improved pioneer road, and was a far cry from the high quality road
that the American civil authority had originally planned. Many sections had
been built over unstable ground and would eventually have to be relocated
to avoid sagging, frost boils, slides and icing areas. The majority of bridges
were of temporary native timber and culverts were built of native unpeeled
poles. All of the buildings were classified as “temporary construction” and
were not suitable for long term use.18
The system improvement was a gradual process. There was never any
question of deploying masses of workers or spending tens of millions of dol-
lars in a crash program to revamp the system. One year some of the wooden
trestle bridges might be replaced with concrete pilings; another year might
see a ten mile stretch of road relocated to a more suitable location. Gradually,
corrugated steel culverts were installed all along the highway. While the
existence of the highway fostered a modest amount of economic development

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and resource exploitation in northern British Columbia and the Yukon, there
was no great boom of development as some optimists had forecast when the
road was built. The two great northern barriers to development – climate and
isolation – again combined to limit the profitability of most enterprises.
The most important result of the military’s running the NWHS was
social. In southern Canada, military communities are traditionally self-
contained. It was realized that the situation in the Yukon was considerably
different from that in the South, and the military shared its resources with
the civilian community to a high degree. Military camps in southern Canada
usually have their own schools for dependent children but because the
school situation in the town of Whitehorse was so poor, DND funds were
diverted to help build a public elementary and high school and a separate
(Roman Catholic) school.
Children from the army and RCAF town sites were bussed daily into
Whitehorse to the common schools. In addition, the Department of National
Defence paid 250 dollars a year for each “military” school child. In the same
vein, rather than constructing a military hospital on the base, the available
monies were used to help construct a new hospital in Whitehorse. DND
shared in the operating costs of the hospital as well as providing key per-
sonnel in the operating rooms, laboratories, and X-ray departments. In the
area of recreation, military personnel and their dependants were encouraged
to participate in and support such varied activities as sports teams, drama
clubs, and Scouts.19
At the small maintenance camps scattered along the highway, the social
impact of the “military way of doing things” was even more significant. Each
camp included a foreman, a mechanic, and from three to five heavy equip-
ment operators. These, all civilians, usually with their families, lived in
modern quarters provided by the army. Each maintenance camp eventually
provided the core of a small, balanced community. Private enterprises in the
form of gas stations, motels, and restaurants sprang up at maintenance camp
sites. These sites were attractive locations for an entrepreneur to locate himself
and his family. The army had sited a recovery vehicle and ambulance at each
camp and these were available to the general public in time of emergency. The
Department of National Defence built a small school at each camp site if one
did not already exist. The territorial government provided the teacher and
the facility was used by all the children in the community. Each maintenance
camp was provided with a curling rink, a recreation hall, and a schedule of
weekly movies. These facilities, so important to combating the monotony of
northern isolation, were open to anybody living in the community.20

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The most important issue relating to the highway during the years the
military operated in the North was the question of paving. The matter arose
as early as 1948 and has periodically emerged for debate ever since. In 1948, a
Department of Transport official observed that on a national scale the high-
way was only of “limited commercial usefulness” This factor, coupled with
the very high cost of paving such a long road in isolated country indicated
that paving was not practical at the time. The DOT spokesman further stated
that it was “very improbable that the task would ever be undertaken except
as a defence measure.” The Department of National Defence maintained that
paving was not necessary for defence purposes.21 Canada, at the time, antici-
pated little security threat in the area and, indeed, the combat capability of
the troops of the NWHS was minimal. The army was simply running what
was rapidly becoming a commercial highway for the training value it provid-
ed to the engineer troops involved. In point of fact, the unpaved state of the
Alaska Highway was not a major factor in limiting its commercial usefulness.
The problem lay in the very poor quality of the “feeder roads” of Northern
Alberta and British Columbia that restricted access to the main highway. It
was argued that if the provincial roads could be improved, the commercial
use of the Alaska Highway would increase whether or not it was paved.22
Periodically, the United States offered to share in the costs of paving. In
July 1958, President Eisenhower and Prime Minister Diefenbaker discussed
the possibility of some sort of joint arrangement but no decision was reached.
A bill was introduced in the United States Senate the following year which
called for the United States to share costs of paving with Canada and to open
negotiations to make the necessary arrangement.23 The extent of American
economic involvement in Canadian development had already been criticized
by numerous responsible Canadians. It would appear that any decision to
permit the United States to pay for the Alaska Highway would have been
most impolitic. In any case, the matter never came to the point of formal
negotiation. In August 1959, the Minister of National Defence stated in an
interview that “Canada has received no firm proposal from the United States
on sharing the costs of paving the Canadian section.”24
Over the years the NWHS came to take on a distinct raison d’etre of its
own. It would appear that less and less attention was paid to the original rea-
son for army involvement with the Highway. The Royal Canadian Engineers
increasingly saw the job of maintaining the Highway in simple terms of a job
that they had been given to do and which they took pride in doing well. One
of the claims of HME was that the Alaska Highway was the finest road of its
type in the world. The frequent articles that appeared in the Canadian Army

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Journal by engineer officers on the subject of the NWHS reflected the job satis-
faction that came with involvement with the route. In addition, Whitehorse,
where the vast majority of military personnel of the NWHS were stationed,
was an extremely popular posting for married soldiers and their families.
With year round road, rail, and air communications, Whitehorse did not suf-
fer from the isolation and monotony that characterize most other northern
communities. The organized recreational opportunities, schools, hospitals,
and shopping facilities of the community were good by national standards,
and the higher cost of living was offset by a special northern allowance.
For those families, that enjoyed hunting, fishing, camping, and hiking, the
Yukon truly was the “sportsman’s paradise” of the tourist brochures.
The Department of National Defence, on the other hand, was somewhat
less enthused about the NWHS. The main reason for this attitude was the in-
creasingly high cost of maintaining the road and all its elaborate supporting
facilities. In 1946 it was thought that the military presence would only be
required for a few years, but year after year the soldiers stayed. In 1954, the
Minister, Brooke Claxton, announced in the House of Commons that the
Department of National Defence and the Department of Public Works were
discussing the advisability of the latter taking over the road. The Minister
observed that the road was “more and more becoming essentially a civilian
operation”, and he admitted that it would be “more economical and prac-
tical for it to be taken over by the Department of Public Works.”25 In January
the following year, when an opposition member inquired if any progress
had been made on the transfer of the NWHS to some other department, the
Prime Minister replied that “no such decision has been taken.”26
If the Liberals were lukewarm to the continued involvement of the mil-
itary with the Alaska Highway, the Progressive Conservatives were bitterly
cold to the prospect. When the latter came to power in 1957, George Pearkes,
the new Minister of National Defence, began to search for a means of shifting
responsibility. He was not particularly successful. In 1959, he stated publicly
that any other department could have it for the asking. He stated that DND
was “anxious to be rid of the responsibility of maintaining the 200 mile
Canadian section of the Alaska Highway.” He reiterated the argument that
the road, built as a defence measure during the Second World War, was not
now significant from a defence standpoint. He went on to add that increased
civilian use of the road had forced DND into spending large sums to main-
tain it.27
Getting the Department of Public Works (DPW) to take over the road,
however, proved to be a major obstacle. Mr. Pearkes eventually changed his

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views, for the following year, the Commander of the NWHS reported that the
“Minister was kind enough to say that we would probably continue in the job
as no other department could do it as well.”28 It was evident, however, that
the Army’s responsibility for the Alaska Highway would end sooner or later.
To defence planners, the continued maintenance of the Alaska Highway in
the interests of national development was seen as being a costly anomaly in
DND programs. In October 1963, the Liberal government of Lester B. Pearson
decided to withdraw the military from the Alaska Highway.

Mapping the North

In 1919, a Canadian government committee reported that to map the whole
country would cost 180 thousand million dollars and take 3,600 years. The ac-
tual job was completed in the year of Canada’s centennial at considerably less
cost.29 Aviation applied to mapping made the difference. A program to provide
aeronautical charts on a scale of eight miles to the inch, and sixteen miles to
the inch (1: 1,000,000) was initiated in 1944 and continued into the 1950s. This
project was further modified in 1947 when the Cabinet Defence Committee
assigned the Department of National Defence and the Department of Mines
and Resources the project of mapping all of Canada on a four mile to the inch
(1:250,000) scale. Again war-inspired technology was to play an important
part in the peacetime development of the Canadian North. In addition to
long range aircraft, wartime needs had nurtured the development of wide
angle aerial photography, stereo modelling, and Shoran, a navigational aid
for bombing that turned out to be an ideal means of fixing control points for
mapping. The mapping of all of Canada and particularly the North became
a major peacetime project for the Army and Air Force. The RCAF took about
75 per cent of all the aerial photographs required and provided air support to
the Army Survey Establishment which surveyed the entire Western Arctic in
the process of turning out one third of the required maps.30
The two traditional northern constraints, distance and climate, played
their usual part in creating difficulties for the map makers. Only Whitehorse,
Norman Wells, Yellowknife, Churchill and Frobisher Bay had landing strips
that could accommodate the four-engined Lancaster aircraft of 408 (P)
Squadron. Fuel for aircraft operating at the rate the squadron did during
operations could only be pre-positioned economically if it were brought in
by surface delivery. This necessitated planning months or years in advance.
An emergency situation such as the search for a lost commercial pilot out
of Whitehorse in 1951 used up 75,000 gallons of gasoline and disrupted the
year’s program.

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MILITARY AND NATION BUILDING IN THE ARCTIC

Photo mapping operations could only be started when the snow cover
had receded enough to permit the aircrews to identify geographical features.
It was discovered that late May and June were the best times for operation
– the period between the departure of the snow and the departure of the
ice. With open water came clouds – cumulus over the mainland and stratus
amongst the islands of the archipelago. The northern weather stations proved
to be an invaluable aid in locating areas that were free of cloud, but it was not
uncommon for an aircraft to range as far as seven hundred miles from its
base to find an area suitable for photographic work. Once the aircraft arrived
in the area, however, it was, faced with the usual problem of locating itself
exactly, a task made doubly difficult by the myriads of lakes and rivers in the
North, the lack of distinct land marks and inaccuracies in the preliminary
survey charts. Year after year the mapping process continued. In addition
to air photographs, it was necessary to install, maintain and extract work
parties at each of the many Shoran sites that were required for control pur-
poses. The usual procedure was for an amphibious aircraft to fly the party
into the nearest suitable body of water from whence they would man pack
their equipment onto the selected height of land where “they remained like
bearded eagles for the summer.”31
By the end of 1967 the task was completed. The entire project included
a total of 925 map sheets. About one third of the country was also covered
in the 1:50,000 scale, the standard scale of military tactical maps. At this
point the responsibility to meet national map requirements was removed
from the Department of National Defence and given exclusively to the
Department of Energy, Mines and Resources. Civilian aviation compan-
ies on contract now provide aerial photograph for mapping purposes. The
Canadian Armed Forces retained a Mapping and Charting Establishment,
but their responsibilities were limited to providing maps for specific mil-
itary requirements.
The mapping of the North carried out by the Royal Canadian Air Force
and the Royal Canadian Engineers between 1947 and 1967 provides a clas-
sic example of the military establishment in peacetime undertaking projects
of national development that required skills relative to military operations.
When the state of the art developed to the point where a civil branch of gov-
ernment could take over, and when future operations could be carried on
as profitable, but still reasonably economic ventures, the military gave up
the role and moved on to other fields. It is a almost axiomatic that if a na-
tion wishes to claim a land, protect it, develop it, and conserve it, just where
those lands are and what they consist of must be known. One of the first

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steps in such a process is accurate mapping. The Canadian military estab-

lishment left their southern bases annually, came into the North, did the job
and departed. That it took the better part of a century to even get around the
task and twenty years to finish it emphasizes only further the vastness and
remoteness of the Canadian North. There are undoubtedly still thousands
of lakes, hills, and streams that show on the maps of the North that have
never been physically visited by a human being. We only know that they are
there because a few years ago, an RCAF aircraft flew over them and took a
photograph which later became the basis of a map.

Military Aviation in the North

For the air force, the post-war North did not represent a potential aerial
battleground. The Canadian decision not to develop nuclear weapons im-
mediately eliminated the RCAF from the arena of strategic bombing. Those
aviation writers who, in the mid 1940s, envisioned chains of interceptor bases
strung across the high latitudes proved to be very wide off the mark as to
what was necessary or what was even feasible. At the height of the Cold War
and the threat of the manned bomber, the North provided useful tactical
depth for the purposes of early warning and delineation of lines of attack.
Since there were no strategic targets in the North that required point or area
defence as provided by fighter aircraft, Canada was content to deploy her air
defence forces south of the 55th parallel of latitude. (The United States, on the
other hand, stationed substantial interceptor units in Alaska and at Thule,
Greenland).
The Royal Canadian Air Force’s “polar passion” manifested itself in a
wide range of air support operations. In doing so, the RCAF, and later the
various air elements of the unified Canadian Forces, played an important
role in northern development. Flying activities were undertaken in support
of other elements of the armed forces, for defence research projects and for
other branches of government. Upon occasion, non-governmental activities
were supported with military air resources when it was not possible to ob-
tain commercial services. Of the three services, the air force during the post-
war period developed the closest ties with the counterpart American service.
Numerous missions were undertaken in support of USAF projects, or were
attempted on a joint basis. In recent years, for nationalistic reasons, Canada
has been more inclined to avoid these co-operative ventures than in the im-
mediate postwar years. The main pattern that characterizes the extensive air
force involvement in the North is that aircraft operate in northern regions for
periods up to several months, but these detachments have all been tempor-

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ary. Support personnel and equipment on the other hand, were stationed
permanently in the North to facilitate ongoing operations.
In 1946, the specific future requirements for RCAF activity in the Arctic
were unclear. As a result, the air force undertook a program to learn as much
about the area as possible. Canada was not the only nation showing an in-
tense interest in polar regions and the potentials of transpolar aviation. In
addition to using RCAF aircraft, Canadian Air Force officers, flew as crew
members and observers on several British and American exploratory flights.
The general theme of most of the military aviation in the Arctic during this
year was the establishment of the basis for future operations, whatever that
might encompass.
The USAF was particularly concerned with the problems associated
with aerial navigation in high latitudes and, with Canadian co-operation,
conducted a series of long range flights throughout the Arctic in late winter
and spring. Three B-29 bombers were modified for long range operations:
all armaments were removed and auxiliary fuel tanks were fitted into the
bomb bays. The majority of the flights were connected with experimental
work relating to long range aid to navigation (LORAN) which had been
installed in Canada to support Exercise Musk-Ox. Flying out of Edmonton
and Fairbanks, the aircraft, some with RCAF crew members, made dozens
of sorties over the Arctic Archipelago, and ventured as far north as, the pole
itself. In addition to the data gathered in support of the LORAN program,
“the navigators of the detachment began accumulating data that would assist
future flying operations.”32
It would appear that An Aerial Reconnaissance of Arctic North America,
the aviators’ handbook which was eventually produced from the detach-
ment’s efforts, was a self-generated project. The aircrews had quickly, real-
ized that the problems of polar flying were much greater than had originally
been anticipated. Inaccurate mapping, unreliable magnetic compasses, and
fragmentary weather forecasts all combined to produce a navigator’s night-
mare in a hostile land. The Arctic Pilot produced by the Admiralty had been
drawn up to aid surface navigators in the North; Greenaway and Colthorpe
set out-to produce the aviator’s equivalent. These American and British air
expeditions are interesting because they showed the feasibility of long range
aviation around the pole.33 It must be remembered, however, that both types
of aircraft were extensively modified, having ranges, in excess of 5,000 miles
and the ability to stay aloft more than twenty hours.
Trans-polar operations were one thing; flights within the Arctic
Archipelago were another. In 1946, the RCAF undertook an adventurous

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flight program within the Western Arctic. Operation Investigator sent a Canso
Amphibian and two single-engined Norsemen on floats, and a total crew
of eleven men into the Arctic to locate, examine, and report on suitable air
bases for float and ski based aircraft. Investigator marks the first occasion that
the RCAF made a conscious effort to obtain some flying experience and an
understanding of flying conditions in the area of Banks and Victoria Islands
and the Boothia Peninsula. During the high summer months of July and
August the three aircraft ranged far and wide over the western Arctic. They
saw herds of caribou that they estimated to number in the millions, over-
flew and marvelled at pingos in the Mackenzie Delta, met Eskimos who had
travelled with Stefansson, located mysterious and abandoned settlements
and boats.34 Reading their report, one gets the impression that they had a
marvellous time.
In 1947, the RCAF began a program in co-operation with the Department
of Mines and Resources to carry out a magnetic survey of the North in an
attempt to locate precisely the magnetic pole.35 The operation was a defin-
ite success. Both the pilot and the navigator of the Canso flying boat were
decorated for the skills they displayed in flying about the pole. The program
continued with RCAF support in subsequent years.
Aerial navigation in the Arctic was a precarious activity at the best of
times. The hostile environment coupled with direction keeping problems
associated with the proximity of the magnetic pole and the paucity of sup-
port facilities made northern flying a demanding profession. The scarcity of
navigational aids was another negative factor. Thus, Operation Beetle, a joint
Canadian-American plan to install a Loran (Long Range Aid to Navigation)
low frequency beacon system in the Arctic was received with enthusiasm by
the RCAF when it appeared in 1946.
Operation Beetle36 is of interest for several reasons. First, it was typical
of the joint Canadian-American projects being undertaken by the military
in the North at the time. Second, it underlined the complexity of northern
operations. Despite the experience of the Northwest and Northeast staging
routes, the problems encountered, particularly in the construction phase,
underlined that lessons of the past were not widely known, and that the full
magnitude of the northern problem was not well understood. Third, there
were many delays in the construction phase attributable not only to lack of
basic data about the area of operations, but also to the absence of detailed
planning and co-ordination between all agencies involved. Fourth, the avail-
able RCAF documents do not reveal any consideration being made of the
utility of the system for the purpose of domestic civilian flying. On the other

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MILITARY AND NATION BUILDING IN THE ARCTIC

hand, the potential to civilian aviation having the proper equipment to util-
ize the facility is obvious. In a wider sense, the role that the stations come to
play in the northern infrastructure was significant.
The project required a total of four stations – one on the Alaskan coast
and three in Canada. The first problem was to select the sites for the in-
stallation for the technical requirements of the Loran equipment had to be
weighed against terrain and accessibility. The reconnaissance flight took
over two weeks, held up by the seemingly inevitable weather delays and
aircraft unserviceability. Eventually, Cambridge Bay on the south coast of
Victoria Island was selected as the site of the master unit. A secondary, or
slave unit, was to be built at Kittigazuit in the Mackenzie Delta. No suitable
site on the Arctic coast could be found for the monitoring station which
would keep the signals from the other stations in phase, so the reconnais-
sance party selected Sawmill Bay on the southeast corner of Great Bear Lake
for the third site.
The construction of the stations in the Mackenzie presented no par-
ticular problem since the sites were on relatively well established northern
inland water routes. Cambridge Bay, however, was well beyond the northern
frontier and the tremendous problems that were encountered in its construc-
tion, despite the military’s surprise at the difficulty, were typical. The first
step was to transport the 1,500 tons of equipment to the site. All of the stores
had to be moved by air for it was discovered that no commercial carrier was
willing or able to undertake a sea transport contract during the brief summer
shipping season.
Cambridge Bay, however, had no airfield. Before the construction could
begin, before movement of material could begin, a light ski-equipped aircraft
had to fly in and a ground party had to mark out suitable ice landing strip for
a C47 Dakota to land. The Dakota flew in a small bulldozer to improve the
ice strip to make it capable of accepting the heavy C54 aircraft of the USAAF
assigned to move the equipment. Storms and a breakdown of the bulldozer
lengthened this relatively minor task, which took most of April to complete.
The assembly of material had to be completed before break-up in
mid-June rendered the airstrip unusable. The isolation of the site and the
inexperience of the construction crew in working in the Arctic environment
combined to stretch out the construction phase to almost the last minute.
Several cases of snow blindness occurred. The troops did not know how to
live comfortably in tents, so the main air flow had to be halted, while pre-
fabricated barracks were flown in. When the RCAF flew in two heavier bull-
dozers to assist in airfield maintenance, the equipment remained idle until a

222
 K.C. EYRE

specialist able to assemble it was located in southern Canada and flown into
the Arctic to do the job. It was not until October 1946 that the Beetle Loran
system became operational.
The command and control arrangements in this international military
venture are of interest. The functional and administrative commander of
the system was the Canadian Air Officer Commanding, North West Air
Command with headquarters at Edmonton, Alberta. On the sites, the situa-
tion was somewhat more complex. Command of the station was vested in an
RCAF officer, but the technical control was held by the Senior United States
Technical Officer. United States military and civilian personnel at the units
were required to “conform to rules, regulations and instructions as issued by
the commanding officer, but came under their appropriate service or civilian
authority for purposes of discipline.”
Such a dual system could not have worked had there not been a real
spirit of co-operation between Canadian and American forces. What diffi-
culties there were tended to be minor and easily smoothed over. Canadian
commanders complained that the USAF specialist tradesmen were initially
extremely reluctant to undertake routine housekeeping chores about the
station. In the absence of general duties personnel to fuel stoves, chop ice,
and carry out garbage, it was inevitable that all personnel would have to
participate. It was reported that the USAF tradesmen quickly saw the logic of
the housekeeping needs.
The on-site situation catered to Canadian sensibilities on the issue of
sovereignty. In this joint undertaking, bases located in Canada were to be
commanded by Canadians. The Canadian command element was more
symbolic than a military necessity. During the two years that the system was
jointly operated Canadian station commanders often complained of a ten-
dency on the part of visiting American senior officers to ignore the Canadian
station commander and to go directly to the American technical chief. This
phenomenon may be partially attributable to the fact that visiting officers
were usually on a technical inspection and hence their interest would pri-
marily lie with the Loran operation itself. On the other hand, the blithe as-
sumption by individual American servicemen in the late 1940s and 1950s
that the Canadian Arctic was really the American Arctic was a common oc-
currence in the North.
The Beetle system was not destined to have a long life. Canada, as
planned, took over full operation of the system in October 1948. Two months
later the usefulness of the entire network was seriously questioned. An ex-
tensive test program that continued until the spring of 1949 revealed that

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MILITARY AND NATION BUILDING IN THE ARCTIC

due to errors in the siting of stations and the low power of the equipment,
“the operational usefulness of Beetle was deemed as nil.” Most of the staff
and technical equipment was removed immediately. A few people were left
at each station as “housekeepers” awaiting a final decision on the future of
the stations. On February 1950, the decision was made to close out all the
stations completely. Kittigazuit and Saw Mill Bay were abandoned outright,
the local RCMP agreeing to drop in occasionally to check on the security of
the remaining buildings and stores. The Cambridge Bay facility was turned
over to the Department of Transport for use as a weather station.
Although nothing was made of it at the time, an examination of unit
historical reports and war diaries reveals that, during the brief three years
of operations, the stations did much more than simply send out or monitor a
Loran signal. The facilities were used by other elements of the armed forces
for staging purposes, by other departments of the federal government, by
private companies and individuals and, to a certain degree, by local na-
tives. The very fact of the existence of a support facility often made other
unrelated development-oriented activities possible. The Cambridge Bay site
was co-located with an RCMP detachment and a Hudson’s Bay Company
store served the needs of the semi nomadic natives of the Queen Maud Gulf.
While Kittigazuit was isolated, it was only a relatively short distance from
the Beaufort Sea Eskimo community of Tuktoyaktuk. Sawmill Bay existed in
solitary splendour.

Native Training Programs

The subject of northern education is vast, complex and contentious. By the
late 1950s, the government had replaced the church as the agency with
prime responsibility for northern education, and the Education Division of
the Department of Indian Affairs and Northern Development (DIAND) de-
veloped a comprehensive program of elementary, secondary and vocational
training. In some instances, however, there was a requirement for special
training that was not available through the regular school system. In many
such cases, DIAND turned to the Department of National Defence for as-
sistance.
When a government program of building community airstrips and
roads was begun in the Eastern Arctic, the Royal Canadian School of Military
Engineering was contracted to run a special heavy equipment operators
course for thirty Eskimos who later returned to their own communities for
wage employment. When diesel electric generators began to be installed in
northern communities, DIAND reasoned that the operation, servicing, and

224
 K.C. EYRE

maintenance of these plants could well be turned over to local residents,

rather than having to import a technician from the South. Accordingly, the
Royal Canadian Electrical and Mechanical Engineer School undertook to
provide the necessary training. Over a period of three years, ninety Eskimos
attended the special four month long courses the Army ran. The growing
bureaucracy of the North created a demand for qualified clerical workers.
The Army again responded and ran a three month course at the Royal
Canadian Army Service Corps School for ten Eskimo men. All candidates, it
was reported, found employment in offices when they returned to the North.
The Army was not the only service involved with training native
northerners in modern skills. The Royal Canadian Navy ran a series of spe-
cial courses on both coasts in response to DIAND requests. A half dozen
Eskimos were trained as marine engineers at HMC Dockyard at Halifax in
preparation for employment on ships of the Canadian Coastguard. On the
west coast, fourteen Eskimos in the process of purchasing modern fishing
boats were given training in the maintenance and repair of their vessels. A
further two dozen received a course in boat building and repair from the
RCN prior to establishing their own boat building business at Inuvik.37
There are indications that running these courses were not particularly
simple tasks for the military. The standard military course had to be modi-
fied to meet the specific needs and background of the Eskimo candidates.
Demonstrations of techniques had to be letter perfect or else, it was dis-
covered, the students tended to copy errors of procedure. Instructors at the
Electrical and Mechanical Engineering School teaching generator mainten-
ance were somewhat dismayed when they discovered the Eskimo cultural
characteristic of youth yielding to the authority of age. On the first course
that the school ran, it was discovered that only a few of the candidates had
what the military would term the acceptable minimum technical background
for the course they were to follow. Two of the students were illiterate and
most of the others had only previously worked as manual labourers.38 Still,
the military and their students persisted and the DND training program,
on the whole, was a success. DIAND only used the military facilities for a
relatively short period. By the late 1960s trades training schools had been
fully developed in and for the North and there was no longer any need to call
on the military. The Eskimo training program represents another example of
the military contributing to the national development of the region beyond
the frontier. In the early days the military did the work. When adequate civil
facilities were developed at a later date, the Department of National Defence
withdrew from the project.

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MILITARY AND NATION BUILDING IN THE ARCTIC

Northern “Garrison Towns”

The general withdrawal of the military from the North in the early 1960s had
an inevitable impact upon those communities where sizable military bases
had been established to support various northern programs. The two main
“garrison towns” of the North – Whitehorse and Churchill – were the hard-
est hit in the withdrawal process although a host of smaller RCAF stations,
ceased operation in the same time frame. Frobisher Bay was operated by the
RCAF between 1950 and 1956 when it was turned over to the Department of
Transport. During the 1959-1963 period of Strategic Air Command operations
there was a small RCAF detachment at the settlement, but this too closed
when the Americans left. Resolute Bay was manned by an RCAF detachment
starting in 1951, providing flying support for RCAF for northern operations.
It too was turned over to DOT in 1964. Churchill was probably the hardest hit
by the military re-posturing of the 1960s. In 1946, a Combined Experimental
and Training Station had been established by the Department of National
Defence near the site of the World War II Crimson airbase. All three Canadian
services, the Defence Research Board, and the United States Army eventually
established detachments at Churchill to support Arctic training, equipment
trials, and research. The military population in the area further increased
during the 1961-63 period when the Strategic Air Command tankers oper-
ated from the base. Fort Churchill, as the military base was designated to
distinguish it from the town site some four miles distant, had been selected
as Canada’s main northern base in 1946 for a number of reasons. The most
important of these recognized the vital necessity of accessibility in the North.
Churchill offered year round rail access, an airstrip, and a deep water port
during the summer shipping season. In addition, from a military training
point of view, it offered both bush land and barren ground terrain in which
to train.
The Canadian Army ran the base and provided support for the other
military branches located there. Operationally, Churchill was the northern
center of army sponsored environmental studies, operational research de-
velopment, and combat and survival training. The RCAF ran the airfield
facility with the exception of the meteorological facilities and the radio range
which were handled by DOT. Air force northern experimental projects and
operational training were carried out from the base which also had an air
search and rescue role. The Royal Canadian Navy’s activities were limited to
a radio facility which did communications research.39 The Defence Research
Board (DRB) ran a Northern Laboratory within the base complex and under-
took numerous small projects, all contributing to the major role of the lab-

226
 K.C. EYRE

oratory: “To solve… problems which are encountered by the forces whilst
fighting and surviving in the north.” DRB was concerned with the effects of
the Arctic environment on the performance of personnel and materials in the
field.40 The small United States Army detachment carried out engineering
tests of all types of material and equipment under Arctic conditions. The sec-
tion functioned as a lodger unit at Fort Churchill and drew support services
from the Canadian Army on a cost recoverable basis.
This wide range of activities led to the build up of a garrison at Fort
Churchill of over 600 military personnel, many of whom were married and
had their families with them. Over one hundred Americans of the SAC
squadron added their numbers to the group during 1959-1963. The total
population of the military base was approximately 3,000, including depend-
ants and 450 civilian employees. It was reported that the base was a close
knit community and was virtually self contained having its own churches,
schools, social groups, athletic facilities, banks, and all the commercial shops
one might expect to find in a community of that size.41 No studies have been
undertaken to determine the economic, cultural, and social impact of the
Fort Churchill facility upon the civilian community. It would appear that to
a large extent, contacts between the two communities were limited, although
there undoubtedly would have been a certain economic multiplier effect fall-
ing to the town site from the military’s presence.
In 1964, the Canadian Army and the Royal Canadian Air Force ceased
to operate the Fort Churchill facility. Housekeeping responsibilities for the
base itself were transferred to the Department of Public Works, while the
Department of Transport took over the entire airfield works. This change of
responsibilities did not go unnoticed in the House of Commons. In October
of the previous year when rumours began to circulate that the base might be
closed, Robert Simpson, the MP for Churchill, had asked the Minister for in-
formation, his primary concern being for the jobs of the civilian employees.42
In December, the Minister officially announced the closing, a decision that
drew sharp criticism from the Conservative opposition. Simpson continued
to focus on the importance of the garrison to the total life of the commun-
ity, stating that Manitoba had been shocked by the decision and asked for
reconsideration on the grounds that sufficient allowance had not been made
for the economic, cultural, social, and medical impact of the closing on the
local community. Douglas Harkness, a former defence minister, dealt more
with the purely military aspects of the change, claiming that the move might
well herald the end of cold weather training and research. Lucien Cardin,
the Associate Minister countered by saying that only the administrative gar-

227
MILITARY AND NATION BUILDING IN THE ARCTIC

rison was being withdrawn and that both the army and the air force would
continue to use Churchill as an advanced staging base for operations and
exercises in defence of the Eastern Arctic, drawing the necessary support
from the departments that were taking over the base.43
At almost the same time as it was announced that the Churchill base
would be closed, the decision was finally made to transfer responsibility for
the Alaska Highway to the Department of Public Works. Eric Nielson, the
Member for Yukon, reacted in much the same manner as his Churchill col-
league. He expressed concern over the effect of the withdrawal on the civilian
employees. On the whole, however, there was little Conservative opposition
to the move; indeed they had considered it themselves when they were in
office. Harkness heralded the army’s withdrawal as being “long overdue.”
Nielson, while not arguing against the logic of the transfer of responsibilities,
expressed regret at the impending loss of the military community because
of its traditional social, economic, and personal contribution to the Yukon.44
Not everybody was sorry to see the army go. To many north western busi-
nessmen, the paving of the highway had been a long standing develop-
ment objective. It was generally accepted that, as long as the Department of
National Defence continued to run the system, this would not be done. The
mayor of Dawson Creek claimed that the transfer was “an important step
towards paving the route.”45
The withdrawal of several hundred troops and their families from
Whitehorse did not have the same effect on the community as did the de-
parture of a similar sized group from Churchill. The maintenance of the
Alaska Highway was an ongoing commitment of the Canadian government,
no matter which department actually administered the facility. The civilian
maintenance workers’ jobs remained secure, and many new administrative
appointments, formerly held by soldiers, were thrown open to civilians.
In addition to the phased withdrawal of the garrison, the economic boom
of mineral development that the Yukon was enjoying in the mid-1960s did
much to soften the economic blow to Whitehorse.
After 1964, with the exception of the small detachments at each of the
four DEW Line main sites, the only continuing military presence in the
North was in the form of five supplementary radio stations at Churchill,
Whitehorse, Frobisher, Inuvik and Alert. These stations had been established
in the 1950s for the stated purpose of carrying out communications research
in the North.46 During 1967-68 it was decided to close out the first three of
these stations. Unlike the transfer of responsibility for the NWHS or the
NWT and YRS to another branch of government, the closing of these stations

228
 K.C. EYRE

marked the end of a program and the absolute loss of population to the com-
munities affected.
The closing out of the Churchill radio station saw a hundred servicemen
and their families, a total of 250 people, leave for the South. In the process
Churchill lost its only dentist in the person of the base dental officer.47 In
1967-68, the RCAF followed the army in its exodus from Whitehorse. The
Whitehorse airfield had been run by the Department of Transport since 1964;
those RCAF members who had remained in Whitehorse had been employed
at a communications research facility similar to the RCN’s establishment at
Churchill. The station accounted for a total of about a thousand people. There
were 225 service personnel who, with their families numbered about 800. In
addition the station had permanently employed approximately seventy civil-
ians, most of whom were married. To the community of Whitehorse, the clos-
ing of the station was a serious blow. The Yukon Research and Development
Institute commented that “the air force departure will be felt in sports activ-
ities, social events, and will limit the number of woman workers and part
48
time help available here.”
This statement underlines effectively the impact of the loss of a major
industry in any small town. The pure financial loss of jobs and local pur-
chases represents only the tip of the iceberg. The economic multiplier effect
of a reduced population, the loss of military dependants from the work force,
the weakening of local cultural, social and recreational organizations all
combined to create a severe stress on the community. In the isolation of the
North, this effect may be even more acute than it is in the more developed
regions of the country. Certainly the subject merits further study.
Activities in the North undertaken by the military for the specific pur-
pose of national development are probably things of the past. The civilian
infrastructure now exists to build and operate the type of facilities originally
pioneered by the military. National development “spinoffs” from defence-
related activities will continue to occur. To the degree that development, as
equated to the “southern” way of life, is seen as a positive force, the North
will continue to benefit from these enterprises. The negative aspect of these
spinoffs is the counterproductive impacts they may have on traditional life-
styles and the ecology of the area.

229
MILITARY AND NATION BUILDING IN THE ARCTIC
Notes
1 John S. Moir, History of the Royal Can-
adian Corps of Signals 1903-1961 (Ot-
tawa: RC Sigs Corps Committee, 1962),
282.
2 A History of the Northwest Territories and
Yukon Radio System, p. 19-20.
3 Ibid. Unless otherwise noted all data in
this section is taken from this source,
p. 24-58.
4 The term Eskimo was non-pejorative
and in common usage during the
period covered by this chapter and is
used here rather than the contempor-
ary term “Inuit.”
5 Moir, History of the Royal Canadian
Corps of Signals, 284.
6 The Royal Canadian Corps of Signals
Museum at Vimy Barracks, Kingston,
Ontario, holds most of the original
documentation produced by the NWT
& YRS. In the monthly diaries kept
by all station commanders, and other
documents, there lies the raw material
of a major social history of the Can-
adian Northwest.
7 D Hist, 348.013 (D1), U.S. Defence
in Canada, “United States Defence
Projects in Northeast Canada,” Gen-
eral Staff Memorandum 11 July 1945
(henceforth “U.S. Defence Projects”).
8 Stanley W. Dziuban, Military Relations
Between the United States and Canada
1939-1945 (Washington: Office of the
Chief of Military History, Department
of the Army, 1959), 221.
9 “U.S. Defence Projects.”
10 Ibid.
11 Cited in “U.S. Defence Projects.”
12 DND Report, 1946, 25.
13 D Hist, 112.352 009 (D88), Financial
Policies NW Highway System, “Report
to CGS by QMG” 13 February 1946;
“Minute to Cabinet,” 12 January 1946.
14 Lieutenant Colonel J. R. B. Jones, “The
Alaska Highway,” unpublished m.s.s.,
February 1948.
230
15 Brigadier J. R. B. Jones, “The Contribu-
tion of the Armed Forces to the Econ-
omy of the Yukon” (Speech to White-
horse Board of Trade), 12 January 1960.
16 Jones, “The Alaska Highway.”
17 D Hist, 112.352.000 (D88), “Letter,
D.S.D. to D. Org,” 17 January 1946.
18 Major A. B. Yates, “Maintaining the
Alaska Highway,” The Royal Engineers
Journal, Vol. 58, No. 1, March 1954.
19 Jones, “The Contribution of the Armed
Forces to the Economy of the Yukon.”
20 Ibid.
21 Edmonton Bulletin, 23 August 1948.
22 Ibid.
23 Windsor Star, 24 February 1959.
24 Montreal Gazette, 19 August 1959.
25 House of Commons Debates, 21 June
1954, 6421.
26 House of Commons Debates, 14 Janu-
ary 1955, 330.
27 Montreal Gazette, 19 August 1959.
28 Jones, “The Contribution of the Armed
Forces to the Economy of the Yukon.”
29 R. C. McNeill, “Putting Canada on the
Map,” Sentinel 6/3 (March 1970), 16.
30 B. W. Waugh, “Arctic Mapping,” in
Sentinel 6/3 (March 1970), 44.
31 McNeill, “Putting Canada on the
Map,” 19.
32 K. R. Greenaway and S. E. Colthorpe,
An Aerial Reconnaissance of Arctic North
America (Ottawa: King’s Printer, 1948),
xi.
33 R. H. Winfield, “The Royal Air Force
North Polar Research Flights, 1945,”
Polar Record 5/33-34 (1947), 12.
34 D Hist, 75/35, A. H. Warren, “Oper-
ation Investigator.”
35 RCAF, Directorate of Public Relations,
Release No. 7218.
36 Documents on Operation Beetle are
fragmentary. In the main they consist
of a jigsaw puzzle-like collection of

messages, operation orders, adminis-
trative instructions and memoranda,
collected in two file folders held in
D Hist, North West Air Command-
Operation “Beetle,” 181-009 (D6561
and D6556). A minor supplementary
source exists in the form of the Oper-
ations Record Book of the three stations:
214 RCAF (LF) Loran (Monitoring)
Unit Sawmill Bay, NWT, 5 RCAF (LF)
Loran (Slave) Unit, Cambridge Bay,
NWT and 4 RCAF (LF) Loran (Master)
Unit, Kittigazuit, NWT. All subse-
quent references to Operation Beetle
are from one or more of the above
mentioned sources.
37 Eleanor A. Ellis, “Education of the
Eskimo for Wage Employment,” Can-
adian Geographical Journal 73/5 (Novem-
ber 1966), 152-3.
38 R. H. Lee, “Army Trains Eskimos,”
Canadian Army Journal 14/4 (Fall 1960),
218-32.
39 DND (Army) Department of Public
Relations, “Fort Churchill Round Up,”
February 1956.
K.C. EYRE
40 A. M. Pennie, “Defence Research
Northern Laboratory,” Canadian Army
Journal 10/1 (January 1956), 478.
41 Regina Leader Post, 11 February 1957.
42 House of Commons Debates, 14 Octo-
ber 1963, 3526.
43 House of Commons Debates, 14 Octo-
ber 1963, 5456, 5483, 5526, 5577, 5578.
44 House of Commons Debates, 5-6 De-
cember 1963, 5483, 5551.
45 Edmonton Journal, 26 October 1963. The
transfer of responsibility for the road,
in the final analysis, had little impact
on the basic economic factors relating
to highway paving. Paving was finally
completed in 1992 – 50 years after the
Highway was officially opened.
46 Discussion of the roles of these sta-
tions is not covered in this chapter.
47 Winnipeg Free Press, 13 September 1966.
48 Whitehorse Star, 29 August 1966.
231
Calgary Papers in Military and Strategic Studies, Occasional Paper No. 4, 2011
Canadian Arctic Sovereignty and Security: Historical Perspectives Pages 233–258

Claiming the Frozen Seas: The

Evolution of Canadian Policy in the
Arctic Waters
Adam Lajeunesse

I
n September 1969, the American supertanker S.S. Manhattan set out to
test the feasibility of shipping petroleum through the Northwest Passage.
Moving into the Canadian Arctic without having requested transit per-
mission from Ottawa, the supertanker and its US Coast Guard escort, the
USCG Northwind, quickly provoked an international incident.1 For most
Canadians, this was the first indication that their sovereignty over the Arctic
waters was in any way insecure. Yet the Manhattan incident was a manifesta-
tion of a long standing difference of opinion over the status of those waters.
The furor it created also marked the end of nearly two decades of Canadian
policy which had relied upon quiet discretion and the maintenance of the
status quo to preserve and strengthen its sovereignty claim and ultimately
win American acquiescence. This study is an attempt to trace the evolution
of that policy from the late 1940s until the voyage of the Manhattan. Records
from the era largely remain classified and any attempt to piece together the
precise shifts in official Canadian thought must, by necessity, be incomplete
and partially speculative. There is however enough material now in the pub-
lic domain to sketch the process of government policy evolution up until the
late 1960s with confidence.
The vast majority of scholarship on the subject of sovereignty over the
Arctic waters tends to begin with the voyage of the Manhattan, the point at
which the issue truly left the political shadows and stepped into the public’s
eye. Much of the academic inquiry has also been done from a legal perspec-
tive – such as the extensive work of Donat Pharand2 – rather than from a
political or historical one. However, it was the earlier period, stretching from
the Second World War to the Manhattan, where the political groundwork for
the later sovereignty battles was quietly laid down.
The nature of Canadian policy during this period is not in any real dis-
pute. That the Canadian claims had been inconsistent and hesitant is widely
agreed upon by the historians who have shaped the historiography, such as
Jack Granatstein, Edgar Dosman, and Elizabeth Elliot-Meisel.3 The origins

© Centre for Military and Strategic Studies http://cmss.ucalgary.ca/ 233

CLAIMING THE FROZEN SEAS

of this hesitancy are also largely accepted, namely the fear of an American
legal and political challenge to any firmly asserted Canadian claims and the
uncertain status of international law. Whitney Lackenbauer would also cite
a general desire not to upset the ongoing Canada-United States continental
defence projects.4
What remains are a set of important questions: How effective was this
policy of prevarication? In fact, can it even be considered a policy? Was this
inaction the result of a conscious and considered decision on the part of
Canadian governments to allow time to strengthen Canadian sovereignty
or did it simply represent a lack of policy and an aimless political drift? The
most recent and certainly the most direct attempt to address this issue has
been the work of Lackenbauer and Peter Kikkert.5 The Lackenbauer ap-
proach considers this “careful diplomacy” to be a considered and ultimately
effective policy which strengthened Canada’s legal and political position in
the North.6
This position does a good job of placing the actions of External Affairs
within the context of the limitations of their times. It distorts the actions
and intent of successive Canadian governments, however, by placing them
within a policy framework which did not truly exist and, this chapter argues,
greatly exaggerates their accomplishments. The ‘wait and see’ approach
which successive Canadian governments hoped would strengthen their pos-
ition in fact accomplished the opposite and the policy of carefully building a
precedent of Canadian sovereignty was in fact no policy at all but rather the
ad hoc reactions of a government with no consistent direction and, it could be
argued, an equal measure of political will.
Ironically Canada did, in a sense, possess a reasonable and fairly consist-
ent policy throughout the 1950s and 1960s. The decision to rely on straight
baselines as a means of claiming sovereignty over the waters of the Arctic
archipelago was reached in 1956 and it was this policy, with only minor
alterations, which was ultimately implemented by the Mulroney government
in 1985. Yet there remained a fundamental disconnect between this policy
and the pronouncements and actions of politicians. The various actions and
statements on the subject from the St. Laurent, Pearson and Diefenbaker gov-
ernments did not serve to build precedent since they were inconsistent and
often contradictory. Rather, they demonstrated a complete lack of direction,
confusion and uncertainty about what it was in the Arctic Canada claimed
and why or how exactly it claimed it. Whatever policy had been developed
and still existed at the bureaucratic level failed utterly to manifest at the pol-
itical level.

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The result was that Canadian control and ownership in the region,
which the government sought to establish, remained weaker than it would
have had a more consistent and direct policy actually been implemented
and carried throughout the period. This does not necessarily mean push-
ing an overt claim to sovereignty and demanding global – and particularly
American – acceptance. By the early 1960s at least that had proven impossible
to achieve at acceptable political costs. However it is hardly hindsight to sug-
gest that, if the ultimate policy of the government was to establish precedent
and gradually accrue sovereignty, then a consistent, specific and even overt
policy could have been enunciated and followed with minimal political risk.
Ultimately, the foundation which this lack of policy left the government with
in 1969 was weak and wide open to challenge.
In 1946, Lester Pearson, then Canada’s ambassador to the United States,
published an article entitled “Canada Looks down North.” In it, he claimed
that Canada’s sovereignty extended to “not only Canada’s northern mainland,
but the islands and the frozen sea north of the mainland between the merid-
ians of its east and west boundaries extending to the North Pole.”7 While not
representing official policy, Pearson’s article demonstrated the beginning of
a shift in Canadian thinking about the Arctic. It introduced a new element to
the question of sovereignty, namely the question of ownership over the vast
frozen waters within what was then referred to as the ‘Canadian sector.’
What made this a novel event was the fact that, until the post war years,
Canadian sovereignty concerns in the North had been focused almost ex-
clusively upon the lands.8 Since the transfer of the Arctic from British to
Canadian control there had been a number of naval expeditions sent north
to consolidate Canada’s claim. However the object of all these expeditions
had been terrestrial sovereignty.9 Beginning in 1946 with the joint Canadian-
American weather station program this changed, as missions through the
Arctic archipelago, predominantly by American vessels, became a regular oc-
currence. Like sovereignty concerns over the land, the prospect of American
vessels traveling through waters devoid of any significant Canadian pres-
ence unsettled the government.
Elliot-Meisel points to 1945 as the time when Canadian concerns began
to shift from the lands to the waters however it is difficult to see such a shift
so early.10 Despite this increased interest, attempts to claim the Arctic waters
remained few and unofficial. Canadian attention remained focused on the
increasingly frequent American requests for military installations across the
North. Since the Mackenzie King government still felt unsure of its claims
to many of the uninhabited islands of the region it is understandable that

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the status of the waters would be of secondary concern. More convincing is

Gordon Smith’s assessment that concerns for the status of the waters became
paramount only in the 1950s.11
In the late 1940s, there was also no vehicle in accepted international law
for claiming the Arctic waters, at least beyond the traditional three mile ter-
ritorial sea. Indeed, the only means of asserting Canadian authority was to
lump the waters in with the land using what was called the sector theory.
This theory assumed the use of meridians as national borders, running from
a state’s eastern and western extremes to the pole. All territory bracketed
by these lines, discovered or not, supposedly belonged to that country.
This is what Pearson had claimed in 1946 and what others had occasionally
toyed with as well. For instance, Hugh Keenleyside – then Deputy Minister
of Mines and Resources – repeated the claim in 1949, describing Canada’s
Arctic as including: “the Arctic islands and their waters, the northern half of
Quebec and Labrador, and that segment of the ice-capped polar sea that is
caught within the Canadian sector.”12
The use of the sector for claiming the waters was a kind of default pos-
ition, used simply because it provided the easiest justification for extending
sovereignty out into what were international waters. There was little real
chance of successfully claiming anything based on the sector principal. The
United States had consistently rejected it13 and it was not, and never would
be, recognized as a legitimate principal in international law.14 The claims
made to the waters in the latter half of the 1940s were really little more than
political posturing with no real foundation. Indeed, by March 1950 the
Interdepartmental Committee on Territorial Waters had officially recom-
mended postponing any decision on the question of sovereignty and by June
a study requested by the Department of Justice had determined that it could
find no indication that Canada had ever actually laid down a firm ruling on
the status of the waters within the archipelago or on the legal status of the
Arctic ice.15
It was only in the early 1950s that policy concerning the waters slowly
began to evolve more realistic aims and methods. The catalyst proved to be a
shift in international law brought about by the International Court of Justice
(I.C.J.) decision in the 1951 Anglo-Norwegian Fisheries Case. The Norwegian
victory legitimized that country’s claim to the archipelagic fringe along its
coast as historic internal waters through the use of straight baselines; these
baselines being lines drawn from headland to headland along the coast which
enclosed the waters to landward as internal and under the full sovereignty of
the state. The court upheld Norway’s claim based on the nature of the coast,

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the fact that these waters had long been regarded and treated as internal by
Norway, and the long history of implicit recognition by other states.16
The case introduced an interesting new precedent into international law
by legitimizing the enclosing of indented coastlines and archipelagos in a
fashion which had previously been reserved only for historic bays. However,
the case’s wider applicability was uncertain. While the court did place heavy
emphasis on the particular nature of the area’s geography, it also stated that
its judgement on the ‘Norwegian system’ was not an exceptional case but
rather “the application of general international law to a specific case.”17
This ruling thus produced a precedent by which Canada could conceiv-
ably enclose and claim the waters of the Arctic archipelago. The archipelago
met the basic requirements of the ruling. It was a group of islands which
formed a single unit and an integral part of the coast. The Canadian ratio of
water to land was higher than in the Norwegian example, 8.22:1; however
in the opinion of legal expert Donat Pharand, that ratio was close enough
and enhanced by the presence of permanent ice cover.18 Canada could also
prove an economic interest of long duration in the waters of the archipelago
through the activities of the local Inuit population which has hunted on the
ice since time immemorial. The history of state control was relatively sparse,
however there had never been an overt challenge to Canada’s authority and
would not be until the voyage of the Manhattan in 1969.
Largely due to this development in international law, Canadian policy
appears to have shifted away from the use of the sector theory by the early
1950s, at least for the purpose of claiming waters. In 1954, the Department
of Mines and Resources published a survey of Canada’s territorial bound-
aries and, despite conspicuously drawing national boundary lines through
the Arctic Ocean up to the North Pole, it made clear that these waters were
not Canadian. Rather, the sector lines were described as “merely lines of
allocation, which are delimited through the high seas or unexplored areas
for the purpose of allocating lands without conveying sovereignty over the
high seas.”19 The next year the Minister of Resources and Development, Jean
Lesage, told a Commons Committee on Estimates that Canada definitely did
not base its claim to the Arctic waters on the sector principle and had no
formal claim over the Arctic Ocean. When questioned by opposition mem-
ber Douglas Harkness at that same meeting about what claims Canada did
make, Mr. Lesage replied that the entire question was under review and ser-
ious study by an inter-departmental committee.20
The Interdepartmental Committee on Territorial Waters had been study-
ing the broader question of maritime jurisdiction since 1949. By 1952 it was

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CLAIMING THE FROZEN SEAS

working in conjunction with Professor Dean Curtis, who External Affairs

had commissioned to help survey Canadian options in light of the Fisheries
Case and other changes to international law.21 The focus of most of this work
was on the Atlantic, yet some departments were already expressing an inter-
est in the potential of drawing baselines around the Arctic archipelago.22
By 1955 a cabinet committee had also been formed to study the question
of the Arctic in more detail. This committee’s recommendations to Cabinet
were presented on 28 February 1956. They were extremely conservative
and appear to differ very little from the advice consistently offered by the
Interdepartmental Committee. Namely, it was suggested that the govern-
ment continue to avoid any action on the issue.23 Yet despite the cautious
recommendations, the final Cabinet decision, taken on 15 March 1956, repre-
sented a dramatic policy re-evaluation. Cabinet had essentially settled on
claiming as internal (or inland) the waters within the Arctic Archipelago.
This Cabinet decision read:

. . . the waters of the archipelago are Canadian inland waters.

For present purposes these might be taken as waters within a
line starting at Resolution Island, southeast of Baffin Island, and
running from headland to headland in a route triangle north to
the top of Ellesmere Island and thence southwest to Banks Island
and the Arctic coast of Canada.24

While the Committee had cautioned the government with regards to the
potential political risks of using baselines, the decision to rely upon them
as the new basis of Canadian claims is clearly indicated by the use of the
words ‘inland waters,’ the description of a line ‘running from headland to
headland’ and the fact that by November 1956 the Department of Mines and
Technical Surveys had drawn up a series of straight baselines to enclose the
waters of the Arctic archipelago.25
On 3 August 1956, in the House of Commons, this policy shift was
implied for the first time. In an exchange with Conservative Member of
Parliament (MP) Alvin Hamilton over the status of the Arctic Ocean, Mr.
Lesage announced that his government had “never subscribed to the sector
theory in application to the ice.” He continued on to say: “we have never sub-
scribed to a general sector theory. To our mind the sea, be it frozen or in its
natural liquid state, is the sea; and our sovereignty exists over the land and
over our territorial waters.” When Hamilton objected to this stance, Lesage
simply replied that he hoped his colleague believed in the freedom of the

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seas, which is exactly what the government now considered the Arctic Ocean
to be.26
This Cabinet decision market the beginning of a policy which, while
not openly adopted until 1985, informed the actions of External Affairs and,
through them, other government departments which requested information
on Canadian policy and the Arctic. This policy survived and was used in
Liberal and Conservative administrations and was still used by External
Affairs as late as 1968.27
It was a solid and, relative to the sector claims at least, a legally defens-
ible position. In his article “A Fit of Absence of Mind,” Jack Granatstein sees
the statements of Lesage and the Liberals in 1956 as those of a confused
government, unsure of its policy.28 On the contrary, Lesage’s statements to
the House represented the beginnings of the first firm policy over the Arctic
waters Canada had ever designed. In his response to Hamilton, Lesage was
not disavowing Canadian sovereignty over all the Arctic waters. A closer
reading of his statement indicates that he was only disavowing the sector
principle and any Canadian claims to the Arctic Ocean. Nowhere does he
surrender any ground on Canadian ownership of the waters within the
archipelago. Granatstein goes on to say that on 6 April 1957 Prime Minister
St. Laurent “offhandedly took back the Arctic waters” in his comments to the
House of Commons.29 St. Laurent had told the House: “Oh yes, the Canadian
government considers that these are Canadian territorial waters.”30 Yet, the
Prime Minster was not taking anything back which had been given away.
The waters under discussion at the time were those within the archipelago,
which the government had every intention of holding onto.
The decision to base Canadian sovereignty claims on straight baselines
was a delicate task. Despite the ICJ ruling in the Fisheries Case the legal
validity of any potential Canadian claims was still a great unknown. The
geography and history of the Canadian and Norwegian archipelagos were
very different and the fear of an American challenge to a Canadian assertion
of sovereignty was ever present. By 1952, the Interdepartmental Committee
was advising the Privy Council Office that the I.C.J. decision’s applicability
elsewhere remained “ambiguous.”31 The exact allowable length of baselines
was not laid out in 1951 or even later at the 1958 Law of the Sea Conference
in Geneva.32 Norway’s baselines however stretched from only a few hun-
dred yards to a maximum of 44 miles.33 Canada’s would be considerably
longer. The preliminary survey done for the Minister of Mines and Technical
Surveys in 1956 placed the total baseline length at 2,902 miles, with the lar-
gest enclosed strait being M’Clure Strait with a line of 130 miles across.34

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The potential status of the Arctic waters as ‘historic,’ a factor which had
played a crucial role in the Norwegian victory, also remained nebulous.
There was no solid definition of ‘historic waters’ given either in 1951 or in
the 1958 Convention on the Territorial Sea, though the principal was stud-
ied in two important U.N. Secretariat documents prepared at the time of the
first Law of the Sea Conference. The first document was a 1957 Memorandum
on Historic Bays and the second, a 1962 study on the Juridical Regime of
Historic Waters, including Historic Bays. These studies pointed out the close
relation between the concept of historic waters and historic rights in general
on the one hand and the concepts of custom, prescription and occupation
on the other. It was presumed that any historic rights and titles have been
preceded by two elements: a constant practice or exercise of state author-
ity and a toleration or acquiescence on the part of other states, particularly
those directly concerned or affected by the practice in question.35 These
principals of occupation and acceptance were also the same means given
for the consolidation of title for straight baselines, though with a lower bur­
den of proof.36
Canada’s history of exercising authority over the waters in question
was an area of concern. The Inuit had long used the ice for hunting and
transportation; however these activities only reinforced the Canadian
claim to the specific areas of Inuit activity, leaving out some of the waters
further west and north. Canada could also point to a series of naval exped-
itions; for instance the expeditions of Captain J.E. Bernier (from 1904-1910),
the Eastern Arctic Patrol (begun in 1922) and the work of the CGS Labrador
(which began operations in 1954). Yet, more important was the active ap-
plication of Canadian law to these waters. This had been accomplished to
some extent by amending the Fisheries Act in 1906 and forcing whalers to
obtain licenses to operate in Hudson Bay and the waters north of the 55th
parallel.37 During his voyages of 1906-7 and 1908-09, Captain Bernier col-
lected licensing fees from Scottish and American whalers, thus implying
some foreign acceptance of Canadian authority.38 Despite this, Canada’s
historic control remained limited to a relatively few examples and still
covered only a small portion of the waters in question. As such, the govern-
ment lacked the confidence that its case was strong enough to bring before
an international tribunal.
In addition, and perhaps of even greater concern than the legal validity
of the case, was the potential reaction of the United States. Throughout its
history the United States has remained a strong proponent of the freedom
of the seas. It had never accepted the sector principal as a basis for claiming

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sovereignty and its policy on the Arctic waters as a whole was fairly clear. In
1951 a State Department policy note was sent to its embassies and consulates
to inform its representatives of official policy:

Nor could the Arctic seas, in our view, be made subject to ‘ter-
ritorial’ sovereignty of any state even though they might contain
ice areas having some characteristics of land . . . The U.S. position
is that the Arctic seas and the air spaces above them, in so far as
they are outside of accepted territorial limits, are open to com-
merce and navigation in the same degree as other open seas.39

Reference to the ‘frozen seas’ could be interpreted to apply only to the

larger seas within various sector claims. This would include sections of the
Arctic Ocean as well as the Barents, Laptev, Kara and East Siberian Seas
north of Russia, which were then being talked about by the Russians as
part of their sector.40 However the prospect of an American rejection of any
Canadian claim was real and fear of such a rejection contributed a great deal
to the Canadian government’s decision to refrain from making its new policy
public.
Instead, the ultimate objective of the Canadian government seems to
have been to gradually consolidate its title to the Arctic waters. By building a
precedent of Canadian activity and authority in the region and by ensuring
that its control was not questioned by any foreign state, Canadian govern-
ments assumed they could create a stronger foundation for a future claim
when international law had developed or circumstances became more propi-
tious.
While this tactic had the benefit of preventing any outright rejection
and the political difficulties which that would entail, it posed a number of
problems as well. While the St. Laurent government may have had a firm
idea of what it was it wanted to claim, the government’s discretion went be-
yond simply keeping the policy unofficial. There was no public mention at
all that the Canadian government considered the Arctic waters to be internal.
In his statement to the House in 1957, St. Laurent continued to refer to them
as ‘territorial’ just as Lesage had done when debating Hamilton in March
1955.41 This was a somewhat confusing stance since international law did not
allow for territorial waters past the three mile limit.42 A casual clarification
of Canadian claims would have done much in the way of setting a precedent
and clarifying a confusing situation. It would also have been unlikely to elicit
much of a reaction from the United States, particularly in the late 1950s when

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the construction of the D.E.W. line was so high a priority to the American
government.
The result of this secrecy was that the Canadian stance remained
ambiguous and inconsistent as different interpretations of Canadian
sovereignty were not reined in. A month after the policy was laid down,
the Privy Council Office circulated a letter to all government departments
informing them of Canada’s principled decision to “lay claim to sover-
eignty over the waters of these channels” and instructed them not to take
any action or make any public statements which might prejudice a future
Canadian claim.43 This was a passive approach; actions which would preju-
dice the claim were avoided, but statements which might strengthen it were
not encouraged. These instructions also did not govern the actions of op-
position MPs or, more importantly, the actions of the opposition when it
came into power.
By June 1957, the Liberal government had been replaced by John
Diefenbaker’s Conservatives. While the Conservatives had access to and
must have been aware of the Liberal Cabinet decision, they seem to have
paid it less attention. That it was an unofficial and secret policy, doing so
proved easy. Alvin Hamilton, who had questioned Jean Lesage’s anti-sector
theory pronouncements in 1956, was made Minister of Northern Affairs and
National Resources in August 1957. In June 1958, he brought the sector prin-
ciple back into play in a speech to the Standing Committee on Mines, Forests,
and Waters. There he claimed that “the area to the north of Canada, including
the islands and waters between the islands and areas beyond, are looked upon
as our own and there is no doubt in the mind of this government, nor do I
think in the minds of former governments of Canada, that this is national
terrain.”44 While the sector theory is not specifically mentioned, Hamilton’s
reference to ‘areas beyond’ heavily implies its influence.
To add to the confusion, Lester Pearson, who had been a member of the
former Liberal Cabinet as Secretary of State for External Affairs, publicly ad-
vocated revisiting the sector theory in the House of Commons two months
later.45 Pearson had been a proponent of the sector theory at least since his
article in Foreign Affairs first claimed the Arctic waters for Canada in 1946.
Free from the constraints of upholding his government’s unofficial policy,
Pearson launched back into the debate intent on again advocating for the sec-
tor. Yet, only two months after making his sector pronouncement, Hamilton
appeared to have reversed course slightly and stated that Canadian sover-
eignty was in fact principally based on occupation, noticeably sidestepping
the sector theory yet not abandoning it.46

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The Conservative use of the sector principal was short lived however and
Hamilton’s original statement seems more likely to have been a nationalistic
exaggeration, not uncommon in Commons debates, rather than a conscious
policy shift. Instead, the new government had decided to place less emphasis
on the sector and more on the idea of exercising effective occupation. How
Canada could effectively occupy the vast frozen icecap of the Arctic Ocean
was never discussed in any detail. However, gradually the sector theory
was marginalized and ultimately, in February 1960, a memorandum was
presented to Cabinet by External Affairs recommending it be placed “in re-
serve,” stating that no claims should be made to “the waters and ice of the
polar basin.”47 It was further suggested that a decision be reached in principle
to claim the waters of the Northwest Passage. Yet, by the end of the decade,
the Conservative position had become truly confusing. In March 1960, when
Liberal MP Paul Hellyer asked if the government still subscribed to the sector
theory, he received the evasive response of “we subscribe to the Canadian
theory of sovereignty.”48 What exactly that meant remains a mystery.
Despite Diefenbaker’s well documented mistrust of External Affairs,
there had been no major turnover in that department’s bureaucracy dur-
ing the period and it is likely that the Conservatives were getting most of
the same advice as their Liberal predecessors. Indeed the memorandum of
February 1960 mentioned above certainly seems to imply this. And in 1962,
while official government policy remained unclear, the Legal Division of
External Affairs was still using the 1956 decision to advise the military on
Canada’s position in the Arctic.49 It is possible that the Diefenbaker govern-
ment accepted the logic of the Liberal decision on baselines and simply found
it politically difficult to publicly abandon Canada’s informal claims. Or per-
haps, like the Liberals, they were hesitant to publicly call the waters internal,
lest that be taken as a declaration of sovereignty and provoke some form of
international backlash. Regardless, the effect was to allow the issue to remain
nebulous and to leave ministers without direction, clearly evidenced by the
numerous conflicting or inconsistent statements on the subject. Ultimately
this produced the image of a government unsure of its sovereignty, unsure
of what it claimed and how or why it claimed it.
The decision to avoid a direct claim to the waters of the Archipelago
may have avoided a direct confrontation with the United States; however, the
building up of a precedent for Canadian sovereignty was almost certainly
hindered by the failure to annunciate a reasonable and consistent govern-
ment policy. Politically this uncertainty did not boost Canadian credibility
while legally it could only have been unhelpful.

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In its Fisheries ruling, the I.C.J. had cited the fact that Norway was able
to prove that it had applied the same system of delimitation consistently and
without interruption for some eighty years before 1951. The I.C.J. had ruled
that “in the light of these considerations, and in the absence of convincing
evidence to the contrary, the Court is bound to hold that the Norwegian au-
thorities applied their system of delimitation consistently and uninterrupt-
edly from 1869 until the time when the dispute arose.”50 The verdict was not
unanimous however and the dissenting judges stated that the flaw in the
Norwegian case was their lack of precision. In the opinion of Judge Hus Mo,
the Norwegians did not adequately define the space which they considered
to be under their control, nor – according to Judges McNair and Reid – did
they adequately advertise this information.51
Despite these shortcomings, the uncertainty of the Canadian position
stands is stark contrast to the consistency and specificity of the Norwegian
claims. If, as Judge Mo stated, “precision is vital to any prescriptive claim to
areas of water which might otherwise be high seas,” the ambiguity of the
Canadian claim and the failure to state publicly a consistent position must
retard the solidification of its sovereignty.
The political effects of this ambiguity were important as well and per-
haps best illustrated by a murder on the ice. In July 1970 on Ice Island T-3
an American named Bennie Lindsey was murdered by another American,
Mario Jamie Escamilla. This island was adrift at the time at 84° 45.8’ N and
106° 24.4’ W, coordinates within the Canadian sector. Lindsey was brought
back to the United States and convicted of manslaughter on the high seas.
Canada failed to demand jurisdiction over the case, as it should have if it
truly claimed sovereignty over the waters of its sector. Nor however did
it disavow interest in the case. Instead it sent a message to the American
government which read: “The Canadian government continues to reserve its
position on the question of jurisdiction . . . and if it is considered necessary for
the purposes of the legal proceedings in question the Canadian government
hereby waives jurisdiction.”52 When the defence attorneys persisted in trying
to get behind the meaning of the Canadian note they were unable to get any
clear answers on what exactly Canada’s official position was. The reaction of
the American court to the Canadian note was described in a telegram from
the Canadian Embassy to External Affairs:

Judge Lewis said that if you really got behind big fancy words
used in note all it really meant was that Cda was saying it re-
served right at some time in the future if it ever thought worth

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 ADAM LAJEUNESSE

its while to claim as much jurisdiction as it could get away with.

This caused great deal of laughter in court room, particularly
from State Dept. reps. [sic]53

Despite the uncertainly of the Canadian claim, the traditional American

aversion to restrictions of the high seas and the stated American interest in
maintaining the Arctic seas as international waters, Canadian policy actual-
ly enjoyed admirable success until at least the early 1960s. Technically, the
international acceptance which Canada sought for its claims did not need to
be explicit recognition. The Norwegian government had successfully been
able to argue that it considered the absence of reaction on the part of foreign
states as sufficient to confirm the peaceful and continuous character of its
claim.54 The sufficiency of a mere absence of protest was again confirmed in
the U.N.’s 1962 Juridical Regime of Historic Waters, Including Historic Bays.55
Donat Pharand concluded in 1971 that that this “general toleration” by
other states was enough to consolidate a historical claim.56 Maurice Bourquin
takes a similar position, expanding and stating that only if foreign states
actively interfere with the exercise of sovereignty can it be considered an
effective protest.57 Writing in 1963, Ivan Head, then a Foreign Service Officer
with the Department of External Affairs, was content that Canada had man-
aged to meet these criteria. In an article in the McGill Law School Journal he
wrote: “As the years pass and as occupation becomes more effective, always
in the absence of any foreign claim, the title assumes those characteristics of
continuity and peaceful lack of disturbance which international law requires
to be present in valid territorial claims.”58
This was the case because, despite theoretical objections to enclosing
large bodies of water, American policy towards the Arctic remained prag-
matic. There had been no American attempts to have the archipelagic waters
recognized as international straits nor was there even any attempt to force
Canada to recognize the Arctic Ocean as high seas. American vessels were
never sent into the archipelago without Canadian permission and Ottawa
had been able to effectively assert its control over maritime traffic in the area.
The rational for the American decision to go along with Canadian demands
was simple and obvious. The Northern defence projects, from weather sta-
tions and airbases to the massive D.E.W. line project, needed to be supplied.
From 1955 to 1957 the construction of the D.E.W. line required 324 voyages
into the waters of the archipelago by ships carrying 1.25 million tons of build-
ing material and supplies.59 The United States government was well aware of
Canadian sensitivities regarding Arctic sovereignty and understood that to

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have challenged Canada over the issue would not only have caused a breach
in Canadian-American relations but it would have hindered or killed defence
projects which the United States considered vital to its national security.
The American government thus considered it expedient to offer Canada
a level of implicit recognition. As such, the Americans requested permission
before sending vessels into the Arctic and even referred to sections of the
Northwest Passage as “Canadian territorial waters.”60 While the paths of
American Navy missions did at times lead through Canada’s internation-
ally recognized three-mile territorial sea, it is important to note that the State
Department made no distinction between that territorial sea and the areas
which, in theory, it should have called international waters.
Throughout the 1940s and 1950s, whenever the United States Navy en-
tered the waters of the archipelago, the Canadian government made sure that
it was consulted on every aspect of the voyage, from activities and crew to pos-
sible routes. If a route was to be changed, Ottawa insisted on being informed.
For the construction and supply of the D.E.W. line, the United States sent out
two major convoys each year between 1955 and 1958. For each, the US Navy
was required to apply for a waiver from the provisions of the Canada Shipping
Act, implying that the United States government recognized the authority of
that act, and thus of the Canadian government. In the House of Commons,
Prime Minister St. Laurent stated that he was not sure “whether we can in-
terpret the fact that they did comply with our requirements that they obtain a
waiver . . . as an admission that these are territorial waters, but if they were not
territorial waters there would be no point in asking for a waiver.”61
Even as late as 1958 the United States continued to request permission
to undertake hydrographic surveys in sections of the Northwest Passage
and, in their communications with External Affairs, made no effort to
dispute Canadian control over those waters or even hint at the possibility
that the United States government might consider them to be anything but
Canadian.62 The issue becomes less clear into the 1960s, both because records
become generally less available and because American naval activity shifts
to the use of nuclear submarines, whose activities are almost always secret.
However from the records available it appears as though the United States
generally continued this quiet acknowledgement of Canadian authority at
least until 1963.
In 1958 the nuclear attack submarine USS Nautilus made the first sub-
merged transit to the North Pole in a voyage hailed as a triumph by President
Eisenhower and the American media. The passage demonstrated the poten-
tial use of the Arctic as a transit corridor between the Pacific and Atlantic and

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even as a potential commercial highway.63 The voyage also marked the be-
ginning of regular American submarine transits through the Arctic waters.
The first voyage through the archipelago was undertaken two years later by
the USS Seadragon. Canada had an observer aboard the Seadragon in the per-
son of Commodore O.C.S. Robertson (R.C.N) and had been informed of the
passage beforehand. According to Canadian documents, the United States
government had requested “Canadian concurrence” in advance of the voy-
age. External Affairs was pleased to comply as they considered the precedent
would greatly strengthen Canada’s claim that the waters were internal since
there would be no need to request Canadian concurrence to transit the high
seas or an international strait. As such, permission was granted in accord-
ance with the Canada- United States agreed clearance procedure for visits by
public vessels and a reply was sent on a service to service basis.64
Since the government had classed the Seadragon’s voyage as an oper-
ational visit it believed that only notification rather than an official request
was required. Captain George Steele, commander of the Seadragon, also made
it clear in his 1962 book, Seadragon, Northwest under the Ice, that the voyage
was undertaken with the cooperation of Canada and in the context of joint
alliance cooperation.65 The 1962 voyage of the USS Skate worked in the much
the same way. Again, Canada was “formally notified” of the Skate’s plans
and the Canadian Defence Department noted that notification was made in
accordance with established procedures for operational visits. It was again
explicitly assumed that American concurrence was strengthening Canadian
sovereignty.66 This view was not without foundation. It thus seems fairly
clear that until at least 1962 the American government was still prepared to
offer Canada the implicit recognition that it required. While it may not have
agreed with Canadian sovereignty claims it did not actively oppose them
and that was the crucial point.
It seems clear that throughout this period the United States was as in-
terested in avoiding a political controversy over the subject as was Canada.
Yet the pragmatic American stance did not necessarily mean that the United
States was disinterested in the ultimate fate of the Arctic waters. Following
the voyage of the Seadragon, Captain Steele was told to avoid discussing the
issue of sovereignty with reporters and if the question of “internal versus ter-
ritorial waters” was raised he was to simply refer it to the Navy Department.
More interestingly, the captain was also told to avoid answering any ques-
tion about whether or not Canadian clearance had been requested for the
passage.67 The American government was also concerned with the prospect
of appearing to recognize Canadian sovereignty. Indeed, by 1962 an External

247
CLAIMING THE FROZEN SEAS

Affairs memo described the Americans as being “fully alive to the sover-
eignty question” and likely to “balk” at recognizing any Canadian claims
outside its three mile territorial limits.68
In the late 1950s and early 1960s American interest in the status of the
waters had increased along with its potential strategic and economic import-
ance. Apart from the increased attention caused by the arrival of the nuclear
submarine there had also been major oil discoveries in the late 1950s, trans-
forming Alaska into a potentially important petroleum reserve. President
Dwight Eisenhower’s naval aide, Peter Aurand, described the President’s
reaction to the Nautilus’ passage in particular:

The President emphasised to me the great advantages of a sea

route through the Northwest Passage for commercial purposes.
When you look at a map of the Arctic, commercial nuclear sub-
marines come into the picture to great advantage by cutting the
distance between Tokyo and London by thousands of miles.
Moreover if they bring in large oil reserves in the Point Barrow
region, in case of war, this route would be the closest supply to
Europe by far.69

The first years of the 1960s had also seen ever increasing attempts
around the world to close off large areas of the high seas. Canada had cer-
tainly not been the only state to consider the application of straight baselines.
By 1960 Indonesia had drawn baselines around its entire archipelago and
the Philippines would do likewise in June 1961. Unlike the Arctic however,
these nations lay astride vital sea lanes and their actions provoked vigor-
ous American protests. In 1960 the United States conveyed its displeasure by
announcing that the submarine, USS Triton, would pass through the waters
about to be claimed by the Philippines on its circumnavigation of the globe.70
For these reasons, obtaining American compliance appears to have be-
come an increasingly sensitive and awkward affair as the 1960s progressed.
During the 1962 return voyage of the USS Skate, for instance, External Affairs
learned of the transit only after it had already begun. The department felt
the need to protest yet worried that this might be misunderstood and create
“political embarrassment.” It was also hoped to convince the United States
to consult with them in the future before any publicity regarding such tran-
sits, though it was admitted that specifying the basis of Canada’s right to be
consulted had to be expressly avoided, since doing so might also provoke an
undesirable reply.71

248
 ADAM LAJEUNESSE

The channel through which American transits were handled also

changed in the 1960s. The submarine voyages were arranged on a service
to service basis, which appears to have been consistent with standard naval
practice. However it was a departure from the norm of Arctic operations.
In the 1950s External Affairs had preferred to deal directly with the State
Department, given the importance of the issue.72 Yet, by the 1960s External
was purposefully encouraging service to service communication because of
its concern that the State Department might now have an “adverse approach
to the question.”73
Some experts have suggested that the 1960s would have been the ideal
time for Canada to have claimed compete sovereignty over the archipelago
by pointing to the decline of the region’s strategic importance and the relative
lull in Arctic activity compared to the previous decade.74 Indeed, by 1962 Ivan
Head was claiming that the United States had already recognized the waters
of the archipelago as territorial and was calling for a claim of historic waters
to be made.75 Yet, the “golden tranquil years of the 1960s” as Edgar Dosman
called them were anything but.76 For the legal, economic and strategic rea-
sons elaborated upon, the American government had actually become less
disposed to recognizing Canadian control in the Arctic than at any other
previous point. In fact the claim that men like L.C. Green, Head, and Dosman
called for had actually been attempted in 1963, though this was certainly not
made public at the time.
In the early 1960s, Canadian Arctic sovereignty claims were tied up in
a much larger review of the country’s position on territorial waters and the
law of the sea. Throughout the 1950s there had been a push within Canada
for increased control over fishing rights in the Pacific and especially in the
Atlantic. For years foreign fishing interests, particularly the Japanese and
Soviets, had been increasing their presence off the Canadian coast and en-
dangering fish stocks. As such, unsuccessful attempts had been made to
extend an exclusive fishing zone out to 12 miles at the 1958 and 1960 Law
of the Sea Conferences at Geneva. After his election in 1963, Lester Pearson
promised unilateral action on the issue which received widespread approval
from the Canadian public.
Pearson’s objective was to use baselines to enclose a number of important
bodies of waters as internal, thereby securing Canadian control and measur-
ing a 12 mile fishing zone farther out to sea. These waters were Hudson Bay
and Strait, the St. Lawrence Gulf, and the Bay of Fundy on the Atlantic and
Dixon Entrance, Hectate Strait and Queen Charlotte Sound in the Pacific.77
In addition the government also took the opportunity to draw baselines

249
CLAIMING THE FROZEN SEAS

around the entire Arctic archipelago and submitted the entire package to
the State Department for comments in late 1963. It was considered unlikely
that the American government would welcome the Canadian move, how-
ever the hope in Ottawa was that the Americans would be willing to let the
new boundaries pass with only a protest. Because the United States was seen
as a leader amongst those states opposed to creeping maritime jurisdiction
and because it had the most economic and historic interest in the regions in
question, it was hoped that if Washington could be kept from taking Canada
to the I.C.J. or aggressively challenging the Canadian claims, those claims
would be able to survive broader international scrutiny.78
The claim to the Arctic appears to have been different that those made
to the other maritime areas. Canada was claiming the waters off the Atlantic
and Pacific as historic yet it appears to have advanced no such claims to the
archipelagic waters. The Arctic baselines seem to be have been based solely
on the archipelagic theory and Article IV of the 1958 Geneva Convention.79
In part this may have been because of the higher standard of historic occupa-
tion required by claims of historic waters. Instead, the Canadian delegation
focused upon the strategic gains to be had from exclusive Canadian control.
It was pointed out to the State Department that Soviet submarines had been
sighted in the Arctic and that the region had the potential to become a high-
way from the Russian bases on the Kola Peninsula to the Atlantic. It was
also pointed out that future developments in missile technology would likely
make the Arctic and Hudson Bay ideal havens for missile launching Soviet
submarines. Enclosing the waters as Canadian would allow Canadian and
American forces to exclude Soviet boats from the region and facilitate the
defence of the continent.80
To these claims the American representatives later responded that
there were other ways to guard against Soviet activities through joint naval
cooperation.81 The State Department also pointed out that the American con-
cern for the freedom of the seas trumped more localized security issues. For
a government which recognized the right of Soviet vessels to be three miles
off the coast of Florida near the important Cape Kennedy facilities, Soviet
activities in the Arctic were of secondary concern.82 More important was the
broader Western defence effort which would be hindered by the potential
limitations placed on American and N.A.T.O. warships by the recognition
of various internal waters around the world. Indeed, the United States
Department of Defence pointed out to the State Department that even if the
broader Canadian claims could be substantiated in law, the risk of the Soviets
then enclosing the Kara, Laptev and Okhotsk seas, thus excluding American

250
 ADAM LAJEUNESSE

submarines, would still necessitate a rejection by the United States.83 While

the Americans were willing to recognize baselines drawn in conformity
with their more rigid interpretation of the 1958 Geneva convention, they felt
that the large areas enclosed by Canada did not meet that criteria.84 And,
as the United States had vigorously protested similar claims made by the
Philippines and Indonesia they could hardly recognize extensive baselines
in Canada. 85
For these same reasons, the Americans rejected in no uncertain terms
the broader Canadian claims to the Atlantic and Pacific regions; in fact the
only claim they found to be justifiable was that of Hudson Bay (though not
Hudson Strait).86 How important the Arctic region was to both the United
States and Canadian negotiators in the broader scheme remains in ques-
tion. However it is instructive to note that the Arctic was never raised in
the Commons debates on the subject and certainly garnered far less atten-
tion from the External Affairs and State Department representatives in their
negotiations. This is hardly surprising. Since External Affairs recognized
that American acceptance of their entire proposal was unlikely they ration-
ally chose not to highlight their weakest point. Dean Curtis had already
advised the government that its legal claims to the Arctic archipelago were
not strong.87 External Affairs concurred in this assessment and decided to
push the Arctic claims only if a general American agreement appeared to be
within reach on the broader issue.88
The American reaction to the Canadian claims was not what the gov-
ernment would have liked and it quickly became apparent that there would
be no easy agreement. Nor did it seem as though the United States would
be willing to offer only token resistance to the Canadian plan. As such, the
decision not to push the Arctic claims was made by Cabinet on 22 January
1964.89 The attempt was thus made to use the Arctic as a kind of bargaining
chip to strengthen Canadian claims to the waters it deemed more connected
to its vital interests. On 5 February 1964 the Secretary of External Affairs,
Paul Martin, opened a meeting with American representatives by telling his
American counterparts that, while Canada was not formally abandoning its
claims to the Arctic waters, he was officially deferring them.90 Unfortunately
the concession had little impact on the American representatives whose
principled objection to the broader Canadian claims remained. According to
the State Department, Martin expressed “disappointment that the Canadian
concession on the Arctic Archipelago had not been more impressive to the
U.S. He [Martin] described Canada as having made fundamental conces-
sions without having received anything in return.”91

251
CLAIMING THE FROZEN SEAS

The Canadian government had gone out onto a political limb by claiming
the waters off the Pacific and Atlantic coasts and by 1964 the Americans were
threatening to take the proposed Canadian legislation to the International
Court.92 The Pearson government believed that it would not survive if it
abandoned its claims to the Bay of Fundy and the Atlantic waters and by
February the State Department described Canada as essentially asking the
United States to “bail them out.”93
By July 1964 the Canadian government had also deferred its claims to
Queen Charlotte Sound and clarified that its Arctic claims had also been de-
ferred “indefinitely.” In return it asked that the United States confine itself to
protests and forgo recourse to the I.C.J., accept the closing of Hudson Bay and
Strait as internal waters, agree to submit Hectate Strait and Dixon Entrance
to arbitration, continue negotiating on Bay of Fundy and accept the closing
of the Gulf of St. Lawrence.94 The United States government could not accept
these terms. Yet despite American objections, domestic pressure ultimately
forced the Canadian government to pass the Canada Fisheries Act in 1964,
giving the government the power to draw baselines as it deemed necessary
and ultimately to enclose some of the waters it had claimed.95 The issue of
sovereignty over the Arctic waters appears to have been dropped for the re-
mainder of the 1960s, overtaken in importance by the ongoing negotiations
over the Atlantic and Pacific.
The 1960s were thus not the opportune time for Canada to have been
pushing its sovereignty agenda in Washington. Whether there was an op-
portunity earlier on is more uncertain. The law on the subject was certainly
immature and the United States remained resolutely determined to defend
the freedom of the seas. Yet, it had proven willing to go a long way in grant-
ing Canada the implicit recognition it had sought. At least until 1958 the
region remained largely inaccessible and the waters had far less potential,
strategic and economic importance. The question is a hypothetical one and
the Canadian government cannot be faulted too vigorously for not deviat-
ing from a policy which seemed to be working. Without having to make a
direct claim the Americans appeared to be gradually accepting Canadian
sovereignty in the same manner they had over the Arctic lands during the
1940s and early 1950s.
Yet, to call this inaction an effective policy, or even a policy at all, would
be a stretch. There was no concerted bipartisan effort by Canadian govern-
ments over this period to push any specific conception of Canadian sover-
eignty and no consistent attempt at the highest levels to build the kind of
precedent which Norway had relied upon in 1951. Such an effort could have

252
 ADAM LAJEUNESSE

entailed no more than consistent government statements, governed by a

clear policy like that outlined in 1956.
It seems very unlikely that such simple statements to the Commons or
the media would have pushed the United States into a legal challenge. Their
policy of practical accommodation throughout the 1950s and early 1960s
would certainly have made such a challenge a counterproductive overreac-
tion. Even in 1973 when the Canadian government did state publicly and
for the first time that it considered the waters of the Arctic archipelago to be
internal waters on a historic basis there was no serious backlash, and this at a
time when the subject had become a heated international issue. Rather than a
firm foundation built upon decades of consistent government policy, Canada
faced the Manhattan crisis with little preparation and a poor idea of its own
situation. When word of the supertanker’s planned passage was received in
Ottawa it set off a scramble to review the country’s legal position and even
to research past pronouncements to see what the government’s policy might
actually be. External Affairs discovered that, aside from the March 1956
Liberal Cabinet directive, there had never been any government decision to
determine the nature of Canadian sovereignty over the Arctic waters.96
The voyage of the Manhattan certainly shocked the government out of its
complacency. With the publicity generated by the event, the Canadian policy
of quietly consolidating its title became untenable. Irresistible pressure for
some kind of assertion of sovereignty was soon coming from the press, the
opposition and even from within the government’s own Standing Committee
on Indian and Northern Affairs, which issued a report recommending the
use of straight baselines to Parliament in December 1969.97
Since the late 1950s the Canadian position had been intentionally de-
signed to avoid situations like the one the Manhattan generated. Premised
on the idea that it could defer its Arctic claims and allow time and American
acquiescence to gradually confer legitimacy, the Canadian government had
spent nearly two decades without announcing, following or even accepting
any real policy. This unwillingness of successive governments to maintain
or even discreetly annunciate a uniform policy line created the impression
of inconsistency and confusion. The damage this may have done to the
Canadian legal position of course remains conjectural while the impact it
had on United States policy decisions remains classified. Nonetheless it re-
mains difficult to see how it could have had a beneficial effect.
In part this discretion had been forced upon the government by circum-
stances, as neither the legal nor international political situation in the 1950s
and 1960s were likely to be friendly to any Canadian claim. Yet the extent

253
CLAIMING THE FROZEN SEAS

to which this cautious ambiguity was carried and the lack of bipartisan
cooperation must be considered a failing. All the more so since it appears as
though there was a generally consistent recognition across governments of
what needed to be done. The original policy framework had been created by
the St. Laurent Liberals and passed onto the Diefenbaker government. The
Conservatives had access to the cabinet decision, the same advisors as their
predecessors and government bureaucracy seemed to have continued to
operate on the basis of that decision.98 Yet this policy was not adopted at the
highest levels and certainly did not filter through the ministries to the public.
That the policy was a success for a time is owed more to the attitude and
priorities of the United States than to any Canadian diplomatic prowess. Yet,
this implicit acceptance seems to have been somewhat reevaluated as the
potential strategic and economic importance of the Arctic increased and as
the broader global threat to American strategic mobility, presented by creep-
ing maritime jurisdiction, became more pronounced. By the early 1960s at
the latest the United States was definitely set against recognizing Canadian
sovereignty and time could no longer be considered an ally in Canada’s grad-
ualist approach to consolidating its Arctic claims.

Notes
1 Both the U.S. Coast Guard and Humble
Oil notified Canada of their intentions
beforehand, a practice not required
under international law to transit an
international strait. Yet this fell short
of the request for permission which
the government of Canada suggested
the United States make.
2 See, for example, Donat Pharand, The
Law of the Sea of the Arctic with Special
Reference to Canada (Ottawa: University
of Ottawa Press, 1973) and Canada’s
Arctic Waters in International Law (Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press,
1988).
3 J.L. Granatstein, “A Fit of Absence of
Mind: Canada’s National Interest in
the North to 1968,” in The Arctic in
Question ed. Edgar Dosman (Toronto:
Oxford University Press, 1976), 13-33;
Edgar Dosman, The National Interest
(Toronto: McClelland and Stewart,
1975), and Elizabeth Elliot-Meisel,
Arctic Diplomacy: Canada and the
United States in the Northwest Passage,
(New York: Peter Lang, 1998).
4 Whitney Lackenbauer and Peter Kik-
kert, “Sovereignty and Security: The
Department of External Affairs, the
United States, and the Arctic, 1943-
1968,” in Serving the National Interest:
Canada’s Department of Foreign Affairs
and International Trade, 1909-2009,
eds. Greg Donaghy and Michael Car-
roll (Calgary: University of Calgary
Press, forthcoming 2011), 12. See also
Lackenbauer, “Right and Honourable:
Mackenzie King, Canadian-American
Bilateral Relations, and Canadian
Sovereignty in the Northwest, 1943-
1948” in Mackenzie King: Citizenship
and Community eds. John English,
Kenneth McLaughlin, and P.W. Lack-
enbauer (Toronto: Robin Brass Studio,
2002): 151-68.
5 Lackenbauer and Kikkert, “Sover-
eignty and Security,” 12.

254

6 Lackenbauer and Kikkert, “Sover-
eignty and Security,” 2.
7 L. B. Pearson, ‘Canada Looks Down
North,’ Foreign Affairs 24 (1946), 638.
8 For instance, two extensive govern-
ment studies from 1936 and 1949
examining the legal foundation of
Canadian sovereignty look only at the
lands and specifically exclude the wat-
ers from the sector principal; Depart-
ment of the Interior, British Sovereignty
in the Arctic, 3 June 1936 & MacDonald,
Vincent, Canadian Sovereignty in the
Arctic, [date uncertain – in External
folder from January 1949]. Library and
Archives Canada (LAC), RG 25, vol. 4,
file 9057-40
9 Donat Pharand, “The Arctic Waters
and the Northwest Passage: A Final
Revisit,” in Ocean Development and
International Law 38 (2007), 10.
10 Meisel, Arctic Diplomacy, 98
11 Gordon Smith, “Sovereignty in the
North: The Canadian Aspect of an
International Problem,” The Arctic
Frontier, R.J. Sutherland ed. (Toronto,
1966), 194.
12 H.L. Keenleyside, “Recent Develop-
ments in the Canadian North,” in
Canadian Geographical Journal, 39:4 (Oct,
1949), 163.
13 For instance see: Policy Statement, 1
July 1951, Department of State, Polar
Regions, Foreign Relations of the United
States (FRUS), 1 (1951), 1724.
14 Pharand, “Final Revisit,” 10.
15 Letter from C.S. Jackson to the Deputy
Minister of Justice. 3 June 1950, LAC,
RG 85, vol. 750, file 4419, file part 6.
16 Fisheries Case (United Kingdom v.
Norway), 1951, I.C.J. Reports, 115.
17 I.C.J. Reports, 1951, 131.
18 Donat Pharand, Canada’s Arctic Waters
in International Law (Cambridge, 1988),
142-143.
19 Canada, Department of Mines and
Technical Surveys, The Boundaries of
ADAM LAJEUNESSE
Canada, it’s Provinces and Territories (Ot-
tawa: Edmond Cloutier, 1954).
20 Mr. Robertson (Expert on territorial
waters brought to the committee meet-
ing by Mr. Lesage) speaking in: Can-
ada, Parliament, House of Commons,
Special Committee on Estimates Minutes
of Proceedings and Evidence, 23 March
1955, no. 15, 446.
21 Memorandum: U.S. Territorial Waters,
13 July 1954, LAC, RG 25, vol. 4286, file
10600-5-40.
22 B.G. Sivertz to M.W. Cunningham, 24
December 1952 & Deputy Attorney
General to Secretary to the Cabinet,
23 December, 1952, LAC, RG 2 vol, 236,
file T-30-1.
23 Memo to Cabinet, 2 March 1956, LAC,
RG 2, box 81, accession 1990-91/154, file
T-30 1956.
24 Memo from Legal Division, 12 July
1968, LAC, RG 25, vol. 15729, file 25-4-1.
25 Memo: Enclosure to Letter of 16 Nov-
ember 1956 for Minister of Mines and
Technical Surveys, LAC, RG 25, vol. 11,
file 9057-40.
26 House of Commons, Debates, 22nd par-
liament, 3rd session, 3 Aug. 1956, 6955.
27 J.A. Beesley to External Affairs Legal
Division, 12 July 1968, LAC, RG 25, vol.
15729, file 25-4-1.
28 J.L. Granatstein, “A Fit of Absence of
Mind,” 27.
29 Granatstein, “A Fit of Absence of
Mind,” 28.
30 House of Commons, Debates, 22nd par-
liament, 5th session, 6 April 1957, 3187.
31 Memorandum for Head of Legal Div-
ision, 1952 [undated], LAC, RG 2, series
8, vol, 236, file T-30-1-C.
32 United Nations, Convention on the Ter-
ritorial Sea and the Contiguous Zone, 29
April, 1958.
33 Pharand, “Final Revisit,” 22.
255
CLAIMING THE FROZEN SEAS
34 Enclosure to Letter of 16 November
1956 for Minister of Mines and Tech-
nical Surveys.
35 United Nations Secretariat, “Juridical
Regime of Historic Waters Including
Historic Bays” A/CN.4/143 Extract
from the Yearbook of the International
Law Commission 2 (1962).
36 Pharand, “Final Revisit,” 24.
37 Canada, Statutes of Canada, 1906, 5
Edw. VII, c. 13.
38 Pharand, “Final Revisit,” 26.
39 Smith, “Sovereignty in the North.”
40 Letter from the Canadian Embassy,
Oslo to External Affairs, 19 July, 1963,
LAC, RG 25, vol. 4135, file 9057-40, part
12.
41 House of Commons, Debates, 22nd par-
liament, 3rd session, 3 Aug. 1956, 6955.
42 House of Commons, Debates, 22nd par-
liament, 5th session, 6 April 1957, 3187.
43 Mr. Beesley to Mr. de Blois, 5 April
1968, LAC, RG 25, vol. 15729, file 25-4-1.
(Italics Added)
44 Parliament, House of Commons
Standing Committee on Mines, For-
ests, and Waters (CMSCMFW), Min-
utes of Proceedings and Evidence, 10 June
1958, no. 3-6, 217. (Italics added)
45 House of Commons, Debates, 24th par-
liament, 1st session, 14 August 1958,
3512.
46 House of Commons, Debates, 24th par-
liament, 1st session, 14 August, 1958,
3540 & 16 August 1958, 3652.
47 CMSCMFW, Minutes of Proceedings and
Evidence, 10 June 1958, no. 3-6, 217.
48 House of Commons, Debates, 24th par-
liament, 3rd session, 29 March 1960,
2577.
49 External Affairs to Air Commodore
Birchall, 24 October 1962, LAC, RG 25,
vol. 4135, file 9057-40 pt. 12.
50 I.C.J. Reports (1951), 138.
51 Ibid., 157, 180, 201.
256
52 Gordon Smith, Ice Islands in Arctic Wat-
ers (Ottawa, 1980), 50.
53 Smith, Ice Islands, 88.
54 Fisheries Case, (1951), I.C.J. Pleadings,
462.
55 Maurice Bourquin, “Les Baies His-
toriques” in Melatiges Georges Sauser-
Hall (1952) cited in “Juridical Regime
of Historic Waters Including Historic
Bays.”
56 Donat Pharand, “Historic Waters in
International Law with Special Refer-
ence to the Arctic,” University of To-
ronto Law Journal 21 (1971), 10.
57 Bourquin, “Les Baies Historiques,” 23-
51.
58 Ivan Head, “Canadian Claims to
Territorial Sovereignty in the Arctic
Regions,” McGill Law School Journal, 9
(1962-3), 225.
59 Granatstein, “Fit of Absence of Mind,”
30.
60 U.S. Embassy to Secretary of State for
External Affairs, 19 December 1949,
LAC, RG 25, vol. 5737, file 17.E (s).
61 House of Commons, Debates, 22nd par-
liament, 5th session, 6 April 1957, 3186.
62 Under Secretary for External Affairs to
Marc Boyer, 9 May 1958, LAC, RG 25,
vol. 3047, file 113.
63 The New York Times even suggested
that cargo carrying subs might soon
begin to use the Arctic waters as a
shorter passage than the Panama Can-
al; Felix Belair, “Nautilus Sails under
the Pole,” New York Times, 9 August,
1958, 1.
64 Memorandum from Under-Secretary
of State for External Affairs to Secre-
tary of State for External Affairs, 10
June 1960, DCER, vol. 27 (1960), docu-
ment no. 665.
65 G. P. Steele, Seadragon: Northwest under
the Ice (New York, 1962).
66 Memorandum from the Deputy Min-
ister of Defence to the Undersecretary

of State for External Affairs, 18 July
1962, LAC, RG 25, vol. 11, file 9057-40.
67 Naval Message, from CHINFO to USS
Seadragon, September 1960, National
Archives and Records Administration
(NARA) RG 59, Entry 5298, Box 13,
Bureau of European Affairs: Country
Director for Canada, Records Relating
to Military Affairs, 1942-1966.
68 Note: Re. Draft Memo for Minister on
Arctic Sovereignty, 18 Sept. 1962, LAC,
RG 25, vol. 11, file 9057-40.
69 M. D. Williams, Submarines under Ice
(Annapolis, 1998), 174.
70 Because of the similarities between
the Canadian Arctic and the Indo-
nesian and Pilipino claims, Canada
broke ranks with the U.S. and some
of its traditional Western European
allies by refraining from condemning
Indonesia and the Philippines; Note
From Deputy Minister of Transport to
Under Secretary of External Affairs, 23
May 1962, LAC, RG 25 vol 22, file 9057-
40.
71 Memorandum on Passage of U.S.S.
Skate, 20 September 1962, LAC, RG 25,
vol. 11, file 9057-40.
72 For example: Letter from Canadian
Ambassador in Washington to Secre-
tary of State for External Affairs,” 20
June 1946, LAC, RG 25, vol. 3047, file
113 & Secretary of State for External
Affairs to Canadian Ambassador in
Washington, 23 September 1948, RG
25, vol. 3841, file 9060-G-40.
73 Williams, Submarines under Ice.
74 For instance: L. C. Green, “Canada and
Arctic Sovereignty,” The Canadian Bar
Review, 48 (1970), 760 & E.J. Dosman,
“The Northern Sovereignty Crisis,”
The Arctic in Question, ed. E.J. Dosman
(Toronto: Oxford University Press,
1976), 34- 35.
75 Head, “Canadian Claims to Territorial
Sovereignty,” 219.
76 Edgar Dosman, “The Northern Sover-
eignty Crisis,” The Arctic in Question,
ADAM LAJEUNESSE
ed. Edgar Dosman (Toronto, 1976), 34-
5.
77 Memorandum to the Secretary of State
from the Undersecretary of State, De-
cember 1963, NARA, RG 59, Central
Foreign Policy Files, Canada-US, POL
33-4 1963.
78 Canadian Cabinet Conclusions, 7 Au-
gust 1963, LAC, RG 2, vol. 6245.
79 Statement of the Deputy Undersecre-
tary of State (To a meeting with Can-
adian External Affairs Representa-
tives), 4 December 1963, NARA, RG 59,
Central Foreign Policy Files 1957-1966,
Pol 33-8 CAN-US.
80 Canada – U.S. Meeting on the Law of
the Sea, 28 August 1963, NARA, RG 59,
Subject Numeric Files, POL CAN-US
33-4, Entry 1613, Box 2152,
81 Deputy Secretary of Defence to U
Alexis Johnson, 16 September 1963,
NARA, RG 59, Central Foreign Policy
Files, Canada-US, POL 33-4 1963.
82 Memorandum of Conversation Dis-
cussion of Proposed Extension of Fish-
eries Zone, 12 February, 1964, NARA,
RG 59, Central Foreign Policy Files
1957-1966, POL 33-4 CAN-US.
83 Statement of the Deputy Undersecre-
tary of State, 4 December 1963.
84 Memorandum of Conversation: Ray-
mond T. Yingliong, Bernard Glaxer,
Guiseppe Maria Borga (Italian Em-
bassy) NARA, RG 59, Central Files
1957-1966, POL 33-4 CAN-US.
85 Statement of the Deputy Undersecre-
tary of State (To a meeting with Can-
adian External Affairs Representa-
tives), 4 December, 1963, NARA, RG 59,
Central Foreign Policy Files 1957-1966,
POL 33-8 CAN-US.
86 Memorandum of Conversation Dis-
cussion of Proposed Extension of Fish-
eries Zone, 12 February, 1964, NARA,
RG 59 Central Foreign Policy Files
1957-1966, POL 33-4 CAN-US.
87 Canadian Cabinet Conclusions, 22
January 1964, LAC, RG 2, vol. 6253.
257
CLAIMING THE FROZEN SEAS
88 Memorandum: Law of the Sea Nego-
tiations, 16 August 1963, LAC, RG 25,
vol. 5388, file 10600-5-40.
89 Statement of the Deputy Undersecre-
tary of State, 4 December 1963.
90 Memorandum of Conversation, 5
February 1964, NARA, RG 59, Central
Foreign Policy Files 1957-1966, POL
33-4 CAN-US & Memorandum of Con-
versation, 6 July 1964, NARA, RG 59,
Central Foreign Policy Files 1957-1966,
POL 33-8 CAN-US.
91 Memorandum of Conversation, 5
February, 1964, NARA, RG 59, Central
Foreign Policy Files 1957-1966, POL
33-4 CAN-US.
92 Memorandum of Conversation, 5 Feb-
ruary, 1964.
93 Memorandum of Conversation,
NARA, RG 59, Central Files 1964-66,
POL 33-4 CAN-US.
94 Memorandum of Conversation, 6 July
1964, NARA, RG 59 Central Foreign
258
Policy Files 1957-1966, POL 33-8 CAN-
US.
95 While Canada did officially enclose
some of the waters along the coast of
Labrador, Nova Scotia and the Queen
Charlottes it refrained from attempting
to enclose the St. Lawrence Gulf or the
Bay of Fundy.
96 Gregoire de Bois to Mr. Beesley, 5
April, 1968, LAC, RG 25, vol. 15729, file
25-4-1.
97 House of Commons, 28th parliament,
2nd session, Standing Committee on
Indian Affairs and Northern Develop-
ment, 1969-70, 1:5.
98 For example, see the 1962 advice send
from External Affairs to Air Commo-
dore Birchall regarding Canadian Arc-
tic boundaries; Memorandum, Legal
Division External Affairs, 24 October
1962, LAC, RG 25, vol. 4135, file 9057-40
pt. 12.
Calgary Papers in Military and Strategic Studies, Occasional Paper No. 4, 2011
Canadian Arctic Sovereignty and Security: Historical Perspectives Pages 259–282

The Manhattan Incident

Forty Years On: Re-assessing
the Canadian Response
Matthew Willis

T
he Manhattan incident has fuelled academic debate on Canada’s
foreign policy in northern latitudes – and, to a lesser extent, on the
character of Canadian foreign policy generally – for over forty years.
Maxwell Cohen, acknowledging the complex of historical, social, political,
environmental and economic forces at play at the time of the transits, deemed
the Canadian reaction on the whole “a sophisticated and constructive attack
upon a problem for which the international community had no immediately
effective administrative answers.”1 John Kirton and Don Munton viewed
Ottawa’s policy response as “the product of a strong Canadian state redefin-
ing its foreign policy to complement its emerging new position in the world.”2
Christopher Kirkey has argued that Canadian unilateral action, resulting
from integrated as opposed to distributive bargaining methods, “produced
a markedly one-sided outcome in favor of Canadian national interests.”3 On
the other hand, E. J. Dosman4 and Franklyn Griffiths5, writing in the years im-
mediately following the Manhattan voyages, criticized what they considered
a reactive and indecisive response which, heavily influenced by American
pressure, ultimately weakened Canada’s grasp on its Far North.
Scholarly assessments of the government’s response have tended to
focus on its character or its significance, and sometimes both. Character re-
fers to the state of mind of the policy-makers as they elaborated it: rational
and determined (Kirton and Munton) or timid and indecisive (Dosman,
Griffiths). Analyses of its significance focus on a range of themes, depending
on the analyst’s perspective: environmental, legal or political, domestic
or international. From a political perspective, the central question is usu-
ally what the response meant for Canadian sovereignty in the Northwest
Passage (specifically), the Archipelago (more generally), and the region as
a whole (historically). Griffiths has described the Canadian response as
resulting in a “net loss” of sovereignty,6 while Cohen has interpreted it as
a robust political riposte that verged on the extreme.7 Combined, the two
strands of Manhattan-focused literature provide a rich repository of thought

© Centre for Military and Strategic Studies http://cmss.ucalgary.ca/ 259

THE MANHATTAN INCIDENT FORTY YEARS ON

and argumentation on which present-day Arctic sovereignty narratives

continue to draw.
The Manhattan incident has frequently been portrayed as an oppor-
tunity missed – a chance to put the sovereignty question to bed which the
government, for a variety of reasons, failed to seize. In light of the current
government’s avowed determination to stop managing the Arctic sover-
eignty question and instead resolve it, such an interpretation stands to gain
currency – all the more so given the Conservatives’ efforts to differenti-
ate themselves from their predecessors. The purpose of this chapter is to
explain how and why Bills C-202 and C-203 became the Trudeau govern-
ment’s definitive legislative response to the Manhattan transits. Its focus is
two-fold. First, it examines the main factors influencing the character of the
government’s response, arguing that while several realities which could be
termed “external” shaped the space with which policy-makers had to work,
the government’s demarche was very much its own. Second, it examines
the reason for that specific demarche – one heavily geared towards en-
vironmentalism, arguing that the views and values of the prime minister
and his close advisors played a far greater part than has been generally
acknowledged. In sum, the argument here is that Ottawa’s response to the
Manhattan episode was the product of a shrewd and reasoned assessment
of the available options, and a creative and original conceptualization of the
national interest.

A Rough Chronology8
In 1968, substantial quantities of oil were discovered in Prudhoe Bay, off
the north coast of Alaska. Seeking a cost-effective means of transporting
the oil to the rest of the continental United States, Humble Oil decided to
send a refitted tanker, the S.S. Manhattan, east to west through the Northwest
Passage to test the viability of the route. The Manhattan’s voyage, announced
in October 1968, caused considerable consternation in Canada, where it
was widely viewed as a challenge to Canadian sovereignty over the Arctic.
Parliament, the press and the public demanded that the government take
strong action to counter the American challenge; the government maintained
that there was no challenge at all and that Canada stood to benefit from the
experiment. In his 15 May address to the House of Commons, Prime Minister
Pierre Trudeau reassured Canadians that Canada’s sovereignty over the
Arctic mainland and islands was undisputed, as was its jurisdiction over the
resources of the seabed. Controversially, however, he acknowledged that the
government’s claim to sovereignty over the channels of the archipelago was

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 MATTHEW WILLIS

not unanimously recognized. Between June and October 1969, the ministries
of Northern Development, Transport and National Defence all announced
initiatives that expanded the country’s presence in the Arctic, but no major
policies were unveiled.
The Manhattan’s first of two uneventful transits occurred in August and
September 1969, and was followed closely across the country. In its October
Throne Speech, the government declared its intention to draft the legislation
that would become the Arctic Waters Pollution Prevention Act. In so doing, it
emphasized its responsibility to Canadians, as well as the global commun-
ity, to establish a regime that would protect international and Arctic waters
from the hazards of commercial shipping activity. Later in the month, the
government announced a series of defence measures that included plans for
a mobile Arctic strike force, the construction of six new airfields and, for the
first time, military exercises in the Arctic islands.
The public furor died down over the winter, while the government
elaborated its legislation. Interest picked up again with the approach of
the Manhattan’s return voyage on 1 April 1970, but this voyage proceeded
under much tighter controls. On 8 April, the government announced the
tabling of Bills C-202 and C-203 – the Arctic Waters Pollution Prevention Act
and an amendment to the Territorial Sea and Fishing Zones Act. The first
asserted Canadian jurisdiction over a 100-mile-wide coastal zone, with
the aim of preventing pollution in waters adjacent to Canadian land and
islands. It contained provisions relating to the regulation of shipping, in-
cluding ship-construction and navigation. It also provided for pollution-
prevention officers with the right to board and inspect ships within the
zone and order them to take the actions required by the regulations or the
statute itself. Powers were also provided for the seizure and forfeiture of
goods and cargo. Other articles addressed the improved administration
of the whole programme of pollution and navigation control. The second
bill expanded Canada’s territorial sea from three to twelve miles, and also
provided for the establishment of new, exclusively Canadian fishing zones.
Anticipating an international legal challenge to its measures, the govern-
ment exempted them from the compulsory jurisdiction of the International
Court of Justice. Canada’s seeming departure from post-war Canadian for-
eign policy doctrine, one which had consistently privileged multilateralism
and an abidance by international law, took much of the international com-
munity by surprise, but the Canadian public’s reaction was overwhelm-
ingly favourable.

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THE MANHATTAN INCIDENT FORTY YEARS ON

The Challenge
Although the Manhattan attracted the more attention, the US challenge (if
indeed that is what it was) actually came from the far smaller US Coast
Guard Ship Northwind, which Washington dispatched to accompany the
Manhattan without seeking Canadian permission. As long as the issue re-
volved around the icebreaker and remained at the official level, handling
it was a delicate but relatively straightforward diplomatic matter. When
news of the planned transit hit the public domain, however, a second front
opened up. The public and press were far less interested in the Northwind
than in questions surrounding the Manhattan: Was the government in a
position to protect Canada’s natural resources and environment? Did it
have legitimate authority over the full extent of Canadian territory? Did
it have the means to enforce its authority? Could a lack of said means
leave the Canadian Arctic vulnerable to rapacious foreign encroachment?
Parliamentarians, Liberal and Opposition, were equally concerned, with the
House Standing Committee on Indian and Northern Affairs fearing that the
Manhattan’s transit and subsequent traffic could alter the legal status of the
Northwest Passage and create an internationally-accepted presumption that
the ice-covered route was an international strait. It was even suggested that
Canadian claims to the land and the adjacent continental shelf in the north-
ern archipelago could be contested if oil was found in quantity, which was
geographically possible.9
The sovereignty challenge was thus multi-dimensional: it comprised a
short-term political aspect, involving defusing the domestic furor; a short-
term legal aspect, relating to the handling of the Northwind challenge;
and a key longer-term legal aspect relating to potential international legal
changes the transit might catalyse. The managing of Canadian-American
political relations was another key dimension. The inter-related nature of
these aspects prevented any attempt to deal with them separately: care
needed to be taken in handling the domestic political uproar lest clumsy
wording strain cross-border relations; measures taken in reaction to the
Northwind needed to be compatible with a future Arctic policy of as-yet-
uncertain description. When it became publicly impossible to deny that
something was up, the resulting friction between the government and the
Canadian public began feeding into, and exacerbating, the pre-existing
diplomatic strain between Ottawa and Washington, putting the latter in-
creasingly on edge. All in all, the Manhattan incident was an exceptionally
delicate one to handle.

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 MATTHEW WILLIS

Map 11. From P.W. Lackenbauer and Matthew Farish, “The Cold War on Canadian Soil:
Militarizing a Northern Environment,” Environmental History 12/3 (October 2007).

263
THE MANHATTAN INCIDENT FORTY YEARS ON

PART I: The How and Why of Canada’s Response

Canadian policy options at the time of the transits were defined – which is
not to say they were necessarily limited – by a set of historical, political, legal
and environmental realities. Historically, Canada had not expressed itself in
unequivocal terms on its position as to the extent of its jurisdiction over the
waters of the Arctic archipelago. Politically, the US was a staunch defender
of the principle of freedom of the seas and had made it clear that it was dead-
set against any Canadian attempts at jurisdictional extension. Legally, the
status of the Northwest Passage (or more correctly, the numerous channels
it comprises) was a matter of debate under international law. Likewise, the
viability – meaning the likelihood of international acceptance – of certain
courses of action Ottawa might consider to assert its rights to control those
waters could not be predicted with certainty. Environmentally, the mainly-
frozen character of the waters in question at once contributed to the legal
complexity of the matter and drew policy considerations into the abstract
world of the theoretical and hypothetical.
In one sense, these realities limited policy-makers by ruling out certain
courses of action. The decision not to implement straight baselines around
the archipelago, for instance, is sometimes said to have been driven by
Ottawa’s desire not to upset US-Canadian relations.10 Incidentally, such a por-
trayal suits commentators who view the Canadian response as having been
hesitant and weak-kneed. In fact, as will be discussed, a report issued by the
legal department of External Affairs in 1969 had concluded that the US would
almost certainly retaliate – and not just economically – if the baselines were
declared, so the political constraint on that option was virtually binding.
In another sense, however, the historical, political, legal and environ-
mental context in which Ottawa was operating gave it remarkable freedom
of manoeuvre. Not having established an explicit position on the national
or international status of the archipelagic waters, for example, meant that it
was not locked into defending a set stance. Although it has been cast as hav-
ing been problematic, the ambiguity of Canada’s position also gave policy-
makers room to think creatively and laterally about effective approaches to
protecting Canadian interests.
In the immediate aftermath of the transits, scholars paid particular atten-
tion to the government’s high state of unpreparedness, the resulting pressure
under which it found itself, and the ostensible effects of that pressure on its
policy response.11 The Canadian public’s high state of nationalistic arousal on
the one hand, and the US’s resolute refusal to budge on the other, are widely
seen as having trapped the government in the middle with nowhere to go.

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 MATTHEW WILLIS

Commentators sharing this view typically fault it for two things. First, when
it should have been decisive, it was indecisive. As a result, it relinquished
the initiative, limiting itself to reacting to events and sacrificing its ability to
put Canadian interests first. Second, when it should have been bold, it was
cautious. Rather than taking the courageous step of formalizing Canadian
pretensions to the archipelagic waters by implementing the straight baseline
principle, Ottawa opted to acknowledge the weaknesses in its own case and
pass up the chance to secure a Canadian victory.
Later re-assessments of the Canadian reaction have been somewhat dif-
ferent, notably Christopher Kirkey’s, in which the impression is conveyed that
the government was an actor united in purpose from the beginning, with a
clear take on where Canadian interests lay and a ready strategy for pursuing
them.12 In contrast to the more critical assessments offered by Dosman and
Griffiths, Kirkey (as well as Kirton and Munton) tends to downplay the influ-
ence of forces external to the government, particularly Canadian public and
American diplomatic pressure. Indeed, one of Kirkey’s central arguments
is that Canadian intransigence in the face of American diplomacy explains
the lopsided look of the final policy, one which satisfied Canadian national
interests but left American interests unfulfilled.
The reality was somewhere in the middle. Let the reader recall the multi-
faceted character of the challenge: not everything could be done at once, nor
did everything need to be done at once. There was certainly suspicion that the
Northwind was something of a Trojan Horse, and that the US Navy was more
involved in the venture than it appeared. But it would have been premature
– from the point of view of maintaining friendly relations at least – to take
drastic action. The immediate concern as regards sovereignty was to neutral-
ize the potential Northwind challenge tidily.
The government did the minimum necessary to have the required effect:
through the Department of Transportation, it notified the State Department
that Canada would supply the Manhattan with its own icebreaker, the John
A. MacDonald. It also pointedly suggested that both countries’ coast guard
vessels accompany the tanker in American as well as Canadian waters. As
Dosman acknowledges, “[s]uch joint arrangements involving the oil com-
panies and the two governments would make it difficult for the U.S. to refuse
co-operation and might avoid a confrontation.”13 The Canadian suggestion
was adopted.
This pair of measures, designed to bolster Canada’s de facto sovereignty
and guard against retroactive claims by the US that Canada had stood idly
by while the Northwind sailed the Passage, was followed by others, none

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THE MANHATTAN INCIDENT FORTY YEARS ON

of which – it should be noted – was especially substantive. In March and

April 1969, the government made several announcements, all emphasizing
Canadian sovereignty without amounting to a definitive statement con-
cerning Canadian ownership of Arctic waters. A tour by Governor-General
Roland Michener, to occur in April, was announced on 27 March.14 A week
later, Trudeau laid out Canada’s new defence priorities, featuring bolstered
surveillance over Canadian territory and coastlines. On 22 April, the govern-
ment introduced a bill amending the Territorial Sea and Fishing Zones Act to
give Canadian fishermen exclusive fishing rights.
It should be emphasized that the government’s soft-pedalling was not a
function of “fear” or “timidity,”15 but rather of pragmatism. As is the case to-
day, positive relations with Washington were always one of Ottawa’s top pri-
orities, and maintaining them required skill. DEA’s circumspect demarche
ought to be viewed as a discreet effort to manoeuvre the US into a position
amenable to Canadian interests rather than as a sign of powerlessness.
Indeed, the sotto voce approach was one of the hallmarks of Canada’s post-
war foreign policy, and its skilful prosecution helps explain the significant
international influence Canada exercised in world affairs for two decades
after 1945.
What we are looking at is a series of promptly-taken measures carefully
calibrated to blunt a potential sovereignty challenge while keeping Ottawa’s
options open. They constitute pro-action on the government’s part because
it was as yet unclear whether Canada was dealing with a challenge to its
sovereignty or not. Nevertheless, Ottawa’s deft lever-pulling should not be
taken to mean that the broad outline of Canada’s eventual policy response
was already established. Kirkey writes that by the spring of 1969, Canadian
officials were turning “their attention to formulating legislative policy and
exercising diplomatic options that would unambiguously assert Canada’s na-
tional interests over the Northern Arctic archipelago.” Their aim, he asserts,
was to “adopt an indirect approach that would implicitly reinforce Canada’s
territorial maritime claims over the waters of the Canadian Arctic archipel-
ago while simultaneously addressing new concerns arising from increased
levels of Northern development – particularly environmental regulation.”16
The impression conveyed is that all this was being sorted out as early as the
spring of 1969, with the Canadian national interest already well-defined and
agreed upon by the many Canadian governmental stakeholders involved in
the policy-formulation process.
In fact, this was far from the case. Both the commentators who fault the
government for its indecisiveness and those who exaggerate its clarity of pur-

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pose make the same mistaken assumption: namely, that it had the necessary
information to move swiftly ahead. Based on the evidence, it is clear that it
did not. In the spring of 1969, Ottawa was only slightly further along than it
had been at the end of 1968 with respect to coming to grips with the nitty-
gritties of the sovereignty question. Although it had enough information to
outflank the immediate Northwind challenge, it was still in the process of
sketching out the legal landscape of the matter. Only once that had been done
could those in charge of policy-making begin to assess avenues open to the
government, and only once all the avenues had been established could a final
course of action begin to be charted. Bearing in mind the double uncertainty
on the Canadian end as to (1) the international legal regime applicable to the
Arctic ice and waters, and (2) the country’s position with respect thereto, it
should come as no surprise that time was required for the process to play
itself out. It would be months before the prime minister and Cabinet even
discussed an oblique, environmentally-premised legislative response.
The prime minister alluded to the extended policy-formulation process
in March 1969, when he told the House of Commons that his government
was undertaking “an extensive review of Canada’s legal position in the
North” and would be reporting to the House once that report was ready.17
In response to Diefenbaker’s call for the government to make an immediate
statement on the Canadian position, he replied that while:

over the years the intentions and the policy of the Canadian
Government under various administrations have been clear…
this particular aspect of it [ie. relating to the status of the archi-
pelagic waters] has never been established. Because of the inter-
national implications which would result from a claim made by
us regarding territorial rights it is important that all the depart-
ments report on this matter before a statement is made.18

The review in question was submitted to the Cabinet for consideration over
the Easter recess, the promised report following in the form of a speech to
the House in May. As far as the legalities went, Trudeau limited himself
to stating that the Manhattan’s transit in no way altered the legal status of
the Northwest Passage; that Canadian sovereignty over the mainland and
islands was undisputed, as it was over the resources of the seabed; and that
while the government regarded the Arctic waters as “our own”, a contrary
view existed – namely that Canada’s sovereignty was limited to the territor-
ial sea around each island.19

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THE MANHATTAN INCIDENT FORTY YEARS ON

The contents of the speech, in the sense both of what it did and did not
say, are a clear indication of how far along the policy process was: the gov-
ernment now knew where it stood, but was not yet prepared to state where
it was going. The leaders of the Opposition parties decried the delay, but the
importance of not prejudicing long-term Canadian interests – which Trudeau
had alluded to only obliquely when speaking of “international” implications
of a territorial claim – undoubtedly goes a long way towards explaining the
restrained character of his speech.
A memorandum entitled “Canadian Sovereignty Over the Waters of
the Arctic Archipelago,” prepared by DEA, addressed to the Cabinet and
dated 15 September 1969, gives a sense of the government’s progress. The
stated purpose of the document was to “examine various courses of action
which may be open to the Canadian Government, in the wake of the S.S.
‘Manhattan’s’ voyage through the Northwest Passage, with a view to pro-
tecting the Canadian position concerning the status of the waters between
the islands of the Arctic archipelago.”20 It thus represents – four months later
– the step following the review of the Canadian legal position.
The advice contained in the memorandum helps explain – and vindicate
– the government’s refusal to make the firm statement on sovereignty. The
report lays out four possible courses of action: implicit or explicit abandon-
ment of the Canadian claim; maintenance of the status quo without explicit
assertion of any claim; outright assertion of the waters’ status as internal
by implementation of straight baselines; and adoption of a 12-mile territorial
sea. Conspicuous by its absence is any mention of a course of action built
around environmental protection. The report dismisses the first course of
action as manifestly contrary to Canadian interests, since Canada would lose
all control over most of the archipelago’s channels, including the Passage. It
argues against the second on the grounds that “heightened interest in com-
mercial navigation,” should it follow the Manhattan’s voyage, would render
the government’s position inadequate, especially in the (likely) event that the
legal status of the strait required clarifying.21
The third course of action is what many commentators were advocating.
It involved declaring straight baselines around the Archipelago as part of
making explicit the basis for Canadian jurisdiction. Recognizing that such a
move would, in the long term, be ideal, the report nonetheless advises against
pursuing it because “the Canadian claim considerably surpasses in scope
and scale any generally accepted claim by any other country. It has been con-
cluded that Canada would have no more than a 50-50 chance of succeeding with

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 MATTHEW WILLIS

such a claim.” 22 The report then expands on the dangers of chancing it, with
emphasis on a series of explicit US threats:

The US has threatened litigation if Canada attempts to imple-

ment its claim to these and other “special bodies” of water (such
as the Gulf of St. Lawrence). The US government has also warned
that it would instruct its ships and aircraft to disregard such a
claim by Canada. Canada would, of course, be in an extremely
difficult position if the USA were to send a warship through the
Northwest Passage in an open challenge to Canada’s action. The
possibility of economic retaliation... has also been mentioned...;
such action could, of course, take the form of a simple refusal to
grant special concessions requested by Canada in such matters as
the US oil import policy.23

Presumably, the government’s most vocal critics were unaware of these

threats when they advocated aggressive action. Assuming the Nixon admin-
istration was not bluffing – and its very real refusal to make concessions on
Canadian oil exports in March 1970 suggests that it was not – an outright
declaration of straight baselines could well have been the surest way of tor-
pedoing Canadian Arctic pretensions.
The final course of action – adoption of a 12-mile territorial sea – was a
DEA favourite, which it would press for in Cabinet meetings right through
the fall and winter. The move could be accomplished through an amend-
ment to the Territorial Sea and Fishing Zones Act, with the effect of “establish-
ing Canadian sovereignty, over the entire width of the Northwest Passage at
three of its most strategic points...” and even allowing for the suspension of
the right of innocent passage if Canada’s security called for it.24 The report’s
subsequent in-depth discussion of the legal basis for a territorial sea expan-
sion speaks to the extensive analysis the sovereignty question had been sub-
jected to in the preceding months.
The charge that Canada’s failure to act assertively cost it a strong bar-
gaining position should thus be treated with skepticism, but so too should
the suggestion that Ottawa knew where it wanted to go from the start. The
strong bargaining position it is purported to have had was in fact weak:
neither did it have the information to take hasty action, nor would such ac-
tion – in the form of a formal sovereignty claim – have been wise. It might
even have been disastrous. Meanwhile, the prime minister’s comments to the
media and the contents of the governmental memos demonstrate that while

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THE MANHATTAN INCIDENT FORTY YEARS ON

the government was mapping out its options methodically and with emo-
tional detachment, it lacked any clear idea of the final direction it would take
until well into the summer and perhaps even the fall. In the end, it mattered
little, however, since so long as Ottawa kept its deliberations to itself, it gave
the US little to push against, and the situation was not evolving so quickly
that even several months’ delay could worsen Canada’s position vis-a-vis
the international legal regime. Parliament, the public and the press, while
exercised, lacked effective levers with which to move the government in any
meaningful way.

PART II: Trudeau and the National Interest

Analyses of the Manhattan transit are often heavy on discussion of the nation-
al interest. Those favourable to the government’s response and those less so
both evaluate its actions based on their conduciveness to securing Canada’s
interests. Yet the idea of the national interest is slippery. Despite its centrality
to neorealist and neoliberal International Relations theory, and the accom-
panying assumption that states pursue it on the basis of rational analysis, the
national interest remains more imagined than real. That is to say, what is or is
not the national interest depends on the point of view of the individual, and
what he or she thinks would be good for the country. Although some things
can generally be agreed upon – the survival of the country as an entity, for
instance – others are far trickier since they relate to the values and beliefs one
wishes the country to embody.
Determining whether a country’s policies accomplished their purpose
requires first identifying what that purpose was: not what it ought surely
to have been in the view of the commentator, but what it was in the view of
the actors who drew it up. It also involves recognizing that how the national
interest is pursued can sometimes be as important to the policy-maker as its
actual attainment. Indeed, its attainment may depend on its being pursued
in a way consistent with policy-makers’ own values and beliefs. Failure to
discriminate between one’s own conceptions of the national interest and
those that actually drove national policy can leave the analysis adrift and
commentators talking past the point.
In viewing the case of the Manhattan as one of Canadian sovereignty
challenged, critics of Canada’s response have tended to assume that the
national interest was to reinforce Canadian exclusive jurisdiction as such.
Canadian and American relations on the matter are considered to have been
such that a policy approach that did not treat the US threat for what it was
and counter it head-on constituted a retreat – and entailed what Griffiths

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once termed a “net loss” of sovereignty.25 This view, intuitive as it is, is not
the best starting point for an analysis of Canadian policy. Nor, for that matter,
is the apparently even more basic premise that within the government there
was collective agreement as to what the national interest was.
There is no doubt that some ministries favoured countering the US
challenge to Canadian sovereignty with a direct push-back, External Affairs
being the most prominent among them. But while Mitchell Sharp’s depart-
ment was the nominal leader on the file, its views on what the focus of policy
should be had limited currency: Indian Affairs and Fisheries, for example,
each had its own preferred solution and the Cabinet was split.26 More im-
portantly, however, neither DEA nor any of its sister departments shaped the
policy-making process as much as did the prime minister and his closest ad-
visers. Trudeau’s understanding of the concepts of sovereignty and national-
ism; the backgrounds of those with whom he consulted closely in the second
half of 1969; and his take on the purpose of foreign policy all combined to
produce an original understanding of the national interest whose impact on
the government’s eventual policy was pivotal. This is a crucial point: coupled
with the evidence that Ottawa’s caution was the result of reasoned expert
analysis as opposed to mere timidity, it anchors the argument that the driv-
ers of government policy were not external but internal.

Trudeau and “sovereignty”

Bruce Thordarson, in his study of Trudeau’s approach to foreign policy,
observes that Trudeau regarded nationalism with distrust. Viewing it as an
emotional – as opposed to rational – basis for state action, and one gener-
ally geared towards satisfying a country’s collective ego more than its true
interests, Trudeau saw nationalism as having the potential to be a danger-
ous catalyst that could turn sovereignty into the end of policy. Properly
exercised (that is to say judiciously and with moderation), Trudeau believed
that sovereignty was something that could aid in the “attainment of human
objectives.”27 When triggered by nationalistic feelings, however, the exercise
of sovereignty could become an “obsession” that made nations intolerant,
exclusive and prone to conflict. “Sovereignty for sovereignty’s sake,” he once
wrote, “is a hollow and self-defeating concept.”28
The Cabinet Conclusions from 15 October 1969 show how Trudeau’s
principled, reasoned and deep-seated views influenced the outcome of the
policy-elaboration process. The document indicates a clear willingness in
Cabinet to pursue the 12-mile territorial sea extension promoted by External
Affairs and, generally-speaking, to act more rather than less aggressively. It

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THE MANHATTAN INCIDENT FORTY YEARS ON

notes that, besides DEA, both the Cabinet Committee on External Policy and
Defence and the Interdepartmental Committee of Officials favoured a 12-mile
territorial sea and that “some ministers” felt it “would be useful for Canada
to claim twelve miles” as well. The Minister of Fisheries was pushing a plan
to draw four fisheries closing lines across key channels and thus “close the
whole Arctic Archipelago.”29 The only comments which could be taken as
dissenting are those of Trudeau himself who, near the end of the discussion:

suggested that in the Throne Speech, in his own speech, and in

the Minister’s [sic] speeches, the government could develop the
two themes of pollution control and economic development in
the Arctic without mentioning the twelve mile limit and Canada
could then go to the United States Government and advise it that
Canada wanted to control pollution.30

The following line, coming immediately after the excerpt above, is also sig-
nificant, for it relates the substance of the Cabinet’s reaction to some addi-
tional, unrecorded, comments which Trudeau can be presumed to have
made: “Some ministers felt that ownership of Northern Canada was a very
real force in the spirit of many Canadians, and these strong feelings should
not be dismissed by calling them jingoism.”31
The Cabinet agreed to “defer the matter for further consideration” at its
21 October meeting.32 Those minutes are still classified, but the impact of
Trudeau’s intervention is clear: in his address to Parliament on 24 October
following the Throne Speech, the prime minister announced that Canada
would “propose a policy of use of the Arctic waters which will be designed
for environmental preservation. This will not be an intolerable interference
with the activities of others; it will not be a restriction upon progress.”33 What
is more, in a formerly confidential document dated 18 November and entitled
“Arctic Policy,” Colonel K. W. Macdonald refers to the government’s “new
initiative” as having “apparently supplanted immediate consideration by the
government of a declaration by Canada of a 12-mile territorial sea.”34 There
can be no doubt that Ottawa’s eventual policy response was the product
of prime ministerial involvement driven by an instinctive resistance to the
Cabinet’s own leanings and a preference for an alternative line of attack.

The environmental tack: Origins

If Trudeau’s dislike for the “nationalistic” approach conditioned him to
seek alternatives, where did the environmental one come from? Ivan Head

272
 MATTHEW WILLIS

and Trudeau, in their subsequent book, provide part of the answer, writing
that the idea of taking an environmental tack was put to Head by Gordon
Robertson, the Clerk of the Privy Council, who prompted Head to speak to
Trudeau about it.35 Presumably, the authors have their facts straight. This
is only part of the answer, however, for while it locates the idea’s origins
within the PM’s circle of advisers (not DEA or another department) it pass-
es over the fact that the basis of the idea was not new in 1969. In fact, it was
a decade old.
The cornerstone of the pollution-control concept – what made possible
the devising of multi-purpose legislation – was the idea that sovereignty
could exist in degrees. The idea for this differentiation between full territor-
ial sovereignty on the one hand, and simple functional jurisdiction on the
other, had been hit upon in 1958 by Canadian officials involved in establish-
ing Canada’s position going into that year’s Law of the Sea conference. The
context then had been largely one of fisheries and the desire on the part of
certain states to exert control over the living resources beyond what was at
the time a three-mile territorial sea. While many countries were advocating
a straightforward extension of the limit to twelve miles, others, including
Canada, opposed such a move on the grounds that it would give states too
much control – most notably and undesirably in the domains of air and sea
navigation.
Allan Gotlieb36 and Ivan Head had been among the officials responsible
for establishing the Canadian position going into the conference. Their cre-
ative thinking, writes Gotlieb, had

crystallized into a realization that there were two possible ways

of extending control over fishing: either by establishing a twelve-
mile territorial sea or a fishing zone of the same limit beyond
the territorial sea…. The Canadian approach [of establishing a
fishing zone] was immediately seen to be a valuable method for
reconciling the position of states opposing an extension of the
territorial sea because it would interfere with the freedom of the
high seas and those wishing to acquire greater control of their
off-shore fisheries.37

The government’s pollution-control policy, in effect an application of the

fisheries-inspired principle of functional jurisdiction to a new issue area,
thus originated with members of the Trudeau inner circle with an excep-
tional understanding of the possibilities offered by shrewdly-calibrated legal

273
THE MANHATTAN INCIDENT FORTY YEARS ON

concepts. These individuals had the experience and the knowledge to find
alternatives to blunt-force policy, and the creativity and vision to see when
several birds might be killed with a single stone.
Let us recall the context in which they were by now operating. The acute
sovereignty dimension (embodied by the Northwind) had been disposed of
in the spring, and the chronic one, though needing to be addressed, was
still hypothetical – depending as it did on changes in international mari-
time traffic patterns which had yet to occur. In this regard, the difficulties
encountered during the recent transit (the Northwind had in fact been forced
to return to port) had just underscored how hypothetical it was. The political
dimension, which necessitated the government to be seen to be responding,
did not dictate any one course of action. Meanwhile, the interlinkages be-
tween the sovereignty dimension and others, notably economic development
and the environment, invited the drafting of something ambitious and poly-
valent. The idea of developing pollution-control legislation was thus not an
escape hatch through which the government crawled when all other hatches
for defending sovereignty had been shut. If we accept that, in the minds of
Trudeau and his colleagues, sovereignty was just one of several important
areas policy must address, it was an ideal course of action.

Trudeau’s views on foreign policy

Nor is it any surprise that Trudeau was receptive to it. Of course, elaborat-
ing pollution-control measures was a way to address the sovereignty ques-
tion without resorting to the nationalistic approach. That was a major plus:
bolstering the case for Canadian jurisdiction in the Arctic was a bona fide
policy priority. However, it also offered the prospect of tabling a response
that accorded with Trudeau’s views on foreign policy. As Peter Dobell ob-
serves, “Trudeau and some of his closest and most powerful ministerial
associates... shared, when they came into office, an evident dissatisfaction
and even frustration with the foreign policy of the Pearson government.”38
They sympathized with those who felt, rightly or wrongly, that Canada had
become too taken up with its role and influence in the world, to the point of
losing sight of its policy objectives and actual interests.39 It was time, they
believed, for Ottawa to stop trying to “react to all international events and
have a policy on everything that happened in the world” and rather focus
its energies and resources on a narrower range of issues of real consequence
to Canada.40
Almost certainly, this belief was motivated by pragmatism – the accept-
ance that Canada’s resources were limited and its clout on the world stage

274
 MATTHEW WILLIS

had declined relative to what it had been in the immediate post-war period.
But it was also the product of one of Trudeau’s key personal beliefs: that for-
eign policy should be the extension abroad of national policies. This meant
that, while Canada would continue to have policies geared expressly to-
wards the outside world and it would not shirk its international responsibil-
ities, much of its foreign policy would no longer be foreign per se. Rather, it
would take the form of ripples coming off Canadian domestic policies.
The pollution-control proposal represented an opportunity to develop
policy precisely along those lines. The environmental issues raised by the
Manhattan were sufficient in and of themselves to warrant a policy response,
but the recent Torrey Canyon disaster underscored the point further.41 What
is more, the environment was a true government priority. As John Roberts
observes, Trudeau’s Liberals were swept to power amid growing worldwide
awareness of the damage industrialized society was doing to its ecological
base, and “[n]o country reflected this rising environmental consciousness
more intensely than Canada.”42 Over the decade that followed his election,
Trudeau would preside over a government that responded vigorously to
the public’s demands for pro-action. The creation of Environment Canada,
formalized in 1971, was the most tangible sign of its commitment, but it
was accompanied by a veritable host of initiatives aimed both at regulating
pollution-causing activities and preventing pollution in the first place. The
Mackenzie Valley Pipeline Inquiry, which resulted in a landmark report ad-
vising the government against pursuing the project, was without question
foremost among the latter category initiatives.43
Given the dual domestic and international implications of an environ-
mental disaster, formulating legislation to guard against it was an urgent
matter of Canadian interest, and one via which policy with a significant
foreign dimension could easily be developed. Trudeau alluded to the dual
domestic and international aim of the government’s eventual policy in his
address on 24 October, when he said that:

[p]art of the heritage of this country, a part that is of increasing

importance and value to us, is the purity of our water, the fresh-
ness of our air, and the extent of our living resources. For our-
selves and for the world we must jealously guard these benefits.
To do so is not chauvinism; it is an in act of sanity in an increas-
ingly irresponsible world.44

Elsewhere in the speech, he told the House that the government’s policies
would:

275
THE MANHATTAN INCIDENT FORTY YEARS ON

reflect Canada’s proper interest not only in the preservation of the

ecological balance which I have already mentioned, but as well in
the economic development of the north, the security of Canada,
and in our status and reputation in the world community.45

The decision to pursue the environmental route was thus the product of sev-
eral converging forces. The inability of the Cabinet to agree on a course of
action was the impetus for the prime minister – and by extension his close
advisers – to become personally involved. Trudeau’s strong intellectual aver-
sion to nationalistically-motivated measures led him to seek an alternative
to the approaches under consideration and made him receptive to new sug-
gestions and thus new takes on the national interest. The government’s own
predisposition to protecting the environment, the environmental awareness
characterizing Canadian society at the time, and the obvious implications
of oil exploitation and transport in the Far North suggested to Trudeau’s
colleagues a response couched in environmental terms. The experience that
several of them had had at the 1958 Law of the Sea conference, particularly
Gotlieb and Head, explains the origins of the functional jurisdiction idea
applied in the service of environmental custodianship-cum-sovereignty
protection. Trudeau’s desire to see Canada’s foreign policy embedded in mat-
ters of distinctly Canadian relevance, coupled with his interest in projecting
those policies abroad as an example to be emulated, accounts for his enthusi-
asm for the idea.
Bill C-203, which complemented the Arctic Waters Pollution Prevention Act
and extended the territorial sea to twelve miles, deserves mention as well.
There was considerable debate as to whether it should be implemented and
Trudeau appears to have been suspicious of DEA’s motivations in pushing
the idea. That it was eventually adopted speaks to the weight the prime min-
ister accorded not only to the effect of a policy, but to the reasons behind it.
Extending the territorial sea had implications far beyond the Arctic, because
it involved bringing under Canadian jurisdiction the waters on Canada’s east
and west coasts as well. The importance of asserting control over those wat-
ers, particularly for the purposes of fisheries-control, was a matter of national
interest that long pre-dated the Manhattan transits. Gotlieb suggests that
what tipped the scales in Cabinet in favour of proceeding with the extension
was “the strident political support on both coasts”46 for the move. Thus, while
the effect the bill would have on extending Canada’s control over certain key
Arctic channels remained a major reason for drafting it, its utility in fur-
thering a second and only loosely-related set of maritime interests was what
clinched its acceptance.
276
 MATTHEW WILLIS

Drafting and promoting Bills C-202 and C-203

A committee of senior civil servants was charged with elaborating what be-
came Bills C-202 and C-203 in the fall of 1969, and carried its work forward
into 1970. Cabinet vigorously debated the character of the legislation, particu-
larly the extent of the authority Canada ought to legislate to itself. Trudeau’s
personal engagement helped his close advisors – notably Robertson, Head
and Gotlieb – “keep the process on course and on time.”47 In March 1970
the government decided to proceed with both the legislation involving the
100-mile-wide pollution-control zone and that extending the territorial sea.
The accompanying decision to exempt both acts from the compulsory juris-
diction of the International Court of Justice was not made without a struggle
(with Sharp and particularly Paul Martin Sr. being very much against the
move). However, the majority of ministers were motivated by the desire to
see Canadian interests prevail in the face of the heavy opposition they ex-
pected from the U.S. and other maritime powers. They sided with Donald
Macdonald, the government House Leader and lawyer, who recognized “the
importance of building the international legal system through the use of the
Court” but “argued that Canada’s interests were more important than the
system in the particular case at hand.”48
Simultaneous with the drafting of the bills, and extending into 1971,
Canada promoted its agenda diplomatically and succeeded in heading off
a US-sponsored conference to discuss Arctic issues where, it was widely
suspected, Washington hoped it could overwhelm the Canadian delegation
with pressure from other major maritime states. After sending Bills C-202
and C-203 to numerous foreign capitals, Canada entered into informal bi-
lateral talks with several important countries, including the Soviet Union,
Sweden and Great Britain. All were convinced to support the Canadian pos-
ition. The Canadian diplomatic machine also secured the support of Norway
and Iceland. Kirton and Munton observe that:

of the 14 states (apart from Canada) that the U.S. was known
to have approached with invitations…only the Dutch seemed
in favour, with the Spaniards and Finns noncommittal. Japan,
Britain, Belgium, and Denmark refused to accept until the terms
of reference were clarified by the United States and/or the confer-
ence was limited to technically based aspects of pollution and
navigation.49

By mid-1970, it was clear that the Nixon administration lacked the inter-
national support necessary to organize a conference that would support
277
THE MANHATTAN INCIDENT FORTY YEARS ON

its foreign policy aims. Moreover, by winter, international attention was

turning to Geneva, where preparatory work for the 1973 UN Law of the Sea
Conference (UNCLOS) was getting underway. Canada had achieved some-
thing approaching de facto endorsement of its course of action.

Conclusion
What this analysis has shown, therefore, is how and why the Canadian gov-
ernment’s response to the Manhattan transits took on the character it did, and
how the environmental slant it was given accorded with the national interest
as interpreted by influential policy-makers. As with any foreign policy, this
one was affected by a range of realities largely beyond the government’s in-
fluence. Insofar as it had the ability to craft an independent policy, however, it
did. Initially uncertain as to the options available to it as well as to the precise
effect it wished to achieve, the government spent several months studying
the legal and political landscape before beginning to weigh specific courses
of action. Although American pressure was real and would have discour-
aged the declaration of straight baselines had it been considered seriously,
it seems clear that forces at the heart of the Canadian government would
always have vetoed such a drastic step. The time it took Ottawa to table a
substantive response and its unwillingness to commit itself early to any par-
ticular definition of the national interests were thus the signs of a methodical,
open-minded government considering its options carefully.
The eventual flavour of the legislation tabled was heavily influenced
by the values, beliefs and experience of Pierre Trudeau, Ivan Head, Gordon
Robertson and Allan Gotlieb. Increasing Canada’s scope for control over
northern waters was always understood to be the end objective, but the
“how” rivaled the “what” in importance. The decision to use pollution-
control measures and an extended territorial sea as the vehicle embodied the
Trudeauvian conviction that foreign policy be guided first and foremost by
domestic policy, with the exercise of sovereignty being the means of advan-
cing a country’s interests, not an end in itself.
What makes the Manhattan incident so relevant today is the striking
similarity between the current Canadian landscape and that in 1969. Now
as then, the public’s awareness and the government’s interest in questions
of resource exploitation, economic development, maritime traffic, national
jurisdiction and environmental conservation are extraordinarily high.
Governmental, intellectual and popular efforts to conceptualize more ac-
curately the nature and importance of the circumpolar region are intense.
Efforts to apply the resulting ideas to the handling of the myriad issues

278
 MATTHEW WILLIS

comprising the Arctic Question have probably never been more sustained.
Hindsight is said to be 20/20, but it is of little use to policy-makers planning
for the future. The Manhattan episode is thus a rare and valuable chance to
apply the benefits of hindsight to the present, and to contrast the Trudeau
and Harper governments’ approaches to tackling Arctic sovereignty.
The Trudeau government’s demarche was characterized by circum-
spection and expectation-management. First, it strove to limit the potential
for conflict which the Manhattan transits represented. Beyond the intense
diplomatic activity between it and the US (best described in Kirkey, Kirton
and Munton, and Trudeau and Head) the government directed the bulk
of its energies in this regard to resisting the heavy nationalistic pressure
it was under to drop the gloves and become combative. Notwithstanding
what differences of opinion may have existed within Cabinet, the gov-
ernment’s public attitude was one of dispassionate engagement, Trudeau
and Sharp themselves consistently using measured language to describe
how the government saw the situation and how it was proceeding. The
policy that emerged, similarly, reflected a balanced, deliberate and focused
thought process, pushing the sovereignty envelope as far seemed useful
and no farther. The national interest was front-and-centre, but not provoca-
tively so.
Second, the government admitted from the start to not having answers to
all the questions raised by the Manhattan transits. It also refused to hazard a
guess as to what they would be. Instead, it chose to soak up public pressure in
the immediate term while defining for itself what questions it needed to an-
swer, and preparing responses that would prove satisfactory in the long term.
As a result, it kept its hands free to define and pursue Canada’s interests on its
own terms. By not seeking to do the impossible – assert full jurisdiction over
the waters of the archipelago, for instance, or resolve the Northwest Passage
dispute once and for all – it succeeded in making defensible gains while craft-
ing a response that earned it the Canadian public’s approval. Although the
question of the Northwest Passage was not stitched up, no compelling argu-
ment has yet been made that Canadian interests suffered as a result.
The Harper government, meanwhile, has always depicted Canada’s
Arctic interests and the government’s strategy for furthering them against
a threatening geopolitical landscape. It has promised to defend Canada’s
sovereignty over its Arctic against anyone who would challenge it – imply-
ing on various occasions both the US and Russia – despite the absence of any
credible threat. The effects of its aggressive approach have been to raise the
profile of Arctic sovereignty; engage the public, the media and the academic

279
THE MANHATTAN INCIDENT FORTY YEARS ON

community; generate widespread support for Arctic-related spending; and

earn the government praise for its determination and proactiveness. This ap-
proach may yet yield dividends.
As a number of academics have already pointed out, however, the
Conservatives’ portrayal exaggerates the threat if it does not misrepresent it
outright. Ron Macnab has observed, for example, that:

… under present conditions it is difficult to believe that Canada

could be in imminent danger of having portions of its Arctic
territory appropriated through the unilateral action of a for-
eign power. Labeling the current situation as a “use it or lose it”
scenario is unrealistic, if not misleading…. A more open stance
that permitted transit passage through the Arctic Archipelago,
coupled with enforceable measures to ensure navigational safety,
international security, and environmental protection, would ac-
tually enhance Canada’s authority in this area.50

The effectiveness of the Trudeau government’s legislative response depended

heavily on its acceptance by the international community, ultimately embod-
ied by Article 234 of UNCLOS but demonstrated in the immediate term by
Canada’s success in rallying the countries invited to the US-sponsored Arctic
conference to its cause. It also rested on the government’s concerted, and quite
possibly earnest, efforts to be seen to be acting on behalf of the international
community, and not just for itself. Without Canada’s sincere efforts to include
other countries in its plans, the validity of the goals it pursued through Bills
C-202 and C-203 would not have received the same recognition. The Harper
government should take care that an Arctic policy that has brought it short-
term domestic popularity does not, by its very character, jeopardize equally
(or more) important long-term gains in the international arena.

Notes
1 Maxwell Cohen, “The Arctic and the
national interest,” The International
Journal 26 4 (Winter 1970-1), 78.
2 John Kirton and Don Munton, “The
Manhattan voyages and their after-
math,” in Politics of the Northwest Pas-
sage ed. Franklyn Griffiths (Kingston:
McGill-Queen’s University Press,
1987), 70.
3 Christopher Kirkey, “The Arctic Wat-
ers Pollution Prevention initiatives:
Canada’s response to an American
challenge,” International Journal of Can-
adian Studies 13 (Spring 1996), 42.
4 E. J. Dosman, “The Northern sover-
eignty crisis,” in E. J. Dosman, ed., The
Arctic in Question (Toronto: Oxford
University Press, 1976), 34-57. See also

280

Dosman, The National Interest (Toronto:
McClelland and Stewart, 1975).
5 Franklyn Griffiths, “Canadian sover-
eignty and Arctic international rela-
tions,” in Dosman, The Arctic in Ques-
tion, 140-162.
6 Griffiths, “Canadian sovereignty and
Arctic international relations,” 143.
7 Cohen, “The Arctic and the national
interest.”
8 The material for this overview was
drawn mainly from Kirton and Mun-
ton, “The Manhattan voyages and their
aftermath”; Dosman, The National In-
terest; and from Ivan Head and Pierre
Trudeau, The Canadian Way: Shaping
Canada’s Foreign Policy, 1968-1984 (To-
ronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1995).
9 Peter C. Dobell, Canada’s Search for New
Roles: Foreign Policy in the Trudeau Era
(Toronto: Oxford University Press,
1972), 69.
10 Dosman, The National Interest, 52-54.
11 Cohen, “The Arctic and the national
interest,” 72, as well as Dosman, The
National Interest, 15-17, 46-54.
12 Kirkey, “The Arctic Waters Pollution
Prevention initiatives,” 44-45.
13 Dosman, The National Interest, 47.
14 According to Scott Young, the Gov-
ernor-General’s trip had been planned
long before. Scott Young, “Caught in
the Ottawa cocktail go-round,” Globe
and Mail, 12 April 1969, 7.
15 See Dosman, The National Interest, 52.
16 Kirkey, “The Arctic Waters Pollution
Prevention initiatives,” 44.
17 David Crane, “Trudeau admits Arctic
jurisdiction is in dispute,” Globe and
Mail, 8 March 1969, 4.
18 Crane, “Trudeau admits Arctic juris-
diction is in dispute.” DEA took a
lead role in crafting the government’s
response, but owing to the transit’s
far-reaching implications, the Depart-
ments of Indian and Northern Affairs,
MATTHEW WILLIS
of Transport, of Energy and Natural
Resources and of Fisheries were all
seized of the matter as well and vying
to shape the final policy.
19 Dosman, The National Interest, 48-49.
20 Memorandum to Cabinet, “Canadian
Sovereignty Over the Waters of the
Arctic Archipelago,” 15 September
1969,” in P. Whitney Lackenbauer and
Paul Kikkert, eds., The Canadian Forces
and Arctic Sovereignty: Debating Roles,
Interests and Requirements, 1968-1974
(Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University
Press, 2010), 93.
21 Lackenbauer and Kikkert, The Can-
adian Forces and Arctic Sovereignty, 94.
22 Lackenbauer and Kikkert, The Can-
adian Forces and Arctic Sovereignty, 96.
Emphasis added.
23 Lackenbauer and Kikkert, The Can-
adian Forces and Arctic Sovereignty, 97.
24 Lackenbauer and Kikkert, The Can-
adian Forces and Arctic Sovereignty, 97-
98.
25 Griffiths, “Canadian sovereignty and
Arctic international relations,” 143.
26 Head and Trudeau, The Canadian Way,
30-31.
27 Bruce Thordarson, Trudeau and Foreign
Policy (Toronto: Oxford University
Press, 1972), 64.
28 Head and Trudeau, The Canadian Way,
34.
29 Lackenbauer and Kikkert, The Can-
adian Forces and Arctic Sovereignty, 106.
30 Lackenbauer and Kikkert, The Can-
adian Forces and Arctic Sovereignty, 107.
31 Lackenbauer and Kikkert, The Can-
adian Forces and Arctic Sovereignty, 107.
32 Lackenbauer and Kikkert, The Can-
adian Forces and Arctic Sovereignty, 107.
33 Lackenbauer and Kikkert, The Can-
adian Forces and Arctic Sovereignty, 111.
34 Lackenbauer and Kikkert, The Can-
adian Forces and Arctic Sovereignty, 110.
281
THE MANHATTAN INCIDENT FORTY YEARS ON
35 Head and Trudeau, The Canadian Way,
39.
36 Deputy Minister of Communications
under Trudeau, 1968-1973.
37 Allan Gotlieb, “The Canadian contri-
bution to the concept of a fishing zone
in international law,” Canadian Year-
book of International Law 2 (1964), 64.
The idea for the fishing zone was itself
based on the concept of a contiguous
zone extending beyond the territorial
sea, as formulated by the International
Law Commission. States’ rights to con-
trol foreign activity in the contiguous
zone proposed by the Commission
were very limited.
38 Dobell, Canada’s Search for New Roles,
69.
39 Dobell, Canada’s Search for New Roles, 7.
40 Dobell, Canada’s Search for New Roles, 5.
41 The grounding of the Arrow in Cheda-
bucto Bay, Nova Scotia, bolstered the
case for environmental protection
legislation, but did not occur until 4
February 1970.
282
42 John Roberts, “Meeting the environ-
mental challenge,” in Towards a Just
Society eds. T.S. Axworthy and Pierre
Elliott Trudeau (Markham, ON: Vi-
king, 1990), 149.
43 Roberts, “Meeting the environmental
challenge,” 152-160.
44 Lackenbauer and Kikkert, The Can-
adian Forces and Arctic Sovereignty, 112.
45 Lackenbauer and Kikkert, The Can-
adian Forces and Arctic Sovereignty, 113.
46 Allan Gotlieb, Romanticism and Realism
in Canada’s Foreign Policy (C.D. Howe
institute Benefactors Lecture, Toronto,
3 November 2004), 9.
47 Head and Trudeau, The Canadian Way,
44-45.
48 Head and Trudeau, The Canadian Way,
90.
49 Kirton and Munton, “The Manhattan
voyages and their aftermath,” 95.
50 Ron Macnab, “‘Use it or lose it’ in Arc-
tic Canada: action agenda or election
hype?” Vermont Law Review 34 (2009),
13.
Calgary Papers in Military and Strategic Studies, Occasional Paper No. 4, 2011
Canadian Arctic Sovereignty and Security: Historical Perspectives Pages 283–308

Building on “Shifting Sands”: The

Canadian Armed Forces, Sovereignty
and the Arctic, 1968-1972
P. Whitney Lackenbauer and Peter Kikkert

Sovereignty is not a magic word which automatically requires

or justifies a certain military set-piece. It is rather the political
and territorial framework within which a state exists and func-
tions. It is not made up of, or protected by symbols, tokens or
gestures.
— E.B. Wang, External Affairs, Legal Division, August 1970

T
he role of the Canadian Forces (CF) in asserting sovereignty is often
tied to the old maxim that presence is 9/10ths of the law. Surveillance
and “boots on the ground” are commonly bound up with Canada’s
credibility in “defending” its sovereignty. By implication, a more robust CF
presence is deemed essential to “using or losing” our Arctic. There has, how-
ever, been little to no supporting justification given to substantiate this ac-
cepted wisdom. Recent legal opinions are obviously classified and cannot be
analyzed, so history helps to illuminate the issue. Discussions from the early
Trudeau era on the role of the CF in protecting and maintaining sovereignty
reveal that improved military capabilities do not inherently translate into
stronger sovereignty claims.
In September 1969 Humble Oil sent the ice strengthened oil tanker SS
Manhattan through the icy waters of the Northwest Passage to determine if
it could be used as a shipping route for oil and gas from the Beaufort Sea.
Although the ship’s owners requested Canadian cooperation and assistance,
the U.S. State Department would not accept Canada’s claims to the Passage or
ask for permission to transit these waters. Writing shortly after Manhattan’s
historic journey, journalist Maxwell Cohen described the national crisis that
resulted as Canadians felt “they were on the edge of another American . . .
[theft] of Canadian resources and rights which had to be dealt with at once
by firm governmental action.”1 Given the grave insecurity about sovereignty
the voyage caused, it would have broad implications for both Canadian-
American relations and Canadian policy in the Arctic.

© Centre for Military and Strategic Studies http://cmss.ucalgary.ca/ 283

BUILDING ON “SHIFTING SANDS”

In the years preceding the Manhattan’s voyage, quiet diplomacy and

careful negotiations characterized Canada’s approach to Arctic sovereignty.
Although some historians have criticized this approach as ad hoc and in-
effective,2 Canadian policy-makers, especially those in External Affairs,
adopted a careful strategy that preserved and extended Canadian sover-
eignty. Perhaps more importantly, as the Cold War intensified and the North
became the undefended roof to the continent, these policy-makers managed
to balance sovereignty concerns with the security needs of the United States.
By the 1950s External Affairs had developed a sophisticated understanding
of sovereignty in the North, which successfully guided the department as it
laid the groundwork for the functional approach taken by Trudeau in reac-
tion to the Manhattan’s intrusion.3
In the previous chapter, Matthew Willis examined the government’s
steps to expand its Arctic jurisdiction and control through unilateral legisla-
tive action. The Canadian Armed Forces were also a lynchpin in the govern-
ment’s new sovereignty strategy. From 1968-72, however, the Department
of National Defence (DND) struggled to articulate a role for the military in
the Arctic. Defence planners rationalized Canadian Armed Forces activities
around the idea of the protection of sovereignty, and insisted that a robust
military presence and flying the flag were essential to preserve and strength-
en Canada’s legal claim in the Arctic. Surveillance and the ability to detect
transits in the region no longer had a purely military purpose: they purport-
edly bolstered Canada’s legal claims.
This emphasis concerned the Department of External Affairs, which ad-
mitted that a country must be able to enforce and control activities in its juris-
diction, but doubted whether an increase in military presence strengthened
Canada’s sovereignty over its Arctic. To these critics, symbolic presence was
far less important than the functional contribution the military could make
to the broad range of government responsibilities in the region. They empha-
sized that, before building a role for the armed forces, defence planners had
to start with a coherent rationale for an increased level of military activity. In
the end, prescient warnings that developing a military role to serve the “op-
tical demands” of political sovereignty would be tantamount to building “on
shifting sands” went unheeded.4 National Defence proceeded to develop a
role for the CAF around the protection of sovereignty, predicated on a short-
term sovereignty crisis that soon dissipated.

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Commercial Interests and the Manhattan’s Voyage

The search for petroleum in the Arctic Archipelago began in earnest during
the Second World War, and large-scale exploration in the Queen Elizabeth
Islands started in 1959. By the mid-1960s, an exploration boom drew un-
precedented attention to the Beaufort Sea north of Canada and Alaska, as
well as to the Mackenzie Delta and the Sverdrup Basin.5 Oil companies and
economists began to look at the isolated Canadian Arctic as a source of un-
tapped wealth and potential. Great riches rested underneath the ice just wait-
ing to be exploited. Oil companies secured exploration permits, conducted
geological mapping and geophysical prospecting, drilled at a few sites,
and began to prepare for the possibilities of shipping oil in the Canadian
Archipelago. “This has presented the first opportunities for use of part of
the Northwest Passage for strictly commercial shipping,” Trevor Lloyd pre-
dicted in the prominent American journal Foreign Affairs in 1964. “Even if
oil in commercial quantities were to be discovered shortly, there might well
be considerable delay before it could reach world markets as the method of
transportation is still to be determined.”6
Four years later, the discovery of massive petroleum deposits on the
north slope of Alaska by the Atlantic Richfield Company suddenly and
dramatically changed the situation in the Arctic. How could the estimated
ten billion barrels of oil extracted from the north slope be transported
thousands of kilometers to southern markets in the United States in a cost
effective and expedient manner? The oil industry immediately began ex-
ploring the option of using tankers to transport oil through the Northwest
Passage to east coast refineries. In 1969, Atlantic Richfield, British
Petroleum, and Standard Oil laid out a plan to send an ice-strengthened
vessel through the Passage, explaining that “if successful, the test could
result in the establishment of a new commercial shipping route through
the Arctic region with broad implications for future Arctic development
and international trade.”7
The plans for a commercial oil tanker transiting the Northwest Passage
caught the Canadian government off guard. Although the Advisory
Committee on Northern Development (ACND) offered an appropriate
platform for interdepartmental discussions between key federal stakehold-
ers, such as the Departments of National Defence and External Affairs, the
committee met infrequently and had done little to explore the implications
of the oil and gas activities. At the same time, neither the committee – nor
any other arm of the government – comprehended the technological advan-
cements that made mineral extraction and commercial navigation plausible.

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Political scientist Edgar Dosman argued that the failure of the ACND to
see these developments looming just over the horizon “must be counted
as one of the great lost opportunities for a coherent foreign and defence
policy in the North.” At the 71st meeting of the ACND in December 1967,
for example, the committee discussed a report that a hunt for oil was im-
minent in the Arctic waters. The report recommended that Canada develop
a control system to regulate incoming foreign-owned ships and form an
interdepartmental committee to review possible options and departmental
roles. This group was never formed, however, and no regulatory actions
were taken.8
When the S.S. Manhattan made its way through the Northwest Passage
with its small load of oil, the nation’s response was dramatic and demanded
a more assertive Canadian Arctic policy. “In an era of heightened concern
with Canadian sovereignty across the board, matters affecting the Arctic
were drawn into the public sector and brought to high visibility,” political
scientist Thomas Tynan explained. “They could no longer be suitably dealt
with through simply informal, or closed, diplomatic channels. A bold state-
ment of national interest in the Arctic was needed to replace a merely quiet
affirmation of it.”9 The voyage came at a time of increasing nationalism and
ecological awareness, and it aroused “concerns that Canada’s manifest des-
tiny might be lost in the North to American multinational corporations.”10
Accordingly, the new prime minister faced a dilemma as he defined Canada’s
Northern interests within a broader national economic and political frame-
work. Dosman asked:

What priorities would be chosen in the last great area of the

country not yet possessed and exploited? Would Canada seize
the opportunity now denied it in the South, to lessen Canadian
dependence on the United States, to undertake a truly Canadian
development of the North? Would Ottawa exercise leadership in
the high Arctic to maintain national jurisdiction and to develop
an internationally acceptable approach to activity in the polar
area as a whole? Or would it follow the line of least resistance:
foreign ownership of resources, exploitation with massive gov-
ernment subsidies paying only lip-service to environmental and
native objections; transportation of raw materials to foreign mar-
kets; the abandonment of historic claims in the face of American
diplomatic pressure?11

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Located on the physical and mental periphery of the nation, the Arctic
Archipelago suddenly became a major point of contention in Canadian-
American relations and a pivotal political arena for Trudeau’s government.

The Canadian Response

As the “media-created perception” of an American challenge to Canada’s
sovereignty in the Arctic grew,12 so did the indignation of the Canadian
public. This caught Trudeau’s government by surprise.13 “Apart from the
general question of Canada-United States economic and cultural relations
and their meaning for the future of Canadian decision-making autonomy
and identity,” Maxwell Cohen observed in 1970, “perhaps no other subject
has so polarized the idea of the national interest as its continuing debate
over Canada’s Arctic claims and plans for its future.”14 After the Manhattan
made its way through the Passage many Canadians supported an activist ap-
proach to counter what they believed was an inevitable American challenge
to Canadian sovereignty. The federal government felt pressured to create the
means necessary to defend its territory and explicitly state its sovereignty
over the Northwest Passage.15 Activists wanted the abilities of the military
to be improved so that it could operate in the Arctic and enforce Canada’s
sovereign title. Despite the loud cries of those who supported these aggres-
sive actions, there were others, both in the government and in the general
public, who supported a gradualist approach. They looked at the quiet dip-
lomacy of the past and saw a United States that was willing to negotiate to
allay Canadian concerns. Furthermore, they did not anticipate a significant
amount of shipping through the Passage. Accordingly, Canada could pur-
sue “special status” for the Passage rather than deploying its military to
the Arctic for sovereignty-fulfilling reasons. According to political scientist
Franklyn Griffiths, the common gradualist opinion was that “success resides
not in the commitment to pursue confrontation through to the bitter end, but
in avoiding a confrontation in the first place.”16
At first, the Canadian government attempted to portray the voyage of
the Manhattan in a positive light. Prior to the voyage the oil companies re-
quested information on conditions in the Passage, and as the tanker made
its voyage a Canadian icebreaker accompanied it through Canadian waters
– facts overlooked by many in the opposition and general public. Mitchell
Sharp, the Canadian Secretary of State for External Affairs (SSEA), explained
his frustration at this misrepresentation in the Globe and Mail, stating that
“the Manhattan project would not have been possible without … extensive
Canadian input, consisting of preparatory studies extending for many years

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over a vast area of the North.... It is wholly misleading, therefore, to portray

the Manhattan passage as a test of Canada’s sovereignty in the Arctic, the
issue simply does not arise.” He emphasized that this was “no time for
wide-ranging assertions of sovereignty – rather Canada must concentrate
on specific objectives, the most important of which is the opening up of the
Canadian Arctic region for development.”17
Despite the reassuring words, fears abounded – particularly after the
owners of the Manhattan began planning a second voyage the following year
to test an alternate route. Again Sharp attempted to alleviate Canadian con-
cerns, this time in the House of Commons. When asked if the owners of the
Manhattan had sought Canadian permission for a second voyage through the
Arctic on 16 February 1970, the SSEA noted:

When ships pass through our waters, wherever these are, they
do not seek the specific approval of the Canadian government.
They are assumed to be on innocent passage and we do not ques-
tion them. We assume that the Manhattan, if it is to go again, will
undertake an innocent passage. Indeed the purpose of the voy-
age would be to find out, by way of this experiment, what condi-
tions are like in the north. That is why we welcome it and have
cooperated and given our permission in the past.

The Opposition was not convinced. Former Prime Minister John Diefenbaker
interjected his views on sovereignty during parliamentary sessions, an-
swering Sharp’s statement with the cry: “What price Canadian sovereignty!
Heaven help us!”18
The panic in Diefenbaker’s appeal captures well the mood of
Canada in the aftermath of Manhattan. In the press, journalists fed
Canadians’ angst for their country’s sovereignty and stirred up a na-
tional panic. Fears of American encroachment were also palpable in the
House of Commons. In March 1970, for instance, Member of Parliament
Gordon Ritchie stood up and exclaimed, “more and more policies laid
down at Ottawa are reducing this country to the status of a non-nation. The
Americans kindly take us aside and tell us which parts of the Canadian north
they intend to take over…The solution in respect to the Canadian Arctic is
simple. The Canadian Arctic is Canadian. The sooner this government so
informs the people of the United States, the better.”19 The only solution, ac-
cording to Ritchie, was strengthening the Canadian presence in the Arctic
and immediately doubling the military bases there. Though the government

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continued to try to alleviate concern, there was recognition that this national
concern for sovereignty would not quickly dissipate. Several Cabinet minis-
ters insisted that “ownership of Northern Canada was a very real force in the
spirit of many Canadians, and these strong feelings should not be dismissed
by calling them jingoism.”20 Faced with such a strong public outcry and in-
cisive political criticism, the government changed its tune and prepared a
response to what had become a national crisis.
Trudeau and his advisers sought an alternate solution to a vexing pol-
itical problem. The ecologically delicate nature of the Arctic and the severe
risks posed to the fragile environment by oil filled tankers traveling in ice
filled waters now became a convenient reason to extend Canadian jurisdic-
tion northward. In his October 1969 Throne Speech to Parliament, Trudeau
explained that:

Canada regards herself as responsible to all mankind for the pe-

culiar ecological balance that now exists so precariously in the
water, ice and land areas of the Arctic Archipelago. We do not
doubt for a moment that the rest of the world would find us at
fault, and hold us liable, should we fail to ensure adequate protec-
tion of that environment from pollution or artificial deterioration.
Canada will not permit this to happen….
 Part of the heritage of this country, a part that is of increas-
ing importance and value to us, is the purity of our water, the
freshness of our air, and the extent of our living resources. For
ourselves and for the world we must jealously guard these bene-
fits. To do so is not chauvinism, it is an act of sanity in an increas-
ingly irresponsible world. Canada will propose a policy of use
of the Arctic waters which will be designed for environmental
preservation…, as a contribution to the long-term and sustained
development of resources for economic and social progress.21

The prime minister’s innovative use of environmental concerns to strengthen

Canadian jurisdiction in the Arctic helped to ease lingering nationalist con-
cerns. Trudeau’s government chose to cast foreign activities, especially the
actions of its closest ally, as threats to Canada’s territorial integrity and the
fundamental right of all humans to live in a safe and healthy environment,
rather than pushing the internal waters versus international strait debate.
The Canadian emphasis on the environment had strong international
and moral appeal, and the government quickly adopted extraordinary meas-

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ures to protect its environmental interests. In April 1970, the Liberal govern-
ment introduced two bills into Parliament that heralded a new “functional”
approach to Canadian sovereignty. Bill C-202, the Arctic Waters Pollution
Prevention Act (AWPPA), created a pollution prevention zone one hundred
nautical miles (115 miles or 185 km) outside the archipelago and covered the
waters between the islands. This allowed Canada to regulate and control
future tanker traffic through the Northwest Passage. “The Arctic Waters
bill represents a constructive and functional approach to environmental
preservation,” Sharp asserted in the House of Commons. “It asserts only
the limited jurisdiction required to achieve a specific and vital purpose.”
While not a formal assertion of sovereignty, Canada still claimed jurisdiction
over the area.22 Bill C-203, the Territorial Sea and Fishing Zone Act, extended
Canada’s territorial sea from three to twelve miles. The new 12-mile limit in
the Arctic created a Canadian controlled eastern gateway in the Northwest
Passage between Young and Lowther islands in the Barrow Strait. A similar
Western gateway already existed through the Prince of Wales Strait, which
was covered by the traditionally-recognized the three-mile limit.23 With the
enactment of Bill C-203, a ship could not even transit the Passage using the ice
infested M’Clure Strait without violating Canadian regulations, because it
needed to travel through Canadian territorial waters at some point. Although
Canada could not deny the right of innocent passage in these territorial wat-
ers, it could temporarily suspend the right of passage if its security was chal-
lenged by a threat, even an environmental one.24
In explaining the bills in the House of Commons, Trudeau argued that
“the important thing is that we … have authority to ensure that any danger
to the delicate ecological balance of the Arctic to be prevented or preserved
against by Canadian action…. It is not an assertion of sovereignty, it is an
exercise of our desire to keep the Arctic free of pollution.”25 International
lawyer Leonard Legault of External Affairs elaborated on the bills, stating
that “Canada cannot abdicate its responsibility for the protection of its terri-
tory, and Canada cannot wait for the slow and difficult development of inter-
national law to afford that situation. Canada moreover has thoroughly tested
the climate for international action against marine pollution…and has found
it seriously wanting.”26 Parliament passed both bills unanimously.
Rather than risk a full assertion of Canadian sovereignty over the
Northwest Passage, which likely would have been rejected by the United
States to the detriment of the Canada’s position, Trudeau’s government
embraced functional sovereignty: jurisdiction to regulate certain activities
in Arctic waters. Because the Arctic Waters Pollution Prevention Act did not

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assert full Canadian sovereignty, its critics alleged that the government
was actually weakening Canada’s sovereignty claim. Trudeau refused to
concede to the “ultranationalists”: his course was that of “legal moderation”
with a clear focus on the popular issue of environmental protection.27 After
all, the prime minister explained, “to close off these Arctic waters would be
as senseless as placing a barrier across the entrance to Halifax or Vancouver
harbour.” Instead, the government committed to actively monitor the pas-
sage to ensure safe navigation by any vessel that followed Canadian regula-
tions and safety standards.28 Canada made the dumping of wastes illegal
in the newly created pollution prevention zone, established safety control
zones for shipping, set personnel qualifications, stipulated navigational
aids, and insisted on standards for ship hull construction.29 By embracing
this functional approach, the government was actually laying the ground-
work to apply straight baselines to the Arctic archipelago. Indeed, as inter-
national lawyer Donald McRae observed, the legislation was a “manifesta-
tion of sovereignty” that was ultimately accepted by the international com-
munity, thus helping to consolidate Canada’ s authority over its archipelagic
waters.30
Commentators at the time noted that, if Canada was going to act uni-
laterally, it needed adequate enforcement capabilities to assert control over
its northern waters. How would Canada enforce its laws if foreign vessels
decided to mount a direct challenge? Would Canadian weakness not en-
courage foreign interests to challenge its jurisdiction? While the opposition
parties supported the Trudeau government’s initiatives, they worried about
Canada’s capacity to enforce these new regulations. During the parliament-
ary debate on the AWPPA, Robert Stanfield, the Leader of the Opposition,
stated:

Having accepted the responsibility of controlling pollution in

this area, and I agree that we should accept the responsibility, we
must now make certain that we discharge this responsibility, I
and the hon. members of this house will expect this government
to prepare itself to discharge its responsibilities and, incidentally,
to tell us how it intends to enforce these measures it proposes….
This is what this government is asking Parliament to define. If we
accept that responsibility, than we must carry it out. We must not
fail, not only because we do not want to look silly but because we
have accepted a heavy responsibility.

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In response to Stanfield’s question of how Canada would enforce its new

regulations, members of parliament mockingly cried out “through flower
power” and “through Jamieson’s navy,” the unarmed ships of the Department
of Transport.31 The Department of Transport performed its duties admir-
ably in the region, but the Canadian government increasingly turned to the
Canadian Armed Forces to discharge Canada’s new responsibilities in its
enlarged Arctic jurisdiction.

The Role of the Canadian Forces in Sovereignty Assertion

In the late 1960s, the Canadian military undertook a defence policy review
that studied the possible role of the Canadian Forces in protecting and main-
taining sovereignty. A 1968 paper on DND policy focused on sovereignty
concerns in the North, anticipated an acceleration of interest in the area,
and suggested that the military begin identifying roles in the region.32 With
minimal understanding of international law, defence planners believed that
persistent presence and surveillance were essential to affirm Canada’s legal
claims in the Arctic. Another policy paper strengthened this perception, sug-
gesting that:

In uninhabited regions, a government should at least be able

to maintain effective surveillance, if only for the purpose of
asserting its authority if the need should arise. India’s claim to
Ladakh, never too strong in any case, has not benefited from the
fact that the Chinese were able to occupy 12,000 square mile of
it, and build a road across it, without the Indian Government be-
coming aware of what was happening for several years.

Even in areas where little direct military threat existed, the military needed
to maintain some kind of presence for ‘insurance’ purposes and to assist in
the maintenance of law and order, disaster relief, search and rescue, and the
prevention of violations against Canadian territory. While there was already
a government presence in the Arctic, defence planners believed that the
establishment of regular patrol flights in the region could reinforce Canada’s
claim to sovereignty.33 In short, surveillance was considered key to asserting
sovereignty.
By the spring of 1969, Trudeau started to promote the new focus of the
Canadian Forces by publicly declaring that his government’s “first priority
in our defence policy is the protection of Canadian sovereignty.”34 This was
followed by Mitchell Sharp’s claim that the new defence policy would be

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centered on “the surveillance of our own territory and coastlines in the inter-
ests of protecting our sovereignty.”35 While Lester Pearson’s government fun-
neled the lion’s share of defence resources and attention into NATO respon-
sibilities and United Nations peacekeeping, Trudeau adopted a ‘Canada first’
approach with particular emphasis on the North.36 Although the Canadian
forces had the task of defending Canada’s sovereignty, the specific nature of
this role was ambiguous and doubts existed about the extent to which the
government was ready to commit men and resources.37
In the following years the Departments of National Defence and
External Affairs attempted to define this new role for the Canadian Forces
and determine the most effective way for the military to fulfill its duties. In
their assessments, planners did not worry about a short-term, direct military
threat to the Arctic. In fact, the military virtually disregarded the possibility
of conventional forces operating against Canada in the region. Military ana-
lysts confidently asserted that the only real direct threat via the Arctic and
the Canadian northland approach would come in the context of a general
nuclear war. DND’s Steering Committee on the Canadian North, however,
insisted that a role remained for the Canadian Forces in the Arctic because
they possessed a level of capability and expertise “which can be used to ad-
vantage in furthering government objectives in the North.”38 The committee’s
December 1969 report also emphasized that the military needed to be able to
operate efficiently in all parts of the country, regardless of the level of direct
military threat. In the ensuing months, little effort was made to articulate
more specifically what the military’s role would be.
While DND appeared content to plan based upon these general assump-
tions, officials at External Affairs noted their frustration with the ambigu-
ous justification for increased military involvement in the Arctric. By 1970,
Michael Shenstone of External Affairs’ North American Defence and NATO
Division still could not grasp the actual rationale for the government’s de-
fence policy, and recommended that defence planners begin a comprehen-
sive assessment of the threats to the Arctic. “We are not aware of any current
intelligence estimates forecasting a need for a greater level of military sur-
veillance and capability in the North,” he explained. Public announcements,
however, seemed to suggest that “the Canadian Armed Forces are moving in
the direction of a significant reallocation of resources towards the North and
away from other areas such as NATO Europe.”39
This shift seemed illogical. The government insisted that there was no
challenge to Canada’s northern lands, territorial waters, and seabed, and
that the only likely challenge was to the Northwest Passage – a challenge

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that would be commercial and peaceful. “At the same time, Canada’s Armed
Forces had been given the primary mission of protecting sovereignty,” strat-
egist Ken Eyre later explained. “Yet, by the government’s own admission, the
only possible challenge to Canadian claims – and that in a very specific and
restricted area – was mounted not by an international rival or threat, but by
the United States, Canada’s closest ally and major trading partner.” Given
this confusion, Eyre was not surprised that both the Canadian Forces and
the broader public had difficulty discerning what the military’s role should
actually be in the North.40
Throughout the early 1970s, defence planners continued to wrestle with
the question of the military’s proper role. At a Chief of the Defence Staff
(CDS) Advisory Committee meeting on 18 February 1970, questions arose
as to “whether the primary purpose of CF participation in northern affairs
is in the interest of sovereignty or to assist other government departments
in the development and protection of the North”?41 The committee agreed
that the CF had to resolve this issue before it could decide upon the types
of operations, size and composition of forces, and the location of a northern
headquarters. It concluded that “without a rational, long term policy the ef-
fectiveness of DND, and the Canadian Forces in particular, will be suspect.”
Defence planners recognized the dangers and limitations of short-term plan-
ning. “We must be careful not to allow ourselves to be drawn into programs
which might be short-lived as this would bring into question the credibility
of military activity and would have a disruptive effect on local economy,”
one report asserted.42 In any case, the military acknowledged how costly a
large-scale, long-term role in the North would be.
“If Canada is serious about asserting its sovereignty in the Arctic, it must
be prepared to pay a fantastically high price,” Vice Admiral J. C. O’Brien,
the commanding officer of Maritime Command, proclaimed in a March
1970 speech. He insisted that the Canadian military not take half measures
in the Arctic that would only waste limited resources in pointless exercises
to assert Canada’s sovereignty. The admiral estimated that it would cost 2.5
billion dollars for six nuclear powered attack submarines, greatly increased
air surveillance, the installation of a vast network of navigational aids, and
a naval capability to escort merchant ships in the Arctic – all platforms re-
quired to ensure that the military had the minimal capability necessary to
deal with potential challenges. “It’s pretty obvious there’s only one nation
we need to worry about encroaching on our sovereignty,” O’Brien noted in
obvious reference to the United States. “The only way to combat it is to be
there and prove you care.”43

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Most defence planners did not share O’Brien’s appetite for investing
in expensive northern capabilities, instead emphasizing the importance of
a military presence and surveillance to strengthen Canada’s legal claims.
Indeed, as plans for the North developed throughout the summer of 1970,
the military became more fixated on building its role around sovereignty.
Although DND plans did identify specific activities in support of the other
government departments operating in the North, the real focus of planning
remained on surveillance and establishing a presence. Planners considered
long-range aerial patrols an ideal solution to Canada’s sovereignty worries
for they demonstrated a Canadian presence over an extensive area. They
worried, however, that these aircraft only established a strong and visual
presence when “they are on an airstrip in the North and/or can be seen by
others.” So they looked to the land units and ships of Mobile and Maritime
Commands to contribute to this visual presence with their “exercises and
visits.” Still, the military sought to achieve the “more permanent aspect of
presence” in the eyes of Northerners and foreign visitors. The concept for
Northern operations maintained that “it will be necessary…for Commander
Northern Region and his staff to engage in the personal contact type of re-
connaissance and planning which demonstrate not only a military presence
but also a long term interest and involvement.”44 Rather than establishing
a real strategic rationale for operating in the Arctic, DND emphasized per-
sistent presence as the main justification for an increased level of military
activity in the North.
In response, international lawyers questioned whether these military
contributions actually bolstered sovereignty. In April 1969, Erik Wang, who
was then at Canadian Forces Headquarters but soon moved to the Defence
Relations Division at External Affairs, commented that “it is difficult to see
what expanded role the Canadian Armed Forces could usefully play in sup-
port of Canada’s claim to sovereignty over water between the Arctic islands.”
Wang maintained that the present overall level of Canadian government ac-
tivity in the North was adequate to protect Canadian territorial sovereignty,
and did not require an increased level of CAF activity. He did not see how
an expanded CAF role would strengthen Canada’s legal claim to sovereignty
over the Arctic waters. Sovereignty considerations, after all, were legal, eco-
nomic and political. “It is not a military problem,” Wang concluded. “It can-
not be solved by any amount of surveillance or patrol activity in the chan-
nels by Canadian forces.” There had to be a firm military rationale for the
involvement of the [Canadian Forces] in the North, not “presence of the sake
of presence.”45

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Wang believed that the military had a role to play in the Arctic, but first
it had to establish a coherent rationale for any increase in activity. He argued
that the military could protect and promote “the greatest possible measure of
‘political sovereignty,’ which is a matter of effective control by the Canadian
government over activities taking place on or over Canadian territory.” This
was a way to exercise authority and mobilize the resources of the govern-
ment “to determine Canadian policies in the light of Canadian interests.” The
best way for the CAF to accomplish this type of control was in support of the
other government departments operating in the North.
Wang warned that to develop any military role merely to satisfy the
“optical demands” of political sovereignty “would be to build on shifting
sands…. It would not be long before somebody noticed that one visit of the
Governor General, accompanied by an enthusiastic press corps, can provide
a sovereign presence to a remote area much more effectively and much
more cheaply than 100 [Canadian Forces] surveillance overflights.”46 In July
1970 the Canadian government seemed to take this advice to heart, and in-
vited Queen Elizabeth II to pay her first official visit to the Arctic. During
her trip, the Queen was greeted by the Prime Minister and Governor
General at Frobisher Bay (now Iqaluit) and visited Inuit communities all
the way up to Resolute Bay. The government also organized annual trips
to the Arctic for foreign diplomats stationed in Ottawa. “These trips gave
foreign representatives visible demonstrations of the Canadian presence in
the North,” political scientist P.C. Dobell noted in 1976; “even more the dip-
lomats’ acceptance of the invitations confirmed Canada’s sovereignty in the
area.”47
Throughout the early 1970s the Legal Division at External Affairs con-
tinued to take issue with DND reports and policy statements that confused
“the problematic enforcement of Canada’s jurisdictional claims in the Arctic
waters with the problem of the legal basis for those claims.” Although de-
fence planners implied that an increased military presence in the North was
necessary to assert Canada’s sovereignty, External Affairs argued that this
did nothing to establish the “legal validity of Canada’s claims” in the Arctic.48
The DND seemed to overlook the most important question: “whether an in-
creased level of military surveillance or patrols in the area of the archipelago
waters could help to strengthen Canada’s legal claim to these waters, for
example, if the dispute were ever referred to arbitration in the International
Court?”49
External Affairs believed that defence planners could not answer this
question because they had a fundamental misunderstanding of the situa-

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tion in the Arctic and the nature of sovereignty. Basically, DND confused
two separate problems facing Canada in the region. First, it needed a law
enforcement capability to handle foreign and domestic activities, commercial
enterprises, and the new anti-pollution legislation. Second, Canada needed
to “establish or strengthen a legal basis for claims over the archipelago wat-
ers and pollution control zones.” Unfortunately, defence planners used the
second need to justify increased military activity in the Arctic. The North
American Defence and NATO Division at External Affairs explained to the
Legal Division that:

the Forces could be moving in the direction of a substantial shift

in emphasis and activities, involving a substantial re-allocation
of resources, without any clear rationale, whether legal (would
it strengthen our claims?), regulatory (will the RCMP, Coast-
guard, etc. need more support from the Forces?), political (would
Canadians somehow sleep better, or is it intended to serve as
a signal to Washington of our national resolve?), military (are
we, as a matter of joint defence, agreed with out allies about the
threat of, for example, Soviet submarine transits in the North and
about what response should be made to that threat?) or economic
(should the Forces support DOT in ice reconnaissance and ice-
breaking activities?)50

Defence planners did not provide sufficient military or strategic rationale to

justify the CF’s expanded role in the North, and External Affairs encouraged
them to formulate it more explicitly.51 Indeed, the military’s obsession with
presence was legally problematic.
In continuously emphasizing presence, the military seemed to misapply
the doctrine of effective occupation. Over the previous half century, inter-
national courts had clarified that “the display of state activities required to
establish ‘effective occupation’ and sovereign title need not be continuous
but may be intermittent.”52 Legally, Canada did not have to furnish military
forces to prove its effective presence in the Arctic; government policies had
been meeting the requirements of effective occupation since the beginning
of the twentieth century.53 If Canada’s case was as solid as legal opinions sug-
gested, External Affairs lawyers noted that “there was no need for increased
presence of military forces in the North merely for the sake of presence in
order to bolster our legal claim to the real estate.”54 Political scientist John
Gellner opined:

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Canada has established in the lands and the waters its claims
as its own an organization capable of making Canadian laws
respected. No other power has at present that capability. The
people living in the area, whether permanently or temporarily,
consider themselves governed by Canadian law. What physical
presence there is of representatives of the state is no doubt suf-
ficient, at least at the present stage of development of the region.
It would appear, then, that challenges to Canadian sovereignty
would have to be based not on the lack of ‘effective occupation,’
but rather on general principles of international law – or though
this would be difficult to imagine – on historical rights.55

In short, Canada already had effective occupation of the North.

The Legal Division at External Affairs consistently argued that an
increase in the level of forces in the North would not legally strengthen
Canada’s disputed claim over the waters. Nevertheless, officials recognized
that where Canada insisted on new jurisdiction in the region (ie. for pollu-
tion control) it had to be able to enforce that jurisdiction. “Law which is not
or cannot be enforced may eventually cease to be law at all,” one External
Affairs legal advisor concluded.56 Although the military always discussed
the need to know what was happening in the region for the protection of
sovereignty, E.B. Wang explained, “we would say rather that it is essential to
have effective control of an area, or effective enforcement of jurisdiction, or
the protection of national security.”57 Defence planners, however, remained
preoccupied with the simplistic idea of a need for presence.
Throughout the planning stages, the DND suffered from an institutional
confusion about sovereignty. Over time, Wang grew increasingly annoyed
with the DND’s unwillingness – or inability – to develop any coherent ideas
about the CF’s actual role in the protection of sovereignty. In late 1970 the
Defence Research Analysis Establishment asked him for any relevant stud-
ies and reports on Arctic sovereignty. “It is depressing to think that after
twenty months of studying what the Prime Minister meant in his reference
to the role of the Forces in the protection of sovereignty (April 3 statement)
DND are still at the stage of preparing a background bibliography,” Wang
noted acerbically. This lack of understanding hindered DND efforts to define
its role in the broader context of the government’s objectives for the North.
Wang argued that the military’s emphasis on presence was static and sym-
bolic, and did not match the government’s functional approach which sought
“to define and identify where Canadian interests lay (ie. anti-pollution and

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 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER AND PETER KIKKERT

safety of navigation) and shaping policy and legislation to meet what needed
to be done to protect those interests.”58
Leonard Legault, a member of the Legal Operations Division at External
Affairs, noted that the draft White Paper on Defence did not even attempt a
definition of sovereignty, and seemed to view the protection of sovereignty
in terms “simultaneously restrictive and sweeping: restrictive in that the
White Paper seems to suggest that the protection of sovereignty does not
include defence against armed attack by foreign forces; sweeping, in that it
also seems to suggest that sovereignty is challenged on every hand in other
ways than armed attack, and that it is to these challenges that the protection
of sovereignty must be directed.”59 Instead of defining sovereignty, the Paper
indulged “in vague generalities and catch-words where it should be precise
and concrete.” External Affairs also argued that the draft confused its lan-
guage in using terms like ‘security control,’ ‘effective control’ and ‘effective
occupation’ interchangeably.60 Legault also found it peculiar that the White
Paper did not consider Canada’s collective security arrangements with the
U.S. as the protection of Canadian sovereignty.61 Why did the paper treat the
protection of Canadian sovereignty and national defence as two mutually
exclusive concepts? External Affairs viewed the primary objective of na-
tional defence as the essence of the protection of sovereignty. “While certain
activities would be directed towards the one objective rather than towards
the other,” J.A. Beesley, the director general of Legal and Consular Affairs,
noted, “many activities could and should be directed towards the attainment
of both objectives, which overlap to a considerable extent.”62
Another troubling aspect of DND’s convoluted thinking related to sur-
veillance, and the apparent belief that it protected Canadian sovereignty. The
Legal Division at External Affairs suggested that while surveillance “may
well be a necessary function of sovereignty,” it “could not be considered a
basis for or sine que non of sovereignty in legal terms.”63 Surveillance might
be required for the purposes of control, enforcement and protection, but
the legal advisors disputed DND’s idea that “he who is best informed has
the best case.” They insisted that “increased surveillance activities must be
developed in response to specific needs and interests and not in the pious
hope that the aimless overflights somehow contribute to “sovereignty.”64 In
February 1971, Legault sharply criticized the sovereignty aspects of the Draft
White Paper on Defence and called the emphasis on defence as solution for
all of Canada’s sovereignty concerns “confused and deficient.”65 He observed
that the White Paper seemed “to view ‘surveillance’ as a sort of mystic rite
rather than a functional requirement to meet well defined needs.” The very

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BUILDING ON “SHIFTING SANDS”

suggestion that comprehensive surveillance or an increased presence was

needed to protect Canada’s title unnecessarily called into doubt Canada’s
sovereignty over the Arctic.66 Michael Shenstone, for instance, could not
fathom why the White Paper made reference to effective occupation, with
the indirect implication that Canada did not exercise it in the North outside
“more settled areas.”67 Such self-critical intimations would only draw un-
wanted and critical attention to Canada’s position, even if they had no basis
in international law.
External Affairs officials were critical of defence planners’ attempts to
lay out a sovereignty-assertion role for the Canadian Forces in the Arctic,
but most agreed with the basic assumption emanating from National
Defence: that northern development called for a new and expanded role
for the military.68 External Affairs repeatedly emphasized that the military
needed to embrace functional roles “in specific areas where a useful job can
be performed in support of other government agencies with operational re-
sponsibilities in the North.”69 Erik Wang noted that “a pre-occupation with
‘presence’ for the sake of ‘presence’” was inconsistent with the government’s
functional approach in the Arctic.70 A military presence, surveillance, and
simply having “boots on the ground” did not strengthen Canada’s sover-
eignty in the Arctic. Indeed, emphasizing the need for these measures cast
doubts about the validity of Canada’s existing claims.

Implementing the Plan

Despite interdepartmental differences of opinion, defence planners main-
tained their focus on presence and adopted an Arctic strategy built around
the premise that military activities improved sovereignty. The new motto for
Canada’s Arctic patrols, one journalist noted, was “to see and be seen.71 In
1970, naval vessels sailed into Arctic waters for the first time in eight years,
initiating annual northern deployments or “NORPLOYs” that continued
through the decade. Maritime Command began Arctic surveillance patrols
using medium- and long-range patrol aircraft, performing tasks such as
surveying northern airfields, examining ice conditions, monitoring wildlife
and pollution, and documenting resource extraction and fishery activities.
The army began regular, small unit “Viking” indoctrination patrols, as
well as elaborate paratroop assault exercises in the archipelago involving
the Canadian Airborne Regiment. All of these activities were short-term,
as were long-range air surveillance patrols (which were often limited by
weather and the lack of northern airfields) and naval activities confined to
select waters only in ice-free months. To provide a permanent presence, the

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Canadian Forces set up a new Northern Region headquarters in Yellowknife

in May 1970, which boasted that it was responsible for “the largest single
military region in the world.” To cover forty percent of Canada’s land mass,
the resources at Northern Region’s direct disposal in the early 1970s con-
sisted of a small headquarters staff, less than two hundred active Canadian
Rangers in units that were resurrected after their abandonment during the
1960s, and a few hundred personnel at communications research and radar
stations.72 These modest measures provided fodder for the opposition parties
in Ottawa, who chastised the government for doing too little.73
The government’s integrated northern strategy promised, in addition to
maintaining Canadian sovereignty and security, to enhance the northern en-
vironment “with due consideration to economic and social development.”74
Concurrently, the mandate of Northern Region Headquarters to “serve as a
link between [the Canadian Forces] and the northern settlements in which
they operate and exercise”75 obliged military authorities to balance trad-
itional security needs with socially and environmentally responsible pro-
grams. At a special facility near Inuvik, for instance, the military investigated
communication difficulties in the Arctic, solving technical problems to the
benefit of remote northern communities. National Defence cooperated with
other government departments such as the Department of Indian Affairs
and Northern Development, working to build remote airstrips and bridges
that facilitated community access to year-round administration and health
services.76
While these initiatives were helpful, the capacity of the military to act
in the North was severely hampered by a budget freeze in the early 1970s.
“The Minister is willing to pay lip service to the priorities in the 1971 White
Paper, but since sovereignty tasks are considered quasi-military they are
deemed of secondary importance when compared to the more traditional
military functions,” political scientist R.B. Byers observed in 1976. Without
ice-capable ships or submarines, and with no special reconnaissance aircraft
or surveillance equipment, the military could fulfill few of the functional
roles that External Affairs had urged it to undertake. The Forces also had
limited capability to detect and combat oil spills or any other forms of pol-
lution. By 1972, no units had been posted to the Arctic to police the new pol-
lution control zone.77 The government’s failure to deliver on the bold plans
hatched by Brigadier Ramsay Withers, the young commander of Northern
Region Headquarters, proved in the minds of two prominent historians “that
the emphasis on sovereignty in the north … was a political and a military
sham.”78

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BUILDING ON “SHIFTING SANDS”

Ken Eyre has observed that “the programs and projects undertaken
by the military during the 1970s were traditionally symbolic but on a more
intense level than heretofore attempted but still, in the final essence—sym-
bolic.”79 This emphasis on symbolism over substance reflected the military’s
imprecise definition of the armed forces’ roles, mission and functional tasks
in the Arctic. Defence scholar Douglas Bland observed:

Sovereignty missions and national development tasks, though

they did not amount to much activity in reality, heaped more
demands on the defence budget. [Vice Chief of the Defence Staff]
Admiral [Robert] Falls recalled that following the minister’s
demands, “We conducted superficial acts. We flew aircraft in
the north on monthly patrols… they never made contact … we
flew in complete darkness, figuratively and literally, most of the
time. We sent ships into the north and damaged their hulls, they
weren’t made for that type of action. It was a complete waste of
time, but it satisfied the politicians.” The CDS reluctantly ordered
the CF to undertake these domestic missions and tried to plan
for Canada’s alliance commitments, but no one had any idea how
these old and new tasks were to be accomplished “in the teeth of
a budget freeze.”80

Army and Navy exercises had less to do with establishing a capability to

operate in the North than with demonstrating “the capability to establish a
presence,” and it seemed less important for aircraft on long-range northern
patrols to actually conduct effective surveillance than to allow the govern-
ment to claim that it was conducting a rational program aimed at protecting
Canadian northern interests.81 Although from the first papers about sover-
eignty in the North drawn up by the DND in the late 1960s planners placed
an emphasis on long term planning and clear objectives, this simply did
not come about. By the late 1970s the military was again retreating from the
Arctic, leaving only a token presence behind.
Although public (and thus political) concern about Arctic sovereignty
wound down when the resource sector moved from tankers to pipelines
in the mid-1970s, the Canadian government’s symbolic program appeased
the public and cost little. “In some inchoate way,” Eyre observed, the idea
that Canada needs to have a military “presence is adequate for Canadian
governments and the Canadian population at large. That presence does not
imply a significant operational capability has either not dawned on the na-

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 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER AND PETER KIKKERT

tion, or, again in the absence of a northern imperative, it does not seem to
matter.”82

Conclusions
In the end, the Canadian Armed Forces chose to build their role in the Arctic
on the “shifting sands” identified by Erik Wang. In the early 1970s, defence
planners failed to articulate a coherent, functional rationale for an expanded
military role in the North. They retreated to the amorphous concept of the
protection of sovereignty, which played to general political agendas but was
not grounded in careful legal considerations or functional requirements that
situated military activities in a sustainable, whole of government strategy.
The absence of direct military threats to Canadian sovereignty – apart from
the overarching risk of nuclear war – meant that an increase in defence ac-
tivities was not warranted on military grounds. Furthermore, DND’s specific
responsibilities were unclear vis-à-vis the amorphous “indirect threats” to
Canadian sovereignty83 which analysts anticipated. Flying the flag, naval vis-
its to northern towns, surveillance, and purporting to represent a persistent
Canadian “presence” through itinerant army exercises became the military’s
primary Arctic responsibilities. In failing to heed the advice of External
Affairs, defence planners confused the issues of control, enforcement, and
protection of Canada’s jurisdiction in Arctic waters with the legal basis for
its claims. By extension, Canada’s continuous calls for more effective occupa-
tion and comprehensive surveillance seemed to suggest that it doubted the
strength of its own sovereignty position. This irony – that harping on about
the need for a stronger CF presence could actually undermine the country’s
sovereignty position – warrants a reminder in the latest round of sovereignty
crisis-reaction.
Much of the confusion stemmed from a lack of precision on what the
various commentators meant by the term sovereignty. Erik Wang commented
in a 1976 review of Edgar Dosman’s book The Arctic in Question that “the
international lawyer sometimes reads the current literature on the Canadian
Arctic with a sense of uneasiness.” Public discussions of the multilayered
concept of sovereignty focus “on policy questions that flow from sovereignty,
from Canada’s right to exercise jurisdiction, to the exclusion of any other
state, over vast areas of arctic lands and waters.” Non-lawyers invest the
idea of sovereignty with a range of national goals, from public opinion and a
sense of emotive attachment, to pollution control, to safeguarding “strategic
resources,” which blurs important legal distinctions. Citing Max Huber’s def-
inition of sovereignty as “the right to exercise therein, to the exclusion of any

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other state, the functions of a state,” Wang concluded “that by this definition
Canada’s legal position as sovereignty over the Arctic mainland, islands, and
continental shelf is unchallenged and indeed unchallengeable.” These obser-
vations are worth remembering in the context of the current, often confused,
debate over Arctic sovereignty. The legal status of the region is still tangled
up with political, economic, and environmental issues that, in Wang’s under-
standing, should constitute “policy issues, not legal or sovereignty issues.
The distinction is between rights and the manner in which those rights are
exercised.”84
Furthermore, legal advisors at External Affairs astutely observed that
the military’s fixation on presence and surveillance was inconsistent with
the government’s functional approach to sovereignty. In the case of defence,
symbolism and sovereignty rhetoric trumped substance. This produced a
short-term, short-lived flurry of heightened Canadian Forces activities de-
signed to “show the flag” in the Arctic, but the absence of an appreciable
sovereignty threat or clear military roles ensured that, over the long-term,
there was insufficient justification for a sustained investment in northern
capabilities. After Trudeau introduced his controversial new measures in the
House of Commons, Walter Dinsdale (the Minister of Northern Affairs and
National Resources from 1960-63) stated:

As I hear hon. Members beating their breasts with patriotic fer-

vour and saying that we must resist any intrusion on Canada’s
fundamental rights in the Arctic – the Minister of National
Defence said just a moment ago that we are reinforcing our mil-
itary in the Arctic to the tune of some 50 personnel – I received
an impression similar to that which Don Quixote created when
he was tilting at windmills.85

As the federal government again leans on the Canadian Forces to “de-

fend” Canada’s Arctic sovereignty, politicians, defence planners, scholars,
and journalists should be cognizant of earlier debates that both complicated
and clarified core issues. If Canada wants to situate the Canadian Forces
in an integrated Northern strategy that supports security, sovereignty, and
sustainable development in the region, the military’s role must be clearly
articulated. Is the rationale of the need for a military “presence” justified, or
is it prejudicial to Canadian sovereignty? What functional roles should the
Canadian Forces assume within the broader suite of government responsibil-
ities in the Arctic? How can investments in the military support and contrib-

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 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER AND PETER KIKKERT

ute to governance and development in the region? If pithy political rhetoric

like “use it or lose it” is allowed to frame the issues and justify military in-
volvement, Canadians may not engage the substantive issues raised in earlier
debates. The stakes are too high, and the circumpolar world is changing too
rapidly, for the federal government to tilt at windmills or to build a military
role on shifting political sands in the twenty-first century.

Notes
Document numbers in the endnotes
to this chapter refer to published ver-
sions in The Canadian Forces and Arctic
Sovereignty: Debating Roles, Interests,
and Requirements, 1968-1974 ed. P.W.
Lackenbauer and Peter Kikkert (Wat-
erloo: Laurier Centre for Military Stra-
tegic and Disarmament Studies / WLU
Press, 2010). This chapter is based
partly upon the introduction to that
collection of documents.
1 Maxwell Cohen, “The Arctic and the
National Interest,” International Journal
vol. 26, no. 1 (1970-71): 72.
2 See, for example, Shelagh Grant, Sover-
eignty or Security? Government Policy
in the Canadian North, 1936-1950 (Van-
couver: University of British Columbia
Press, 1988); Adam Lajeunesse, “Lock,
Stock, and Icebergs? Defining Can-
adian Sovereignty from Mackenzie
King to Stephen Harper,” CMSS Occa-
sional Paper No. 1 (Calgary: Centre for
Military and Strategic Studies, 2007),
as well as his chapter in this volume;
and J.L. Granatstein, “The North to
1968,” in The Arctic in Question ed.
Edgar Dosman (Toronto: Oxford Uni-
versity Press, 1976), 13-33.
3 P. Whitney Lackenbauer and Peter
Kikkert, “Sovereignty and Security:
The Department of External Affairs,
the United States, and Arctic Sover-
eignty, 1945-68,” in Serving the National
Interest: Canada’s Department of Foreign
Affairs and International Trade, 1909-
2009 ed. Greg Donaghy and Michael
Carroll (Calgary: University of Cal-
gary Press, forthcoming).
4 Doc. 1-4, E.B. Wang, “Role of Canadian
Armed Forces in Defending Sover-
eignty,” 30 April 1969.
5 Dosman, “The Northern Sovereignty
Crisis 1968-70,” in Arctic in Question ed.
Dosman, 35.
6 Trevor Lloyd, “New Perspective on the
North,” Foreign Affairs 42/2 (1964), 293-
308.
7 Christopher Kirkey, “The Arctic Wat-
ers Pollution Prevention Initiatives:
Canada’s Response to an American
Challenge,” International Journal of
Canadian Studies 13 (Spring 1996), 41-
42.
8 Dosman, “Northern Sovereignty
Crisis,” 36-37.
9 Thomas M. Tynan, “Canadian-Amer-
ican Relations in the Arctic: The Effect
of Environmental Influences Upon
Territorial Claims,” The Review of Pol-
itics 41/3 (1979), 426-27.
10 Granatstein, “Fit of Absence of Mind,”
30.
11 “National Jurisdiction and Inter-
national Responsibility: New Can-
adian Approaches to International
Law,” American Journal of International
Law 67 (1973), 15, quoted in Dosman,
The National Interest (Toronto: McClel-
land and Stewart, 1975), xii.
12 Donald Rothwell, “The Canadian-U.S.
Northwest Passage Dispute,” Cornell
International Law Journal 26:2 (1993):
337.
13 Elizabeth Elliot-Meisel, Arctic Diplo-
macy: Canada and the United States in

305
BUILDING ON “SHIFTING SANDS”
the Northwest Passage, (New York: Peter
Lang, 1998), 141.
14 Cohen, “Arctic and the National Inter-
est,” 52-81.
15 Franklyn Griffiths, “Canadian Sover-
eignty and Arctic International Rela-
tions,” in The Arctic in Question, ed. E.J
Dosman, (Toronto: Oxford University
Press, 1976), 144.
16 Griffiths, “Canadian Sovereignty and
Arctic International Relations,” 148.
17 Quoted in Tynan, “Canadian-Amer-
ican Relations in the Arctic,” 415-16.
18 Doc. 2-11, House of Commons Debates,
16 February 1970.
19 Doc. 2-13, House of Commons Debates,
19 March 1970.
20 Doc. 2-7, Cabinet Conclusions, “Can-
adian Sovereignty Over the Waters of
the Arctic Archipelago,” 15 October
1969.
21 Doc. 2-9, Extract from Prime Minis-
ter’s statement in the Throne Speech,
House of Commons Debates, 24 Octo-
ber 1969.
22 D.M. McRae, “Arctic waters and Can-
adian sovereignty,” International Jour-
nal 38/3 (1983), 478.
23 R.B Byers, “Sovereignty and Canadian
Foreign Policy: The Need for Enforce-
ment Capability,” in Arctic in Question,
64.
24 Elliot-Meisel, Arctic Diplomacy, 142.
25 Quoted in David L. Larson, “United
States Interests in the Arctic Region,”
Ocean Development and International
Law 20 (1989), 178. Pharand explains
that even foreign warships still had
the right to innocent passage through
these “gateways” because they were
territorial and not internal waters. Do-
nat Pharand, “Arctic Waters and the
Northwest Passage: A Final Revisit,”
Ocean Development and International
Law 38/1&2 (2007), 11.
26 Cited in Byers, “Sovereignty and Can-
adian Foreign Policy,” 73.
306
27 Tynan, “Canadian-American Rela-
tions in the Arctic,” 419.
28 Quoted in Evan Browne, “Sovereignty
questions remain after century in the
Arctic,” International Perspectives (July/
August 1980), 8.
29 Elliot-Meisel, Arctic Diplomacy, 142.
Eventually parliament would create
sixteen safety zones and thirteen cat-
egories of ships to regulate when and
where ships could travel in the Pas-
sage.
30 Donald M. McRae, “Arctic Sovereign-
ty: Loss by Dereliction?” Northern Per-
spectives [Canadian Arctic Resources
Committee] 22/4 (1994-95).
31 Doc. 2-6, Memorandum to the Cab-
inet, “Canadian Sovereignty over the
Waters of the Arctic Archipelago,” 15
September 1969.
32 Doc. 1-3, A Paper on DND Policy in the
Canadian North, 27 November 1968
(updated 14 March 1969).
33 Doc. 1-1, Arthur Kroeger, DND, “The
Canadian Forces and the Maintenance
of Canadian Sovereignty,” 6 August
1968.
34 Doc. 1-4, E.B. Wang, “Role of Canadian
Armed Forces in Defending Sover-
eignty,” 30 April 1969.
35 Globe and Mail, 18 September 1969, A7.
36 Bernd Horn, “Gateway to Invasion or
the Curse of Geography? The Can-
adian Arctic and the Question of Se-
curity, 1939-1999,” in Forging a Nation:
Perspectives on the Canadian Military
Experience ed. Horn. (St. Catharines:
Vanwell, 2002), 324.
37 Kenneth C. Eyre, “Forty Years of Mil-
itary Activity in the Canadian North,
1947-87,” Arctic 40:4 (December 1987),
296.
38 Doc. 3-2, Report of the Steering Com-
mittee on the Canadian North, “Can-
adian Forces Policies Objectives and
Activities in the Canadian North,” 5
December 1969.
 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER AND PETER KIKKERT
39 Doc. 3-10, DEXAF, Michael Shenstone,
OMD, to PSI – Security and Intel-
ligence Division, re: Joint Intelligence
Committee 1970-71 Work Programme,
the Canadian Arctic, 10 June 1970
40 Eyre, “Forty Years of Military Activ-
ity,” 297.
41 Doc. 3-3, Summary Record, CDS Ad-
visory Committee Meeting 4/70, 18
February 1970.
42 Doc. 3-3, annex A: DC Plans Presenta-
tion to CDSAC on Canadian Forces
Policies Objectives and Activities in
the Canadian North [c. February 1970].
43 Vice Admiral J. C. O’Brien, “Address to
Canadian Naval Officers Association,”
Montreal Star, 2 March 1970.
44 Doc. 3-10, Concept of Operations –
Canadian Forces Northern Region, 14
July 1970.
45 Quoted in P. Whitney Lackenbauer,
“Research Note: The Role of Canadian
Armed Forces in Defending Sover-
eignty,” Journal of Military and Strategic
Studies 11/3 (Spring 2009), 2.
46 Doc. 1-4, E.B. Wang, “Role of Canadian
Armed Forces in Defending Sover-
eignty,” 30 April 1969.
47 P.C Dobell, “The Policy Dimension,” in
Arctic in Question, 127.
48 Doc. 3-12, DEXAF, FLE to OMD, sub-
ject: DND Paper On “Canadian De-
fence Policy in the 1970’s,” 5 August
1970.
49 Doc. 3-6, DEXAF, North American
Defence and NATO Division (OMD) to
Legal Division (FLE), re: Department
of National Defence – Paper on Sover-
eignty, 24 March 1970.
50 Doc. 3-7, DEXAF, OMD to FLE, subject:
Role of Canadian Armed Forces in the
Protection of Sovereignty, 20 April
1970.
51 3-9, DEXAF, Michael Shenstone, OMD,
to PSI – Security and Intelligence Div-
ision, re: Joint Intelligence Committee
1970-71 Work Programme, the Can-
adian Arctic, 10 June 1970.
52 Doc. 2-10, DEXAF, Notes for Discus-
sion: “What is Necessary to Maintain
National Sovereignty? What is the
Role of the Canadian Armed Forces?”
29 January 1970.
53 This accounted for the RCMP posts
that had extended further northward
along the Arctic coast and on the Arc-
tic islands during the interwar years.
See William R. Morrison, Showing the
Flag: the Mounted Police and Canadian
Sovereignty in the North, 1894-1925
(Vancouver: University of British Col-
umbia Press, 1985).
54 Doc. 3-13, DEXAF, E.B. Wang to Mr.
[R.P.] Cameron, re: Canadian Forces
Activities in the North: Sovereignty,
25 November 1970.
55 J. Gellner, “The Military Task: Sover-
eignty and Security, Surveillance and
Control in the Far North,” in Arctic in
Question, 95.
56 Doc. 3-12, DEXAF, FLE to OMD, sub-
ject: DND Paper on Role of Canadian
Armed Forces in the Protection of
Sovereignty, 5 August 1970.
57 Doc. 3-13, E.B. Wang to R.P. Cameron,
25 November 1970.
58 Doc. 3-13, E.B. Wang to R.P. Cameron,
25 November 1970.
59 Doc. 5-2, DEXAF, L.H.J. Legault (FLO)
to J.A. Beesley (FLP), re: Draft White
Paper on Defence Policy – Sovereignty
Aspects, 2 February 1971.
60 Doc. 5-4, DEXAF, Draft Paper on
Defence Policy – Comments on draft
dated January 18, 1971, 11 February
1971.
61 Doc. 5-2, Legault to Beesley, 2 Febru-
ary 1971.
62 Doc. 5-3, J.A. Beesley, Director Gen-
eral, Legal and Consular Affairs, to
Director General, Office of Politico-
Military Affairs, 5 February 1971.
63 Doc. 3-11, DEXAF, FLE to OMD, sub-
ject: DND Paper On “Canadian De-
fence Policy in the 1970’s,” 5 August
1970.
307
BUILDING ON “SHIFTING SANDS”

64 Doc. 3-12, DEXAF, FLE to OMD, sub- ed. Thomas R. Berger (West Vancou-
ject: DND Paper on Role of Canadian ver: Gordon Soules Book Publishers,
Armed Forces in the Protection of 1989), 179. See also G.G. Bell, “The
Sovereignty, 5 August 1970. Armed Forces and the Civil Authority:
2 Aiding National Development,” Be-
65 Doc. 5-2, DEXAF, L.H.J. Legault (FLO)
hind the Headlines XXXI/7-8 (December
to J.A. Beesley (FLP), re: Draft White
1972).
Paper on Defence Policy – Sovereignty
Aspects, 2 February 1971. 76 See Lackenbauer and Kikkert, Can-
adian Forces and Arctic Sovereignty, 313-
66 Docs. 5-1, DEXAF, Michael Shenstone,
63.
OMD to FLE, 28 January 1971; 5-2,
5-2, Legault to Beesley, 2 February 77 Doc. 6-4, House of Commons Debates,
1971; and 5-4, DEXAF, Draft Paper on 12 June 1972.
Defence Policy – Comments on draft
78 J.L. Granatstein and Robert Bothwell,
dated January 18, 1971, 11 February
Pirouette: Pierre Trudeau and Canadian
1971.
Foreign Policy (Toronto: University of
67 Doc. 5-1, Shenstone to FLE, 28 January Toronto Press, 1990), 257. On Withers’
1971. plans, see Doc. 6-1, BGen R.M. With-
ers, “Northern Region Concept for
68 Doc. 3-12, 3-12, DEXAF, FLE to OMD,
Force Development,” 15 June 1971.
subject: DND Paper on Role of Can-
adian Armed Forces in the Protection 79 Eyre, ““Custos Borealis: The Military
of Sovereignty, 5 August 1970. in the Canadian North” (Ph.D. thesis,
University of London-King’s College,
69 Doc. 3-7, DEXAF, OMD to FLE, subject:
1981).
Role of Canadian Armed Forces in the
Protection of Sovereignty, 20 April 80 Douglas Bland, Chiefs of Defence (To-
1970. ronto: Canadian Institute of Strategic
Studies, 1995), 232-33.
70 Doc. 3-13, Wang to Cameron, 25 Nov-
ember 1970. 81 Eyre, “Custos Borealis.”
71 Wain King, “New Look for Arctic 82 Eyre, “Custos Borealis.”
Patrols: To See and Be Seen,” Ottawa
83 See, for example, Doc. 6-1, Withers,
Journal, 3 April 1971.
“Northern Region Concept for Force
72 Ron Purver, “The Arctic in Canadian Development,” 15 June 1971.
Security Policy, 1945 to the Present,”
84 Erik Wang, “Canadian Sovereignty in
in Canada’s International Security Policy
the Arctic: A Comment on The Arctic
ed. D.B. DeWitt and D. Leyton-Brown
in Question,” Canadian Yearbook of Inter-
(Scarborough: Prentice-Hall, 1995),
national Law 1976, 307-12.
87-89; Eyre, “Forty Years of Military
Activity,” 297. 85 House of Commons Debates, 17 April
1970.
73 See, for example, House of Commons
Debates, 16-17 April 1970.
74 Northern Canada in the 70’s (Ottawa,
1970). For a comprehensive reflection
on the overlapping aims between
DIAND and DND in this era see James
Scott Bryce, “Security Considerations
in the Canadian Arctic” (M.A. thesis,
Queen’s University, 1975).
75 Major-General David Huddleston in
The Arctic: Choice for Peace and Security

308
Calgary Papers in Military and Strategic Studies, Occasional Paper No. 4, 2011
Canadian Arctic Sovereignty and Security: Historical Perspectives Pages 309–343

Polar Vision or Tunnel Vision: The

Making of Canadian Arctic Waters
Policy
Rob Huebert

I
t has often been suggested that Canada is an Arctic nation. As such one
would expect that its northern policy regarding its Arctic waters would
be based on a rational and coherent set of policy initiatives. Yet a close
examination of the actual policy actions of successive Canadian govern-
ments indicates quite the opposite. Regardless of the nature of the specific
issue – such as Canadian-US relations or the building of icebreakers – succes-
sive government policy can at best be summed up as ad hoc and reactive. In
order to determine why this is the case, this paper will examine the defining
event affecting Canadian Arctic waters during the Mulroney administra-
tion. By focusing on this specific event it will be possible to isolate the factors
that determine and influence the creation and implementation of Canadian
policy regarding the Canadian Arctic Maritime policy.
In August 1985, the US icebreaker, the Polar Sea, sailed through the
Northwest Passage. The resulting publicity surrounding the voyage resulted
in what can be considered the basis for the northern foreign policy of the
Conservative government. In September, Joe Clark, then Minister of External
Affairs, announced six policy initiatives that provided the basis for govern-
ment action for the remainder of the decade and which, to a large degree,
continue to be the de facto policy. These initiatives included the establishment
of the legal regime for Canadian waters; the application of Canadian law
over these waters; the formalization of Canadian-US relations regarding the
Passage; and the development of the physical means for the protection of
these waters and enforcement of Canadian laws and regulations. While this
list seems to indicate a comprehensive set of policies, they were the result of a
hurried effort by the government to create the appearance of concrete policy
action.
This paper will examine the creation and implementation of these poli-
cies in order to provide an understanding of Canadian Arctic maritime
policy and how was it created. It will do so by first examining the factors
that led Canadian decision makers to select the six main components of the

© Centre for Military and Strategic Studies http://cmss.ucalgary.ca/ 309

POLAR VISION OR TUNNEL VISION

policy initiative. This will be followed by an analysis of the development and

implementation of the six specific policies. A third section will then show
how these six policies came to form the core of Canadian northern foreign
policy.

Selection of the 10 September 1985 Policy Initiatives

Before discussing the impact of the voyage of the Polar Sea, a brief mention
must be made of the defining event in the 1970s for Canadian arctic mari-
time policy. In 1969 and 1970, the US ice-breaking oil tanker, Manhattan,
accompanied by a US Coast Guard ice-breaker and a Canadian ice-breaker,
traversed the Canadian section of the Northwest Passage.1 As in the case of
the Polar Sea voyage, the US government refused to acknowledge Canadian
sovereignty over the waters and declined to request permission for crossing
the Northwest Passage when asked to do so by the Canadian government.2
The voyage forced the Canadian government to undertake a detailed exam-
ination of its Arctic waters policies and to attempt to craft a set of policies.
The most notable outcome of the government’s action was the creation and
3
adoption of the Arctic Waters Pollution Prevention Bill. The reaction of the
Canadian government to these voyages demonstrated that it was willing to
respond with dramatic policy responses when faced with what it believed to
be a direct challenge to its sovereign control over its Arctic waters.
In 1985, history repeated itself when US officials found themselves in
a situation that required them to send another of their vessels--the United
States Coast Guard (USCG) icebreaker the Polar Sea--through the Northwest
Passage. The immediate catalyst for the Polar Sea voyage in 1985 was caused
4
by a shortage of US icebreakers relative to the Coast Guard’s requirements.
The fleet was small, aging and heavily tasked, totalling five ships in 1985,
of which only two had been built since 1954.5 The Polar Sea and its sister
ship, Polar Star, commissioned in 1976 and 1978 respectively, are the pride
of the fleet.6 The Polar Sea was based in Seattle, Washington and its duties
included the Arctic West Patrol, which comprised both scientific and other
operations in the waters north of Alaska.7 The more elderly US icebreaker,
the Northwind, was based in Wilmington, North Carolina. It was usually
assigned the task of resupplying the US airforce base in Thule, Greenland.
However, in the spring of 1985, various engineering problems, caused partly
by age and partly by its most recent Antarctic deployment, required the
Northwind to remain in shipyard repairs longer than anticipated.8 Although
it would have been possible to have sent the Polar Sea through the Panama
Canal to undertake the Thule resupply, there would have been insufficient

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time for it to return via the Canal to the western Arctic, and to complete both
the Western and Eastern missions fully.
The US Coast Guard then suggested that a voyage through the Northwest
Passage would allow the Polar Sea to complete both its own mission and
that of the North wind. The US Interagency Arctic Policy Group, which
included officials from the State Department, the US Coast Guard and the
Defense Department, met to consider the possible reaction of the Canadian
government to the proposed voyage. After some discussion, it was agreed
that the voyage should proceed. It was believed that since the voyage was
of an operational nature, and was not intended as a challenge, some accom-
modation could be worked out. The committee believed that the Canadian
public would appreciate that the Polar Sea was a government icebreaker
and not a commercial supertanker and, therefore, less threatening than the
Manhattan.9 The planned voyage was approved by the State Department fol-
lowing these discussions, and on 21 May 1985, the Canadian desk of the State
Department sent a cable to the US Embassy in Ottawa requesting it to notify
the Canadian Government about the voyage.
In the demarche, the United States government emphasized the practical
nature of the voyage, pointing out its operational rationale. It also invited
Canadian participation in order to undertake mutual research. However, the
demarche also acknowledged the different positions that the two countries
held regarding the status of the Northwest Passage. The most significant pas-
sages were as follows:

The United States believes that it is in the mutual interests of

Canada and the United States that this unique opportunity for
cooperation not be lost because of a possible disagreement over
the relevant judicial regime.

The United States believes that the two countries should agree to
disagree on the legal issues and concentrate on practical matters.

The United States desires to raise this matter with the Government
of Canada now, so that we can each begin to make arrangements
for Canadian participation in the transit.

The United States considers that this discussion with the

Government of Canada in the forthcoming invitation to partici-
pate in the transit is not inconsistent with its judicial position re-

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POLAR VISION OR TUNNEL VISION

garding the Northwest Passage and believes that the Government

of Canada would consider its participation in the transit not to be
inconsistent with its judicial position.10

Through such wording, the US government indicated that it wished to keep

the voyage non-prejudicial to the positions of both countries.
The Canadian response came on 11 June 1985 in the form of a diplomatic
note. It made it clear that the Canadian position was that the Passage was
part of Canadian internal waters. However, it also welcomed the US offer to
proceed with the voyage on a cooperative basis.11 Nowhere did it ask the US
to request any form of permission for the upcoming voyage. The voyage was
deemed to be acceptable in principle with only the details regarding pollu-
tion control to be worked out. In turn, the State Department responded on 24
June with another diplomatic note stating that the US:

notes the Canadian statement that the waters of the Arctic

archipelago, including the Northwest Passage, are internal wat-
ers of Canada and fall within Canadian sovereignty. As the
Government of Canada is aware, the United States does not share
this view. For this reason, although the United States is pleased
to invite Canadian participation in the transit, it has not sought
the permission of the Government of Canada, nor has it given
Canada notification of the fact of the transit.12

The note also welcomed the ‘positive response’ of the Canadian government
to the US invitation for Canadian participation on the voyage, and stated that
consultations between the US Coast Guard and the Canadian Coast Guard
had already begun. The note ended by once again re-stating:

The United States considers that this transit, and the preparations
for it, in no way prejudices the juridical position of either side
regarding the Northwest Passage, and it understands that the
Government of Canada shares that view.13

At this point, US decision makers in the State Department believed that the
issue had been resolved.14 Preparations on a cooperative basis continued to
proceed for the voyage. Several meetings took place with officials from the
Department of External Affairs and the Canadian Coast Guard and their
counterparts in the US.15

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 ROB HUEBERT

Towards the end of June, however, the Canadian position began to shift.
On 31 July, the day before the voyage, the Canadian government issued a
demarche to the US Government, which stated:16

The Government of Canada has noted with deep regret that the
United States remains unwilling, as it has been for many years,
to accept that the waters of the Arctic archipelago, including the
Northwest Passage, are internal waters of Canada and fall within
Canadian sovereignty. The Government of Canada must accord-
ingly reaffirm its determination to maintain the status of these
waters as an integral part of Canadian territory, which has never
been and never can be assimilated to the regime of high seas or
the regime of international straits.17

The note went on to state that the Canadian government agreed with the US
position that the voyage did not prejudice the legal position of either State.
But it then expressly granted the consent of the Canadian government for the
voyage--a consent that was never requested by the US government.
The voyage was relatively uneventful except for the media attention it
created. The voyage remained one of the more dominant news stories, most
of which were critical of the government’s perceived lack of action, particu-
larly during the voyage through the Canadian section of the Passage.18 This
was fuelled by the actions of some private Canadian citizens, such as the
Council for Canadians, who strongly opposed the voyage.19
Following the voyage and the public outcry that accompanied it, the
Canadian government decided that it must be seen as defending Canadian
interests. In August 1985, the Privy Council Office (PCO), the main policy
coordinating body for the Canadian government, was allocated the task of
coordinating, in partnership with officials from External Affairs, an immedi-
ate reaction to the voyage.20 PCO officials contacted various government de-
partments and asked them to prepare a list of current projects that could be
publicly presented as a means of sovereignty protection.
At least two meetings were held on 1 August and 13 August where
officials from various departments were brought together by the PCO
with the explicit task of reviewing possible policy initiatives to bolster
Canadian claims for sovereignty in the north.21 Along with the Department
of External Affairs, these included: the Department of National Defence;
Energy, Mines and Resources; Science and Technology; and Indian and
Northern Affairs.22

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POLAR VISION OR TUNNEL VISION

Each department was asked to provide a list of ‘activities that could bear
on Canadian Sovereignty in the Arctic.’23 The departments were asked to
classify their actions into three broad categories:
(1) measures directly relevant to Canada’s Arctic Waters claim;
(2) measures of a practical character that indirectly enhance
Canada’s claim to its Arctic waters; and
(3) measures of symbolic value.24
Once the PCO/External Affairs Committee had completed its review, its
recommendations were presented to the Cabinet’s Priorities and Planning
Committee, which met in Vancouver from 21 August to 23.25 Although the
minutes of the meeting remain classified, External Affairs Minister Joe Clark
had earlier told reporters that the option of taking the issue of Canadian
claims of sovereignty over the Arctic waters to the ICJ was being considered
though no decision had yet been made.26
Prime Minister Mulroney also made his strongest comment to date on
the voyage following this meeting by stating that the Northwest Passage
belonged to Canada ‘lock, stock and barrel’, and that any suggestion to the
contrary would be regarded by Canada as an ‘unfriendly act.’27 But he gave
little indication as to what his government planned to do except to criticize
the previous government for leaving few instruments by which to assert
Canadian sovereignty.

The 10 September Policy Statement

Clark publicly announced the selected policies on 10 September 1995 which
included the following:
(1) the immediate adoption of an order-in-council establishing
straight baselines around the Arctic archipelago, to be effect-
ive 1 January, 1986;
(2) immediate adoption of a Canadian Laws Offshore Application
Act;
(3) immediate talks with the US on cooperation in Arctic waters,
on the basis of full respect for Canadian sovereignty;
(4) an immediate increase of surveillance overflights of Canadian
Arctic waters by aircraft of the Canadian forces, and immedi-
ate planning for Canadian naval activity in the Eastern Arctic
in 1986;
(5) the immediate withdrawal of the 1970 reservation to Canada’s
acceptance of the compulsory jurisdiction of the International
Court of Justice; and

314
 ROB HUEBERT

(6) construction of a Polar Class 8 icebreaker and urgent consider-

ation of other means of exercising more effective control over
Canadian Arctic waters.28
Having selected the six policies to form the basis for Canadian Arctic mari-
time policy, the question now arises as to how they were (or were not) imple-
mented. In addition, it is also necessary to examine the factors that led to
their original creation. This is necessary because the relationship between
the voyage of the Polar Sea and the factors shaping the creation of these poli-
cies were not always directly connected. While the voyage was the event that
led to the decision to attempt to implement the six policies, it was not the
catalyst (except for one) for their creation.

Creation and Implementation of the 10 September Policy Initiatives

The establishment of straight baselines around the Canadian Arctic
The first decision taken in Canada towards the use of straight baselines oc-
curred in 1964, when the Canadian Parliament passed the Territorial Sea and
Fishing Zone Act.29 The intent of the Act was to allow the Canadian govern-
ment to claim a fishing zone and territorial sea, and it followed directly from
the negotiations at the first UN Conference on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS
I) (1958) and UNCLOS II (1960). However, it was not until 1967 that the first set
of regulations was created thereby allowing for the actual implementation of
the fishing regulations within the zone. Furthermore, and most significant
for this study, these regulations only established baselines on the east and
west coasts of Canada.30
The history of the Canadian decision to draw straight baselines in its
Arctic territory can be traced to the voyages of the Manhattan. As mentioned
above, a period of intense discussions within the Canadian government oc-
curred following the announcement that the Manhattan was to transit the
Passage in 1969. By October 1969, Cabinet was considering three broad policy
alternatives, one of which was the enclosure of the entire Arctic archipelago
within straight baselines.31
A group of senior government bureaucratic officials was given respon-
sibility of amalgamating these options into a policy proposal.32 After con-
sidering all three, the group decided to focus on measures other than the
declaration of straight baselines, a decision then supported by Cabinet.33 This
was based on the assessment that international law did not yet support such
actions.
Declassified documents have disclosed that, as part of its overall review
of Arctic sovereignty in 1980, the Arctic Waters Panel, an inter-departmental

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POLAR VISION OR TUNNEL VISION

Map 12. Canadian Hydrographic Service, Chart M-400 (March 2000), published on the
Association of Canadian Land Surveyors website.

316
 ROB HUEBERT

committee, once again examined the possibility of declaring straight base-

lines as part of a review of Canadian Arctic policy.34 However, while there is
no public record of what became of the review’s results, no steps were then
taken to declare straight baselines.
At one of the meetings coordinated by the PCO following the voyage
of the Polar Sea, External Affairs officials suggested that straight baselines
would now be more favourably accepted by international law and recom-
mended that the government adopt the practice.35
There was little opposition to this recommendation. Much of the work
on determining the positions of the straight baselines had already been ac-
complished, and all that remained was the decision to declare their existence.
Therefore, this policy was easy to accept as the government sought policies
that were ready for immediate implementation. The baselines were declared
to be established through Standing Order 85-872 on 10 September 1985 and
came into effect on 1 January 1986.36
There is little doubt that, since the Norwegian Fisheries Case in 1951, there
has been growing acceptance of straight baselines in the international sys-
tem.37 The codification of the practice in the 1982 LOS Convention, through
Article 7, demonstrates that baselines were officially accepted as an inter-
national practice by 1982.38 However, the question emerges as to when the
Canadian government would have declared the use of straight baselines
had the voyage not occurred. There were no signs that the government was
preparing to act until the voyage occurred. Hence, the growing acceptance
of the establishment of straight baselines in international law was not as
important as the fact that the leading political decision makers wished to
appear to be ‘actively’ protecting Canadian claims in the Arctic. The change
in international law was necessary but not sufficient to lead to this policy
action.

The development of the Canadian Laws Offshore Application Act

Of the six policy initiatives selected by Clark, the inclusion of the Canadian
Laws Offshore Application Act was perhaps the one most unrelated to the
protection of Canadian Arctic sovereignty. While it was important legisla-
tion, it was intended to respond to issues quite different from those raised by
perceived intrusions into Canadian Arctic waters.
It is possible to trace the approximate date of the decision to begin
consideration of this Act to the end of the 1970s and early 1980s.39 The main
catalyst was the development of offshore resource extraction (oil and gas)
combined with the then ongoing UNCLOS negotiations. Technology was

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POLAR VISION OR TUNNEL VISION

being developed to allow for offshore oil drilling platforms in the Arctic be-
yond the 12-mile territorial sea. At the same time, the negotiations for the
LOS Convention were leading to the creation of the concept of an Exclusive
Economic Zone (EEZ) and a clearer codification of the rights of coastal States
over the resources of their continental shelf.40
At that time, it was uncertain whether the Canadian legal system ad-
equately covered offshore activity beyond the 12-mile limit. A Royal Canadian
Mounted Police (RCMP) review in 1984 determined that its files contained
little information on the enforcement of Canada’s laws beyond its land
boundaries in the north.41 Following this review, the Chief Superintendent
found only four cases involving alleged criminal activity in offshore areas.
Furthermore, it was also found that there was little consistency in the
Canadian enforcement actions because of the lack of a specific government
policy regarding this issue. The Canadian Law Offshore Application Act was
therefore designed to provide police enforcement agencies with legislation to
create such a policy.
The intent of the Canadian Law Offshore Application Act is to ‘provide a
legal framework for extending Canadian laws and court jurisdiction to con-
tinental shelf areas beyond the 12-mile territorial sea.’42 In addition:

The main purpose of this bill is to ensure that the general body of
Canadian law is applicable to oil rigs and other installations on
the Canadian continental shelf beyond the 12-mile territorial sea.
The legislation is required because, while the continental shelf is
an area over which Canada has exclusive resource jurisdiction, it
does not form part of Canadian territory as such.43

Essentially, the Act gives Canada the legal jurisdiction to apply its laws to
any activity that occurs in its offshore areas.
Officials have indicated that the Act was conceived as a means of sover-
eignty protection only after the voyage of the Polar Sea had occurred.44 The
purpose of the Bill’s inclusion on Joe Clark’s policy list therefore can be seen
as a means of increasing the number of initiatives being announced.
The 10 September 1985 decision to introduce the Bill was only a small
part of the total story of the bill’s final passage. Ironically, by including it in
the policy statement, the government may have slowed the passage of the
bill. Specifically, when the law was first introduced as Bill C-104, it included
an amendment to the Northwest Territories Act.45 The primary change was
the re-definition of the Northwest Territories.46 The drafters’ main intent was

318
 ROB HUEBERT

to incorporate the internal waters of the straight baselines into the definition
of the Territories. However, this was not the perspective taken by either the
government of the NWT or some native groups. Mr Rob Nicholson, MP,
reporting on the fate of Bill C-104 during the committee hearings for its re-
introduction as Bill C-39, stated that Bill C-104 had met with ‘considerable
objections from the Government of the Northwest Territories and a number
of native groups.’47 That section was eliminated since the bill’s intent was not
to redefine the Northwest Territories. These objections were strong enough
to prevent the passage of C-104.
When the second edition of the Bill was introduced, sufficient time had
passed for the government no longer to feel obligated to justify the Bill as a
means of sovereignty enforcement and instead explained it in terms of the
functions for which it had originally been intended. This is made clear by
comparing the Department of Justice’s News Release when each of the two
editions of the Bill were introduced. When the first edition of the Bill (C-104)
was introduced on 11 April 1986, the News Release stated:

In introducing the Canadian Laws Offshore Application Act,

Mr. Crosbie said the bill was designed to reinforce Canadian
sovereignty by creating a more comprehensive legal regimes for
Canadian offshore areas.48

When the second edition of the Bill (C-39) was introduced, the News Release,
issued 2 October 1989, made no mention of its sovereignty ramifications.49
The Bill received final passage in the Senate in December 1990 and is now
law.50

Increased Surveillance Overflights by Canadian Forces Aircraft

and Immediate Planning for Naval Activity in the Eastern Arctic
Clark’s 10 September policy announcement included one initiative that fell
entirely within the jurisdiction of the Department of National Defence: the
announcement that there would be increased northern patrol flights and
immediate planning for naval activity to be implemented by the Canadian
armed forces. However, this particular announcement was not much more
than a ‘re-packaging’ of existing policies. Both the Northern Patrol flights
(NORPATS) and the Northern Deployment of Naval vessels (NORPLOY)
have their origins in the early 1970s. The main impact of the Polar Sea voy-
age was to raise the profile of both programmes, and in the case of the
NORPLOYS to reinstate the programme.

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POLAR VISION OR TUNNEL VISION

Increased Surveillance Overflights by Canadian Forces Aircraft

(NORPATS)
As with the Canadian Laws Offshore Application Act, the genesis for the
first long-range northern aircraft patrols can be traced to the early 1970s and
to the discovery of oil in the north. The discovery of the mineral resources in
the north led Canadian decision makers to believe that a northern presence
was required to protect Canadian interests. Overflights were viewed as a
relatively easy way of doing this. At the same time, the Manhattan voyages
of 1969 and 1971 served to underline the reality of challenges to Canadian
claims.51
These flights are cited by the Department of National Defence as a major
source of sovereignty protection in the north.52 However, some analysts have
suggested that these flights fulfilled a more symbolic, rather than a func-
tional, role.53
One of the first steps taken by the Canadian government in response to
the Polar Sea voyage was to order the overflight of the US icebreaker by both
CP-140 Aurora and CP-121 Tracker aircraft. Declassified transmissions from
the aircraft show that at least five aircraft were involved--three Trackers and
two Auroras.54
These aircraft were assigned several tasks which included: 1) to chart
the movement of both the Polar Sea and the John A MacDonald;55 (2) to obtain
both photographs and video tapes of the Polar Sea; (3) to fly media personnel
over the Polar Sea;56 (4) to provide ice reconnaissance;57 (5) to maintain a pres-
ence over the vessel. The three trackers flew four patrols for a total of 16.6
hours of flight time, and the two Auroras flew eight patrols for a total of 61.2
hours of flight time.58 Thus, for the 12 days that the Polar Sea was in waters
claimed by Canada, it was overflown by Canadian aircraft for approximately
25% of that time.
The Department of National Defence, as well as other departments, was
canvassed by the External/PCO committee regarding the actions that they
should take in the north. The Assistant Deputy Minister (Policy) responded
by writing to External Affairs on 6 August ‘As requested at the meeting last
week, I attach for your use a summary of the principal DND activities in the
North. Please let me know if further information is needed. I look forward to
our review of your paper next week.’59 The letter included a brief summary
of 12 DND activities in the North. The eighth activity was: ‘A minimum of
16 surveillance patrols conducted by Aurora long-range aircraft.’ It can be
assumed that the PCO/External Committee selected the overflights to be in-
cluded as part of the package from this list of activities.

320
 ROB HUEBERT

Clark’s inclusion of the increased Arctic surveillance flights in the north

was, to a large degree, a non-decision, simply because the number of flights
had been steadily increasing since 1980. Eight Arctic flights occurred in 1980,
increased to 22 in 1990. Significantly, there were 14 flights in 1984, 17 in 1985,
but no further increases until 1988 when 19 flights occurred.60 So, while an
increase did ensue, it was only part of an existing trend and took three years
to occur.
Even if Clark’s announcement had immediately led to an increase in
the number of flights, the question that arises is how this increase would
be achieved. Associate Defence Minister Harvie Andre was asked at a DND
Committee meeting how this was to take place. He replied that

[t]here will be no measurable reduction in our overflights. What

this means is that, while we are getting better on our mainten-
ance, there will be more hours of flight time per aircraft.61

In other words, members of the force were being asked to produce more with
the same amount of equipment.
Two years after the 10 September policy announcement, an attempt
was made to increase the number of aircraft available to undertake the
overflights. The 1987 Defence White Paper listed ‘at least six additional long-
range patrol aircraft’ as a means of maintaining proper surveillance over the
north.62 However, in the Spring budget of 27 April 1989, the purchase of the
additional aircraft was cancelled, and all 29 CP-121 Tracker aircraft were to
be retired by 1992.63 Three Arcturus (simplified versions of the Aurora) were
purchased instead.

Canadian Naval Activity in the Eastern Arctic

The 10 September statement also announced a decision to send naval vessels
into the Eastern Arctic. However, this was not so much a new decision as a
resumption of old activity. Canadian naval forces last entered Arctic waters
in 1982, but had been visiting this area since at least 1971.64
Exercises in the north are difficult for the navy mainly due to the ice in
the area. Only two types of vessels can operate safely and freely in Arctic
waters: icebreakers and nuclear powered submarines. All other vessels are
confined to operations in southern Arctic waters for a short time in August
when ice conditions permit, otherwise they risk hull damage caused by the
ice.65 The Canadian navy did not then, or now, possess nuclear submarines,
and its one icebreaker was transferred to the Coast Guard in 1958.66 Thus, any

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POLAR VISION OR TUNNEL VISION

naval deployment has always been possible for only a short period of time
and of limited use.
Canadian naval northern deployment (NORPLOY) can be traced to
1971.67 These deployments generally occurred annually from 1971 to 1979
and were carried out by one of the replenishment vessels although other
fleet units were sometimes included. The purposes of the voyages included
port visits to isolated communities, civilian and defence research, and sover-
eignty enforcement.
The deployments became irregular after 1979 and no longer included the
larger naval vessels. The light auxiliary tender, Cormorant, which was com-
missioned in 1978,68 and the Canadian Forces Auxiliary Vessel, Quest, were
deployed when the northern deployments resumed in 1982.
As previously discussed, when DND was asked to provide a list of ac-
tivities conducted in the Arctic the Assistant Deputy Minister (Policy) had
listed 13 of which the ‘[o]ccasional deployment of warships to northern wat-
ers’ was one by which DND established and maintains a ‘presence in the
North.’69 This led to its inclusion on the 10 September list of policies.
However, following the announcement, the 1986 National Defence
Budget Estimates contained no allowances for the announced Arctic voya-
ges in 1986.70 Commodore John Harwood, Maritime Command Halifax, also
stated in January 1986 that, while the navy could go north if ordered, no such
order had yet been given. However, his comments were quickly contradicted
by DND officials in Ottawa who stated that he was not in a position to know.71
The voyage did eventually take place. A 60-day trip, sailing through the
Davis Strait and Baffin Bay to Resolute, began in September and ended on 10
October 1986.72
Deployments of both the Comorant and Quest in 1988 and 1989 sug-
gest that they are now considered a normal component of fleet exercises.73
However, the fact that such exercises had also taken place in 1982 suggests
that the decision to include them in the 10 September announcement was, at
best, the resumption of an old policy.

Withdrawal of the 1970 Reservation to Canada’s Acceptance of

the Compulsory Jurisdiction of the ICJ
Following the voyages of the Manhattan in 1969 and 1970, Canada passed the
Arctic Waters Pollution Prevention Act (AWPPA). However, it was feared that
this legislation would be unable to withstand a challenge in the International
Court of Justice. The creation of a 100-mile wide pollution protection zone
was an innovation in terms of international law. Therefore, in 1970, the

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 ROB HUEBERT

Canadian Cabinet decided that it would not allow the newly enacted AWPPA
to be challenged in the International Court of Justice. The government made
a reservation that Canada would not accept the compulsory jurisdiction of
the court on:

[D]isputes arising out of or concerning jurisdiction or rights

claimed or exercised by Canada in respect of the conservation,
management or exploitation of the living resources of the sea, or
in respect of the preservation or control of pollution or contam-
ination of the marine environment in marine areas adjacent to
the coast of Canada.74

The AWPPA was drafted with the intent to give Canada the right to create
regulations governing the types and actions of vessels passing thorough
the Canadian Arctic. In 1970, this Act had no precedent in international law.
Nothing in customary law or in UNCLOS I or UNCLOS II gave a country the
right to legislate pollution protection in areas beyond its territorial sea.
However, between 1973 and 1982, two events occurred at UNCLOS III
that completely changed this situation. The first, the successful negotiation
of Article 234, the ice-covered areas article, was the result of direct efforts
undertaken by Canadian officials.75 The second factor was the creation of the
Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ).76 Both provided international support for
the AWPPA, and minimized the possibility of a ruling against Canada.
The Canadian government’s decision to lift the reservation to the ICJ
was made at one of the PCO/External Affairs meetings held in late summer
of 1985. At that time, External Affairs officials determined that international
law had developed to the point that it would support the Canadian AWPPA.
The decision to drop the ICJ reservation could have been taken by Canada
any time after the development of the EEZ and the acceptance of Article 234
at the law of the sea negotiations. It is clear that the Canadian delegation had
successfully drafted the necessary clauses to safeguard Canadian actions in
the north. Therefore, it is telling that Canadian officials did not do so until
required to act for the political reasons created by the voyage of the US ice-
breaker. There was no reason why Canada had to wait until 1985 to take this
action. The AWPPA was secure once the Canadian negotiators at UNCLOS
III gained acceptance for Article 234.

Construction of a Polar 8 Class Icebreaker

Of the six policies contained in the 10 September announcement, the pro-
posed construction of the Polar Class icebreaker was the policy most heavily

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debated by the Canadian government.77 With estimates running from $230

million to over $600 million, it would have been the most expensive of the six
policies had it been completed. However, after an extended period of indeci-
sion concerning the selection of the builder, the project was first suspended
and then cancelled.
As in the cases of the four preceding policy initiatives, building an
icebreaker was first considered in the early 1970s. As in the case of the ICJ
reservation withdrawal and the declaration of straight baselines around the
Arctic, the two driving forces in the early stages of the icebreaker proposal
were the voyages of the Manhattan and the possibility of resource develop-
ment in the north.78 The decision to build a large icebreaker had been briefly
considered by the Canadian government as early as 1958,79 but received re-
newed focus following the voyage of the Manhattan through the Northwest
Passage.80 However, no action was taken until the mid-1970s when Cabinet
approved funding for the design phase of a Polar class 7 icebreaker.81 Cabinet
then spent the next ten years vacillating,82 with the overall result that no firm
decision had been made by 1985.
In mid-1974, Cabinet approved funding for the design contract of
the Polar 7 class icebreaker with the Canadian firm, German and Milne.
However:

Cabinet indicated that final authority to construct the new ship

would not be considered until there was a firm indication that
commercial Arctic development required year-round marine
transportation-indicating the emphasis on commercial as op-
posed to the sovereignty issue.83

The government made available only C$500 000 for the contract, suggesting
limited support.84
In 1975, after winning the federal election, the Liberal government gave
approval for German and Milne of Montreal to ‘conduct a feasibility study
of a larger, class 10 icebreaker.’85 In 1976, Cabinet was persuaded that the
icebreaker should be a hybrid system of gas turbines powered by nuclear re-
actors.86 Therefore, in March 1978, ‘[a] $6 million design project for the hybrid
was announced,87 and in January 1979 the Treasury Board approved funding
88
for the programme. This allowed the Department of Supply and Services
on 27 July 1979, to request potential contractors with expertise in nuclear
maritime propulsion systems to submit proposals.89 Following this request,
several companies expressed interest by the last quarter of 1980. However. all
except a French company pulled out of the negotiations for various reasons.

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 ROB HUEBERT

In April 1981, Cabinet decided to abandon the Polar 10 due to potential

problems that could be created by the nuclear power source, as well as the
cost.90 Approval was then given to German and Milne to proceed with the
design phase for a Polar 8.91 By December 1982. no decision had been made
as to the propulsion system. The choice was between a diesel-gas turbine,
variable-speed electric system with fixed pitch propeller, or an all-diesel,
constant-speed mechanical system pitch a controllable pitch propeller.
By July 1984, the decision had been made that the vessel would be pow-
ered by an electrically driven fixed-pitch three propeller propulsion system.92
Soon after however, the northern director of the Canadian Coast Guard
stated that members of the project were instructed to hold off sending the
proposal to begin construction until ‘there is a significant demand for the
ship as an escort for the year round transport of hydrocarbons in the Arctic
by freighter.’93 However, all previous planning became irrelevant when the
Polar Sea entered the Northwest Passage in August 1985.
Coast Guard officials viewed the meetings concerning the government’s
policy and held following the voyage of the Polar Sea in August 1985 as an
expedient time to seek permission to reach the construction stage of the Polar
Class 8 icebreaker. At that point, Cabinet had given permission only for the
Coast Guard to collect and evaluate bids for the building of the Polar 8 and
had not yet agreed to the construction phase.
External Affairs officials recall that the initiative to build the Polar 8 pro-
voked the greatest debate among all six policy initiatives promised by Clark
in his 10 September speech.94 The main concern that some officials had about
the proposed building of the icebreaker centred on its costs.
National Defence officials in particular were worried that the costs of the
vessel would very quickly exceed the estimates of C$350-500 million.95 They
feared that such a large expenditure could result in cutbacks to the resources
allocated to the naval modernization programme which was being planned
at the time.96 Defence officials were also concerned that the project would
result in a vessel that was unable to respond to the threat of submarine in-
97
truders in the north.
Following the 10 September announcement that the Polar 8 was to be
built, three design companies immediately attempted to involve themselves
in the process. In October, the three companies--Dome-Canmar (Calgary);
Arctic Transportation Limited, Cleaver Walkingshaw (Calgary); and Wartsila
Arctic Inc (a Canadian firm with offices in Vancouver but a subsidiary of
Wartsila International of Helsinki)--submitted design proposals of a con-
ceptual nature (not completed designs), stating that they could meet Coast

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POLAR VISION OR TUNNEL VISION

Guard needs with an icebreaker cheaper than the one designed by German
98
and Milne.
In order to select among the three companies, the government con-
vened an independent commission to evaluate the proposals. The Bruneau
committee was given the mandate to provide a preliminary evaluation of
the new bids.99 During its period of assessment, all other work on the Polar
8 project was temporarily halted. The committee took a little over six weeks
to conduct its study.100 They determined that the two Calgary-based de-
signs could each be built for about $230 million in 33 months. The Wartsila
design could also be built in approximately the same time, but would cost
about $350 million.101 More significantly, the commission found that the de-
signs of all three companies would provide a substantially faster built and
cheaper ($15G-270 million) icebreaker than would the German and Milne
design.
However, even after the Bruneau commission reported its findings, the
government did not choose a builder for the icebreaker until the Spring of
1987. The decision to award the contract to build the Polar 8 to Versatile’s
Vancouver yards was announced by Joe Clark in the House of Commons on
2 March 1987.102
While this announcement was expected, the fact that Wartsila was not
the designer was a surprise. The government stipulated that VPSI would
choose a designer and ‘all other contractual relationships and details remain
to be negotiated with the designer and builder.’103
Problems continued to plague the project once the decision had been
made. Versatile continued to experience financial problems, and the design-
ers determined that they had been overly optimistic in their initial estimates.
In May 1988, it was reported that the design team had encountered difficul-
ties with the propulsion unit of the vessel.104 In late summer, sources close
to the design unit of the project informed the media that if a diesel electric
propulsion system was to remain, the ship would cost an additional C$70-80
million.105
The design team completed its work by the last quarter of 1988. Coast
Guard officials stated that the design cost was over the C$350 million ceiling,
but they would not say by how much. However, an industry source stated
that the estimated cost had skyrocketed to C$527 million.106 Recognizing that
Cabinet was unlikely to accept such a large increase, Coast Guard officials
had agreed to pay Versatile and the design consortium an extra $1.5 mil-
lion to prepare a new estimate based on a different, and hopefully cheaper,
propulsion system. However, upon completing the new estimate, it was de-

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 ROB HUEBERT

termined that the total cost of the vessel would still be substantially over
budget. In addition to all of these problems, the announcement was made on
10 December 1988 that Versatile’s shipyard was for sale.107
All of these problems proved to be too much for the project. Initially,
there was no specific decision to put the project on hold. But the minuscule
funding given to the project in the April 1989 budget had the effect of doing
exactly that. On 27 April the budget provided the project with only C$1.6
million. Furthermore, C$1.5 million was already earmarked for the redesign
of the propulsion system.108
On 19 February 1990, the Polar 8 project was cancelled. In his budget
speech, federal Minister Michael Wilson cited the increase in costs of the
icebreaker programme as one of the main reasons for its cancellation.109 It
is reported that the price of the icebreaker had climbed to C$680 million.110
Wilson also claimed that changes in the international environment, high-
lighted by the US-Canada Arctic Cooperation Agreement (discussed below),
allowed for the cancellation of the Polar project.111 Thus, the government’s
view was that fiscal restraint and the Arctic Cooperation Agreement made
the Polar 8 impossible and unnecessary by 1990.
The decision to build the Polar 8 class icebreaker was really a decision to
implement a project whose genesis had begun at least ten years earlier. The
government had been attempting to decide which type of icebreaker to build
since the mid-1970s, and the voyage of the Polar Sea served as an impetus to
its (seemingly) final adoption.
This was the only initiative among the six announced on 10 September
1985 that came with a high price tag for new spending. Some of the other
initiatives had continuing costs. The northern overflights and northern naval
activity are not cheap activities, but they were already established in DND’s
budgets. The four other policy initiatives had costs only in terms of the work
hours required to develop them. The icebreaker was priced at anywhere be-
tween C$230 million to and C$680 million, and this was only the expenses
associated with the building of the vessel. Once built, it would have to be
manned and supplied, thus requiring an additional yearly expenditure.
Therefore, it is not surprising that other decision makers, particularly those
in DND, were worried about its impact on their budgets.
Over time, the continual delays surrounding the project were exten-
sive enough to mean that the sense of urgency that had accompanied the
10 September announcement to build the vessel had dissipated. When the
government made deficit reduction a priority, new and expensive capital
programmes were the first to be eliminated.

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POLAR VISION OR TUNNEL VISION

Negotiations with the US on Cooperation in Arctic Waters

The initiation of negotiations with the US government was the only decision
among the six policy initiatives that was made specifically as a result of the
1985 voyage. Prior to the voyage, no discussions had taken place between the
two governments regarding navigational cooperation in the north.
Joe Clark initiated the idea of entering into direct negotiations with the
US. Officials from the Legal Bureau of External Affairs were given the lead
112

role on the Canadian negotiating team on the basis of their expertise in ne-
gotiations with the US, as well as their knowledge of the issues of Arctic
sovereignty.113 The negotiating team included officials from the Department
of Transport and representatives from the Canadian Coast Guard.
The primary goal of the negotiating team was to reach an agreement
with the US in which Canadian claims to the Arctic waters were recog-
nized. Failing that, they wanted to gain some ‘control’ of the transit of US
Government and commercial vessels.114 In exchange, Canada would provide
assurances for the passage of US vessels in order to meet their security and
commercial concerns.
The US position was established through the operations of two bod-
ies, the Interagency Arctic Group, which in turn reported to the National
Security Council.115 Following Clark’s speech on 10 September 1985, the
Interagency Group was split on how to react. The members of the Group
from the Department of State were in favour of reaching some form of a com-
promise with Canada. The Department of State’s position has been portrayed
as accommodating for the sake of general Canada-US relations.
However, officials from the United States Department of Defence, specif-
ically those from the navy, were concerned about the precedent that might be
established through any agreement recognizing Canadian claims. While the
US navy valued the close relationship with Canada, it could not ignore the
fact that an agreement over the Northwest Passage would establish a poten-
tially dangerous international precedent for its operations.116
Naval officials also considered the ability of their submarines to tran-
sit the Northwest Passage as an important concern. Since the voyage of the
Seadragon in 1960, US submarines have been transiting the Northwest Passage
on a regular basis.117 The exact number of voyages is classified, but a widely
cited article by Norman Polmar in 1984 estimated the number of publicly
known voyages to be about 40.118 While never publicly stating that it used the
Northwest Passage on a regular basis, the United States Navy (USN) would
obviously want to protect its ability to continue these voyages.

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 ROB HUEBERT

There were two distinct phases to the discussions between US and

Canadian officials once negotiations were agreed to. Initially, the negotia-
tions were conducted by bureaucratic officials. Most of their efforts to reach
an agreement could be characterized as relatively low-level and informal.
They consisted primarily of telephone calls between officials in the State
Department and External Affairs and direct meetings. The second phase
emerged when the leaders of the two States determined that negotiations
were proceeding too slowly and decided that political pressure had to be
injected into the process. In order to do so, special envoys were appointed to
report directly to the political leadership of the two States.
The initial negotiating positions of the two states were based on the LOS
Convention. Canadian External Affairs officials claimed that, under Article
234, Canada had the right to establish control over the Passage.119 They cited
the Ice-Covered Areas article which bestows special rights to a coastal state
that has an ice-covered EEZ.120 Canadian officials argued that this gave them
the right to control navigation over the Passage in order to protect the marine
environment. US officials responded by citing Article 236, the Sovereignty
Immunity clause.121 State Department officials argued that since the Polar Sea
was a state-owned vessel, it was exempted from any laws that Canada may
have passed to control navigation in order to protect the marine environ-
ment. In short, a government vessel did not need to meet any standards and,
therefore, did not need to seek permission.
Having failed to make their case on the basis of the LOS Convention,
Canadian officials focused their efforts on reaching a negotiated agreement
with the US. Canadian officials first attempted to reach a comprehensive
agreement in which the US government would recognize Canadian sover-
eignty over the Passage, but in which the Canadian government would al-
low US transit of the Northwest Passage. Various drafts of different agree-
ments were circulated which tended to complicate the agreement as time
progressed.122 However, it became apparent that the US officials would not
alter their position of not recognizing Canadian claims over the Passage.123
After approximately one year, the discussions had become deadlocked.
At that point, the personal intervention of President Reagan and Prime
Minister Mulroney revitalized the process. The single factor that had the
greatest positive impact on the negotiation were the three Summit meet-
ings of 1985, 1986 and 1987 between Prime Minister Mulroney and President
Reagan.
The Shamrock Summit in Quebec City in 1985 had taken place before
the voyage of the Polar Sea. However, this summit was important because

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it established a good working and personal relationship between the two

leaders.
At the following summit held in Washington in 1986, one of the major
issues of discussion between Mulroney and Reagan was the need to resolve
the problems created by the voyage.124 According to several US officials, the
Canadian government was concerned that the Polar Sea problem would
hinder other US-Canada issues, the free trade talks in particular. Reagan
appeared to be sensitive to the Canadian position on the voyage. There are
indications that at one point in their discussions, Mulroney showed Reagan
a globe that included the normal ice cover in order to make his point that
the Northwest Passage was indeed ‘unique.’125 Mulroney then successfully
persuaded Reagan to elevate the level of negotiations by appointing special
negotiators in an attempt to facilitate a solution. Edward Derwinski was se-
lected for the US side and Derek Burney for the Canadian side. Both men had
worked together before and enjoyed the confidence of their political leader.
Derwinski and Burney began to meet with a minimum of staff in an
informal manner. According to Derwinski, they met three to four times for
direct negotiations.126 Often, the meetings would include only the two nego-
tiators and one or two staff assistants.
From all accounts, the nature of the negotiations on the US side began to
change. Derwinski’s overall objective shifted from protecting the US position
to seeking accommodation with Canada. Derwinski stated that he was not
concerned about the precedent that might be set in terms of international law
but, rather, was concerned only with solving the problem.127
This shift in the approach was strenuously objected to by both the US
Coast Guard and Department of Defense, among others. However, the ob-
jections of these departments were overcome by the shifting focus of the
tentative agreement from one that covered all vessels to one that included
only ice-breakers, as well as by the personal intervention of President Reagan
following the 1987 Summit.
The April 1987 Summit injected new life into the discussions. Reagan
remained committed to finding a solution throughout the entire duration of
the talks. During the Summit on 5 April Prime Minster Mulroney hinted to
reporters that some form of agreement had been reached between the two
leaders. When asked by a reporter if Reagan would agree with the Canadian
position on the Arctic, Mulroney responded by stating, ‘You’ll find out.’128
At Reagan’s personal insistence, a paragraph on the need to resolve the
sovereignty question was inserted at the last minute into his 6 April address

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 ROB HUEBERT

to the House of Commons. In his speech, Reagan ended with his own addi-
tional comments on the issues of acid rain and Arctic sovereignty stating,

The Prime Minister and I agreed to consider the Prime Minister’s

proposals for a bilateral accord on acid rain, building on the
tradition of agreements to control pollution of our shared inter-
national waters. The Prime Minister and I also had a full discussion
of the Arctic waters issue, and he and I agreed to inject new impetus to
the discussions already underway. We are determined to find a solution
based on mutual respect for sovereignty and our common security and
other interests [emphasis added].129

Interviews with both US and Canadian officials indicate that, not only did
Reagan agree to inject new impetus into the negotiations, he also agreed
to seek Canadian ‘consent’ before sending any further icebreakers into the
Northwest Passage.130 Following the Summit, the final stages of the drafting
of the agreement went smoothly. The final draft of the agreement was ready
for Cabinet approval on 19 October 1987.131
The Arctic Cooperation Agreement was completed towards the end of
1987 and was formally signed by Clark and Shultz on 11 January 1988. It is
a short, simple agreement. In the first two clauses, both governments agree
to cooperate in the Arctic, and agree to ‘not adversely affect the unique en-
vironment of the region and the well-being of its inhabitants.’ The third and
fourth clauses are the most significant. The third states that the US will notify
Canada whenever it sends an icebreaker through the Northwest Passage.132
The fourth clause states that nothing in the agreement will affect the respect-
ive position of either state. Specifically the third clause states:

In recognition of the close and friendly relations between their

two countries, the uniqueness of ice-covered maritime areas, the
opportunity to increase their knowledge of the marine environ-
ment of the Arctic through research conducted during icebreaker
voyages, and their shared interest in safe, effective icebreaker
navigation off their Arctic coasts:
 The Government of the United States and the Government of
Canada undertake to facilitate navigation by their icebreakers in
their respective Arctic waters and to develop cooperative proced-
ures for this purpose;

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POLAR VISION OR TUNNEL VISION

 The Government of Canada and the Government of the United

States agree to take advantage of their icebreaker navigation to
develop and share research information, in accordance with
generally accepted principles of international law, in order to
advance their understanding of the marine environment of the
area;
 The Government of the United States pledges that all naviga-
tion by US icebreakers within waters claimed by Canada to be
internal will be undertaken with the consent of the Government
of Canada.133

The agreement is generally regarded by officials of both governments as a

practical, albeit limited, agreement. The Canadian government was criti-
cized for failing to achieve outright US recognition of Canadian sovereignty
134
over the Passage. However, it did succeed in resolving the specific problem
of the transit of American icebreakers.
The Agreement has been activated three times – in 1988, 1989 and 1990
– since it was signed in 1988. The procedures established by the Agreement
were strictly followed in 1988 and 1989. In 1990, the US once again followed
the terms of the Agreement, but Canadian decision makers deviated slightly
from the established routine.
In mid-1988, the Canadian Coast Guard requested assistance from the
US Coast Guard when two of its icebreakers ran into thick ice in the western
Arctic. The US vessel, Polar Star, was damaged while rendering assistance135
and was required to transit the Northwest Passage in order to undertake re-
pairs. The US government sought, and received, Canada’s consent to do so.136
The Polar Star also made the second voyage in 1989, a third voyage in
1990 but received little publicity. The agreement was therefore successful in
removing US icebreaker transits of the Northwest Passage as an irritant in
relations between the US and Canada.
The agreement is limited and narrowly defined. Nevertheless, it will
eliminate the possibility of a recurrence of the problems created by the 1985
voyage. It is only icebreakers or nuclear powered submarines that are capable
of transversing the Northwest Passage. The passage of the Manhattan dem-
onstrated that a commercial vessel, even if it is ice-strengthened, requires
the assistance of at least one icebreaker. Therefore, the agreement effectively
includes all surface vessels that may wish to cross the Passage. The limiting
aspect of the agreement is the fact that it does not deal with submarines. US
officials, and particularly Department of Defense officials, had been adamant

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 ROB HUEBERT

that the issue of submarine passage should remain outside the scope of the
negotiations.137

Canadian Northern Foreign Policy

The 10 September statement was the result of the government’s need to be
seen as responding to the voyage of the Polar Sea. As such, it is only to be
expected that the policies chosen would appear as an ad hoc combination of
old and new. However, in the period following the voyage, the six policies
were soon to be entrenched as the core component of Canadian northern
foreign policy.
When the Conservative government came to power in 1984, it promised
to conduct a public review of Canadian foreign policy. Its first step was to
release a discussion paper in May 1985 entitled Competitiveness and Security:
Directions for Canada’s International Relations.138 This was then followed by a
set of public hearings chaired and conducted by a joint House of Commons/
Senate committee. Its report Independence and Internationalism was completed
in June 1986.139 It contained recommendations on all aspects of Canadian for-
eign policy and an entire chapter was dedicated to the issue of a Canadian
northern foreign policy. This chapter examined three main areas: general
issues of concern in the north; the question of sovereignty; and defence ques-
tions.140 The Report made nine policy recommendations ranging from the
fur trade, native self-government and new submarines. While the committee
did not highlight a specific northern maritime policy, most of its recommen-
dation regarding the question of sovereignty did focus on maritime issues.
Significantly, the report had an strong effect on the government’s official re-
sponse.141 When Joe Clark presented the response in the House of Commons,
he specifically noted the importance that the committee had placed on the
‘northern dimension of Canadian foreign policy.’142
The government’s reply to the policy recommendations of the Hockin-
Simard report included a general policy position statement on Canadian
northern foreign policy.143 The impact of the Polar Sea voyage was clearly
pronounced in the report:

The voyage of the US Coast Guard icebreaker Polar Sea in summer

of 1985 dramatically underlined the deep concerns of Canadians
for Arctic sovereignty. In his statement to the House of Commons
on September 10, 1985, the Secretary of State for External Affairs
affirmed that Canadian sovereignty extended to all the waters of
the Arctic archipelago.144

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POLAR VISION OR TUNNEL VISION

The government’s response then repeated the six policy initiatives of the 10
September announcement. However, more significantly, it then went on to
state that:

These recent commitments by the government, and their imple-

mentation, must now be set into a broad policy context. A com-
prehensive northern foreign policy will have four dominant
themes:
 Affirming Canadian Sovereignty;
 Modernizing Canada’s northern defence;
 Preparing for commercial use of the Northwest Passage; and
 Promoting enhanced circumpolar cooperation.
These themes are interrelated and, and indeed provide essen-
tial balance and support for one another. Taken together, they
provide the basis for an integrated and comprehensive northern
foreign policy.145

In 1987, Clark gave a speech in Tromso, Norway, explaining how these

four themes were to be implemented.146 The speech and the government’s
response to the Hockin-Simard report made it clear that, for the first three
themes, the six policies announced on 10 September 1985 would provide the
core substance of the overall policy.147
The principal elements of the affirmation of Canadian sovereignty
were based on the 10 September policy statement and included: talks with
the US over the status of the Northwest Passage; the building of the Polar 8
icebreaker; and the passage of the Canadian Laws Offshore Application Act.148
An additional component to the affirmation of Canadian sovereignty, that
had not been a part of the 10 September speech, was the recognition of the
importance of the Inuit to Canadian claims.
The second theme, the modernization of Canadian Arctic defence,
primarily focused on developing means of effectively monitoring the
north, both in the air and under the ice.149 These included an increase in the
Northern Sovereignty Patrol flights and increased naval activity. Beyond
the policy statement of 10 September the government also pledged itself to
upgrading the northern early warning system through the installation of a
North Warning System. The possibility of replacing the Oberon submarines
with a class that could operate under the ice was also mentioned.
The third policy theme, the preparation of the Northwest Passage
for commercial use, concerned the protection of the environment and the

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 ROB HUEBERT

building of the Polar 8 class icebreaker.150 Vague references to ‘develop the

necessary infrastructure and operational capabilities’ were made, but were
not elaborated upon. In essence, the construction of the Polar 8 was the core
programme.
It was only in regards to the fourth theme of Canada’s stated north-
ern foreign policy that no connection can be found with the 10 September
policy statement. Circumpolar cooperation called for greater cooperation
with not only the US, but also with the USSR, Greenland and the Inuit
Circumpolar Conference.151 In particular, it sought increased scientific links
with the USSR in shared northern research as a means of reducing East-
West tensions.152
However, it is clear that six initiatives were seen as part of the core com-
ponent of Canadian northern policy, and particularly that of its Maritime
Arctic policy. Thus, what amounted to a crisis-management policy reaction
to a single event in the summer of 1985 resulted in the entrenchment of the
six policies.

Conclusion
This analysis shows the manner by which a single event, the voyage’ of
the Polar Sea, galvanized the government into creating a northern mari-
time policy. While the 10 September statement was officially dealing with
Canadian Arctic sovereignty, it was in fact creating a northern maritime
policy. The creation of this policy occurred in a crisis environment. As such,
the six policies were an ad hoc collection of policy initiatives that for the
most part were being developed for other reasons. Nevertheless, these six
policies came to form the main component of Canadian northern maritime
policy.
Not surprisingly, given their somewhat ad hoc selection, the six policies
encountered various degrees of success. The declaration of straight baselines
and the withdrawal of the ICJ reservation were policies that could have been
enacted earlier than 1985. Both were feasible by 1982 when the UNCLOS
III was completed and possibly could have been successfully implemented
even earlier. Conversely, by attempting to define the Canadian Laws Offshore
Application Act as a sovereignty protection measure, passage of the bill may
have been delayed.
The inclusion of the increased sovereignty overflights and northern
naval deployments were efforts to pad the 10 September announcement.
Both were already being conducted and Clarks’s statement did nothing to
change their specific deployments.

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POLAR VISION OR TUNNEL VISION

The two policies that had the greatest potential to alter Canadian Arctic
Maritime policy were the decision to build the Polar 8 class icebreaker and
the negotiations with the US over transit in the Northwest Passage.
Had the icebreaker project not been cancelled, Canada could have had
the most powerful icebreaker in the world. Almost all of the Canadian Arctic
waters would have become navigable for Canada during much of the year,
thereby giving Canada a physical presence in all of its northern waters. This
is in contrast to the current ability of the Canadian Coast Guard. Such an
icebreaker would have had great practical and symbolic value for Canadian
claims over its northern waters. However, in the face of the tremendous pres-
sures on the Canadian budget caused by the deficit, it is easy to understand
why it was not built. Nevertheless, it is still instructive to observe the manner
in which the Polar Sea’s voyage provided almost enough impetus to for the
successful completion of the Polar 8.
The 1988 Arctic Cooperation Agreement between Canada and the US
is limited. Nevertheless, the US agreement to seek ‘consent’ for the pas-
sage of its icebreakers was an important gain for Canada. The agreement
effectively means that the only State openly to challenge Canadian claims
to its northern waters--the US--has agreed to limit its right of transit in the
Northwest Passage of its surface vessels. While the agreement specifies
only government icebreakers, it is difficult to imagine any commercial ves-
sel, even those that are ice-strengthened, being able to transit the Passage
without icebreaker assistance. Thus, the agreement, de facto controls any
possible attempt by a US commercial vessel to transit the Passage, since it
would require the escort of either a Canadian icebreaker or, conceivably, a
US icebreaker.
Of course, the one type of vessel that was not mentioned in the agree-
ment – nuclear powered submarines – leaves open the possibility of a third
crisis between Canada and the US over the Northwest Passage. As noted
earlier, US submarines do occasionally use the Passage. The frequency is a
closely guarded secret, but it does occur. It is conceivable to imagine a scen-
ario in which a US submarine, while in the Northwest Passage, is forced to
the surface – possibly as the result of an accident or mechanical problem. It is
equally plausible to imagine that if this occurs, the Canadian government of
the day will find itself repeating the same process that occurred in 1970 fol-
lowing the voyage of the Manhattan, and 1985 when the Polar Sea transited the
Passage. This future government will probably find itself creating its Arctic
Maritime policy in a similar crisis environment.

336

Notes
Reprinted from Marine Policy 19/4 (July
1995): 343-63.
1 The Manhattan was given a strength-
ened ice bow as well as a belt of pro-
tective steel around its waterline.
2 John Kirton and Don Munton, “The
Manhattan voyages and their after-
math,” in Politics of the Northwest Pas-
sage ed. Franklyn Griffiths (Kingston
and Montreal: McGill-Queen’s Uni-
versity Press, 1987), 93. Several other
articles that examined the Manhat-
tan voyages are: W Joseph Dehner,
“Creeping jurisdiction in the Arctic:
has the Soviet Union joined Canada?,”
Harvard International Law Journal 13
(1972); Raymond W Konan, “The Man-
hattan’s Arctic conquest and Canada’s
response in legal diplomacy,” Cornell
International Law Journal 3 (Spring
1970); and E J Dosman, “The Northern
Sovereignty Crisis, 1968-70,” in The
Arctic in Question (Toronto: Oxford
University Press, 1976).
3 Arctic Waters Pollution Prevention Act,
RSC 1970, c 47, Royal Assent given 26
June 1970. (Hereinafter referred to as
AWPPA).
4 For the document granting the Coast
Guard this responsibility, see “Re-
vised Memorandum of Agreement
between the Department of the Navy
and the Department of the Treasury
on the Operation of Icebreakers,” 22
July 1965.
5 “Revised Memorandum of Agree-
ment,” 2-4 to 2-8.
6 According to some interviewed offi-
cials, the fact that the US Coast Guard
had to rely on Canadian assistance to
get the Manhattan through the North-
west Passage was one of the main
reasons that Congress decided to al-
low the building of the two Polar class
vessels.
7 US Coast Guard, “Chronology of De-
cision making and Clearances for the
1985 Transit of the Northwest Passage
ROB HUEBERT
by the US Coast Guard Icebreaker
Polar Sea,” 11 October 1985.
8 US Coast Guard, “Chronology of Deci-
sion.”
9 US Coast Guard, “Chronology of Deci-
sion.”
10 US, Department of State, 85 State Tele-
gram 151842 (1721142 May 85); 85 Ot-
tawa telegram 03785 ( 2118102 May 85).
11 Canada, Department of External Af-
fairs, Canadian Embassy, Washington,
DC, Note No. 331, 11 June 1985.
12 US, Department of State, American
Embassy at Ottawa Note No 222 24
June 1985.
13 US, American Embassy at Ottawa
Note No 222.
14 Interviews with State Department of-
ficials, Washington, April 1990.
15 Interview with External Affairs offi-
cial, Canadian Embassy, Washington,
April 1990.
16 Canada, Department of External Af-
fairs, Legal Affairs, “Memorandum
for: the Secretary of State for External
Affairs: Subject -Voyage of the US
Coast Guard Icebreaker Polar Sea,” 30
July 1985.
17 Canada, Department of External Af-
fairs, Canadian Embassy, Washington,
DC, Note No 433, dated 31 July 1985.
While it is known that this note was
written by officials within External
Affairs, the conditions under which
they were instructed to write it is not
known. Compared to the previous
notes, it takes a less accommodating
approach.
18 See for example “For the Defence of
Sovereignty,” Globe and Mail, 2 August
1985; and Kevin Doyle, “Our Precious
North,” Maclean’s, 19 August 1985.
While these are the editorials in the
most widely read Canadian media
sources, other editorials attacking the
337
POLAR VISION OR TUNNEL VISION
government can be found in most
other Canadian newspapers.
19 “Arctic ‘Incursion’ Protest Planned,”
Globe and Mail, 6 August 1985; and
Ken MacQueen with Andrew Niki-
foruk, “The New Race for the North,”
Maclean’s, 19 August 1985.
20 lnterview with External Affairs offi-
cial, Canadian Embassy, Washington,
1990.
21 The dates are contained in the fol-
lowing declassified letters: Canada,
Department of Energy, Mines, and Re-
sources, “Memorandum -Geoscience
Activities Relating to Canadian Sover-
eignty in the Arctic,” to Len Legault,
the Office of the Legal Advisor Exter-
nal Affairs, from Assistant Deputy
Minister, Earth Science, Department
Energy, Mines and Resources, 6 Au-
gust 1985; and Canada, Department of
Indian and Northern Affairs, “Letter,”
from John Hucker, Director General
Northern Policy and Coordination,
Department of Indian and Northern
Affairs to Len Legault of External Af-
fairs, Legal Operations, 7 August 1985.
22 Canada, Department of National
Defence, “Letter” from J.F. Anderson,
Assistant Deputy Minister (Policy), to
Len Legault, Department of External
Affairs, Legal Operations, 6 August
1985; Canada, EMR, “Memorandum
-Geoscience Activities,” 6 August
1985; Canada, Ministry of State, Sci-
ence, and Technology, “Letter,” from
Director of Space Policy and Plans,
Ministry of State, Science and Technol-
ogy, to Harry Swain, Privy Council, 16
August 1985; Canada, DIAND, “Let-
ter,” from Hucker to Legault, 7 August
1985; and Canada, Department of
Indian and Northern Affairs, “Let-
ter,” from J Hucker, Director General,
Northern Policy, Indian and Northern
Affairs, to Barry Mawhinney, Director
General, Legal Affairs Bureau, Depart-
ment of External Affairs, 28 August
1985.
23 Canada, EMR, “Memorandum -Geo-
science Activities,” 6 August 1985.
338
24 Canada, EMR, “Letter,” from Perron to
McRae, 28 August 1985.
25 “Ottawa experts split over claim to
Arctic seas,” Toronto Star, 12 August
1985.
26 Secretary of State Joe Clark, Press
Scrum, Uplands, 2 August 1985.
27 “PM’s stand on Arctic toughest yet,”
Globe and Mail, 23 August 1985; and
“There’s no doubt Arctic is ours, Mul-
roney says,” Ottawa Citizen, 23 August
1985.
28 Canada, Department of External Af-
fairs, “Policy on Canadian Sovereign-
ty,” Statements and Speeches, No 8517,
Staternent by the Right Honourable
Joe Clark, Secretary of State for Ex-
ternal Affairs, in House of Commons,
Ottawa, 10 September 1985.
29 Territorial Sea and Fishing Zone Act,
RSC. 1964., c 22.
30 J Bruce McKinnon, “Arctic baselines:
a litre usque ad litus,” Canadian Bar
Review 66 (December 1987), 795.
31 Kirton and Munton, “Manhattan
Voyages,” 82.
32 They were: Ivan Head, special assist-
ant to Trudeau, Allan Gotlieb, Len
Legault and Edward Lee of External
Affairs; Robertson, Uffen, and De-
whirst of PCO; Thorson of Justice;
McDonald and Hunt of Indian and
Northern Affairs; Needler and Omere
of Forestry and Fisheries; Isbister of
Energy, Mines and Resources; and
MacGillway of Transport. Kirton and
Munton, “The Manhattan voyages and
their aftermath,” Note 18, 282.
33 Kirton and Munton, “The Manhattan
voyages and their aftermath,” 73.
34 Canada Department of External Af-
fairs, “Letter,” from Len Legault,
Legal Advisor and Director General,
Bureau of Legal Affairs, to Ivan Head,
President, IDRC, 19 January 1980.
35 Interview with External Affairs offi-
cial, Canadian Embassy, Washington,
April 1990.

36 Territorial Sea Geographical Coordin-
ates (Area 7) Order, SOR/85-872, 10
September 1985, in Canada Gazette, Part
II, Vol 119, No 20.
37 Fisheries Case (United Kingdom v
Norway), ICJ Reports, 1951, (Judgment
of 18 December).
38 LOS Convention, Article 7. It must
be noted that Articles 3 and 4 of the
1958 Territorial Sea Convention also
allowed for the usage of straight base-
lines under certain circumstances.
39 Interview with Department of Justice
official, Ottawa, April 1990.
40 LOS Convention, Part V, Articles 55-
75; and Part VI, Article 76-85.
41 Canada, RCMP, “Letter,” from J.J.M.
Coutu, Chief Superintendent, Assist-
ant Director, Criminal Investigation,
Royal Canadian Mounted Police, to
Philippe Kirsch, Director, Legal Oper-
ations Division, Department of Exter-
nal Affairs, 25 May 1984.
42 Canada, Minister of Justice and At-
torney General of Canada, “Canadian
Laws to Apply to the Offshore,” Justice
Communiqué, 2 October 1989, p 1.
43 Canada, Department of Justice, ‘Back-
ground information Canadian laws
offshore application Act,” Informa-
tion, October 1989.
44 Confidential interview with Canadian
officials.
45 Canadian Laws Offshore Application, Bill
C-104, House of Commons 1st Session,
33d Parliament, 1st Reading, 11 April
1986.
46 Bill C-104, 12-13.
47 Canada, House of Commons, Legisla-
tive Committee on Bill C-39, Minutes
of Proceedings and Evidence of the
Legislative Committee on Bill C-39,
Issue No 1, 15 May, 29 May 1990, 1:40.
48 Canada, Department of Justice, “Bill
introduced to extend Canadian laws to
the offshore,” News Release, 11 April
1986.
ROB HUEBERT
49 Canada, Department of Justice, “Can-
adian Laws to Apply to the Offshore,”
Justice Communiqué, 2 October 1989.
50 Even though the Liberals were in the
process of trying to prevent the pas-
sage of the Goods and Service Tax
(GST), the death of retired Senator
Henry Hicks resulted in a short truce
in which non-GST business was at-
tended to at this time.
51 Canada, Department of National
Defence, “CP 140 Aurora Northern
Patrols,” Backgrounder, April 1989.
52 See any of the Annual Reports (De-
fence) published by the Department
of Defence since the flights began to
occur.
53 Harriet Critchley, “Defence and poli-
cing in Arctic Canada,” in Politics of the
Northwest Passage ed. Griffiths, 201.
54 The three trackers were No 8458 flown
by Captain Cooper and Lt Haggens;
No 8460 flown by Captain Horton and
Lt Cecic and No 8459 flown by Captain
Valade, Lt Bush and Captain Cooper.
While the two Auroras were not iden-
tified, one was based at Comox, BC
and the other at Greenwood, NS. Can-
ada, Department of National Defence,
880 Squadron, Resolute Bay, “Telex
-Mission Report Arctic Surveillance,”
2230, 4 August 1985; Canada, Depart-
ment of National Defence, Maritime
Operational Centre Halifax, “Telex-
Mission Report Arctic Surveillance,”
2254, 5 August 1985; Canada, Depart-
ment of National Defence, Maritime
Operational Centre Halifax, “Telex
-POLAR SEA Situation Report No 4,”
0220, 6 August 1985.
55 For a partial part of its voyage, the
Polar Sea was accompanied by the
Canadian icebreaker John A MacDon-
ald. Canada, Department of National
Defence, 880 Squadron, Resolute Bay,
“Telex -Mission Report Arctic Surveil-
lance,” 2230, 4 August 1985.
56 880 Squadron, Resolute Bay, “Telex
-Mission Report Arctic Surveillance,”
2230, 4 August 1985.
339
POLAR VISION OR TUNNEL VISION
57 Canada, Department of National De-
fence, Maritime Operational Centre
Halifax, “Telex -Mission Report,” 1743,
5 August 1985.
58 Canada, Department of National De-
fence, National Defence Headquarters,
“Telex -Monitoring USCG Polar Sea,”
1201, 12 August 1985.
59 Canada, DND, “Letter,” from John
Anderson, ADM (Policy) DND to Len
Legault, Legal Advisor, Department of
External Affairs, 6 August 1985.
60 There is some confusion as to the
number of flights made in 1986. Bob
Fowler, then Assistant Deputy Min-
ister (policy) DND, reported to the
Standing Committee on External Af-
fairs and National Defence that there
had been 20 flights in 1986. House of
Commons, Standing Committee on
External Affairs and National Defence,
Proceedings, 28 January 1987, 14. How-
ever, in a letter sent to the author, the
Minister of National Defence wrote on
9 September 1992 that there had been
only 17 flights.
61 Canada, House of Commons, Stand-
ing Committee on National Defence,
Proceedings, 15 April 1986.
62 Canada, Department of National De-
fence, Challenge and Commitment: A De-
fence Policy for Canada, June 1987, P57.
63 Paul Koring, “Tory defence promises
wiped out,” Globe and Mail, 28 April
1989; Koring, “Defence of Arctic left to
Allies by Budget Cuts,” Globe and Mail,
28 April 1989; and Canadian Institute
for International Peace and Security,
The Guide to Canadian Policies on
Arms Control, Disarmament, Defence
and Conflict Resolution, CliPS (Ot-
tawa, 1989), 123.
64 Fred Crickard, ‘The role of maritime
strategy in ocean development and
management,” in Canadian Ocean Law
and Policy ed. David VanderZwaag (To-
ronto: Butterworth, 1992), 533.
65 The problems of naval operations in
the Arctic with anything other than an
340
icebreaker or nuclear-powered subma-
rine were made clear in the testimony
of Rear Admiral N.D. Brodeur, Dep-
uty Chief of the Defence Staff in his
testimony before the Senate Subcom-
mittee on National Defence in 1982.
See Canada, Senate, Standing Senate
Committee on Foreign Affairs, Proceed-
ings of the Subcommittee on National
Defence, 9 March 1982, 23, 29-30.
66 This was the 7 100 tonne Labrador. It
was transferred in February of 1958
when the decision was made that the
navy would not be responsible for
icebreaking duties. Kim Nossal, Polar
icebreakers: the politics of inertia,” in
Politics of the Northwest Passage ed. Grif-
fiths, 220-1.
67 Canada, Department of National
Defence, Defence 1971, Information
Canada, Ottawa, 1972), 40. 68. Canada,
DND, Defence 1978 (Supply and Servi-
ces, Ottawa, 1979), 38.
68 Defence 1978, 38.
69 Canada, DND, “Letter,” from John
Anderson ADM (Policy) DND, to Len
Legault, Legal Advisor, External Af-
fairs, 6 August 1985.
70 Robert Gordon, “Promised Arctic
exercises run aground -budget,” Hali-
fax Chronicle Herald, 4 March 1986.
71 Gordon, “Promised Arctic exercises.”
72 ‘Navy prepares for Arctic Operation,”
Halifax Chronicle Herald, 6 August 1986.
73 Crickard, “Role of maritime strategy”;
and Lt Commander Malcolm Palmer,
“NORPLOY 89,” Canada’s Navy An-
nual, Issue 5 (1990/91).
74 “Documentation concerning Can-
adian legislation on Arctic pollution
and territorial sea and fishing zones,”
in International Legal Materials 9 (1970),
599.
75 LOS Convention, Article 234, 84.
76 LOS Convention, Article 234, 84.
77 Interviews with External Affairs of-
ficial, Halifax, June 1990; and External

Affairs official, Canadian Embassy,
Washington, April1990.
78 In fact, it is possible to trace the history
of Canadian icebreakers as far back as
1876, when Canada attempted to build
‘a steamboat specially adapted for the
Winter service and running through
the ice,” for service in the St Lawrence
and Northumberland Strait. Nossal,
“Polar Icebreakers,” 217. A Transport
Canada document makes it clear that
the prospects of resource development
in the north and the voyage of the
Manhattan were the two main factors
that started consideration of building
a large (Polar 7 or larger) icebreaker.
See Canada, Transport Canada, Dis-
cussion Paper: Polar Icebreaker Program,
No TC 31-80, 27 October 1980, 3.
79 In 1958, then transport minister
George Hees suggested that Canada
would build a nuclear icebreaker “as
soon as it is feasible.” Quoted in Mat-
thew Fisher, “Experts get cracking
on super icebreaker plans,” Globe and
Mail, 7 August 1985.
80 Canada, House of Commons, Stand-
ing Committee on Indian Affairs and
Northern Development, Minutes of Evi-
dence and Proceedings, Issue 25, 15 June
1971, 25:5-6.
81 Nossal, “Polar icebreakers,” 228.
82 Nossal, “Polar icebreakers,” 229-231.
83 Lawson W Bringham, “A world-class
icebreaker: the Canadian Polar-8,”
Proceedings, 112, March 1986, 150.
84 John Langford, “Marine science, tech-
nology, and the Arctic: some questions
and guidelines for the federal govern-
ment,” in The Arctic in Question ed. E.J.
Dosman (Toronto: Oxford University
Press, 1976), 166.
85 Nossal, “Polar Icebreakers,” 229.
86 Nossal, “Polar Icebreakers,” 229.
87 Canada, Minister Transport Canada,
Design of Nuclear Icebreaker, No
39/70, 6 March 1978.
88 Nossal, “Polar Icebreaker.”
ROB HUEBERT
89 Transport Canada, Polar Icebreaker
Program, 3.
90 Interestingly, there was very little con-
cern about the international ramifica-
tions of building a nuclear powered
vessel. In the report to Cabinet, Trans-
port officials reviewed all relevant
domestic and international regulatory
requirements and concluded that:
“If there are to be activities outside
Canada (eg overseas construction,
operation in international and foreign
waters, etc.) it will be necessary to
consider the requirements of other
regulatory bodies such as the United
Nations Intergovernmental Maritime
Consultative Organization (IMCO)
and foreign equivalents of AECB
[Atomic Energy Control Board] and
other government departments. At
the present time no definitive guide-
lines for nuclear propulsion have been
produced by any of these regulatory
bodies. However, provisional rules
exist for some aspects, and work is
proceeding by IMCO on the formula-
tion of guidelines.” Transport Canada,
Polar Icebreaker Program, 45.
91 Canada, Minister Transport Canada,
“Canada to Design World’s Most
Powerful Icebreaker,” Information, No
64/78, 22 April 1981; and Carey French,
“Word Expected on Icebreaker By the
Spring,” Globe and Mail, 6 December
1982.
92 Carey French, “3 Firms to Seek Job of
Building Icebreaker,” Globe and Mail, 9
July 1984.
93 Matthew Fisher, “Experts get cracking
on super icebreaker plans,” Globe and
Mail, 7 August 1985.
94 Interview with External official, Hali-
fax, June 1990.
95 Confidential interviews with Can-
adian officials.
96 Bringham, “A world-class icebreaker,”
152.
97 Carey French, “Commitment to su-
pericebreaker not popular with naval
341
POLAR VISION OR TUNNEL VISION
planner,” Globe and Mail, 3 October
1986.
98 SCND, Minutes, 27, 28 January 1987, 35.
99 P.J. Aaria, Angus Bruneau and P.A.
Lapped, ed, Arctic Systems (New York:
Plenium Press, 1977).
100 “Ottawa underrated potential of our
icebreaker design: Finnish firm,”
Montreal Gazette, 19 January 1987.
101 Patricia Poirier, “B.C. firm favoured for
icebreaker contract,” Globe and Mail, 17
January 1987.
102 Canada, House of Commons, Debates,
2 March 1987, 3723.
103 Iain Hunter, “Arctic sovereignty: de-
lays put our polar standard-bearer in
limbo,” Ottawa Citizen, 29 July 1989.
104 “lce ship defects outlined,” Calgary
Herald, 10 May 1988; and “Propulsion
System for Polar 8 is Guaranteed, Bou-
chard Says,” Montreal Gazette, 11 May
1988.
105 “lcebreaker’s cost climbing: coast
guard,” Montreal Gazette, 14 July 1988.
106 Paul Koring, “Bouchard delays plans
for Polar 8 as cost rises,” Globe and Mail,
8 May 1989.
107 Ken Romain, “Polar 8 delay leaves
shipyard short of work,” Globe and
Mail, 15 May 1989.
108 Koring, “Bouchard delays plans.”
109 Deborah Wilson, “Axing of the Polar
8 seen as a cruel blow but BC ship-
builder plans to stay open,” Globe and
Mail, 22 February 1990, B22.
110 Ken MacQueen, “Ottawa’s paper ship:
a massive waste of time, talent and
money,” Montreal Gazette, 22 February
1990.
111 Paul Koring, “Polar 8 founders on
shoals of tory cuts,” Globe and Mail, 20
February 1990.
112 Interview with External Affairs of-
ficial, External Affairs, Ottawa, April
1993.
342
113 Confidential interviews with Can-
adian officials.
114 Interview with External Affairs offi-
cial, Canadian Embassy, Washington,
April 1990.
115 Interviews with State Department of-
ficials, Washington, April 1990.
116 Interview with American Senior Navy
official, Washington, April 1990.
117 For the story on the voyage of the
Seadragon see the book written by
her commanding officer, Commander
George Steele, Seadragon: Northwest
Under the Ice (New York: E.P. Dutton &
Co, 1962). Of particular interest is the
close cooperation that existed between
the USN and Canadian Navy during
the voyage.
118 Norman Polmar, “Sailing under the
ice,” Proceedings, 110 pt1 (June 1984),
122.
119 Interview with External Affairs offi-
cial, Canadian Embassy, Washington,
April 1990.
120 LOS Convention, Article 234.
121 Interview with United States Coast
Guard official, Washington, April
1990.
122 Confidential interviews with Amer-
ican and Canadian officials.
123 Several US officials made it clear that
while State officials had been willing
to compromise, it was representatives
from the navy who refused to bend
on this issue. The naval officials were
very concerned about the precedent
that would be created if Canada was
granted full sovereignty.
124 Interview with former National Secur-
ity Council (NSC) official, Washing-
ton, April 1990.
125 This story is referred to in Ross
Howard’s report, “De facto control of
nonarms shipping won in Northern
Passage, Officials Say,” Globe and Mail,
8 December 1987.
 ROB HUEBERT

126 Interview with Edwin Derwinski, 1986 (more commonly known as the
Washington, 26 April 1990. Hockin-Simard Report).
127 Interview with Edwin Derwinski, 140 Independence and Internationalism, 127-
Washington, 26 April 1990. 135.
128 United States, President, Public Papers 141 Canada, Department of External Af-
of the President of the United States, Ron- fairs, Canada’s International Relations:
ald Reagan, book 1 (Washington: Gov- Response of the Government of Canada to
ernment Printing Office, 1989), 334. the Report of the Special Joint Committee
of the Senate and the House of Commons,
129 United States, State Department,
December 1986.
“President’s visit to Canada,” Bulletin,
June 1987, 7. 142 Canada, House of Commons, Debates,
4 December 1986, 1763-5.
130 Interviews with former NSC official,
Washington, April 1990; and External 143 Canada’s International Relations, 31-33;
Affairs official, Ottawa, April 1993. 85-87.
131 “Arctic agreement with US ignores 144 Canada’s International Relations, 31.
Canadian sovereignty,” Ottawa Citizen,
145 Canada’s International Relations, 31.
5 December 1987.
146 Canada, Department of External Af-
132 “Agreement between the Government
fairs, “Speech by the Honourable Joe
of Canada and the Government of the
Clark, Secretary of State for Exter-
United States of America on Arctic
nal Affairs, to the Norway-Canada
Cooperation,” signed in Ottawa, 11
Conference on Circumpolar Issues,”
January 1988.
Statement, 87/72, Tromso, Norway, 9
133 “Agreement between the Government December 1987.
of Canada and the Government of the
147 Canada’s International Relations, 3.
United States,” 11 January 1988.
148 Canada’s International Relations, 31.
134 “Inuit unhappy”; “US rejects Canada’s
claim to sovereignty in Arctic treaty,” 149 Canada’s International Relations, 32.
Ottawa Citizen, 12 January 1988. 150 Canada’s International Relations, 32.
135 The sister ship to the Polar Sea. 151 Canada’s International Relations, 32-33.
136 Paul Koring, “Canada allows entry 152 Canada, Department of Indian Affairs
by US icebreaker,” Globe and Mail, 7 and Northern Development, Building
October 1988; and Bill McAllister, “US International Relations in the Arctic: 25
breaks diplomatic ice for trapped ship: Years of Canada-USSR Cooperation (Ot-
plan will let vessel cross disputed tawa: Supply and Services, 1991).
Canadian waters,” Washington Post, 12
October 1988.
137 Confidential interviews with Can-
adian and American officials.
138 Canada, Department of External Af-
fairs, Competitiveness and Security:
Directions for Canada’s International Re-
lations (Ottawa: Supply and Services,
1985).
139 Canada, Special Joint Committee of
the Senate and House of Commons
on Canada’s International Relations,
Independence and Internationalism, June

343
Calgary Papers in Military and Strategic Studies, Occasional Paper No. 4, 2011
Canadian Arctic Sovereignty and Security: Historical Perspectives Pages 345–381

Canada’s Northern Defenders:

Aboriginal Peoples in the Canadian
Rangers, 1947-2005
P. Whitney Lackenbauer

“T
he Centre of Gravity for [Canadian Forces Northern Area
(CFNA)] is our positive relationship with the aboriginal peoples
of the North,” CFNA commander Kevin McLeod highlighted
in 2003. “Deploying out on the land, conducting patrols, training and sup-
porting the youth … and being involved in the local communities, are why
we are here, and this must not be forgotten.”1 It is a daunting task, given
that the CFNA’s mission is to defend the Canadian Territorial North: the 3.8
million square kilometres represent forty percent of Canada’s land mass
and comprise one of the largest areas of military responsibility in the world.
Northern Area encompasses five topographical regions – from the desolate
peaks of the high Arctic and the desert-like terrain of the Arctic lowlands, to
the forested mountains of the Western Cordillera – and is home to a cultur-
ally and linguistically diverse population totalling less than 100,000 people.
For decades, this geographical breadth and demographic diversity has per-
plexed defence policy-makers who have in turn often chosen to simply ig-
nore the region. To be Arctic-capable and Arctic-tough, the Canadian Forces
(CF) must be “credible, professional and capable of conducting operations
in the North.”2 Given that the vast majority of Canadians live south of the
treeline and are unfamiliar with their country’s northern inheritance, these
capabilities are dependent upon relationships with northern residents and,
in particular, indigenous peoples.
Part of CFNA’s mandate to reinforce Canadian sovereignty is fulfilled
through the Canadian Rangers. This unique force is designed to serve as the
“eyes and ears” of the armed forces in isolated, northern and coastal regions
of the country which cannot be practically or economically covered by other
elements of the CF. Created in 1947, the Rangers survived a course of waxing
and waning interest over the ensuing four decades. During the last 20 years,
however, the Rangers have become an entrenched component of the mil-
itary’s northern strategy and have elicited significant media attention. There
are currently (2007) 4,000 Rangers in 168 patrols across the country and 1,500

© Centre for Military and Strategic Studies http://cmss.ucalgary.ca/ 345

CANADA’S NORTHERN DEFENDERS

Rangers in 58 patrols fall under the administrative control of 1 Canadian

Ranger Patrol Group (1 CRPG) headquartered in Yellowknife. Their unortho-
dox military approach in northern communities represents military accom-
modation and acceptance of cultural diversity in a practical form. Through
the Canadian Rangers, the CF encourages indigenous practices, while pro-
moting the participation and leadership of Aboriginal community members
in defence activities. Military training and operations allow the Rangers to
exercise their unique skills and increase the collective capabilities of their
patrols.
Based on extensive archival research and a series of interviews con-
ducted with 1 CRPG personnel from 2000 to 2004, this chapter assesses
military-indigenous relationships in the Canadian Arctic since the late 1940s.
Recognizing that the standard approach used to train and exercise Regular
and Reserve Force units would not work in northern communities, the mil-
itary has developed a flexible, culturally-aware approach that intertwines
differentiation, accommodation and acceptance. Ranger instructors who are
willing to acclimatize and adapt to the ways and needs of diverse northern
communities learn to teach and build trust relationships with patrols in an
adaptive manner that transcends cultural, linguistic and generational lines.
In turn, the Rangers serve to strengthen northern indigenous communities
by encouraging traditional land- and sea-based activities and local capacity-
building. By extension, the Rangers’ positive role in northern life means that
military training supports the health and sustainability of their communities
and cultures.

Theoretical and Conceptual Considerations

There are few images more captivating to the southern Canadian im-
agination than the lone Inuk hunter, crossing the sea ice by snow machine,
heading to an historic hunting ground. As Franklyn Griffiths reminds us,
the “arctic sublime” continues to haunt the national psyche.3 Viljalmur
Stefansson painted a portrait of the “friendly arctic” filled with untapped
riches, but most southerners saw their distant inheritance of ice and snow
(they always thought of it in winter) as forbidden and dangerous. As a re-
sult, benign indifference marked the federal government’s approach to
northern policy (including sovereignty and security issues) through most of
the 20th century. Furthermore, until recently, northern indigenous peoples
were treated as foreign “objects” rather than potential actors. Nevertheless,
the extension of military development into their homelands had profound
effects on their cultures and their lives. In recognition of these impacts, fed-

346
 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

eral policies over the last three decades have emphasized the importance
of accommodating northern indigenous perspectives and interests and al-
lowing these people to play a meaningful role in the national project. The
conclusion of land claims and self-government agreements, the establish-
ment of the Arctic Council and the appointment of a Canadian Ambassador
for Circumpolar Affairs (filled to date by prominent Inuit leaders) indicates
an acceptance that northern indigenous peoples are now partners in shap-
ing the government agenda.
While the existing literature on Aboriginal-military relations has paid
little attention to the Canadian Rangers, scholars have provided useful
frameworks to understand the shifting contexts in which this unique force
has operated. For example, Ken Eyre has outlined three “surges” of military
interest in the Canadian Arctic during the Cold War. He revealed that the
federal government’s varying appreciation of security and sovereignty
threats had a direct correlation with military priorities for and activities in
the region.4 Since the end of the Cold War, however, Arctic security issues
have undergone a significant transformation. The leading scholar of these
changes, political scientist Rob Huebert, has explained that the effects of
military operations on northern peoples and ecology have become central
considerations. Sovereignty, rather than traditional forms of military secur-
ity, is now the primary focus of Canadian defence activities in the Arctic.5 As
the House of Commons Standing Committee on Foreign Affairs observed in
1997, “the security of individuals and the environment in the Arctic is now
placed above traditional state sovereignty and defence issues that dominated
throughout the Cold War.”6 This has a clear effect on the way the military can
accomplish its mission in the North in the 21st century.
Scholarly literature on civil-military relations also intersects with the
northern security agenda. One school of interpretation sees the CF as a
positive contributor to Canadian development, both domestically and inter-
nationally. In the context of the Arctic, the extension of military communi-
cations systems, transportation and activities into the North have served
to open and connect it to the rest of the world.7 The second school sees the
military as a dominant threat to Canadian values and to the environment.
Using examples like low-level flying, environmental contamination from
CF operations, and direct confrontations between Aboriginal peoples and
the army, such as Goose Bay, Oka, Gustafsen Lake and Ipperwash, the mil-
itary is characterized as a coercive hegemon.8 Indeed, policy scholar Frances
Abele has argued that “sovereignty and security policy decisions, in their
immediate impact, have been and continue to be disproportionately costly

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CANADA’S NORTHERN DEFENDERS

to northern indigenous peoples.” Inuit spokesperson Mary Simon has add-

ed, “Too often, military projects are centralized undertakings that are uni-
laterally imposed on indigenous peoples and their territories. Such actions
are inconsistent with the basic principles of aboriginal self-government.”9 In
short, military activities and northern indigenous worldviews and life-paths
are incompatible.
The institutional emphasis of most civil-military relations theory and
scholarship tends to neglect issues of culture. This chapter recognizes that
values, attitudes and symbols inform not only the nation’s view of its mil-
itary role, but also the military’s own view of that role. Concordance theory,
Rebecca Schiff explains, highlights dialogue, accommodation and shared
values amongst the military, political elites and society. Rather than assum-
ing a sharp separation between civil and military institutions, she encour-
ages research drawing upon additional elements of society that affect the role
and function of the armed forces. How do citizens interact with the military?
Is there agreement over the role of the military in society?10 The paucity of re-
search on the social integration of the military in Canada writ large demands
more attention, as do specific relationships like those shared with Aboriginal
groups.11
This chapter focuses on Aboriginal peoples’ service in what is now 1
CRPG (which spans the Territorial North). It explores evolving military per-
ceptions about contributions that Northern Aboriginal peoples can make
to national defence. The documentary record suggests that the Canadian
military historically possessed conflicting ideas about the role and utility of
Aboriginal peoples in the Rangers – and the CF more generally. By the late
1970s, however, new sovereignty and security discourses encouraged the
military to integrate Aboriginal peoples into the CF in culturally appropriate
ways. Officials saw operational value in traditional skills and the military
has grown in its awareness that diversity can serve as a “force multiplier”
rather than a liability. Over the last two decades, this understanding has al-
lowed the Rangers to flourish in the north, attract significant positive media
attention for the military and support self-governing and sustainable north-
ern communities.
Several qualifications are necessary to note at the onset. First, this chap-
ter does not purport to speak from an Aboriginal viewpoint. Although I have
interviewed Aboriginal Rangers over the last five years, most direct quota-
tions are taken from archival documents and published primary sources.
Second, I have relied heavily on interviews with Ranger instructors who
have worked with Rangers in the North. Although these testimonies reveal

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 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

as much about the instructor as they do about the people they are describing,
these professional soldiers bring a unique perspective given their experi-
ence with numerous Ranger patrols and their knowledge of military culture.
Furthermore, my conclusions are somewhat essentialist. Aboriginal voice
and experience are, of course, plural. As Alan Cairns explains, “‘Aboriginal’
covers not only the obvious diversity of Indian, Inuit and Métis but mul-
tiple internal distinctions – men’s voice and women’s voice, modernizers and
traditionalists, urban Aboriginals in Toronto and their relatives on isolated
northern reserves.”12 Future studies will determine whether the general com-
ments that I offer are applicable to Rangers across the North and across the
country more generally.

Historical Overview: The Search for a Role, 1947-69

Although I have charted the growth of Aboriginal participation in the
Canadian Rangers elsewhere,13 the historical evolution of the force war-
rants reiteration given that it remains the least known formation in the CF.
The Rangers were officially established as a component of the Reserves in
1947, based on the template of the Pacific Coast Militia Rangers (PCMR)
created in British Columbia during the Second World War.14 Rather than
requiring the government to station Regular Force troops in northern and
isolated areas, the Rangers represented a cost-effective solution to Cold
War sovereignty and security concerns that drew upon existing human
resources in local areas. Civilians, pursuing their everyday work as log-
gers, trappers or fishermen, could thus serve as the military’s “eyes and
ears” in areas where demographics and geography precluded a more trad-
itional military presence. The plan was to recruit individuals who would
not appeal to other units for age, health or employment reasons and thus
would remain in their local area in both war and peace. With little training
and equipment, the Rangers could act as guides and scouts, report suspi-
cious activities and – if the unthinkable came to pass – delay enemies using
guerrilla tactics. The only equipment issued to Rangers was an obsolescent
.303 Lee Enfield, 200 rounds of ammunition annually and an armband.
(This has since grown to include a sweatshirt, ball cap, t-shirt and a trig-
ger lock.) From the onset, the force structure was decentralized and varia-
tions in roles, location and terrain made it impossible to create a “standard
establishment.” Each Ranger platoon was operated and administered on a
localized basis.15
The question of Native Canadian participation in the Rangers gener-
ated conflicting opinions in the early postwar period. Members of coastal

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CANADA’S NORTHERN DEFENDERS

Native communities in British Columbia had played a significant role in the

wartime PCMR and received heroic tributes in newspaper reports. They also
embraced this form of wartime service that did not obligate them to serve
overseas. “All the Indians of these parts are strongly and enthusiastically …
for the Ranger organization,” PCMR instructor Brendan Kennelly reported
of the Kinconlith unit in 1943. “They see in it their opportunity to do their bit
& to be prepared to help in home defence in country … and in terrain & sur-
roundings with which they were familiar and in which they would be most
useful.”16 While it seemed obvious to some military officials that indigen-
ous peoples would make similar contributions to the Canadian Rangers, not
everyone was caught up in the hype. In late-1946, Brigadier S.F. Clark, the
Deputy Chief of the General Staff, cautioned that:

folk-lore attribute many qualities to outdoor people and es-

pecially to natives (such as Indians and Eskimos) which, in
fact, they do not possess. It is common belief that Indians and
Eskimos, and to a lesser degree trappers, in our Canadian hin-
terlands possess special qualities of sense of direction and as
such would be extremely valuable as guides to Military parties
during operations. One of the most experienced Arctic travel-
lers, Vilhjalmur Stefansson, states that invariably he found that
Indians and Eskimos were reasonably good guides in country
with which they were familiar but that as soon as they were
taken into unfamiliar country, they displayed no “sixth sense
of direction” but were, in fact, less able to find their way about
than an experienced Anglo Saxon.17

Nonetheless, the Rangers were intended to serve in their local areas. Given
this fact, the question remained whether Native peoples could have a role to
play in the new force.
Major-General Chris Vokes, who oversaw Central Command, did not
think so. He discouraged the formation of Ranger units in northern Ontario
because the population was largely Cree. First, he felt that there really was no
need for such organizations: “Nothing goes on in the James Bay area which is
not quickly known through the natural curiosity of the natives. The Hudson
Bay factor and the missionaries plus the RCMP pretty well know everything
which goes on … through the mocassin telegraph and their private wire-
less.” Furthermore, Vokes explicitly dismissed the Aboriginal population as
worthwhile contributors to Canadian defence:

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 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

The population is for the most part Cree Indian, some with
Scottish names and blue eyes who exist by trapping and guiding
for goose and duck hunters in the Autumn. They are most indol-
ent and unreliable and born lazy. Hunger is the only motivating
force, plus the propagation of their race, at which they are very
adept … I doubt the value of these Indians in a para military or-
ganization.18

If Ottawa insisted on a presence in the region, he would turn to White lo-

cals to establish small units at Moosonee, Moose Factory and Fraserville. He
clearly did not believe that indigenous residents would have anything to con-
tribute, despite impressive Native participation rates from the region during
the world wars. In Vokes’ opinion, Indian traits precluded effective military
contributions. Exclusion, not accommodation, was his preferred option.
Quebec Command also foresaw limited prospects for the integration
of northern indigenous peoples into military activities. During the summer
of 1948, an intelligence officer surveyed the areas around northern trad-
ing posts and recommended that recently-established Ranger company
headquarters should remain dormant until an emergency. Officers had
been appointed and platoon recruiting was well underway, but there were
no strength returns because communications were limited. The General
Officer Commanding, Major-General R.O.G. Morton, surmised that “it
would never be easy to keep in touch with the other ranks, many of whom
were Indians and Eskimos of migratory habits.” In contrast to Vokes, how-
ever, Morton saw indigenous traits and lifestyles as appropriate to the force.
After all, “the Eskimos and Indians living in isolated communities were ex-
cellent marksmen and probably would use the annual 100-round allotment
of ammunition (the only remuneration they received) for hunting seal and
reindeer.”19 Rather than fixating on negative stereotypes like his Ontario
counterpart, Morton perceived the potential, mutual benefits of integrating
Native peoples with an intimate knowledge of the land and northern sur-
vival skills into the Rangers.
As the Rangers took shape in the late-1940s and early-1950s, their expan-
sion into the Far North reflected evolving geo-strategic appreciations. The
Arctic, now sandwiched between rival superpowers, would be the front
line in any future world war. In 1947, the USSR developed an intercontin-
ental bomber, bilateral weather station agreements were sealed with the US
and American forces returned to the Canadian North. Two years later, the
Soviets exploded their first nuclear bomb and the threat of a continental at-

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CANADA’S NORTHERN DEFENDERS

tack became more ominous than ever before. Yet “neither the United States
nor Canada looked on the North as a place to be protected because of some
intrinsic value,” Ken Eyre astutely observed. “It was seen as a direction, an
exposed flank.”20 This posed a series of important questions for defence and
foreign policy makers:

Did Canada have the resources to guard that front line to the
satisfaction of its powerful ally, the United States? It was obvious,
almost from the start, that it did not. But could Canada allow
the United States to mount that “long polar watch” alone, from
Canadian territory? Would this not be an admission that what-
ever sovereignty Canada claimed in the polar regions was weak
at best and nonexistent at worst?21

Options were limited. Canadians had to “defend against help.” If Canada was
neither able nor willing to defend the northern approaches to the continent,
the Americans would be compelled to take unilateral measures to defend
themselves and could thus become a security threat. The dilemma remained:
how could Canada help protect the continent against the Soviet Union while,
at the same time, protect the Canadian North against the United States?22
Demographic, political and financial realities dictated that the Canadian
military could not feasibly station large numbers of regular soldiers in the
North. Mobilizing northern residents could bolster Canadian sovereignty
and security in the region. Staff officers began to note the importance of
“Eskimos” to national defence by 1950. Ironically, the Soviet Union provided
the precedent: for decades, the Russians had devoted considerable attention
to developing their Arctic areas and assimilating natives into their future
plans. The Soviet Institute for the Peoples of the North trained members of
Soviet native groups so that they could return to the Arctic with skills as doc-
tors, teachers, meteorologists and aircraft technicians – “and also thoroughly
indoctrinated with the Red virus of future world domination.” In contrast, a
Canadian briefing paper observed, “both Canada and USA have been almost
standing still where the Eskimo is concerned.” It noted the “most regrettable
condition” in which a few were engaged in the armed forces “to do jobs of a
menial nature.” The paper continued:

Anyone who has knowledge of the Eskimos knows them to be

most ingenious, of outstanding integrity, loyalty, patience and
industrious far beyond the average whiteman in the arctic. Given

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 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

half a chance the Eskimos would prove beyond any doubt the
ideal race for staffing Armed Service Units, meteorological sta-
tions, hospitals, schools, and scientific bases in the far North.23

This would be a long-term project, with pitfalls. Government and Mission

schools proved “of little value to the Eskimo at the moment as it forces them
… to forsake their trapping grounds … and [to forget] most of his native
ways and [he] must learn these all over again when he returns home.” A
much better solution, this officer reflected, would be to encourage Eskimos of
“promising ability” to work “in a useful capacity in their own country after
graduation.”24 Flight Lieutenant S.E. Alexander noted in a 1950 memoran-
dum that there was no reason why Eskimos could not be trained to assume
most military duties in the Arctic. The expense would be minor compared
to paying for “unclimatized personnel, who for the most part, are bitter and
unhappy with their postings and consequently not too concerned in carry-
ing out their duties.” It was cost-effective and would contribute to their accul-
turation. “This matter of utilizing the Eskimos to the fullest extent both for
their own advancement and the good of their native land has been discussed
many times with those who know the Arctic. There has never been a dissent-
ing voice.”25
Defence officials embraced this logic. Ranger units, their ranks filled
with northern indigenous peoples, began to spread across the Arctic.26 An
intelligence officer with the army’s Western Command established Ranger
platoons in the Western Arctic at Coppermine, Bathurst Inlet, Cambridge
Bay, King William Land, Read Island, Holman Island and Aklavik in 1949.27
Similarly, the military authorized the formation of companies on Baffin Island
in 1951. Senior officials in Ottawa responsible for Eskimo affairs stressed that
Ranger service would be good for the Inuit. One policy-maker noted that the
Inuit were “reliable, honest and intelligent and would make good Rangers,”
but he wanted to make sure that rifles issued to them were not “free hand-
outs.” After all, a rifle was “a major asset to an Eskimo and something he
had to earn by hard work” and bullets for hunting cost significant money.28
His underlying message: the federal government had to inculcate the Inuit
with proper values to succeed in a capitalist world. To most government of-
ficials, however, the weapon and ammunition provided to the Rangers was
a quid pro quo – they served their country and this was the remuneration that
they received. They used them to great effect in their subsistence economy.
“Nobody has ever attempted to calculate, or could if one wanted to, the num-
ber of caribou, moose, and seal that fell to Ranger marksmen,” Eyre noted

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CANADA’S NORTHERN DEFENDERS

in hindsight.29 The .303 Lee Enfield was a reliable weapon, even in Arctic
conditions, and the number was undoubtedly substantial.
Annual re-supply and training visits by Regular Force Ranger Liaison
Officers (RLOs) provided opportunities for cross-cultural contact. The ex-
periences of Ambrose Shea, the RLO for Eastern Command, are representa-
tive. His first forays into the Baffin region were a culture shock. Over time,
however, he developed a familiarity with the Rangers in the northeastern
Arctic. He visited them in their remote camps, ate and fished with them and
developed a strong respect for their knowledge and skills.30 Distance and
weather inhibited regular contact, so the RLOs relied upon training bulletins
to keep the Rangers up-to-date. Amongst northern indigenous Rangers,
however, it would appear that few training activities actually took place. The
Rangers were simply given their annual allotments of ammunition and “prac-
ticed” on the land by hunting. There was little sustained contact. Reverend
John R. Sperry, the Anglican missionary at Coppermine (Kugluktuk), was a
Ranger lieutenant from 1950 to 1969. The administration of his platoon was
very informal. Sperry held no meetings, provided no specific instructions
or training to the Rangers and received no visits from a liaison officer. “We
just knew that if an aircraft went down we should look for it,” Sperry later
reflected. If someone was lost, the RCMP also passed along the information
and community members went out to look for them. “All the men were going
out anyway,” he explained, so search and rescue activities were not viewed
as “Ranger” activities.31
By 1960, Shea became disillusioned with the military’s disregard for the
550 Rangers in Newfoundland, Labrador and Baffin Island. After expanding
into indigenous communities, he lamented:

the Army seemed to stand aghast at its own temerity and from
then on, and in an increasing degree, the attitude of Higher
Command towards the Rangers can be best summed up in the
words of the old ballad:-
 “Mother, may I go out to swim?”
 “Yes, my darling daughter,
 Hang your clothes on a hickory limb
 But don’t go near the water.”

The message Shea had repeatedly received: “the Rangers may exist but
under no circumstances must they do anything.” This logic reflected a
broader devaluation of part-time soldiering more than it did racism against

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 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

Aboriginal peoples, highlighting the establishment’s predisposition towards

fully assimilated, professional forces. For his part, Shea was responsible for
organizing and maintaining eleven Ranger companies scattered over 8,000
miles of coastline. Liaising with the Baffin Island Rangers alone consumed
three months of his year, and while he enjoyed positive relationships with
the Rangers themselves, his impact was limited. “It is doubtful if some of
the Rangers really understand what the whole business is about,” Shea ex-
plained,

and for various reasons it is difficult to explain it to them. The

Eskimoes [sic], in particular, have no real word for “soldier”
(“Unataktik,” that is, “one who fights,” is as near as they get) and
look upon warfare as a species of insanity peculiar to the white
man. “I hear that the white men are fighting like dogs again,”
was one man’s comment on the Suez affair. Furthermore, it is the
RLOs belief that some of the Eskimoes think that he is the entire
Canadian Army and that, as such, he is an eccentric but benevo-
lent dispenser of free rifles and ammunition. The name given the
RLO in certain localities “Kokiutit angayak’ok”, “Rifle Chief” or
“Boss of the Rifles”, is sufficient indication of this.32

The cultural divide could not be bridged without more sustained contact and
without greater clarification of what the Rangers were supposed to actually
do.
Despite these various shortcomings, Shea still saw a place for the Rangers
– and Eskimo Rangers in particular. “The idea of arming a local population
and asking them to take a hand in defending their own locality is an ancient
one and eminently sensible,” he wrote. “It does not become out-dated, even
in this atomic age.” The Rangers had amassed considerable military intel-
ligence over the previous decade, including topographical detail, submarine
and ship sightings and reports of suspicious individuals. They had reported
unexplained bomb-drops on Northern Baffin Island, producing bits of the
bombs to verify the veracity of their report, and had provided evidence of
guided missile activity. In an emergency, it would be useful to have an organ-
ized body like the Rangers in communities and they were different from the
“highly-organized and extensively staffed” Ground Observer Corps (GObC),
a purely civilian group. If intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBMs) made
the GObC obsolete, the Rangers would always be useful as “‘friends on the
ground’ so long as the Canadian Army continues to exist.”

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CANADA’S NORTHERN DEFENDERS

Perhaps most importantly, the Rangers were obviously and keenly inter-
ested in the organization. Baffin Island’s Eskimo Rangers had a “distorted”
idea of their role, but they took it seriously:

An extreme example of this occurred three years ago when a

Ranger in North Baffin Island began, but fortunately did not
complete, a single-handed attempt to capture the US Coast Guard
Cutter “Staten Island”. He realized that she was not a Canadian
ship, jumped to the conclusion that she was a Russian, and felt
that it was his duty as a soldier to take some action.

Although the Northern Baffin Eskimo were “cut off from the world in many
respects,” Shea found that they were “vividly aware of the Russian threat; so
much so that the RLO has sometimes wondered whether they may not have
had some personal contact with the Russians with which they are afraid to
reveal.” He found them “intelligent, adaptable and intensely practical” – like
the Gurkhas – and naturally took to military training given their hunting
lifestyles. “If trained in arms,” the officer added, they could prove “extremely
effective guerrillas. It is a pity that there are not more of them.” Indeed, few
white men could navigate the Arctic without their assistance, making them
“good people to have on our side.”
In Shea’s final assessment, it made sense to retain the Rangers, but to
reduce their present organization to a more “workable size.” Their organiza-
tion into “companies” and “platoons” fed distorted notions that they could
exist and function in a conventional military manner. “Nothing could be
further from the truth,” Shea explained. “A ‘Company’ of Rangers is a col-
lection of rugged individualists who may be scattered over a hundred miles
of coastline and in twenty different settlements.” They were untrained and
only existed as a “unit” on paper. His final flourish reminded his superiors
that they had formed a trust relationship with northern peoples that had to
be maintained:

A small quantity of obsolescent equipment is issued to them in

the same spirit that an engagement ring is issued to a prospect-
ive bride: as a token of engagement. Their main virtues are that
they are willing to serve the Army voluntarily in the capacity of
‘friends on the ground’ to the best of their ability, which is often
considerable, and to the best of their local knowledge which is
likewise. Their cost is negligible. These are virtues which are
becoming increasingly rare and which deserve encouragement.33

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 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

By the end of the 1950s, the Rangers factored little into Ottawa’s defence
plans for the North. The Soviet threat was decidedly airborne and northern
residents with armbands and rifles could scarcely fend off hostile bombers
with nuclear payloads. Defence officials turned to technological marvels like
the Distant Early Warning (DEW) Line to protect the continent. Officials
seemed to conclude that even if their value was negligible, so too was the
Rangers’ cost. It was their “cheapness,” not their indigenous knowledge and
contributions, which ensured the force’s survival through the 1960s. They
were left to “wither on the vine,” with little direction, sporadic re-supply and
no training.34 Nevertheless, the few popular articles that did appear on the
Rangers were laudatory. Larry Dignum told readers of The Beaver that the
“Shadow Army of the North,” functioning as civilians and carrying out their
duties in conjunction with their “regular jobs,” quietly performed valuable
duties to defend Canada and maintain law and order in isolated areas. The
Rangers’ mystique shone clear:

When on duty they wear a scarlet armband with the three maple
leaves of the Canadian Army superimposed on a crossed rifle
and axe. They have no uniforms, receive no pay, seek no glory,
but these men of known loyalty, Indian, Eskimo and white, take
pride in standing on guard in the empty and remote parts of
Canada with vigilance and integrity, and in silence.35

In contrast to Vokes’ pessimistic appraisal of potential Aboriginal contribu-

tions to the Rangers, the Beaver article and another in the Star Weekly Magazine
highlighted the vital importance of Indian and Inuit cooperation. “Some of
[the Rangers] can’t read their own names but they are the real scholars of this
country when it comes to reading signs on the trails of the north,” the latter
article stated. It continued, “Eskimos, Indians, whites and all the mixtures
of these races, they are united in one task: Guarding a country that doesn’t
even know of their existence.” They were not only “the least expensive mil-
itary force any nation has today,” but a useful source of reports on suspicious
activities.36
Were they actually useful? Perhaps, but in the late-1960s, a military
struggling to discern its role in a changing world, and reeling from the cul-
tural implications of Unification, had largely forgotten about the Rangers’
existence. John Diefenbaker, former prime minister and longstanding pro-
ponent of a “northern vision,” lobbied in 1969 for an “Arctic Force,” revealing
that he had no knowledge of the Rangers. He wanted units of 20 to 30 men in

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CANADA’S NORTHERN DEFENDERS

sensitive areas to “preserve for Canada the greatest undeveloped frontier,”

“provide new vistas of opportunity for the Eskimo,” and “provide for youth
a new challenge to a worthwhile life.” At first the force would have to be of-
ficered by the Regular Force, but with training, it would reach “100% Eskimo
membership.” 37 He was oblivious to this proposal’s striking resemblance to
the existing Rangers. Journalist Scott Young made the connection, noting
that Canada had had “a force precisely of this nature for nearly 22 years.”
When Young spoke with defence officials, they were reserved in their revela-
tions about the force. “They don’t get any training – but then they’re born
with most of the training they need,” one colonel explained. “I think we give
them a few rounds of ammunition, but that is about all I know about them.”38
Defence officials again questioned their utility as the decade drew to a
close. Major W.K. Stirling visited 17 communities with Ranger platoons in the
summer of 1970 to assess levels of activity and interest, but found that nearly
all were moribund. Stirling concluded that northern Canadian society was
no longer a place where the Ranger organization would find solid ground:

Perhaps the most important piece of general advice I received was

that southern Canadians should rid themselves of their romantic
concept of the North. The Arctic has become a rather sophisticated
social environment. Hunting and trapping, although still carried
on are not the main pursuits of the indigenous people. Eskimos
are being collected into permanent settlements such as Frobisher,
Cambridge Bay and Tuktoyaktuk where they are provided with
houses and to a large extent live on welfare. The young Indian
and Eskimo is being well educated in modern schools at Inuvik,
Yellowknife and Frobisher. When they complete their education
they will be trained to take their place in modern society and not
on the Arctic ice or the trap line.

In short, modern communications, transportation and economics had over-

taken the northern indigenous lifestyle that had made them useful Rangers.
“Certainly there are still people in the North who hunt, trap, fish and pros-
pect and one hopes there always will be,” Stirling continued, but they were
now the exception, not the rule. “The people who know the North best are
the RCMP, bush pilots, certain members of the Territorial Government, some
prospectors and the missionaries.” Unfortunately, these were not categories
of people upon which to base the organization. “The type of people envis-
aged by the DND [Department of National Defence] planners in 1946 on

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 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

which to develop the Canadian Ranger concept simply no longer exist in suf-
ficient numbers.” He thus recommended that the Rangers be disbanded and
regular military forces take over their roles in the Canadian Arctic.39

Indigenizing the Northern Security Discourse, 1970-94

The year 1969 rekindled concerns about Canadian sovereignty in the North.
Although the Trudeau Government was less favourably disposed to military
commitments than its predecessors, the surveillance of Canada’s territory
and coastlines and the protection of sovereignty now assumed primary
political importance. In 1970, the government established Northern Region
Headquarters (NRHQ) in Yellowknife, but placed no operational units under
its direct command. The Rangers were the exception, numbering – on paper
– 700 members in 36 northern communities. Despite Cabinet and parliament-
ary recommendations to upgrade the program, the numbers did not rise.40
Like the Trudeau administration’s whole approach to sovereignty protection,
the promised commitment to expand the program was more symbolic than
tangible.41
Nevertheless, the fact that the Rangers already existed as an “officially
constituted” element of the CF, and asserted sovereignty at a minimum cost,
were important considerations at a time when the government was unwill-
ing to commit men and money to military matters. Ranger patrols spanned
the breadth of the Arctic, from the most easterly patrol at Broughton Island,
to the most westerly at Aklavik, and represented every Aboriginal group in
the North (although the majority of members were Inuit). A Northern Region
briefing book trumpeted the Rangers’ involvement:

It is significant also that the Ranger concept capitalizes on those

attributes of native northerners that they themselves espouse as
their traditional way of life – their knowledge of their environ-
ment, their ability to live and survive on the land, their hunt-
ing instinct. In sharing an important defence commitment, the
Canadian Rangers fulfil a role no less important than any other
component of the Canadian Armed Forces, and have a justifiable
pride in doing so.42

The new language was telling. The focus was on northerners making a con-
tribution to their country. Their inherent knowledge of the land and their
natural instincts – in short, differentiation – made them useful participants
in the armed forces.

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CANADA’S NORTHERN DEFENDERS

After 1970, there were no further recommendations for disbandment,

but a number of very detailed proposals for reorganization or revitalization
of the Rangers were not implemented. The main problem seemed to be “the
lack of a clearly defined role and tasks not adapted to the realities of Canada
in 1970’s.” Nearly everyone said they could perform a useful military func-
tion, but few suggested what precisely their tasks should be. In the 1970s,
Northern Region conducted training for groups of up to 25 Inuit and Dene
Rangers. These activities proved “highly popular in small Arctic commun-
ities, provides us a nucleus … of Rangers in these communities, gives us a
permanent contact group in many locations and provides a source of guides
and advisors” for army units exercising in the North. Questions remained,
Major R.S. McConnell explained in 1978:

During these training sessions, a constantly recurring question

is “what are we to do? what is our purpose?” The book roles do
not go far in convincing the native northerner that he is indeed
a valuable member of the Canadian Forces. Though he is dedi-
cated, and immensely loyal to the Crown, he is somewhat suspi-
cious that we come and give him two weeks training, for which
he is paid, and then walk away and leave him with a rifle and
300 rounds of ammunition, which we promise to replenish annu-
ally. To the Ranger, this is the entire incentive to join and his sole
motivation to remain a Ranger.

Why not use them for search and rescue, McConnell asked, and give them a
practical role? “The point is constantly made that if a light aircraft is missing,
even if only one person is aboard, no expense is spared in trying to locate
it,” he explained, “whereas a party of hunters who are overdue from a trip
get no attention at all. This, to the natives, is inexplicable and to some degree
tied to their perception of ‘the white man looks after his own and to hell with
the natives.’” Given the Rangers’ training, they seemed ideal candidates to
conduct ground search and rescue in the region. They would also ensure that
indigenous peoples played a role in northern operations.43
A new Northern Development focus, based on a multifaceted concept
of security and sovereignty, accompanied these trends during the 1970s
and 1980s. Broad political, legal and social forces prescribed that the federal
government’s relationship with northern peoples assume a higher profile.
In 1972, Jean Chrétien, the Minister of the Department of Indian Affairs and
Northern Development (DIAND), announced an integrated federal policy in

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Northern Canada in the 70’s. Among its seven goals were the maintenance of
Canadian sovereignty and security in the North, as well as the maintenance
and enhancement of “the northern environment with due consideration to
economic and social development.” This overarching framework meant that
individual departments, including DND, could no longer pursue specific
objectives without due respect for the government’s broader strategic vision.
The notion of a fiduciary duty of trust and respect, with which the federal
government must conduct all dealings with Aboriginal peoples, was estab-
lished in law in 1980 and further guided federal policy. Therefore, legal and
moral issues propelled the idea that the CF needed to be more inclusive and
exclusion and differentiation predicated upon perceived indigenous “infer-
iority” no longer fit with an emerging political discourse celebrating multi-
culturalism. Nonetheless, differentiation factored heavily in the discourse on
the Rangers, who were clearly “others-at-arms.” This needed to be spun in a
positive way.
Because northern participation in the Canadian Rangers was not con-
sidered a “real” military contribution, the growing presence and tempo of
operations in the Arctic also led to “embarrassing difficulties” for the CF.
The military had not made any efforts to recruit northerners into the Regular
Force before the 1970s, Ken Eyre explained, and very few northerners dis-
played any interest. Given the military’s resurgent involvement in the region,
Defence Minister Leo Cadieux promised a major effort to “increase (Eskimo)
participation in the armed services.” The ensuing recruiting programs re-
vealed that the military failed to appreciate northern realities. The few young
northerners who enlisted in a special military trades program in 1971 “ex-
perienced extreme stress in coping with the often conflicting demands of mil-
itary and traditional culture” and the rare individuals who remained were
transferred to southern bases rather than being posted in the North. One
senior officer proclaimed that the Eskimo would make good soldiers because
“he has his own culture but is the sort of man who could become Western
very easily, become one of us.” There was little consideration that very few
would actually want to join mainstream, southern society. Another officer’s
perspective highlighted the contributions that Eskimos could make to north-
ern defences if posted at Arctic bases. “The ones we’re looking for are mobile
and have a self-navigating capability and roam a lot,” Major-General R.A.B.
Ellis told the Globe and Mail. “They have an ability to find themselves and
get to a pre-determined location. They can take a trip of 800 or 1,000 miles
and know exactly where they are … with no gear, maps or charts.”44 Inuit
were now being constructed as superhuman, a tendency on the part of non-

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CANADA’S NORTHERN DEFENDERS

Aboriginal commentators who mythologized the “other-at-arms.” Not only

were the military’s expectations ridiculous, they failed to question whether
traditional forms of professional service would appeal to northerners.
Eyre has pointed out that the military’s expectations displayed a pro-
found naïveté. An individual cannot “know” the breadth of the North akin
to a southern city and certainly could not be expected to know the area
around Alert around which no Inuit had lived. More fundamentally, if any
18 to 23 year-old northerner had the basic education qualifications to join
the CF, they could not have pursued “the traditional nomadic life wherein
these much-vaunted skills would have been learned.” Older Eskimos who
possessed these skills would not have sufficient formal education and were
unlikely to speak English. With poignant insight, Eyre suggested that had
the military actually met its goals and recruited 60 research communicators
from a total Eskimo population of less than 25,000, the results could have
been disastrous:

One could honestly ask if Eskimo communities could afford to

lose their best educated young people to serve in the Forces. The
matter would have been particularly acute when one considers
the developing set of Inuit priorities of that period. There was
a perception that Eskimos should produce their own lawyers to
argue their land claims, their own administrators and politicians
to run their communities, their own businessmen to run their
cooperatives, their own teachers to instruct their children. Surely,
in terms of the federal government’s northern goal of meeting
native peoples’ aspirations these latter professions should have
taken precedence over military service that would have taken
Eskimo soldiers out of the mainstream of Inuit life. In this sense
it is fortunate for the North as a whole that few Eskimos have
come forward asking for a military career.45

This serving officer’s sober assessment demonstrated that not all military of-
ficers were blinded by southern Canadian preconceptions. Initiatives like the
Northern Native Entry Program (NNEP) failed to attract many volunteers
and most who did enlist could not overcome the cultural shock and dropped
out.46
By contrast, the Rangers enjoyed strong Aboriginal support in northern
communities. But this posed issues for command and control. Traditionally,
non-Native officers were appointed in communities to act as cross-cultural

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 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

interlocutors. Indeed, official policy in the 1950s and 1960s dictated that Inuit
would not be allowed to serve as Ranger officers. Differentiation meant that
northern indigenous peoples could contribute to the military, but they were
unsuited to lead it, even on a local level.47 As a 1986 study report noted, this
idea was challenged by the 1970s:

Early research in Northern Region indicated a lack of trust of the

Canadian Forces by the indigenous people. In addition, it was
pointed out that the old practice of automatically appointing the
“white” token resident in the community as the Ranger leader
had failed and that the military idea of leadership is not eas-
ily translated into a concept native peoples can comprehend, let
alone work with.48

As a result, Northern Region units were re-organized as individual “pa-

trols” of 10 to 20 Rangers, each commanded by a Ranger sergeant and his
second-in-command, a master corporal. These positions were elected by the
communities. Furthermore, the renewed focus on the Rangers in Northern
Region also meant more sustained contact. Most Rangers received, at the
very least, basic military training and many had also attended a refresher
course. Training exercises provided an opportunity to re-supply each patrol
with ammunition and to ensure that their rifles were still serviceable. “This
annual contact has led to an excellent rapport between the Rangers and the
Regular Force staff,” an optimistic appraisal noted.49 The road to mutual re-
spect was indeed taking shape.
Other contextual considerations increased the attractiveness of the
Rangers. The military had a role in national development, from northern
environmental protection to community relations, and NRHQ’ mandate to
“serve as a link between [the CF] and the northern settlements in which they
operate and exercise”50 obliged military authorities to balance traditional,
military-based security needs with socially and environmentally responsible
programs. Even commentators who saw little military value in the Rangers
acknowledged the connection they offered with northern communities. The
editor of Canadian Defence Quarterly proclaimed that the “native hunters and
trapsmen” could “hardly [be called] … a military organization,” but noted
the socio-political relevance of their presence:

Even if it were not for the regrettable gradual urbanization of

the Eskimo (in the sense that they are becoming increasingly

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CANADA’S NORTHERN DEFENDERS

dependent on the services provided in industrial society), the

military value of the Canadian Rangers would be minimal. The
main benefit lies in the ties that membership in the organization
forges between the native population and the apparatus of the
state, still somewhat foreign to them.51

At most, this viewpoint revealed a begrudging acceptance that accommo-

dation had a civic utility; it was hardly a tribute to the Rangers’ practical
contributions to defence.
The transit of the Northwest Passage in 1985 by the American icebreaker
Polar Sea precipitated another flurry of interest in the Arctic. Again, it was
an American challenge to Canadian sovereignty, not a traditional military
threat, which elicited cries for a bolder Canadian presence in “our north.”
External Affairs minister Joe Clark’s statement on sovereignty to the House
of Commons encapsulated the growing concern and linked it directly to the
northern peoples:

Canada is an Arctic nation. … Canada’s sovereignty in the Arctic

is indivisible. It embraces land, sea and ice…. From time im-
memorial Canada’s Inuit people have used and occupied the ice
as they have used and occupied the land…. Full sovereignty is
vital to Canada’s security. It is vital to the Inuit people. And it is
vital to Canada’s national identity.52

By mobilizing indigenous peoples’ historic occupancy and use to bolster

Canada’s claims to the region, the federal government’s position also raised
a legal, moral and practical reason to encourage direct indigenous input into
defence activities. Indeed, security and sovereignty discussions became
intertwined with broader themes of militarization and indigenous survival.
Low-level flying controversies, persistent environmental concerns and pub-
lic appeals by Aboriginal leaders to demilitarise the region transcended
traditional, realist understandings of state-centred security and sovereignty.
George Erasmus, the National Chief of the Assembly of First Nations, saw
“no military threat in the Canadian North,” only a threat to the cultural sur-
vival of indigenous peoples posed by a military build-up. Inuit Circumpolar
Conference President Mary Simon also stressed that military activities “justi-
fied by the government on the basis of defence and military considerations
… often serve to promote our insecurity.” Inuit ties to the environment and
a collective social order meant that, for them, “Arctic security includes en-

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 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

vironmental, economic and cultural, as well as defence, aspects.”53 In short, a

holistic strategy was needed to accommodate and accept indigenous peoples’
physical welfare, their homeland and their cultural survival.
Mention of the Canadian Rangers was notably absent from indigenous
leaders’ arguments for demilitarizing the Arctic. Obviously, and significant-
ly, this force was not perceived as a threat to the environment and cultural
survival. In fact, it appeared to represent just the opposite – an opportun-
ity for cooperation. The broadened security debates bolstered rather than
detracted from their attractiveness in an era when military and Aboriginal
interests seemed to diverge. The Rangers received praise from Inuit leaders
across a wide spectrum of issues. Mark Gordon, representing Inuit Tapirisat
of Canada (ITC), felt that the Inuit had “a valuable contribution to give” to
northern security and praised the Canadian Rangers for acting as “the eyes
for the Armed Forces.” He highlighted that the Rangers provided “valuable
services to our communities, such as search and rescue,” as well as “help[ing]
our communities a great deal in providing us with food.” Aboriginal auton-
omy and self-government was now part of the political discourse and the
Rangers seemed the most viable answer to Inuit communities’ security
paradox: that while the military was needed to protect Inuit interests, the
communities could not withstand massive influxes of outsiders and had to
be able to “feed [them]selves.” In essence, what Gordon suggested was an
Inuit version of “defence against help:” a military presence in the North was
required to protect Inuit interests, but they did “not want the guy who comes
in to protect us to run us over either.”54 The Rangers, “who in most instances
are the most experienced and the best hunters of the communities and the
most knowledgeable of the area surrounding their communities,” already
represented a “vehicle” for constructive dialogue between the military and
the local populations.55
Rhoda Innuksuk of the ITC envisioned security as a concept that tran-
scended both military and non-military realms and she advocated a more
inclusive policy-making process that allowed for Inuit participation “to mini-
mize the disadvantages and negative impacts of this activity and to maxi-
mize the benefits and opportunities it may present.” She saw the Inuit and
the military as partners who could work together for mutual advantage:

Inuit understand Arctic conditions. National Defence has dem-

onstrated the importance of this fact to Arctic operations too
by training Canadian troops in Inuit survival techniques and
through the Canadian Ranger program, a program we would

365
CANADA’S NORTHERN DEFENDERS

like to see expanded. We feel Inuit have more to contribute….

Northern [sic] are different, and different from an operations per-
spective. This is itself an opportunity for innovation.56

As active participants, and not just observers, the Inuit could assist the mil-
itary in protecting sovereignty and security, “as well as non-military inter-
ests.” The reception by the parliamentary committee was very favourable.
Not only were the Rangers cost-effective, they ensured a military presence
and offered a direct role in defence for permanent northern residents. A
member of parliament grasped the essence of the message that would be
integrated into the future expansion of the Rangers: “it is not a matter of the
people accommodating the old way of life to the military necessity; … it is
a matter of accommodating the military necessity, not to the old way of life
but to the people who are here now with some old knowledge and some new
knowledge.”57

Accommodating and Embracing Diversity: The Rangers in

1 CRPG, 1987-Present
In 1987, with backing by such strong advocates within the local indigenous
populations, a new Defence White Paper, in addition to senior political and
military officials, indicated that the northern Ranger program would be both
continued and enhanced. The Minister of National Defence promised to
improve the level of equipment and training for the Rangers, highlighting
their “important expression of sovereignty” and anticipating an increased
role as military activities expanded in the North.58 The Standing Committee
on National Defence reported the following year:

The Rangers are now given a limited amount of training and are
expected to receive some new equipment, including a new rifle
to replace their Lee Enfields, and communications equipment. By
1995, total Ranger strength in the Northern Region is expected to
rise to about 1,000 with the formation of new patrols in several
communities.59

In fact, the expansion was more rapid and numerous than expected. By 1992,
there were 1,362 Rangers in Northern Region. Although the end of the Cold
War and growing federal deficits prompted the Conservative government
to cancel or scale back most other Arctic initiatives that it had promised in
the White Paper (such as nuclear submarines and the number of Forward

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 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

Operating Locations), the Canadian Rangers fared remarkably well. In this

particular case, accommodation and acceptance fit with government auster-
ity. The Rangers were cheap and inclusive – a winning recipe in the political
environment of the 1990s.
Enhancement seemed appropriate in this context. After all, articles in
the media continued to treat the Rangers as remnants of a bygone era, using
obsolete weapons to counter late-20th century threats. “Certainly no one in
this kinder, gentler age is about to attack an international good guy like
Canada,” Mary Williams Walsh wrote in a 1993 article, first published in the
Los Angeles Times and reprinted in the Toronto Star. “So what is Johnny Pokiak
doing, standing guard here by the frozen waters of the Beaufort Sea, armed
with a World War I-vintage Lee Enfield rifle, 200 rounds of ammunition and
orders to make tracks for the nearest phone and ring up army headquarters,
collect, should he spy something funny – say, the coning tower of a nuclear
submarine poking up through the ice?” Pokiak explained that he was “pro-
tecting the Canadian sovereignty” – there was no invasion force waiting to
invade, but Canada still needed to show the flag to remind our neighbours
that this was our land.60
Although the 1994 federal budget gave a clear indication of the declin-
ing commitment to Canadian defence, a parliamentary committee recom-
mended that the capabilities of the Rangers be augmented, especially “North
of 60.” The subsequent Defence White Paper announced that the program
would be “expanded and enhanced.” Defence officials, especially Colonel
Pierre Leblanc (the Director General Reserves and Cadets and soon-to-be
Commander of CFNA, the new name for NRHQ), recognized that this new
focus allowed “some current deficiencies to be addressed with an oppor-
tunity for expansion into some communities where the Rangers can make
a significant contribution to the social fabric.”61 The Rangers Enhancement
Program (REP) followed with an overwhelmingly northern focus. Nine more
patrols were created in CFNA (and two more on the shores of Hudson’s Bay
in northern Quebec – Nunavik) and the Rangers received distinctive red
Ranger sweatshirts and t-shirts in 1997.62 The Special Commission on the
Restructuring of the Reserves recommended these initiatives and “heard
evidence that supports the value of the Canadian Rangers program from an
operational aspect and for its importance to isolated communities.” Its 1996
report highlighted the cost-effectiveness and “significant” contribution the
program made “in enriching the social fabric in remote areas.” Several rec-
ommendations were made, generally in the areas of command and control,
improvements in equipment and funding and the official adoption of com-

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CANADA’S NORTHERN DEFENDERS

munity-based Ranger “patrols” as the primary unit rather than a company-

platoon structure. The Committee wholeheartedly recommended continued
support for the Rangers’ growth in the years ahead.63
By the end of the 20th century, almost every community that could
demographically sustain a patrol in the Territorial North had one. As of
31 December 2004, 1 CRPG had 58 Ranger patrols with a strength of 1,575
Rangers (1,310 male and 263 female). Although no official statistics on the
Rangers’ ethnicity are available, the 1 CRPG patrols are representative of
the diverse ethnic composition of the North. The majority of Rangers in the
Yukon are “White,” while the patrols in the Northwest Territories reflect
the geographic and linguistic dispersion of northern peoples. Most of the
Rangers patrols south of the treeline are comprised of members of Gwich’in,
Dene, Métis and “White” communities. North of the treeline, most of the
patrols are Inuvialuit. In Nunavut, the Rangers are almost entirely Inuit, and
many if not most operations are conducted in Inuktitut. As a result, in com-
munities like Talaoyak or Pangnirtung where a high proportion of Rangers
do not speak English, Ranger instructors must work through interpreters.
This slows down training, military officials explained, but is a practical real-
ity that must be accepted.64
“Canadian Rangers have a tremendous impact on the lives of people in
their local communities,” boasts the official DND website. “Many Rangers
hold leadership positions in their communities, such as mayors, chiefs or
Ranger sergeant. They are active community members who have a positive
influence on their peers and are often held up as role models for their youth.”
This statement is telling: the military trumpets not only the Rangers’ mil-
itary contributions, but also their contributions to local communities. The
days of the Ranger as peacetime “guerilla” soldier standing ready to engage
and contain a small-scale enemy invasion are gone. The recent disavowing
of this former role reflects a more sober assessment of the practical realities
of the Rangers’ potential contributions.65 After all, Canadian Rangers are an
atypical volunteer militia. To join the force, the only formal requirements are
that an individual be at least 18 years of age, be in sufficient physical health
to undertake activities on the land, have a good knowledge of the local area
around his or her community (or be willing to learn) and have no criminal
record. They are distinct from other military units in salient respects. The
average entry age is 30 (and is frequently over 40) in the North because po-
tential recruits must await the departure of their elders for an open position.
Furthermore, there is no upper age limit, and as long as an individual can
still perform their duties, they can remain a Ranger. Some anecdotes are

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 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

truly amazing: 74 year-old Ranger Peter Kuniliusie of Clyde River, Nunavut,

retired in November 2004 after fifty-two years of continuous service.66 Indeed,
it is accommodation and acceptance of social diversity and experience that
makes the Ranger concept unique.
The Ranger’s operational tasks remain centred on the basic premise that
low-cost, localized, “citizen-soldiers” help to assert sovereignty and security
in remote and isolated areas. Official tasks in support of sovereignty include
reporting unusual activities, such as unusual aircraft and unusual ships or
submarines, and unusual persons in the community; collecting local data in
support of Regular Force military operations; and conducting surveillance
and/or sovereignty patrols (SOVPATs) in accordance with CFNA’s surveil-
lance plan.67 Most of the time, therefore, the Rangers are accomplishing their
mission while they are out on the land in their “civilian” lives. Each patrol’s
sector of operations comprises an area with a radius of 300 kilometres, cen-
tred on the patrol’s home village. Furthermore, SOVPATs allow the CF to
put “footprints in the snow where they are not normally put,” former CFNA
commander Colonel Norris Pettis explained.68 For example, 30 Rangers from
all three Territories participated in Operation Kigliqaqvik Ranger I in April
2002, which ventured 1,000 kilometres across the frozen tundra and sea ice
from Resolute to the magnetic north pole off Ellef Ringes Island. Two years
later, Rangers on Operation Kigliqaqvik Ranger III (the northernmost pa-
trol ever conducted by the CF) covered 1,800 km from Resolute to Eureka
to Alert. These patrols allow the Rangers to operate in unfamiliar environ-
ments, share skills, develop relationships with other members from across
the North and serve as confidence-building measures for participants.69
Within their capabilities, the Rangers directly assist CF activities in a
number of ways: providing local expertise and guidance; advising and in-
structing other CF personnel on survival techniques, particularly during
sovereignty operations (SOVOPs); providing a locally-based and inexpensive
means of inspecting and monitoring the North Warning System (NWS);
supporting the Junior Canadian Rangers program (discussed below); and
providing local assistance to both Ground Search and Rescue (GSAR) and
disaster relief activities. SOVOPs allow southern-based units to receive prac-
tical Arctic warfare training, while the Rangers are afforded the opportunity
to teach them traditional survival skills. For example, Rangers teach Regular
Force personnel how to hunt and skin animals in the Arctic and how to
erect snow houses. These interactions encourage cross-cultural awareness
and understanding and Regular and Reserve Force soldiers’ laudatory as-
sessments of Aboriginal people in the Rangers solidify military bonds and

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CANADA’S NORTHERN DEFENDERS

Map 13. Joint Task Force North.

370
 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

reaffirm their important contributions to defence.70 Perhaps the most visible,

high-profile activities conducted by the Rangers on a consistent basis are
GSAR operations. In 1999, the Chief of the Defence Staff awarded a Canadian
Forces Unit Commendation to the members of 2 CRPG for their efforts in
response to the avalanche at Kangiqsualujjuaq in northern Quebec.71 That
same year, Rangers from 1 CRPG took part in 164 volunteer search and rescue
operations, one medical evacuation and one emergency rescue.72 Although
the media tends to refer to all GSARs involving members of Ranger patrols
as “Ranger” operations, units are usually not tasked by the RCMP or the
CF and therefore are not “official” activities. This line has little bearing on
Ranger participation – most volunteer first and foremost as members of their
northern communities.
The final Ranger task is the most general and basic – to maintain a CF
presence in the local community. This is fundamental, given the reductions
in northern military operations over the last several decades and DND’s
commitment to having a “footprint” in communities across the country. The
Rangers represent more than 90 percent of CF representation north of the 55th
parallel and provide a special bond with their host populations. They are far
more than the military’s “eyes and ears;” they are an organized group that
communities can turn to for numerous activities. Unorthodox roles, such as
breaking the Yukon Trail for dog mushers, ensuring that polar bears do not at-
tack unsuspecting trick-or-treaters in Churchill, and welcoming dignitaries,
bring favourable media attention. Their participation in Remembrance Day
parades reinforces the intimate and continuing, positive military presence in
Canadian life. They are simultaneously citizen-soldiers and citizen-servers,
intimately integrated into local community activities, ensuring that the CF
is not socially isolated or structurally separated from northern indigenous
societies.73
In a 1992 article on militarization and Aboriginal peoples, Mary Simon
explained that military activities cannot be allowed to erode or curtail the
Inuit right to self-government. “If the future of our Arctic homeland is to be
safeguarded,” she asserted, the Inuit had to have a direct role in decision-
making.74 The Rangers are designed to acknowledge that leadership should
not be externally imposed. The structure of an individual patrol is rooted
in the community and operates on a group basis. Each Ranger patrol is
led by a sergeant, who is seconded by a master corporal, both of whom
are elected by the other members of the patrol and one of whom (at least)
must be able to speak English.75 Patrol leaders are the only members of the
CF who are elected to their positions by the patrol. As a result, Ranger non-

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CANADA’S NORTHERN DEFENDERS

commissioned officers (NCOs) are directly accountable to the other mem-

bers of their military unit in a unique way. Rank is not achieved but held
on a democratic basis. Patrol elections, held in the community on an annual
basis, exemplify the self-administering characteristics of the Ranger force.
Furthermore, Ranger activities are reported annually to the various land
claim administrations in the North to fulfill legal requirements under these
agreements.
The Rangers’ mission focuses less on warfighting and more on low-
intensity humanitarian missions, which are planned in partnership with
local peoples. Furthermore, the Ranger force is “inter-national” and accom-
modates different cultural groups.76 The Rangers are valued for what they
bring as “differentiated” individuals, rather than what they could offer if
assimilated and conditioned through the regularized training regimes. In
the case of the Rangers, differentiation no longer assumes that northern
Aboriginal peoples inherently “possess” innate navigation, shooting or sur-
vival skills that lay at the heart of the Ranger concept; “biological” assump-
tions have been discredited. Instead, over the last quarter century, military
officials have raised concerns that changes in the North may erode cultural
skills amongst the Rangers that are vital to successful military operations.
“An emerging development that could impact on future Ranger operations is
a noticeable decline in the transfer of skills necessary to live on the land,” the
2000 Arctic Capabilities Study reported:

It is becoming gradually apparent that younger members of the

Canadian Rangers are less skilled than older members in some
aspects of survival in the Arctic wilderness. The reason for this
can perhaps be found in cultural changes in the aboriginal com-
munities but the impact for CFNA today, and into the future, is
an increasing training requirement for the Rangers if they are to
remain effective.77

This issue is significant. The problem is not that indigenous members of the
Rangers are difficult to acculturate into military culture. It is the opposite:
that an erosion of Aboriginal skills may jeopardize their contribution. If
traditional survival skills are allowed to atrophy, Rangers skills will weaken
and the CF’s ability to operate in the North will suffer. “Given the minimal
activity by southern-based units in the arctic,” the CFNA commander noted
in 2003, “this trend has disturbing implications for the CF if it hopes to fulfill
its mandate to operate effectively in all parts of the country.”78

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 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

The creation and rapid expansion of the Junior Canadian Rangers (JCR)
over the last decade is the boldest example of the military’s commitment to
support traditional indigenous practices. Like the Canadian Rangers, the
JCR program is a unique initiative in its flexibility and decentralized-focus.
Officially established in 1996 to provide “community-based, structured, and
supervised youth activity free of charge in remote and isolated commun-
ities,” the JCR is open to all 12 to 18 year-olds in participating communities.
It is an inclusive rather than an “elitist” capacity-building program. Drawing
upon the resources of local Ranger patrols, it is designed to help “preserve
the culture, traditions, and activities that are unique to each community.”
JCR training is much less standardized and more local in orientation than the
southern cadet program and the community is heavily involved in curricu-
lum development. An adult committee, composed of eight volunteers who
have been approved by the community authorities, as well as two commun-
ity elders, work in partnership with the local Ranger patrol to set curriculum.
Sixty percent is at the community’s discretion (including subjects such as
local language, making shelters and bannock, singing and dancing), and the
CF directs the remaining forty percent. Rangers instruct and supervise the
“Ranger Skills component,” which includes leadership and field exercises,
first aid, map reading and navigation, and weapons safety and use – critical
skills in a hunting society. This structure supports community involvement
in decision-making to build human capacity amongst youth.
The program seems to work. “The participants of this youth program
have shown greater self-esteem, increased responsibility, and a better under-
standing of, and connection with, their communities,” a DND backgrounder
boasts. This claim seems to be borne out by anecdotal testimonials about
the JCR, as well as its meteoric growth and popularity in northern Canada.79
These considerations are very important given social trends in the region.
The northern Canadian birth-rate is much higher than the national average,
and consequently the population is much younger. This demographic real-
ity compounds many social problems amongst northern youth (including
disturbingly high suicide rates) that are exacerbated by feelings of hopeless-
ness and isolation.80 DND saw that it had a constructive role to play and the
JCR represents the only program for youth in many northern communities.
Additionally, the shared uniform, Ranger name, and summertime camps
that gather JCRs from various communities provide teenagers with a “feel-
ing of belonging to the rest of the country.” Although only a decade old, the
strength in the Territorial North has risen to 1,050 Junior Canadian Rangers
(573 males and 477 females) in 33 patrols (as of 31 December 2004).81

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CANADA’S NORTHERN DEFENDERS

The Canadian Rangers serve a vital function in the North that transcends
military, socio-political, economic and cultural realms. The existing organiz-
ation, managed on a community level, embraces the indigenous knowledge
of its members, rather than “militarizing” and conditioning them through
the regularized training regimes and structure of other CF components. This
flexible, cost-effective and culturally inclusive part of the Reserve Force repre-
sents a significant example of one military activity in the North that actually
seems to contribute to sustainable human development amongst northern
peoples. In military terms, it represents a democratic approach to supporting
Aboriginal peoples as direct actors in asserting Canadian sovereignty and
security. Positive relationships and mutual respect have produced high lev-
els of trust, cohesion and morale between the Rangers and other components
of the Canadian Forces.

Conclusions
In Who Killed the Canadian Military?, historian Jack Granatstein lamented
policies introduced by the Canadian military to make it an inclusive force
at the expense of combat effectiveness. Advisory boards set “ridiculous
standards” for levels of immigrants and Native Canadians in the ranks,
founded on a racially-based quota system, and this “race-based” logic
“would do Hitler proud.” In the end, Granatstein concluded that “the
policy of quotas makes clear that the Canadian government does not view
its military as a fighting force that must be efficient, effective and well-
trained … but more as a social acculturation agency designed to replicate
the Canadian population and make everyone welcome in shared tolerance
and equality.”82
The Canadian Rangers, however, demonstrate that the acceptance of
cultural differences can serve as a force multiplier. The Rangers in 1 CRPG
represent a “success story” in military accommodation and acceptance on
several levels. First and foremost, Ranger patrols provide a cost-effective
military presence. Contrary to the common conception that decentralized,
community-based partnerships with northern indigenous peoples are
prohibitively costly, the Rangers are very inexpensive compared to other
conceivable military programs in the North. They embody an investment
in local skills with few capital requirements. For communities, they bring
money and resources that support and encourage traditional and subsist-
ence activities. Furthermore, the Rangers do not threaten the environment or
northern ways of life – they depend upon them. Ranger and JCR patrols ac-
tually facilitate the trans-generational transfer of traditional knowledge and

374
 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

skills, rather than seeking to assimilate indigenous peoples into orthodox

military culture.83
“Canadian Forces Northern Area is committed to earn the respect
of the people of Nunavut, the Northwest and Yukon Territories,” the 2003
Commander’s Direction explains, “demonstrating the attributes of a highly
professional formation of the Canadian Forces that can be trusted to safe-
guard their sovereignty and security interests through the projection of a
credible military presence.”84 The tempo of military operations in the North
has been increasing in recent years and the federal government’s 2005 de-
fence policy statement affirms that it will continue in the future. Climate
change raises the potential for increased shipping activity in the region; re-
source development initiatives, foreign tourism and commercial overflights
are expanding; and the potential for terrorists, organized crime, illegal mi-
grants and contraband smugglers to operate in the region have all highlight
the need for a greater military focus on the North. The CF must maintain a
positive working relationship with the people of the North in order to con-
duct sustained operations, and trust and credibility are essential.
Thanks to the Rangers, there is no impermeable wall between the mil-
itary and civilian sectors in the Canadian North. Instead, their presence
ensures that the CF is already well integrated into northern society and that
Aboriginal peoples have – and will continue to have – an opportunity to
participate in the armed forces without sacrificing their cultural identities.
They are representative of a cross-section of the civilian population in the
North and therefore are not estranged from civil society. Instead, a decen-
tralized structure rooted in local communities links the civilian and mil-
itary sectors through the Rangers’ individual social networks. As identities
are being recognized and created through political changes and self-govern-
ment in the North, it is imperative that the CF and northern communities
are constructively engaged and maintain a spirit of mutual cultural aware-
ness. After all, Canada’s sovereignty claims in the North rely partially – if
not most credibly – on indigenous peoples’ historic and contemporary use
of the land and sea. As Franklyn Griffiths pointed out in a recent article, it is
hypocritical to do this without giving these people a say and a meaningful
role in exercising control and enforcement in the Arctic. They reside there,
have an immediate and superior knowledge of the environment, are on the
front lines of changes that affect the North and have practical daily attach-
ments to the land and sea. As a result, northern indigenous peoples need to
be partners directly engaged in practical stewardship.85 They already are in
the Canadian Rangers.

375
CANADA’S NORTHERN DEFENDERS

In his important book Citizens Plus, political scientist Alan Cairns argues
that future Aboriginal/non-Aboriginal relations lay in forging a meaningful
“middle ground,” recognizing “that those who share space together must
share more than space.” A sense of communal belonging and commitment
is integral to the core principle of cross-cultural acceptance. Cairns believes
that the notion of “citizens plus,” stressing the virtues of full, common cit-
izenship while reinforcing salient differences, is the most mutually benefi-
cial and responsible way to further Native-Newcomer relations in Canada.86
Aboriginal peoples’ participation in the Canadian Rangers serves as an
example of how difference can be accommodated and accepted within the
armed forces. Rangers are “citizens plus” in their communities. They are also
“citizens plus” in the military.

Notes
Reprinted from Aboriginal Peoples and
the Canadian Military: Historical Perspec-
tives ed. P. Whitney Lackenbauer and
Craig Mantle (Kingston: CDA Press,
2007): 171-208.
This chapter could not have been
written without the generous support
of CFNA and 1 CRPG HQ, as well as
1 CRPG staff and instructors who
shared their time and knowledge. Par-
ticular thanks go to Captain Conrad
Schubert and Sergeant Denis Lalonde
for their openness and hospitality. Pro-
fessor J.R. Miller supported research
with a Canada Research Chair post-
doctoral fellowship at the University
of Saskatchewan in 2004 and Jennifer
Arthur and Scott Sheffield offered use-
ful critiques and suggestions.
Canadian Foreign Policy 11, 3 (Spring
2004), 1-16.
4 Kenneth Eyre, “Forty Years of Defence
Activity in the Canadian North, 1947-
87,” Arctic 40, 4 (Dec 1987), 292-99.
5 Rob Huebert, “Canadian Arctic Se-
curity Issues: Transformation in the
post-cold war era,” International Journal
54, 2 (Spring 1999), 203-29; P.W. Lacken-
bauer, “Indigeneity and Redefinition
of the Arctic Security Discourse: The
Case of Canada, 1950-2005,” paper de-
livered at the Centre for International
Governance Innovation / Norman Pat-
terson School of International Affairs
Conference “Canadian Foreign Policy
Under Review,” Waterloo, Ontario,
Nov 2005.

1 Canadian Forces Northern Area 6 Report of the House of Commons

[CFNA], Operations and Training Dir-
ective 2002/03, Jun 2002, file NA 4500-1
(Comd).
2 Commander’s Assessment, CFNA FY
2004/05 Level 1 Business Plan, 27 Oct
2003, 1.
3 F. Griffiths, “The shipping news:
Canada’s Arctic sovereignty not on
thinning ice,” International Journal 58,
2 (Spring 2003), 257-82, and, Griffiths,
“Pathetic Fallacy: That Canada’s Arc-
tic sovereignty is on thinning ice,”
Standing Committee on Foreign Af-
fairs and International Trade, Canada
and the Circumpolar World: Meeting the
Challenges of Cooperation into the Twenty-
First Century (Apr 1997), 100. This
reflected the recommendation made
by parliamentarians from Arctic states
to “broaden Arctic security issues
from a predominantly military focus
to the development of collective en-
vironmental security that includes the
values, life styles, and cultural identity
of indigenous northern societies.”

376

7 These themes are well introduced in
Morris Zaslow, The Northward Expan-
sion of Canada: 1914-1967 (Toronto:
Mc­Clel­land and Stewart, 1988); Eyre,
“Forty Years;” and, K. Eyre, “Custos
Borealis: The Military in the Canadian
North” (Unpublished Ph.D. Thesis,
University of London King’s College,
1981).
8 See, for example, P. Armitage and J.C.
Kennedy, “Redbaiting and Racism
on Our Frontier,” Canadian Review of
Anthropology and Sociology 26, 5 (1989),
798-817; D. Ashini, “David Confronts
Goliath: The Innu of Ungava versus the
NATO Alliance,” in B. Richardson, ed.,
Drumbeat: Anger and Renewal in Indian
Country (Toronto: Summerhill, 1990),
45-70; Marie Wadden, Nitassinan: The
Innu Struggle to Reclaim Their Homeland
(Toronto: Douglas & McIntyre, 1991);
C.H. Scott, ed., Aboriginal Autonomy and
Development in Northern Quebec and Lab-
rador (Vancouver: University of British
Columbia [UBC] Press, 2001); Royal
Commission on Aboriginal Peoples
[RCAP], Report of the Royal Commission
on Aboriginal Peoples, Vol. 1, Looking For-
ward, Looking Back in For Seven Genera-
tions: An Information Legacy of the Royal
Commission on Aboriginal Peoples [CD-
ROM] (Ottawa, 1997); Donna Goldleaf,
Entering the Warzone (Penticton: They-
tus, 1995); Peter Edwards, One Dead
Indian (Toronto: Stoddart, 2001); and,
Sandra Lambertus, Wartime Images,
Peacetime Wounds (Toronto: University
of Toronto Press [UTP], 2004).
9 F. Abele, “Confronting ‘harsh and
inescapable facts,’” in E. Dosman, ed.,
Sovereignty and Security in the Arctic
(London: Routledge, 1989), 189; Mary
Simon, “Militarization and the Ab-
original Peoples,” in F. Griffiths, ed.,
Arctic Alternatives: Civility or Militarism
in the Circumpolar North (Toronto: Sam-
uel Stevens, 1992), 60.
10 Rebecca L. Schiff, “Civil-Military Rela-
tions Reconsidered: A Theory of Con-
cordance,” Armed Forces & Society 22, 1
(Fall 1995), 12-3.
P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER
11 The rare exception is Terry Willett, A
Heritage At Risk: The Canadian Militia as
a Social Institution (Boulder: Westview
Press, 1987).
12 Alan Cairns, Citizens Plus: Aboriginal
Peoples and the Canadian State (Vancou-
ver: UBC Press, 2000), 6
13 P.W. Lackenbauer, “Aboriginal Peoples
in the Canadian Rangers: Canada’s
‘Eyes and Ears’ in Northern and Iso-
lated Communities,” in David New-
house, ed., Hidden in Plain Sight: Contri-
butions of Aboriginal Peoples to Canadian
Identity and Culture, Vol. 2 (Toronto:
UTP, forthcoming 2011).
14 On the PCMR, see “History – Pacific
Coast Militia Rangers,” file 322.009
(D298), Department of National De-
fence [DND], Directorate of History and
Heritage [DHH], and, Kerry Ragnar
Steeves, “The Pacific Coast Militia
Rangers, 1942-1945” (Unpublished MA
Thesis, UBC, 1990), with whom I am
collaborating on a forthcoming book
entitled B.C.’s Guerilla Army: The Pacific
Coast Militia Rangers, 1942-45.
15 J. Mackay Hitsman, “The Canadian
Rangers,” DND, Army Headquarters,
Historical Section, Report no. 92 (1 Dec
1960).
16 Kennelly to SO Rangers, 28 Feb [1943],
file 169.009 (D94), DHH. I have explored
Aboriginal peoples’ involvement in
the PCMR in “Aboriginal Peoples” and
in “Guerillas in Our Midst: The Pacific
Coast Militia Rangers, 1942-45,” paper
delivered at the Canadian Historical
Association, London, Ontario, May
2005. In 1942, some coastal peoples did
not volunteer for the PCMR because
they feared it was a mechanism to
draw them into the army and send
them overseas against their will. This
exclusion was self-imposed rather
than external.
17 DCGS(B) to DMO&P, 1 Nov 1946, vol.
1, file 2001-1999/0, vol. 321, Record
Group [RG] 24, Library and Archives
Canada [LAC].
377
CANADA’S NORTHERN DEFENDERS
18 Vokes to Foulkes, 9 Dec 1948, vol. 2, file
HQC 604-18, DHH.
19 Morton to CGS, 17 Dec 1948, Ibid.
20 Eyre, “Forty Years,” 294.
21 David Bercuson, “Continental Defense
and Arctic Sovereignty, 1945-50,” in K.
Neilson and R.G. Haycock, eds., The
Cold War and Defense (New York: Prae-
ger, 1990), 154.
22 See P.W. Lackenbauer, “Right and
Honourable: Mackenzie King, Can-
adian-American Bilateral Relations,
and Canadian Sovereignty in the
Northwest, 1943-1948,” in John Eng-
lish, Kenneth McLaughlin and P.W.
Lackenbauer, eds., Mackenzie King:
Citizenship and Community (Toronto:
Robin Brass Studio, 2002), 151-68. On
military activities during this era, see
also Eyre, “Forty Years,” and, LCol
(now Col) Bernd Horn, “Gateway to
Invasion or the Curse of Geography?
The Canadian Arctic and the Question
of Security, 1939-1999,” in Bernd Horn,
ed., Forging a Nation: Perspectives on the
Canadian Military Experience (St. Cath-
arines: Vanwell, 2002), 307-32.
23 F/L SE Alexander to AMOT, 7 Jan 1950,
file S-15-24-60, vol. 5205, RG 24, LAC.
24 Ibid.
25 Ibid.
26 Ranger units along the West and East
coasts, which were formed in this
same era, tended to be non-Aboriginal
in their composition and therefore will
not be described in this chapter. My
forthcoming book on the history of the
Rangers will provide a fuller picture
of the Canadian Rangers’ develop-
ment in these regions.
27 Maj. C.R.R. Douthwaite, “Survey of
Western Arctic by SGO II (Int), West-
ern Command, 14 April–1 May 1949,”
25 Oct 1950, file 9105-25/0, box 399, ac-
cession 83-84/215, RG 24, LAC.
28 Maj. F.B. Perrott to DMO&P, 11 Jul 1951,
vol. 2, file 2001-1999/0, box 321, acces-
sion 83-84/215, Ibid.
378
29 Eyre, “Custos Borealis,” 178.
30 See, for example, Capt. A.J. Shea, “The
Two Camps: Extract from the Journal
of a Ranger Liaison Officer,” Canadian
Army Journal 10, 2 (April 1956).
31 John R. Sperry, Igloo Dwellers Were My
Church (Calgary: Bayeux Arts, 2001),
21-32; personal interviews, 17 Dec
2003 (telephone) and Yellowknife, Mar
2004.
32 Capt. A.J. Shea, “An Appreciation of
the Situation of the Canadian Rangers
in Eastern Command,” 23 Feb 1960, file
323.009 (D 261), DHH.
33 Ibid.
34 On this period, see Eyre, “Forty Years,”
292-99.
35 Larry Dignum, “Shadow Army of the
North,” Beaver (Autumn 1959), 22-4.
36 Robert Taylor, “Eyes and Ears of the
North,” Star Weekly Magazine, 22 Dec
1956, 2-3.
37 “Northern Armed Force” and “n.g.g.”
memoranda for Rt. Hon. J.G. Diefen-
baker, re: proposed arctic force, 3 Apr
1969, file Arctic-The North [1967-74],
XI/B/221, John G. Diefenbaker Archives
[JDA].
38 Scott Young, “The shadowy force
on guard in the Arctic,” clipping,
XI/B/22-2, JDA. Young reported that an
interdepartmental study group was
reviewing the military presence in the
North and would look at “the role and
organization of the 1,683 man Can-
adian Rangers, volunteer Eskimos,
Indians, Metis and Whites.”
39 Maj. W.K. Stirling, “The Canadian
Rangers: An In Depth Study,” 5 Aug
1970, NR 5323-2 (SSO(L)), 1 CRPG HQ.
40 John Kirton and Don Munton, “Man-
hattan Voyages,” in F. Griffiths, ed.,
Politics of the Northwest Passage (Kings-
ton & Montreal: McGill-Queen’s Uni-
versity Press, 1987), 73-5; R.J. Orange,
House of Commons, Debates, 21 May
1971, 6065.

41 Cloutier and Admiral John A. Charles,
House of Commons Standing Com-
mittee on External Affairs and Na-
tional Defence [SCEAND], Proceedings
and Evidence, 29 May 1973, 16:15-16.
42 Canadian Forces Northern Region,
Northern Region Information (n.d.), 16-
18, CFNA file NA 1325-1 (PAffO).
43 Maj. R.S. McConnell, SSO Rangers
& Cadets to Commander, Canadian
Forces Northern Region, 7 Nov 78,
CFNA file (copy in possession of au-
thor). See also, Northern Region Head-
quarters, Untitled Historical Booklet,
entries 31 Jul 1971, 18 Nov 1971 and 13
Jan 1972, CFNA file NA 1325-1 (PAffO).
44 Eyre, “Custos Borealis,” 287-88; House
of Commons, Debates, 17 Apr 1970,
5991; Globe and Mail, 23 Sep 1971.
45 Eyre, “Custos Borealis,” 288-89.
46 LCol J.M.M. Savard, Acting Director
of Recruitment and Selection, Recruit-
ment Directive 10/90: Northern Native
Entry Program [NNEP], 30 Jan 1990,
DND file 5675-4 (DRS).
47 Newfoundland Area: Operational
Plan – Canadian Rangers, circa Fall
1964, file 323.009 (D 261), DHH.
48 Maj. S.J. Joudry, “Study Report -
Northern Region Canadian Rangers,”
27 May 1986, 8. Acquired under Access
to Information.
49 Ibid.
50 MGen David Huddleston in Thomas
Berger, ed., The Arctic: Choice for Peace
and Security: Proceedings of a Public
Inquiry (Vancouver: Gordon Soules,
1989), 179. See also, G.G. Bell, “The
Armed Forces and the Civil Authority:
2 Aiding National Development,” Be-
hind the Headlines XXXI, 7-8 (Dec 1972).
51 J. Gellner, “The Military Task,” in E.J.
Dosman, ed., The Arctic in Question
(Toronto: Oxford University Press,
1976), 93.
52 House of Commons, Debates, 10 Sep
1985, 6462-4.
P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER
53 G. Erasmus, “Militarization of the
North: Cultural Survival Threatened,”
Information North (Fall 1986), 1; M.
Simon, “Security, Peace and the Na-
tive Peoples of the Arctic,” in Berger,
The Arctic, 36, 67.
54 SCEAND, 17 Sep 1985, 48-9.
55 Ibid., 28:56-7.
56 Ibid., 28:50-1.
57 Dan Heap to SCEAND, 17 Sep 1985,
28:55.
58 House of Commons Standing Com-
mittee on National Defence [SCND],
Proceedings and Evidence, 26 Nov 1987,
17:29-30.
59 House of Commons, The Reserves,
Report of the SCND (Ottawa: Queen’s
Printer, Jun 1988).
60 Mary Williams Walsh, “Keeping Alert
to poachers on Arctic turf,” Toronto
Star, 16 Jan 1993, C5.
61 Memorandum, “Project P9175: Can-
adian Ranger Enhancement Project,”
DGPC to PCB, 1 Jul 1995, DND file
3136-5-P9175 (DDAS 9); P. Leblanc,
DGRC for CDS, “Canadian Rangers
Enhancement Project,” 30 May 1995, 1,
DND file 1901/260/4 (DGRC).
62 CFNA Historical Report 1995, 3; Fax,
“Rangers Enhancement Program,”
C Res & Cdts to DGAA, 30 Nov 1995,
14-5; DND Backgrounder BG-96.043,
“Update on Restructuring of the
Reserves,” 21 Nov 1996, available
at http://www.dnd.ca/eng/archive/
nov96/BG-96043EN.HTM.
63 DND, Special Commission on the
Restructuring of the Reserves Report,
available at http://www.vcds.dnd.ca/
vcds/cres&cdt/scrr/report/e-p3-c09.
html.
64 CFNA Annual Historical Report 2004;
interviews, Pierre Leblanc, Don Fin-
namore and Sgt D. McLean, 22 Mar
2000; MWO G.R. Westcott, 26 Feb 2004;
Backgrounder, “Canadian Rangers in
Nunavut.” See also, linguistic profiles
at Reserves & Cadets, VCDS, DND,
379
CANADA’S NORTHERN DEFENDERS
“Canadian Rangers: Statistics,” avail-
able at http://www.rangers.dnd.ca/
rangers/stats_e.asp.
65 Col. T. Tarrant, Briefing Note for
DGRC, “Future Role, Mission and
Tasks for Canadian Rangers,” 15 Oct
2003.
66 Capt. J. Campbell, “Saying Goodbye to
a Canadian Ranger,” Maple Leaf, 1 Dec
2004, 3.
67 See Rangers website at www.rangers.
dnd.ca.
68 Quoted in Adrian Humphreys, “Can-
ada’s Troops to Reclaim Arctic,” Na-
tional Post, 25 Mar 2004.
69 CFNA FY 2004/05 Level 1 Business
Plan, 27 Oct 2003, 21; Nathan Vander-
Klippe, “Trek enforces sovereignty on
‘the edge,’” Edmonton Journal, 17 Apr
2004. The author had the opportunity
to meet with the Rangers on Op Kigli-
qaqvik Ranger I at Cape Isaachsen on
18 Apr 2002.
70 On these themes, see DGRC, “CAN
RAN 2000: A Review of the Canadian
Rangers and of the Junior Canadian
Rangers,” 27 Jan 2000 [CAN RAN 2000]
and CFNA Annual Historical Report
2002, 3-4; Maj. G.L. Couch, “Northern
exposure for southern soldiers,” The
Maple Leaf 3, 13 (March 2000), 6.
71 On 1 Jan 1999, members from 11
Canadian Ranger patrols of the 14
Nunavik patrols in 2 CRPG arrived
in Kangiqsualujjuaq in response to
the massive avalanche. Additionally,
food and emergency material was also
provided from as far as the Coral Har-
bour Patrol (NWT) whose members
harvested and shipped fresh caribou
to the disaster site. This extraordinary
co-operation by the Rangers resulted
in the awarding of the commendation.
DND Backgrounder, BG-00.005, “The
Canadian Rangers,” 8 Feb 2000.
72 CAN RAN 2000, 11. See also, P.W.
Lackenbauer, “The Canadian Rangers:
A Survey of English-Canadian Media
380
Coverage, 1995-2004” (2004), 102-53.
Copy available from the author.
73 See, for example, “Patrol protects trick-
or-treaters from polar bears,” K-W
Record, 26 Oct 2004; Dan Davidson,
“Nourish respect for veterans, mayor
advisers,” Whitehorse Star, 13 Nov
2001, 4; and, Lackenbauer, “English-
Canadian Media Coverage.”
74 Simon, “Militarization and the Ab-
original Peoples,” in Griffiths, Arctic
Alternatives, 60, 63.
75 In 1999, the rank of Ranger Corporal
was added for two reasons. It allowed
for the creation of patrols with rep-
resentation in several communities or
“detachments.” It was also created out
of Junior Canadian Ranger program
requirements; at a minimum, the
corporal looks after this program in a
community.
76 P.W. Lackenbauer, “The Canadian
Rangers: A Postmodern Militia That
Works,” Canadian Military Journal 6,
4 (Winter 2005-06), 49-60. Whereas
Ranger instructors in the other patrol
groups are Reservists, in 1 CRPG they
are Regular Force sergeants in the
combat arms who volunteer to work in
the North and have identified the re-
gion as a posting preference with their
career managers.
77 Commander’s Assessment, CFNA FY
2004/05 Level 1 Business Plan, 27 Oct
2003, 1-2.
78 Ibid.
79 Backgrounder, “The Junior Canadian
Rangers Programme,” 17 Mar 1999.
The JCR have grown from 1,620 in
54 patrols in FY 99/00 to 2,893 in 102
patrols in FY 03/04, representing an
increase of 79 % in four years. DRes,
CAN RAN 2000 Annual Report #4, FY
03/04, 11.
80 A DFAIT discussion report on the Arc-
tic offered the following on the “Al-
leviation of Community Social Prob-
lems” in the North: “Most northern
communities in Canada suffer from

crippling social problems: poverty,
high youth suicide rates, teenage preg-
nancy, alcohol and substance abuse,
crime and domestic violence. These
are a persistent legacy of the period
when colonial governments imposed
their ways on Canada’s Aboriginal
peoples. Through the Statement of
Reconciliation in Gathering Strength,
the Government has indicated its
commitment to working with territor-
ial governments, Aboriginal peoples
and northern organizations in sup-
port of social change contributing to
strong communities.” See “Toward A
Northern Foreign Policy For Canada:
A Consultation Paper” (September
1998). Governments have recognized
the need to promote understanding
and problem solving at the commun-
ity level, using government and local
resources. See RCAP Special Report,
“Choosing Life: Special report on
suicide among Aboriginal people,” on
Libraxus, “For Seven Generations.”
P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER
81 CFNA Annual Historical Report 2004,
2; Maj. R.G. Bell, “Proposal to Trial a
Junior Canadian Ranger Program,”
Briefing to the Chief of Reserves and
Cadets, 23 Mar 1994, CFNA 1085-0-1,
16 Apr 1996, 1.
82 Granatstein, Who Killed the Canadian
Military?, 145, 196.
83 These conclusions are derived from
P.W. Lackenbauer, “The Eyes and Ears
of the Canadian Forces: The Canadian
Rangers as a Human Solution to
Northern Sovereignty and Security,”
presentation to Ocean Management
Research Network Conference, Ot-
tawa, Nov 2003.
84 Commander’s Direction, CFNA FY
2004/05 Level 1 Business Plan, 27 Oct
2003, 25.
85 Griffiths, “The shipping news.”
86 Cairns, Citizens Plus, 6-9.
381
Calgary Papers in Military and Strategic Studies, Occasional Paper No. 4, 2011
Canadian Arctic Sovereignty and Security: Historical Perspectives Pages 383–399

Climate Change and Canadian

Sovereignty in the Northwest Passage
Rob Huebert

T
he most recent report from the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate
Change (IPCC) reports that the Arctic region is especially sensitive
to the dynamics of warming temperatures.1 The most recent scien-
tific evidence strongly suggests that the Arctic is experiencing warming at
a rate greater than almost any other region of the globe. This is evidenced
by the thickness of the ice cover; the occurrence of both the melting and
freezing of the Arctic Ocean and its surrounding waterways; and from the
samples of ice cores.2 Observations made by northern Aboriginal peoples
also lend credence to the evidence that the Arctic is warming up.3 Insects
have been reported much further north than is the norm. Changes in ani-
mal migration patterns have also been reported.4 Both northern Aboriginal
peoples and scientists have reported significant changes in the hunting pat-
terns of predators such as the polar bear. For example, Ian Sterling, one of
the world’s leading experts on the North American polar bear, has noted
that the polar bear population inhabiting the Hudson Bay region has be-
come smaller.5 He attributes this to the earlier melting of the ice cover on
Hudson Bay, which has made it more difficult for the bears to hunt seal. The
Canadian Ice Services of Environment Canada has noted that the ice cover
has decreased since the mid-1970s.6 Satellite data show that the ice cover has
steadily been decreasing.

The Problem: Climate Change and the Ice Cover

Not all scientists agree that climate change is the cause of these changes
in the Arctic. Some researchers suggest that the ice is thinning because of
fluctuations in wind patterns and not as a result of increased temperatures.7
However, those who suggest that climate change and the resulting impact
of global warming have not occurred or have not affected ice levels in the
Arctic are in the distinct minority. The consensus is that climate change in-
creases average temperatures in the Arctic regions which, in turn, causes the
ice cover to melt.

© Centre for Military and Strategic Studies http://cmss.ucalgary.ca/ 383

CLIMATE CHANGE AND CANADIAN SOVEREIGNTY

Increased Interest in the Canadian North

There are limited signs of renewed interest in shipping through the Northwest
Passage. At the end of the Cold War, ecotourist voyages began to enter the
Passage, but only between five and ten partial or complete voyages a year. To
date, only icebreakers or ice-strengthened vessels have made the voyage in
this capacity, and the companies responsible have requested the Canadian
government’s permission. Every company that used these vessels to transit
the Passage has requested the Canadian Government’s permission. Most of
these voyages have been without incident. However, in 1996, the Hanseatic
went aground on a sand bar near Cambridge Bay.8 Although only a minor
oil leak occurred, the grounding was severe enough to require the vessel’s
complete evacuation as well as the removal of most of its stores to facilitate
its removal from the sand bar.
In 1999, the first non-American passage for commercial shipping pur-
poses took place when a Russian company sold a floating dry dock based in
Vladivostok. Its new owners decided to move the dock to Bermuda. With the
aid of a Russian icebreaker and an ocean-going tug, the dry dock was suc-
cessfully towed through the Passage. This use of the Passage to avoid storms
in the open ocean demonstrated its advantage for international shipping
should the ice be reduced. The fact that the dry dock was then almost lost in
a storm off Newfoundland seemed to confirm the benefits of sheltered waters
of the Passage route.
Also in 1999, a Chinese research vessel visited Tuktoyaktuk. While the
Canadian embassy in Beijing had been informed of the Chinese plan to send
a vessel to the western Arctic, local Canadian authorities were not informed.
Consequently, local officials were considerably surprised when the Chinese
arrived in Tuktoyaktuk. The voyage of the Chinese vessel demonstrated the
limited Canadian surveillance capabilities. Canadian officials did not learn
of the vessel’s entry into Canadian waters until it actually arrived.
The U.S. Navy has begun to examine the issue of conducting surface
vessel operations in Arctic waters. In April 2001, the U.S. Navy organized a
symposium on the subject. This strongly suggests that it perceives the possi-
bility of an ice-free Arctic where it may be required to operate and has begun
to give the subject serious thought.
New multilateral efforts to prepare for increased maritime traffic in the
Arctic have also begun in the 1990s. An initiative of the Canadian Coast Guard
led a group of Arctic coastal states and relevant international shipping com-
panies to meet in 1993 to develop what is now known as the Polar Code.9 The
meetings were intended to develop a common set of international standards

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governing the construction and operation of vessels that would operate in

Arctic waters. To a large degree, these talks represented the Canadian Coast
Guard’s effort to initiate discussions in anticipation of increased shipping in
the region. Unfortunately, the United States State Department has attempted
to derail the negotiations for reasons that are not clear. Substantial progress
was made when the discussions involved officials from the various Coast
Guards. However, as the talks began to lead to an agreement, the American
State Department became involved, and several elements of the American
position were altered, including initial acceptance of developing a manda-
tory agreement and accepting the inclusion of Antarctic shipping. Although
the other participants have accepted the changes in the American position,
the Americans have still been reluctant to advance the negotiations.
While each of these events by themselves can be dismissed as interesting
but unimportant events, when considered as a whole they indicate an up-
ward trend in interest in Canadian Arctic waters. Furthermore, it is expected
that there will be an increase in activity associated with the development
of oil and gas deposits in this region. All things considered, the Canadian
Arctic is becoming busy, and as it becomes increasingly ice free, it will be-
come even busier.

The Canadian Claim

The melting of the ice that covers the Northwest Passage gives rise to ques-
tions about the impact this has on Canadian claims of sovereignty. There is
no question about the status of the land territory that comprises the Canadian
Arctic archipelago. All conflicting land claims were settled in the 1930s,10
with the sole exception of a dispute over the ownership of a small island be-
tween Ellesmere Island and Greenland named Hans Island. The government
of Denmark contests the Canadian claim of ownership. The only relevance
of this claim is its impact on the determination of the maritime boundary
line between Canada and Greenland in the Davis Strait. Canadian claims
of sovereignty of its Arctic areas with respect to maritime boundaries have
resulted in three disputes. Canada disagrees with both the United States and
Denmark over the maritime boundaries that border Alaska and Greenland
respectively. Neither dispute will be influenced by reduced ice conditions.
It is a third dispute, concerning Canada’s claim over the international
legal status of the Northwest Passage, which will be adversely affected by
a reduction of ice cover in the Passage. The Canadian government’s offi-
cial position is that the Northwest Passage is Canadian historical internal
waters. This means that Canada assumes full sovereignty over the waters

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CLIMATE CHANGE AND CANADIAN SOVEREIGNTY

and thereby asserts complete control over all activity within them. The
Government of Canada’s most comprehensive statement to this end was
made by then Secretary of State for External Affairs, Joe Clark, in the House
of Commons on September 10, 1985. In that declaration, he included the fol-
lowing statement:

Canada’s Sovereignty in the Arctic is indivisible. It embraces

land, sea, and ice. It extends without interruption to the seaward-
facing coasts of the Arctic Islands. These Islands are joined and
not divided by the waters between them. They are bridged for
most of the year by ice. From time immemorial Canada’s Inuit
people have used and occupied the ice as they have used and
occupied the land.11

The Department of Foreign Affairs has not issued any further official
statements regarding the Passage since 1985. Following the end of the Cold
War, the department’s main focus in the north has been the development
of new international institutions. These include the Arctic Environmental
Protection Strategy and the Arctic Council. Both bodies are important new
developments, but their focus has been based almost exclusively on sustain-
able development.12 In June 2000, the department issued a “new” Arctic
foreign policy statement listing four main objectives. The second objective
was to “assert and ensure the preservation of Canada’s sovereignty in the
North.”13 However, the document does not discuss how Canada will assert
and enforce its sovereignty. The only statement on the topic is that the “pub-
lic concern about sovereignty issues has waned” and that “globalization has
also altered the exercise of state sovereignty, partly through the development
of a web of legally binding multilateral agreements, informal agreements
and institutions.”14 There is no explanation or justification as to how these
assessments are reached.
The department has had little to say about the impact of climate change
on Canadian claims. One of the few comments on the subject was made by
an official from the Legal Affairs Bureau in a presentation in Whitehorse on
March 19, 2001 regarding Canadian sovereignty in the Arctic. Much of his
focus was on the impact of climate change. Although his discussion is not
official policy, it nevertheless provides the most current understanding of
the position of the Department of Foreign Affairs. He argued that Canadian
sovereignty over the waterways of the Canadian Arctic did not depend on
the ice cover of the region, but that Canada’s view, then and now, is that since

386
 ROB HUEBERT

the 1880 deed transfer [of the Arctic archipelago from the U.K. to Canada],
the waters of the Arctic Archipelago have been Canada’s internal waters
by virtue of historical title. These waters have been used by Inuit, now of
Canada, since time immemorial. Canada has unqualified and uninterrupted
sovereignty over the waters.15
The official also noted that Canada has not relied on the concept of “ice as
land” to support its claim of sovereignty. This is due in part to the differences
between pack ice and shelf ice. Pack ice is “dynamic and ever-changing” and
is therefore “unsuitable for legal analysis as being dry land.” Shelf ice, while
potentially more useful in determining boundaries is not particularly useful
to Canadian claims in that the four main ice shelves of the Canadian Arctic
are on the northern border of Baffin Island, and therefore, are not pertin-
ent to the issue of the Northwest Passage. Thus, he concluded that “even if
the ice were to melt, Canada’s legal sovereignty would be unaffected.”16 In
conclusion, he argues that “sovereignty over the marine areas is based on
law, not on the fact that waters in question frequently are covered by ice. The
waters between the lands and the islands are the waters of Canada by virtue
of historical waters.”17
There are several problems with this line of argument that are unrelated
to the issue of ice use. First, the claim that these waters are internal by vir-
tue of historical title is in doubt. A study by one of the leading Canadian
legal jurists, Donat Pharand, has demonstrated the weakness of the use of
this line of argumentation. In his major study of the issue he concludes that
“[i]t is highly doubtful that Canada could succeed in proving that the wat-
ers of the Canadian Arctic Archipelago are historical internal waters over
which it has complete sovereignty.” Pharand supports this conclusion with
two sets of arguments. First, the use of the legal concept of historical waters
has diminished in recent years. It is unlikely that it would be persuasive in an
international court. Second, the requirements for proving historical waters
are exacting. These include “exclusive control and long usage by the claimant
State as well as acquiescence by foreign States, particularly those clearly af-
fected by the claim.”18 Pharand argues this has not been the case for Canadian
Arctic waters. Canada has not dedicated the resources to demonstrate exclu-
sive control, and the foreign States with an interest, i.e., the United States
and the European Union, have not acquiesced. Although Canada may make
a claim that the Arctic waters are historical waters, Pharand convincingly
argues that this claim would likely not withstand an international challenge.
The Canadian foreign affairs official also argued that the Government
of Canada’s decision in 1986 to enclose the Canadian Arctic Archipelago by

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CLIMATE CHANGE AND CANADIAN SOVEREIGNTY

straight baselines ensures that the waters within the straight baselines are
internal. The weakness of this argument lies in the timing of the Canadian
declaration. Canada implemented straight baselines around the Arctic on
January 1, 1986. However, in 1982, it had signed the United Nations Law of
the Sea Convention (UNCLOS), in which article 8(2) states that a State can-
not close an international strait by declaring straight baselines.19 Therefore,
the Canadian government’s claim that drawing straight baselines gives it the
international legal right to claim jurisdiction over international shipping in
these waters is also unlikely to withstand an international challenge.
The Foreign Affairs official offered a strong argument that the condition
of the ice is not an important element of the Canadian claim. However, this
is not entirely true. As stated earlier, the September 10, 1985 statement by Joe
Clark clearly connects ice conditions to sovereignty. The statement provides
that the islands of the Arctic are “joined and not divided by the waters be-
tween them. They are bridged for most of the year by ice.” The statement con-
tinues that “[f]rom time immemorial Canada’s Inuit people have used and
occupied the ice as they have used and occupied the land.”20 The intent of the
Government of Canada in issuing this statement is clear. The ice cover makes
the Northwest Passage unique by virtue of the inhabitation of the Inuit on
the ice. Thus, the ice can be considered more as land than water. Following
this logic, the Government is obviously making the case that international
law as it pertains to international straits does not apply. Since this statement
remains as the definitive statement on Canadian Arctic sovereignty, it is clear
that any new statements to the contrary are not accurate.
The Canadian legal position has been challenged. Both the United States
and the European Union have indicated that they do not accept Canadian
claims of sovereignty over the waters of the Canadian Arctic archipelago.
However, neither the United States nor the European Union pushed their
challenge as long as ice conditions precluded any economically viable inter-
national shipping. This hesitation will likely diminish as the ice melts, and
this is the crux of the problem facing Canada.

The American and European Position

The United States and the European Union position is that, contrary to
Canadian claims, the Northwest Passage is an international strait. The
Americans in particular do not accept the argument that ice cover makes a
difference for the international legal definition of an international strait. The
Americans have always maintained that the International Court of Justice’s
ruling in the Strait of Corfu case is applicable for the Northwest Passage. In

388
 ROB HUEBERT

that case, the Court ruled that an international strait is a body of water that
joins two international bodies of water, and has been used by international
shipping.21 The United States argues that the Northwest Passage joins two
international bodies of water and has been used for international shipping,
albeit a very small number of transits.
Historically, the United States has posed the greatest challenge to
Canadian claims of sovereignty. In 1969 and in 1970, the Manhattan, on be-
half of Humble Oil, transited the Northwest Passage without seeking the
Government of Canada’s permission. The Manhattan was an ice-strength-
ened super tanker which could transit the Northwest Passage only with the
assistance of icebreakers, and even then, ice conditions made the voyage very
difficult and expensive.22 In 1985, the American icebreaker, Polar Sea, was sent
through the Passage without the Canadian government’s permission. Though
not designed to challenge Canadian claims of sovereignty, the voyage led
to a significant diplomatic dispute.23 However, to maintain good American-
Canadian relations, an agreement was reached regarding future transits by
American icebreakers. The 1988 agreement on Arctic co-operation between
the Government of the United States of America and the Government of
Canada required the United States to request Canadian consent for any fu-
ture transit of the Passage by American government ice-breakers.24 However,
both governments agreed to disagree on the actual status of the Passage.
When the agreement was reached, the United States had only two icebreak-
ers capable of such a passage. Since then, the Americans have built one more
icebreaker, which invoked the agreement to transit the Passage in 2000.
In addition to the United States, the United Kingdom, acting on behalf
of the European Community, issued a diplomatic protest against Canadian
efforts in 1985 to enclose its Arctic waters as internal waters by using straight
baselines.25 The Europeans have kept their protests low key, preferring to
allow the Americans to take the more active position. But by issuing a de-
marche against the Canadian claim, they have given notice that they have
not acquiesced to Canadian claims of sovereignty.

Significance of the Dispute

The difference between the Canadian position and that of the United States
and the European Union is in the issue of control. If the Passage is Canadian
internal waters as maintained by Canada, Canada has sovereign control over
any activity, both foreign and domestic, that occurs in those waters. On the
other hand, if the Northwest Passage is an international strait, then Canada
cannot unilaterally control international shipping in it. Therefore, Canada

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CLIMATE CHANGE AND CANADIAN SOVEREIGNTY

would be unable to deny passage to any vessel that meets international stan-
dards for environmental protection, crew training and safety procedures. As
these standards are set by the International Maritime Organization (IMO),
Canada cannot set different standards, especially those which impose more
demanding requirements.
However, Canada could invoke more exacting environmental standards
through the United Nations Law of the Sea Convention (UNCLOS). Article
234, the ice-covered waters clause, allows a State to pass legislation that ex-
ceeds international standards for any ice-covered waters within its 200-mile
Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ). The Canadian clause, as it is referred to
since Canada was its main proponent, states

Coastal States have the right to adopt and enforce non-discrimin-

atory laws and regulations for the preservation, reduction and
control of marine pollution from vessels in ice-covered areas
within the limits of the exclusive economic zone, where particu-
larly severe climatic conditions and the presence of ice covering
such areas for most of the year create obstructions or exceptional
hazards to navigation, and pollution of the marine environment
could cause major harm to or irreversible disturbance of the eco-
logical balance. Such laws and regulations shall have due regard
to navigation and the protection and preservation of the marine
environment based on the best available scientific evidence.26

It is important to note that the article does not give the coastal State the
right to deny passage. Rather it bestows the right to the coastal State to pass
its own domestic legislation for environmental protection rather than being
bound by international standards. Such legislation can be more demanding
than that of existing international agreements.
It is interesting that despite the fact that Canada drafted the clause and
was originally a strong supporter of the entire Convention, it has not rati-
fied the Convention.27 The Government of Canada has stated that it accepts
most of the Convention as customary international law. However, while it
has continued to issue vague statements that it someday intends to ratify
the Convention, there is no evidence as to when or if this will actually
happen.
Although the issue of sovereignty invokes strong nationalistic feel-
ings for Canadians, the reality is that after Canada and the United States
signed the Arctic Cooperation Agreement in 1988, which controls the pas-

390
 ROB HUEBERT

sage of American icebreakers, and continued to officially ignore the transit

of American nuclear-powered submarines through Canadian northern wat-
ers, there was little incentive to revisit the issue. As long as ice conditions
remained hazardous to commercial shipping, there was little incentive for
any country, the United States included, to challenge the Canadian position.

Map 14. From the Arctic Marine Shipping Assessment 2009.

However, if ice conditions become less hazardous, then this situation chan-
ges drastically. The main attraction of the Northwest Passage is obvious. It
substantially shortens the distance from Asia to the east coast of the United
States and Europe. It is more than 8,000 kilometres shorter than the cur-
rent route through the Panama Canal, and would significantly shorten the
voyage for vessels that are too large to fit through the Canal and must sail
around the Cape Horn. The voyage of the Manhattan demonstrated that the
Passage can accommodate supertankers of at least 120,000 tons. The shorter
distance means substantial savings for shipping companies, which translates

391
CLIMATE CHANGE AND CANADIAN SOVEREIGNTY

into reduced costs for the products that are shipped. It is easy to see why an
ice-free Northwest Passage, even for a limited time, would be of tremendous
interest to major international shipping companies as well as the countries
that avail themselves of their services.
It is impossible to know who will make the first challenge. While it is
reasonable to suspect that it might be either an American or a European ves-
sel, it could also be from another country. For example, Japan has shown con-
siderable interest in Arctic navigation in the 1990s. It was a major partner in a
multi-year million-dollar study of navigation through the Russian Northern
Sea Route (also known as the Northeast Passage).28 The Japanese also were
interested in buying the Canadian ice-strengthened oil tanker, Arctic, when
the Canadian government put it up for sale. Perhaps even more telling is the
amount of money that the Japanese put into polar research and development
that is now substantial and continues to increase.29 While the Japanese have
never issued a statement of their view of the status of the Northwest Passage,
it is clear that they would gain if it became a functioning international strait.
Oil from both Venezuela and the Gulf of Mexico would then be cheaper to
ship to Japan.

Canadian Efforts to Assert and Maintain Sovereignty

It would appear that Canada should be now giving serious thought to how
it can best respond to the prospects of any future challenges. Unfortunately
there is little indication that this is happening. Instead, it appears that the
Government continues to downgrade its existing limited capabilities. The
two main government agencies with important roles in the protection
and maintenance of Canadian international interests in the Arctic are the
Department of National Defence (DND) and the Canadian Coast Guard
(CCG). Both are continuing to see their northern capabilities reduced.
While the Department of National Defence has begun to consider the
impact of a diminished ice cover, budget cuts forced it to eliminate most of
its activites devoted to northern sovereignty. The previous Commander of
Northern Area initiated a working group of relevant federal and territorial
departments, called the Arctic Security Interdepartmental Working Group,
which has been meeting twice a year since May 1999. The group shares both
information and concerns and has raised the issue of climate change several
times. However, it has almost no resources of its own and can only act as a
means of coordination and networking.
Also at the initiative of the former Commander of Northern Area, DND
recently assessed its capabilities in the north. The assessment found that

392
 ROB HUEBERT

Map 15. Main routes of the Northwest Passage. Donat Pharand, “Canada’s Arctic Sovereignty
and the Northwest Passage,” (Canadian Polar Commission) Meridian (Spring/Summer 2009).

393
CLIMATE CHANGE AND CANADIAN SOVEREIGNTY

Canada had limited resources that could be used in the northern area, and
that the cost of any equipment and programs to remedy this shortcoming
would be extremely expensive. The department concluded that given its con-
strained budget, resources would be allocated to more immediate priorities.
It did note that projects could be developed to improve surveillance capabil-
ities if funding was available.30
Financial cutbacks to the department have resulted in the elimination
of most programs that gave Canada a presence in the North. Northern de-
ployments of naval assets to Canadian northern waters, termed NORPLOYS,
ended in 1990. Northern sovereignty overflights by Canadian long-range
patrol aircraft (CP-140/CP140A Aurora and Arcturus) were reduced in 1995
to one overflight per year and will soon be totally eliminated. The recently
acquired Victoria class submarines do not have the capability to operate in
Arctic waters. In fact, none of the Canadian naval units can operate in north-
ern waters due to their thin hulls and the risk of ice damage.
The one exception to the cutbacks is the recent expansion of the num-
ber of Ranger Patrols. The Canadian government is increasing the number
of serving Rangers from 3,500 to 4,800 by 2008.31 However, although the
Rangers can assert a presence in the north, they are a militia unit comprising
northern inhabitants who can travel a moderate distance with snow-mobiles.
In short, the ability of the Department of Defence to demonstrate a pres-
ence in the North is severely limited. The recently concluded defence study
does suggest that it may be possible to improve surveillance with future
technological developments including High Frequency Surface Wave Radar,
rapidly deployable undersea surveillance systems and the use of UAVs (un-
manned aerial vehicles-drones). While each system would prove useful for
surveillance and presence in the North, none is currently being considered
for deployment and all are still in the research and development phase. These
technologies are unlikely to be purchased anytime soon.
The Canadian Coast Guard has the greatest responsibility for the mon-
itoring the Arctic region. Recently moved from the Department of Transport
to the Department of Fisheries and Oceans, the CCG operates a fleet of ice-
breakers in the Arctic, consisting of two heavy icebreakers and three medium
icebreakers. The most recent icebreaker, the Henry Larsen was added in 1987,
but the fleet is heavily tasked and is ageing. A prolonged refit between 1988
and 1993 resulted in the extension of the operating life of the largest ice-
breaker, Louis St. Laurent. However, the vessel will soon be reaching the end
of its operational life. There are no plans to build any new icebreakers in the
immediate future.

394
 ROB HUEBERT

Following the 1969-1970 voyage of the Manhattan, the Trudeau

Government enacted the Arctic Waters Pollution Prevention Act,32 creating
a 100-mile environmental protection zone within Canadian Arctic waters.
AWPPA regulations forbid the discharge of any fluids or solid wastes into
the Arctic waters and sets design requirements for vessels. Upon entering
Canadian Arctic waters, vessels are requested to register through NORDREG,
a voluntary, not mandatory, reporting system operated by the coast guard
that all vessels (Canadian and otherwise) are requested to use when operat-
ing in Canadian Arctic waters. While such a system works reasonably well
when few vessels enter the Northwest Passage, it is clear that it will not work
when the number of voyages increases due to ice reduction. Consideration
has been given to make NORDREG mandatory, but there has been no further
action on this front.
The voluntary nature of NORDREG poses an obvious challenge to
Canada’s commitment to its claims. If Canada is serious about its statements
that the waters of the Arctic Archipelago are internal waters, then there
should be no question about its ability to enforce its rules and requirements.
Yet, by making the system voluntary, the message internationally is that
Canada questions its own ability to enforce its claim.
Canada does not have the capability to demonstrate a meaningful pres-
ence in its Arctic waters. So long as ice conditions in the north do not change,
then this is not a significant problem. However, as the ice melts, it will be-
come a serious problem.

The Internationalization of the Northwest Passage

Would it really matter if Canada lost an international challenge to its claim of
sovereignty? The Canadian government is on record as stating that it does sup-
port international shipping through the Passage as long as Canadian regula-
tions are followed.33 The issue, then, is the type of regulations to be followed.
Canada could claim that regardless of the status of the Passage, it retains the
right to pass environmental regulations based on article 234 of UNCLOS.
The problem with this argument is that the Canadian Government has not
ratified the Convention. Therefore, the question is whether Canada could
claim the rights provided by the article without ratifying the Convention.
The Canadian Coast Guard’s efforts to formulate a Polar Code to govern
the construction and operation of shipping in Arctic waters are designed
to ensure that any international rules will have significant Canadian input.
Canada, along with Russia, has played a key role in developing the technical
requirements contained in the code.34 On the other hand, these efforts may

395
CLIMATE CHANGE AND CANADIAN SOVEREIGNTY

send the message that Canada expects to lose the ability to develop regula-
tions unilaterally. Thus, there are signs that a new regime for regulating the
international system is developing beyond Canada’s control. Such a regime is
likely to leave Canada facing tremendous challenges if, and when, shipping
develops.
First, traditional security problems of an international waterway will
arise. An examination of waterways in southeast Asia indicates that in-
creased shipping can result in increased smuggling and other associated
crimes. The deserted coastlines of northern Canada could be used for a host
of illegal activities such as drug and human smuggling. It is also likely that
smuggling of other goods, such as diamonds and fresh water, could also take
place. To control such potential problems, Canada will have to improve its
surveillance and policing capabilities substantially.
The spread of new and exotic diseases is also a potential problem. Crews
of most vessels come from southern countries and may carry strains of dis-
eases to which northern Canadians have a low tolerance or to which they
have not been exposed. Thus the risk of a disease outbreak could increase as
shipping increases.
Even if Canada implements strong environmental regulations, the prob-
ability of an accident will increase with the corresponding increase of ship
traffic. As the Exxon Valdez accident demonstrated, the grounding of a large
vessel in northern waters will produce an ecological disaster. Currently,
Canada is ill-equipped for even a moderate grounding, as was clearly dem-
onstrated in 1996 when the Hanseatic grounded off Cambridge Bay.35 The
Hanseatic was successfully evacuated due only to the favourable weather
conditions and the availability of local commercial pilots and planes. It is
doubtful the grounding could have been responded to as successfully in a
more isolated location and with severe weather conditions.
The lifestyle of Canada’s northern Aboriginal people will be substantially
affected by international shipping. Traditional hunting and trapping will be
severely dislocated by the twin impact of global warming and the passages
of large vessels. The influx of large numbers of foreigners associated with the
new shipping will also affect their traditional way of life. Opportunities for
employment will be available, but only for northerners with the right skills.
Nevertheless, there are some advantages to the melting of the Northwest
Passage. Singapore has demonstrated that with the proper planning, geo-
graphical location on an international strait can bring substantial economic
benefits. Vessels transiting the Passage would require certain services that
could be provided by Canadian settlements. For example, Tuktoyaktuk and

396
 ROB HUEBERT

Iqaluit could conceivably become important ports of call if their port facilities
were substantially improved.

Conclusions
Will climate change result in the melting of the Northwest Passage for some
parts of the year? Will international shipping interests then attempt to take
advantage of the more benign conditions? Will the Canadian status regarding
the Passage be challenged? Will Canada be prepared? The evidence for the
first is mounting. The question that remains is how fast these changes will
occur and when the Passage will become economically viable for shipping
interests. It is logical that international shipping interests will wish to take
advantage if and when this happens. Canada can expect to face a challenge
when this occurs. It is becoming apparent that the Canadian position will
probably not be successful given the current low levels of Canadian activity
in the region. But even if Canadian claims of sovereignty are upheld, pres-
sure to allow the passage of international shipping will remain. Regardless
of the nature of the international status, it is clear that Canada will face tre-
mendous challenges in adapting to the opening of the Passage. The challenge
that now faces Canada is to become aware of these possibilities and to begin
taking action to prepare for them.

Notes
Reprinted from Isuma: Canadian Jour­
nal of Policy Research 2/4 (Winter 2001):
86-94.
1 Intergovernmental Panel on Climate
Change, Climate Change 2001: The Sci­
entific Basis. A Report of Working Group I
of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate
Change (2001), 2.2.5-2.2.6.
2 O.M. Johannessen, E.V. Shalina and
M.W. Miles, “Satellite Evidence for an
Arctic Sea Ice Cover in Transforma-
tion,” Science 286 (1999), 1937-39; D.A.
Rothrock, Y. Yu, and G.A. Maykut,
“Thinning of the Arctic Sea-Ice
Cover,” Geophysical Research Letters
26/23 (December 1999), 3469-3472;
and M.J. Serreze, J. Walsh, F. Chapin,
T. Osterkamp, M. Dyurgerov, V. Ro-
manovsky, W. Oechel, J. Morrison, T.
Zhang and R.G. Berry, “Observational
Evidence of Recent Changes in North-
ern High-Latitude Environment,” Cli­
mate Change 46 (2000), 159-207.
3 S. McKibbon, “Inuit Elders Say the
Arctic Climate is Changing,” Nunat­
siaq News, 2 June 2000.
4 R. Bowkett, “Clear Signs of Global
Warming: Dandelions at the Arctic
Circle,” Anglican Journal 123/ 8 (Octo-
ber 1997), 7; M. Nichols and D. Huf-
fam, “The Heat is On: A Crisis is in
the Making as Canada Confronts its
Commitment to Drastically Reduce
Greenhouse-Gas Emissions,” Mac­
lean’s, 21 February 2000, 48.
5 I. Stirling, “Running out of Ice?” Natu­
ral History 109/ 2 (March 2000), 92.
6 ������������������������������������
J. Falkingham, “Sea Ice in the Cana-
dian Arctic in the 21st Century,” (Sep-
tember 2000) (unpublished paper).
7 ���������������������������������������
B. Webber, “Arctic Sea Ice is not Melt-
ing: New Research,” Canadian Press,
24 April 2001.
397
CLIMATE CHANGE AND CANADIAN SOVEREIGNTY
8 F. McCague “High Arctic Grips a
Cruise Ship: Hundreds Evacuate
by Dinghies as Tugs try to free the
Hanseatic,” Alberta Report 23/40 (16
September 1996), 15.
9 ����������������������������������
L. Brigham, “Commentary: An Inter-
national Polar Navigation Code for the
Twenty-First Century,” Polar Record
33/187 (1997), 283.
10 E. Franckx, Maritime Claims in the
Arctic (Dordrecht: Martinus Nijhoff
Publishers, 1993), 71-74.
11 External Affairs Canada, Statements
and Speeches, “Policy on Canadian Sov-
ereignty,” 10 September 1985.
12 �����������������������������������
R. Huebert, “New Directions in Cir-
cumpolar Cooperation: Canada, The
Arctic Environmental Protection
Strategy, and the Arctic Council,” Ca­
nadian Foreign Policy 5/2 (Winter 1998),
37-57.
13 �������������������������������������
Department of Foreign Affairs and In-
ternational Trade (DFAIT), The North­
ern Dimension of Canada’s Foreign Policy
(2000), 2.
14 DFAIT, Northern Dimension, 5.
15 ��������������������������������������
M. Gaillard, Legal Affairs Bureau, De-
partment of Foreign Affairs and Inter-
national Trade, “Canada’s Sovereignty
in Changing Arctic Waters” (19 March
2001), Whitehorse, Yukon.
16 Gaillard, “Canada’s Sovereignty,” 4.
17 Gaillard, “Canada’s Sovereignty,” 5.
18 D. Pharand, Canada’s Arctic Waters in
International Law (Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 1988), 251.
19 United Nations, The Law of the Sea,
United Nations Convention on the Law
of the Sea with Index and Final Act of the
Third United Nations Conference on the
Law of the Sea (UNCLOS) (New York:
United Nations, 1983), 4.
20 External Affairs Canada, “Policy on
Canadian Sovereignty,” 2.
21 Corfu Channel Case [1949] ICJ, Rep.4.
22 D. McRae, “The Negotiation of Article
234,” in Politics of the Northwest Passage,
398
ed. Franklyn Griffiths (Kingston and
Montreal; McGill-Queen’s University
Press, 1987), 98-114.
23 R. Huebert, “Polar Vision or Tunnel
Vision: The Making of Canadian Arc-
tic Waters Policy,” Marine Policy 19/4
(1995), 343-363.
24 Agreement Between the Government
of the United States of America and
the Government of Canada on Arctic
Cooperation, (11 January 1988).
25 R. Huebert, “Steel Ice and Decision-
Making. The Voyage of the Polar Sea
and its Aftermath: The Making of
Canadian Northern Foreign Policy”
(unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Dalhousie
Unversity, 1993), 331.
26 UNCLOS, 84.
27 Canada remains one of only a handful
of countries that have not ratified the
Convention. Currently 135 States have
ratified. The few that have not are ei-
ther land-locked and/or a developing
State. The United States is the only
other major country that has not rati-
fied. United Nations, Ocean and Law
of the Sea Home Page, “Convention
and Implementing Agreement,” 31
July 2001. http://www.un.org/Depts/
los/%20los-conv1.htm.
28 ����������������������������
INSROP, International North-
ern Sea Route Programme, June
1993-March 1994. http://www.fni.no/
insrop/#Overview.
29 Natural Sciences and Engineering
Research Council of Canada (NSERC)
and Social Sciences and Humanities
Research Council of Canada (SSHRC),
From Crisis to Opportunity: Rebuilding
Canada’s Role in Northern Research 2000:
Final Report to NSERC and SSHRC from
the Task Force on Northern Research (Ot-
tawa: NSERC and SSHRC, 2000), 12; B.
Wuethrich, “New Center Gives Japan
an Arctic Toehold,” Science 285 (17 Sep-
tember 1999), 1827.
30 A. Mitrovica, “Military Admits it
Can’t Detect Arctic Intruders,” Globe
and Mail, 17 March 2001, A3.

31 ������������������������������������
DND, VCDS, “Reserves and Cadets: Ca-
nadian Rangers.” [http://www.rangers.
dnd.ca/rangers/intro_e.asp].
32 Arctic Water Pollution Prevention Act
1970 [R.S.C. 1985 (1st Supp.) C.2, (1st
Supp.) S.1.]
33 The most recent statement by the
Government of Canada on the issue of
shipping in the Northwest Passage can
be found in its response to the Special
Committee of the Senate and House of
Commons on Canada’s International
Relations (Hockin Simard Report). See
ROB HUEBERT
Department of External Affairs, Cana­
da’s International Relations: Response of
the Government of Canada to the Report of
the Special Joint Committee of the Senate
and the House of Commons (December
1986), 32.
34 ����������������������������������
L. Brigham, “Commentary: An Inter-
national Polar Navigation Code for the
Twenty-First Century,” Polar Record
33/187 (1997), 283.
35 McCague “High Arctic Grips a Cruise
Ship,” 15.
399
Calgary Papers in Military and Strategic Studies, Occasional Paper No. 4, 2011
Canadian Arctic Sovereignty and Security: Historical Perspectives Pages 401–422

Pathetic Fallacy: That Canada’s Arctic

Sovereignty is on Thinning Ice
Franklyn Griffiths

F
or a while now, Professor Rob Huebert of the University of Calgary
and I have been caught up in a debate about the Northwest Passage.
As will become clear at the end of this piece, we agree on certain im-
portant things. However, we disagree sharply on whether the undoubted
thinning of sea ice in the various waterways that make up the Passage will
produce not only an increase in intercontinental shipping, but a shipping-
based challenge to Canada’s sovereignty over its Arctic waters. Huebert
believes that an increased volume of foreign shipping and, consequently,
a sovereignty challenge are both very likely, and require sovereignty-
affirming action by the federal Government without delay. Some years
ago my way of thinking about these things would have been much like
Professor Huebert’s.
Some years in the future quite a new set of worries about sovereignty
will doubtless be raised. Hand wringing about loss of the Arctic is part of
the Canadian way. Somehow we never get beyond it to collective action that
works. In part, this is because good judgement and a fixation on sovereignty
do not sit well together. As we shall see, a predisposition to immoderate and
unjustified fear for Arctic sovereignty requires us to exaggerate the threats
we face. It chokes the consideration of alternative courses of action. In its
small way it stifles ambition and adds unwarranted apprehension to life in
this country. If we cannot leave it fully behind, we should at least reduce its
hold on us.
It is my view that climate change presents us with no serious sover-
eignty problem in the Northwest Passage where commercial navigation is
concerned. However, we may well have a need to prepare for new security
and environmental challenges associated with a gradual increase in sum-
mer-months foreign shipping, which offers little or no challenge to Canada’s
occupancy of the high Arctic Archipelago. Professor Huebert is inclined to
alarm about and to defence of the Passage. I am not worried about sover-
eignty over the Passage, and would instead have us do a better job of look-
ing after the Archipelago in its entirety. In my opinion, what is interesting
about our disagreement, and what makes it worth pursuing, is its potential

© Centre for Military and Strategic Studies http://cmss.ucalgary.ca/ 401

PATHETIC FALLACY

to prompt new thinking among southern Canadians who would accomplish

good things in an Arctic setting from which they are divorced.
Professor Huebert went first with an article, “Climate Change and
Canadian Sovereignty in the Northwest Passage,” which appeared early in
2002. This paper likened Canada’s business prospects in the Passage to those
of a straits state: “Singapore has demonstrated that with the proper planning,
geographic location on an international strait can bring substantial benefits.”1
Evidently, a great lot of ships were going to steam through Canada’s
Arctic waters. How these waters could serve as an international strait and
yet remain subject to Canadian sovereignty under international law was,
and is, hard to fathom. Huebert’s work appeared around the time of a large
conference in Ottawa on the “Thinning Ice” theme, which was organized by
the Canadian Arctic Resources Committee and others in January 2002. At
that meeting I questioned the sovereignty-on-thinning-ice thesis, and later
went on to write up my views.2 Huebert replied in detail, and then we had
a further exchange.3 I now write to inject new considerations and to inquire
where this debate may have taken us as of early 2005. In so doing, I seek to
drive a few more nails into the coffin of sovereignty-on-thinning-ice think-
ing, and to see if we might yet broaden the area of agreement by considering
the potential for Inuit to provide leadership in a new approach to the Arctic
Archipelago.

Opening Statements
Although he had precursors, most notably Colonel Pierre Leblanc when
he served as head of [Canadian Forces Northern Area], Professor Huebert
started things off by claiming the following in the summary of his winter
2002 piece: “Climate change in the Arctic is a serious challenge to Canadian
Arctic sovereignty and security. Climate change has already led to thinning
of the ice cover in the Northwest Passage. If this continues, commercial inter-
national shipping and other forms of activity in the area will become more
viable. If this happens, Canadian control over its Arctic will face two signifi-
cant challenges. First, current efforts by the Canadian government to main-
tain sovereignty over the Northwest Passage are unlikely to succeed. Second,
Canada will need to substantially rethink its enforcement and surveillance
capabilities in the Arctic, which will require significant new expenditures in
these areas.”4
In support of this statement Huebert asserted that if ice conditions be-
came substantially less hazardous, if only for a limited period each year, the
Passage would be of “tremendous interest to major shipping companies as

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well as the countries that avail themselves of their services.”5 This was be-
cause, compared with the route between Atlantic and Asian ports through
Panama, sailing via the Canadian Archipelago promised to save thousands
of kilometres. Indeed it would.
So, as originally presented by Huebert, the danger was that easier ice
conditions and an “ice-free Northwest Passage” for however brief an inter-
val, would change the situation “drastically”6 and bring major shipping
companies to use Canada’s Arctic waters for intercontinental navigation on a
large scale. Furthermore, the danger was gathering rapidly as a result both of
the extent and rate of ice reduction, and of the long lead times required for a
coherent Canadian government response.
As some are sure to know, the Arctic waters in question, long regarded
as internal by Canada and formally enclosed as Canadian internal wat-
ers in 1986, are taken to be an international strait by the US and the EU. In
Huebert’s view our legal claim to exclusive jurisdiction, or sovereignty, was
shaky. It was unlikely to withstand a challenge in the event that changing
ice conditions were generally understood to permit economic international
shipping through the Archipelago. Accordingly, though it was “impossible
to know who will make the first challenge,”7 Huebert argued there would be
a challenge and, as matters stood, the odds did not favour Canada emerging
with sovereignty intact. On the other hand, even if sovereignty were upheld,
Canada would still be faced with enormous difficulty in responding to pres-
sure for international shipping as the Northwest Passage opened.8 There was
thus a second, but heavily muted, scenario in Huebert’s original account: not
one where Canada’s Arctic sovereignty was faced with speedily approaching
peril, but one in which foreign shipping firms made use of the Passage in
conformity with Canadian law and regulations.
My response in 2003, in a paper entitled “The Shipping News,” identi-
fied and criticized what I took to be a whole series of unwarranted assump-
tions and misreadings in the sovereignty-on-thinning-ice position. The main
instances of what I regarded as error and exaggeration concerned (1) sea-ice
conditions, (2) the likely calculations of intercontinental shipping firms, and
(3) failure to consider the consequences of September 11, 2001 on the politics
of the Northwest Passage in Canada-US relations. As well, it was my view
that in southern Canada, where the vast majority of us live, there is no social
base for constancy on matters of Arctic public policy. Furthermore, though
exclusive jurisdiction had to be sustained and defended as a practical matter,
the idea of sovereignty was incapable of serving us well in framing the big
picture of what was happening, and what needed to be done in the Arctic.

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PATHETIC FALLACY

Instead, we needed a new approach that relied upon Inuit, in the exercise of
Canadian stewardship over the Arctic Archipelago in an era of rapid climate
and geopolitical change.
On sea ice, I readily concurred that ice cover was thinning in the Arctic
Ocean as a whole, and in the Canadian Archipelago as well. There could
be no question about this. Nevertheless, previous, current, and future sea-
ice conditions in the Archipelago had to be evaluated on their own, and not
as a linear extension of developments in the Ocean. The constricted waters
of the Archipelago and those of the open Ocean were different. Relying on
Canadian Ice Service data, I argued that summer-months ice conditions in
the Northwest Passage had varied greatly and in all likelihood would con-
tinue to do so from one shipping season to the next, and also from one sub-
region to the next across the Archipelago. Referring to future projections
generated by the Service, I also argued that even if the rate of ice-cover re-
duction over the past three decades were to persist into the 2030s, we would
still be held to a shipping season of relatively unimpeded access for only
eight weeks out of 52 in a given year. It seemed to me, Canadians would
be well advised to go on guard whenever they heard talk of an ice-free
Northwest Passage.
Furthermore, owing to the way it was calculated, a shipping season of
eight weeks would not necessarily consist of 56 consecutive days in which
non-ice-strengthened ships could expect to sail as they wished. Instead, the
window of opportunity could be substantially less and, yes, substantially
more, as ice gathered in or disappeared from one part of the Passage or an-
other. Meanwhile, in addition to needing a forecast of six or seven days’ clear
sailing to cross the Archipelago, the ship dispatcher would also have to be
confident that the forecast for the Passage was good for the number of days
needed to travel from, say, an Asian port of departure to the start of Canada’s
westernmost Arctic waters.
Presented with such uncertainty, it seemed to me that major shipping
firms would not find it a tremendously appealing business proposition to
make extensive summer-months use of the Northwest Passage in the course
of the next 30 years. Three decades and more from now, ice-cover reduction
in the Arctic Ocean could make for substantial summertime reductions in
transpolar sailing time directly across the Arctic Ocean, as compared with
use of the constricted waterways of the Northwest Passage or, for that mat-
ter, Russia’s Northern Sea Route. And for the period before the 2030s, why
did the sovereignty-on-thinning-ice exponent dwell selectively on a climate-
driven opening of the Passage, when intercontinental shipping firms also

404
 FRANKLYN GRIFFITHS

had the option of relying on an established Russian shipping administration

in broadly the same climate-change conditions?
Scrutinized for its assumptions about climate change and shipping,
the entire scenario of a commercial shipping threat to Canadian Arctic
sovereignty struck me as unrealistic and all but wishful in its desire to
construct a threat. To be sure, climate change promised severe stress and
even disaster for Arctic wildlife, and much the same for the indigenous
peoples of the region. But sovereignty was different. Here, thinning ice
presented us with a limited challenge at the very most. On the one hand,
there were rogue ship owners and foolish captains who could pose a law
enforcement, and not a sovereignty, hazard to Canada and Canadians. On
the other hand, we were faced with the potential for a small and slowly
increasing number of north-south continental and conceivably also east-
west intercontinental voyages, in the summer months, by ship owners and
operators who had no business interest in offering a challenge to Canadian
Arctic sovereignty.
As well, it seemed to me that altered US and Canadian continental
security interests after 9/11 could make for wider cooperation than before
on Arctic waters issues without prejudice to the opposed claims of the two
states in international law. Indeed, I thought we should ask Washington to
consider whether its homeland security interests might now be better served
by a regime that treated the Northwest Passage not as an international strait,
but as internal Canadian waters subject to Canadian law and law enforce-
ment. To all of this Professor Huebert had a rebuttal.

Rebuttals
Huebert’s reply in “The Shipping News Part II”9 strongly supported the
proposal to build a new partnership between the federal Government and
Canada’s Inuit in charting policy for the Arctic Archipelago in its entirety.
There was common ground here. Huebert also began to step away from some
parts of the original argument. On the other hand, he flatly rejected the no-
tion of talking directly to the US and proceeded to advance new reasons for
worry: accelerated rates of ice-cover reduction, an attraction to the Passage
by “smaller and, possibly, more risk-oriented shipping companies,” and the
thought that only a few voyages made without Canadian permission could
be enough to invalidate our claim in international law.10 Further, in his view
I favoured “the luxury of waiting [in the belief that] the ice is not melting
during our lifetime and ... it is best to leave these concerns to future genera-
tions.”11 What I do believe is that if we do not get the underlying evaluation

405
PATHETIC FALLACY

of the situation right, the public policies we pursue are likely to fall well short
of expectation when they do not end in outright failure.
Huebert’s main concession was to recognize that “ice conditions will
remain dangerous”; that it “may be correct that most major international
shipping companies are not willing to risk a voyage through a dangerous
Northwest Passage, given its unpredictability ... but there is no way to know
for certain”; and that the “contention of there being a low probability of ma-
jor shipping companies using the Passage may be correct [even though] the
potential for its use still remains high.”12 Finding himself in the domain of
the potential as distinct from the probable, when it came not to heavy but
even to infrequent intercontinental use of the Passage by reputable marine
transportation firms, Huebert also seemed to have found himself with a re-
duced sovereignty threat. As I see it, the whole sovereignty-on-thinning-ice

Map 16. Globe and Mail, 27 May 2008.

406
 FRANKLYN GRIFFITHS

scenario was starting to come apart. However, rather than do the right thing
and concentrate on seeking out the probable in the midst of uncertainty--
indeed, concentrate on his initial recognition that international shipping
might respect Canadian sovereignty--he brought on new sea-ice, shipping,
and legal potentialities.
Thus he referred to studies, which suggested, albeit thus far inconclu-
sively, that the rate of Arctic sea-ice melt may have been underestimated.13
If new and higher melt rates were confirmed, Huebert would have had the
Government of Canada take “immediate action even if the impacts of the
problem are not expected to be felt for 10 to 15 years.”14 My comment is two-
fold. The key study in question is derived from satellite imagery of the Arctic
region. This imagery lacks the resolution to discriminate between summer-
months sea-ice conditions in the Canadian Archipelago and those in the
Arctic Ocean as a whole. For example, ice-cover reduction in the Archipelago
is accompanied by the release into the Passage of multi-year ice. The equiva-
lent of floating steel, multi-year ice is a prime peril for ships that have not
been properly ice-strengthened.15 To infer dramatically eased ice conditions
in the Canadian Arctic from observed dramatic change in the region in its
entirety is unsound.
As to the shipping challenge that remained when major firms were de-
moted from probable to potential players, Huebert resorted to all but heroic
measures to keep the danger alive. First, he raised, and then quixotically
all but dismissed as unsubstantiated fear-mongering, the risk of a rogue
company entering the Passage ready to take risks with a substandard vessel
in pursuit of profit over safety.16 As I see it, rogue voyages made seemingly
easier by reduced sea-ice cover could well give rise to environmental and
other threats to Canada and Canadian Arctic residents. But not to sover-
eignty threats, any more than thousands of Mexicans moving illegally across
the border into the US constitute a challenge to American sovereignty. In
both cases the challenge is to law enforcement. To this it may be said that the
Canadian case is different in that there is indeed an international dispute
over Canada’s right to exclusive jurisdiction. My reply is that this particular
dispute is not only off the back burner, but off the stove. It will be as good as
altogether out of the kitchen if Canada and the US can find their way to new
North American security cooperation. Meanwhile, are we to believe that a
rogue shipping company whose vessel has been seized by Canada is going
to persuade a state to take Canada to the International Court of Justice on
a charge whose wording Canada must accept if anything is to go before a
panel of Judges? That a series of unimpeded rogue voyages will contribute

407
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significantly to a record of practice, which works against Canada, if and

when we went to court with the US or another government? I think not.
To bolster the shipping worry, Professor Huebert (2003) also referred
to new Russian and US construction of ice-strengthened container and
tanker ships.17 Ten or more Russian vessels were being built for use on the
Northern Sea Route. However, as he noted, Russia’s claim to jurisdiction
over certain of the waters along the Route ran into difficulties rather like
those faced by Canada in the Passage. To me this makes it unlikely that any
new Russian ice-capable ships would be used against the Canadian inter-
est. Huebert also raised the potentiality of these vessels being sold to an-
other user for deployment in the Canadian Arctic. Conceivable but remote,
I would say. As to the US, he reported the construction of five ice-strength-
ened supertankers to move oil from Valdez in Alaska to ports on the US
west coast. However, he also allowed it was highly unlikely that these ships
would be used to take oil regularly through the Northwest Passage to the
US east coast.18 Indeed, if these ships were strengthened for high Arctic use
in the dead of winter, it would be for strategic purposes, having little or
nothing to do with the economics of shipping in thinning ice. All of which
reminds me.
Early in September 1985, I was invited to the Department of External
Affairs to lend a hand in drafting the “Statement on Sovereignty,” which was
read in Parliament on September 10th. Previously I had broken the news that
the US icebreaker Polar Sea would transit the Northwest Passage in defiance
of Canadian sovereignty, which is to say without first asking for permission
to cross. In a second op-ed piece in The Globe and Mail at the end of August,
when the Polar Sea was going through and on a day when Cabinet was meet-
ing in Vancouver to consider the acquisition of a Polar-class icebreaker, I
had urged we ante up and build a best-in-the-world icebreaker for defence
of sovereignty. On reading the draft Statement, which among other things
was to announce the Polar 8 icebreaker commitment, I found it short on sup-
porting references to what other countries were doing. So, in went words on
the need for Canada to come up to speed in the light of polar shipbuilding
in Japan and West Germany. The words went in not to crank up the threat,
but because, like Huebert today, I was a true believer in Arctic sovereignty, in
vigilance, in paying the price to protect what is singularly precious. However,
the words proved later to be inapt and the Polar 8 commitment proved to be
unsustainable. Worried words from Huebert about current Russian and US
shipbuilding, which could yield new danger for Canadian sovereignty, are
almost certainly off the mark today.

408
 FRANKLYN GRIFFITHS

In “The Shipping News” (2003) I had also advanced the view that the
events of September 11 may have altered the international politics of the
Northwest Passage. Both Canada and the US now shared a greatly increased
interest in security cooperation against terrorist and related non-traditional
threats. Issues that threatened sharply to divide the two countries, most nota-
bly the status of the Northwest Passage, had more than ever to be managed
to the satisfaction of both, or common security would suffer, as certainly it
would if the US ran roughshod over Canada’s claim. At the same time, in
the new circumstances no state could expect unilaterally to penetrate the
security space of North America by contriving the transit of a ship or ships
in a way that put Canada’s sovereignty claim on the line. An attack on the
Canadian interest now necessarily became an attack on the American in-
terest, unless the third state was acting with tacit US support. In the latter
instance the US itself would be our problem. Of course Washington could
cause us grief. However, I argued, the probability had lessened since 9/11.
Instead, both sides were in a better position than ever to lay their Arctic wat-
ers differences to rest.
With this in mind, “The Shipping News” had suggested that we negoti-
ate an extension of the 1988 Canada-US icebreaker transit agreement to cover
the commercial vessels of both countries, and eventually others, without
prejudice to the position of any party in international law. As well I pro-
posed talking to the US about making it mandatory for vessels to provide
advance notice before entering Canada’s Arctic waters, and to do so in a man-
ner which, again, did not prejudice the differing positions in law. Owing to
sensitivity on both sides about Canada’s jurisdiction, mandatory notification
was not something we had insisted upon, even though in its absence a path
of least resistance could start to open for illicit entry into North America. On
both of these proposals Canada and the US should, I thought, be able to build
within a framework of already existing practice, i.e., without either side hav-
ing to accept less than it presently had in law. At a very minimum, it seemed
to me that these issues were worth pursing in private exploratory talks.
Huebert’s response was to avoid considering specific proposals and, in-
deed, to write off the thought of talking to the US. Instead, he referred to US
conduct prior to September 11 in order to claim that nowadays, “Americans
feel stronger about the principle of freedom of navigation through inter-
national straits over any security interests achieved through a Canadianized
Northwest Passage.”19 That the Navy might overrule Homeland Security in
an internal US discussion today could not, of course, be ruled out. However,
it was my belief that we had entered a new world. Just how different and,

409
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indeed, how enabling it might be, we would never discover by resting on the
historical record and declining to explore. Resting, however, was Huebert’s
preference. Accordingly, he cited a post-9/11 remark of the US Ambassador
to Canada to claim no change in the American position on the Passage: “We
have not resolved that dispute and there’s not really a lot of need to do so
right now.”20 Similarly, in Huebert’s view the United States saw “no need
to change its position.” There was “nothing to suggest that they have aban-
doned their opposition to the Canadian claim.” Furthermore, should “any
vessels attempt to go through the Passage without Canadian permission, it
can be expected that [Washington] will support their right to do so.”21 All of
this was beside the point.
In exploring opportunities for collaboration under a without-prejudice
legal regime, Canada would in no way require the US to alter its position in
law, much less to surrender its judgement of the Canadian claim. Nor would
the US need Canada to cave in. There would be no talk of “Canadianizing”
the Northwest Passage. Nor would anyone seek to resolve the Canada-US
dispute. Instead, the two sides would work for improved security cooper-
ation without prejudice to what they might say or do if ever the underlying
legal issues came to adjudication. As to the forecast of automatic US sup-
port for the right of any vessel to move through the Passage in defiance of
Canada’s wishes, this we will come to in a moment.

Current Assessment
So, where do we stand as of early 2005? As I see it, Professor Huebert con-
tinues to back away from the original argument. At the same time, his sense
of alarm over Canadian Arctic sovereignty is now expressed in the predic-
tion of a Canada-US crisis over the Northwest Passage. Meanwhile, sover-
eignty-on-thinning-ice thinking continues to gain ground in the wider world
of Canadian public opinion. All in all, it is a peculiar situation. In addressing
it, I need first to acknowledge the influence of the thinning-ice view among
Canadians, and then to add certain new considerations, lest Huebert think of
regaining some of the ground he has surrendered. These new matters have to
do with (1) the economics of intercontinental shipping, (2) the improbability
of a court challenge to the Canadian claim, and (3) the distinction between
reality and perception where the Northwest Passage is concerned.
Casual conversations and more systematic attention to the media both
tell me that sovereignty-on-thinning-ice is becoming the conventional wis-
dom for those who take note of such things in Canada. Media references
to thinning ice are not infrequent. The same applies, if less so, to the men-

410
 FRANKLYN GRIFFITHS

tion of endangered Arctic sovereignty. As a first exhibit, consider a double-

page map spread in Nature Canada,22 which cites a “year-round passable
Northwest Passage.” This piece, which is in fact rather restrained, puts me
in mind of the September 2002 fund-raising letter of the Canadian Arctic
Resources Committee, which takes the Canadian cake for exaggeration. At
that time CARC chose to report (emphasis in the original) that the Arctic
ice cap was “... melting so quickly that within the next 15 years it’s likely
that the once impassable Northwest Passage·will be open to shipping all
year round,” and then went on to ask, “Did you know that the U.S. is al-
ready questioning Canadian sovereignty over the Arctic Islands? And the
lucrative shipping lanes aren’t even open yet.” As to more recent evidence
of concern over thinning ice, it is available in the year-end 2003 issue of This
Magazine, in a Toronto Star editorial of April 2004 which reports predictions
of year-round navigation through the Archipelago within a decade or two,
and in a CBC News Online report of August 2004 from the Canadian ice-
breaker Amundsen, which drew attention to sovereignty under threat from
climate change.23
And then, in November 2004, a lengthy summation of the Arctic Climate
Impact Assessment was released by the Arctic Council, a governmental
forum comprised principally of the eight regional states and international
organizations of Arctic indigenous peoples.24 This report drew new public
attention to what can only be called stunning ice and snow reductions across
the region. Never mind that it did not differentiate between the Canadian
Archipelago and the Arctic Ocean when it came to changing sea-ice condi-
tions, busy Canadians could hardly be expected to hesitate in applying this
new Arctic-wide evaluation directly to the Northwest Passage and to the
likelihood of sovereignty-challenging navigation there. Indeed, the Globe
& Mail report on the assessment was headlined, “Arctic melt may open up
Northwest Passage.”25
All of which goes to show that the notion of Arctic sovereignty on
thinning ice has real appeal. It is dramatic. It is of proven interest to those
who write the news. It fuses climate change and sovereignty into a heady
mix which right-thinking Canadians can hardly ignore. Think nothing of
snow- and ice-cover loss in our country? It’s not on. Do nothing, and raise
no budgets for new Arctic operations when sovereignty is threatened? That
is also not on, but as the Polar 8 showed, neither is it so easy. Yield to exag-
gerated fear and mistrust of the US? That is on for some of us. Nevertheless,
the vision of Canada’s Arctic sovereignty in peril cannot withstand scrutiny.
Consider merely what has happened thus far to Huebert’s position.

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PATHETIC FALLACY

On sea ice, Huebert’s initial readiness to speak in terms of an ice-free

Northwest Passage gave way, first, to an acknowledgement that we may
have underestimated region-wide melt rates but do not yet know for sure.
But then, rather than attempt to make the case for a rapid easing of ice con-
ditions in the Canadian Archipelago as well, he reverted strongly to the re-
gion-wide picture and to a faster-than-expected reduction in total Arctic ice
cover. Citing advance notice of the Arctic Climate Impact Assessment, he went
on to announce that we would “soon be facing a sovereignty crisis as tem-
peratures rise in the arctic even faster than had been expected.”26 So, now
we are talking of crisis, and crisis soon. But what might “soon” mean, when
Huebert also quotes the ACIA chairman as saying that the Assessment’s
models point to a “substantial ice free summer period in the Canadian …
north by the middle of this century”?27 (italics added) Evidently the approach-
ing Arctic sovereignty crisis will not have a great deal to do with changing
ice conditions in the Northwest Passage. In moving to a “crisis-soon” argu-
ment Huebert begins to sidestep thinning-ice considerations altogether.
As to shipping, Huebert’s expectations have been scaled down radically.
Initially, the traffic was to be great enough to make Canada into something
of an Arctic Singapore. Then, only a number of rogue shipping companies
and some Russian and American ice-strengthened bulk carriers posed the
threat. Now, the crisis-soon scenario effectively reduces the threat to one
shipping firm: “As soon as any company wishes to go through ... it will need
to ‘pick a side.’ It will either take the American position and not ask the ...
Canadian Government for permission to enter these waters, or it will ask
permission, thereby supporting the Canadian ... position.”28 Either way, the
argument now goes, one ship owner is capable of forcing the United States
and Canada into a confrontation. Furthermore, Huebert claims that, “... even
if the shipping company does not ask permission, the United States will find
itself required to defend the rights of the company, even if it did not want to
do so at the time.”29 I disagree with all of this, and will now show why. Note,
however, that, as in the case of sea-ice conditions in the Passage, Huebert has
all but abandoned the original sovereignty-on-thinning-ice position on the
volume of shipping that is to be expected.
As I see it, the principal reason not to worry about a single-company
challenge in the Northwest Passage is that no reputable firm will attempt
to run the Canadian Archipelago in the decades-long period before the op-
tion of summer-months transpolar navigation presents itself. In making it
clear why this should be so, I would like to lay to rest, once and for all, the
expectation that responsible shipowners will risk non-strengthened vessels

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 FRANKLYN GRIFFITHS

in Canada’s Arctic waters. My point of departure is Huebert’s original claim

that “substantial savings for shipping companies, which translates into re-
duced costs for the products that are shipped,”30 can be realized by using the
Northwest Passage for bulk transport between Atlantic and Pacific ports.
If Canada’s Arctic waters are to offer a viable alternative to existing
routes for intercontinental navigation, non-ice-strengthened containerships-
-not tankers, tramps, or rogues--will have to take up the opportunity. In
considering what the savings and risks might be for a top-of-the-line firm,
let us imagine a 2,800-unit or relatively small box ship currently using the
Suez Canal to carry general cargo on regular voyages between Yokohama
and Rotterdam. She weighs 35,000 tonnes, is not ice-strengthened, and cost
about $35-million to launch a couple of years ago. For amusement, let us call
her the Suzie Q. Owned by a reputable firm, the Suzie Q ordinarily sails 24/7
at 16 knots on the high seas, and does so at a rate of $23,000.00 per day on a
timecharter basis plus fuel. The timecharter rate includes amortization, regu-
lar insurance, crew, port, periodic drydocking and maintenance, and a profit
margin. As to fuel, let us say it costs $175.00 per tonne at 40 tonnes per day.
As distinct from tramp ships, which sail from one job to the next, wherever
it happens to take them, the Suzie Q is part of a highly competitive industry
in which every day gained and lost on a set and, therefore, economic route is
what it is all about.
The Suzie Q has the choice of proceeding from Japan to the Netherlands
via Suez, or the Northwest Passage. Should she sail the Passage, there could
be substantial added insurance payable against holing, accident not involv-
ing ice, environmental liability, search and rescue, and litigation, all with
the inevitable deductibles. Just how much it costs to insure for a transit of
the Northwest Passage, and what the deductibles are, is hard to say since
as yet there is no orderly market for a venture like this. Still, how do the
two routes compare? Are fears over sovereignty supported by the prospect
of substantial savings to shipping firms who might be moved to challenge
Canada?
The distance from Yokohama to Rotterdam via the Northwest Passage is
about 7,600 nm or nautical miles (all distances and indeed all numbers cited
here being approximate). Via the Suez Canal it is 11,200 nm (12,500 nm via
Panama), and is done in about 30 days at 16 knots. The Passage, therefore,
offers a saving of 3,600 nm over Suez. As well, there is a charge for use of
the Canal. For a laden ship the size of the Suzie Q, the toll would work out to
around $125,000.00. This amount would be saved by using Canadian waters,
that is, as long as Canada refrained from levying a transit fee of its own.

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PATHETIC FALLACY

Of the 3,600 nm saved over the Suez route, some 1,600 would be in the
open ocean, and about 2,000 in the Archipelago and its western and eastern
approaches. Assuming a steady 16 knots over a total of 5,600 nm of open
ocean, the Suzie Q would do that part of the distance in 14.6 days. Assuming,
purely for the sake of illustration, a steady speed of 16 knots across 2,000
nm of entirely ice-free Canadian and North American waters, she would
make the Arctic transit in 5.2 days and, thus, the entire voyage in just under
20 days. The result would be a saving of ten days over Suez, to which the
shipowner would add the equivalent of four days in avoided tolls. Darting
through the Northwest Passage at 16 knots accordingly yields a total saving
of something like 14 days. This amounts to about $420,000.00 per voyage on
a daily timecharter of $23,000.00 plus fuel at $7,000.00 per diem. Extremely
inviting, it would appear, but also extremely problematic.
A rate of 16 knots in virtually open water with no multi-year ice or fog,
and with sufficiently reliable advance notice to allow for time in transit from
Yokohama to Arctic North American waters, all of this could conceivably be
achieved by the Suzie Q on occasion. However, in no way on a regular basis.
For the ship owner, presented with a favourable ice report, there would still
be the risk of an unfavourable turn in ice conditions, in the likelihood of
delay, and in the possibility of accident. All the while, the Government of
Canada could not be expected to set aside the hard won provisions of the
Arctic Waters Pollution Prevention Act until the ice was all but gone from
the Archipelago on a regular basis. In principle, this could mean allowing
last-minute transits by non-strengthened ships in ideal conditions if and
when they occurred. But otherwise Canada would insist that vessels be
appropriately strengthened, thereby imposing a huge annual amortization
expense on the carrier, certainly huge enough to wipe out summer-months
gains over Suez. And then there are the insurers. They reportedly charge two
to three times the openwater rate for vessels traversing Russia’s Northern
Sea Route.31 It is hard to see them accepting greatly less than $100,000.00 in
covering last-minute rapid transits of a Northwest Passage – whose waters
have still to be fully charted. So now we are down to about $320,000.00 saved
by the Suzie Q’s owners, should they be foolish enough in the first place to
consider streaking through the Northwest Passage with a high-value ship.
The Northwest Passage is not a rapid transit system. To state what
should be apparent to anyone considering the potential for foreign naviga-
tion in Canada’s Arctic waters, the appeal of the Passage for intercontinental
voyages by non-ice-strengthened ships depends very heavily on ice condi-
tions. Suppose conditions were judged capable of causing delay to the point

414
 FRANKLYN GRIFFITHS

of reducing anticipated average speed to seven knots (168 nm per day). In

this case, the North American Arctic traverse would take the Suzie Q 12 days,
resulting in a total voyage of some 27 days. The saving over Suez would add
up to three days sailing plus four days’ equivalent in tolls avoided, for a total
of $210,000.00 per voyage in less than perfect conditions. Subtract from this
$100,000.00 for insurance, together with additional sums for satellite-based
ice reconnaissance and the services of an ice navigator for the Canadian por-
tion, and the potential saving over Suez might well come down to $100,000.00.
For this kind of money, and when other safer ways are available, an inter-
continental shipping firm would not sail a route whose appeal varies from
year to year and, indeed, from day to day during a summer-months shipping
season.
Nor would the outlook for a challenge improve if owners went to the
expense of acquiring or leasing modestly ice-strengthened ships, such as
those capable of navigation in Baltic or St. Lawrence first-year ice. These
ships cannot handle the multi-year ice that appears with increasing fre-
quency in the Canadian Archipelago. Strengthening up to lower-level Arctic
class would certainly increase safety in ice and the length of the shipping
season. But, either way, the year-round amortization cost would blow away
any advantage gained from summer-months use of strengthened ships on
the Northwest Passage route as compared with Suez and, for that matter,
Panama.
This is by no means to say that reputable shipping companies will never
present a challenge to Canadian Arctic sovereignty. Certainly they could. But
the challenge would stem from strategic concerns having little to do with the
economics of shipping in conventional vessels, and much to do with year-
round navigation using heavily ice-strengthened bulk carriers. To be precise
about this, we have long lived with a potential American need to run oil and
natural gas through Canadian Arctic waters on a regular basis. The danger
here continues to owe nothing to thinning ice except insofar as Canadian
exaggeration about easing conditions might now contribute to a US misper-
ception of the Northwest Passage as ice-free.
In sum, there is no good business reason for a reputable firm to mount
the single-ship challenge that Huebert is telling us to expect. On the contrary,
the crisis-soon scenario is without motivated actors where major companies
are concerned. Nor does the prospect of a credible challenge to Canadian
Arctic sovereignty fare any better when rogue firms are pressed into service.
In the particular context of interest to us here, the word “rogue” suggests
an unstrengthened ship run by a fly-by-night owner who does at least two of

415
PATHETIC FALLACY

the following four things: sails with no insurance; carries illicit cargo; oper-
ates without direct reference to competing commercial carriers; and is ready,
if necessary, to abandon or otherwise lose his vessel. The rogue would not be
primarily concerned to save money by taking the shorter route between Asia
and Europe. Rather, he would want, above all, to avoid detection in mov-
ing illegal migrants or, for that matter, surface-to-air missiles for use to the
south. In no way, therefore, would he take sides on the matter of permission
to enter Canadian waters, as called for by Huebert’s crisis scenario. Quite the
contrary, he would be sure not to ask permission. Nor, in a post-9/11 environ-
ment, would the US or any other maritime power “find itself required,” as
Huebert puts it, to defend the rights of the owner and oppose Canada in the
event it enforced the law on a rogue in Canadian Arctic waters.
If we are still determined to find ships that might, before long, force a
Canada-US Arctic waters crisis, we could turn from rogues to what might
be called occasional vessels. To begin, we might consider tramp ships: more
or less properly insured, carrying fair cargo like grain or wood, plying no
set route, sometimes prepared to take risks, but not to lose the ship in ice.
As matters stand, such vessels move in and out of Canadian waters without
transiting the Passage, for example in sailing between Europe and the port
of Churchill on Hudson Bay. Not strengthened against ice, they find that the
length of the shipping season is effectively determined for them by the insur-
ance companies. How anyone of these ships might also find it economic to
head further north on an intercontinental voyage that brought Washington
and Ottawa to a clash over the Canadian claim is hard to imagine. Let us
nevertheless assume that the necessary ice-condition and business require-
ments are met and a tramp ship does come through the Archipelago. Even
then, a key feature of the crisis-soon scenario fails to apply.
Huebert envisages a “take-sides” situation in which the shipowner has
to decide whether or not to request Canadian permission to enter. If permis-
sion is requested, he says, the US will be forced to challenge the company
(whatever that may mean) and presumably Canada, or otherwise abandon
its position on the Passage and set an unfortunate precedent for freedom of
navigation elsewhere.32 However, permission or not is not an issue for com-
mercial ships, because Canada does not require them to ask for permission
to enter its Arctic waters.33 The “take-sides” event that Huebert predicts is
not on. Accordingly, the crisis-soon scenario for Canada and the US in the
Northwest Passage must rely on the expectation that Washington would not
challenge the company but, on the contrary, defend the rights of the com-
pany, even if it did not ask for permission to enter the Passage.34

416
 FRANKLYN GRIFFITHS

As matters stand, the few ships that do transit the Northwest Passage are
part of a slow and largely trouble-free increase in intercontinental naviga-
tion by what might be called non-cargo vessels. Tugs tow barges and drilling
rigs between Atlantic and Pacific locations. Tourist ships appear in growing
numbers. Marine scientific activity increases. As well, yachts and adven-
turers make their way as ice conditions permit. Activities like these have
been going on for years without the US finding reason to mount a defence
of ship owners’ interests. Indeed, Canada denied entry to a German scien-
tific research ship, the Polar Stern, without Washington or, for that matter,
the European Union finding it necessary to challenge Canadian sovereignty.
Nevertheless, preconditions could arise for Canadian law-enforcement activ-
ity – for example in obliging an inadequately strengthened cruise ship to
turn back under the terms of the Arctic Waters Pollution Prevention Act. The
US, for its part, could object to the Canadian action. But in such a way that
would bring on the definitive clash that Huebert anticipates? I cannot envis-
age a confrontation here any better than I can in looking at tramp, rogue,
and top-of-the line shipping operations. The crisis-soon scenario shares the
larger unreality of the thinning-ice thesis. This brings me to Huebert’s dis-
tinction between perception and reality in the Northwest Passage.
To the degree that ice-condition and shipping-related data contradict
the sovereignty-on-thinning-ice argument, other considerations must be
advanced if we are to keep worrying. Huebert35 states that, “... the precise
date the Northwest Passage becomes ice free for an extended period in the
summer is not as important as the perception that it is becoming ice free
and shipping is possible.” Similarly, “It does not matter ... whether or not the
Northwest Passage or the Northern Sea Route is truly ready for shipping. All
that will be required is that someone believes that it is the case. That is why
the ‘thinning ice’ thesis must be taken seriously.” If this were true, the thin-
ning-ice advocate would actually be helping to bring on a sovereignty crisis
by minimizing uncertainty and exaggerating the extent to which an ice-free
Northwest Passage will soon be of interest to shipping firms. Be that as it may,
key Canadian government agencies are not persuaded by the thinning-ice
thesis. Nor are officials in the US Ice Service, Navy, and other departments.
Whereas the Office of Naval Research co-sponsored a 2001 meeting and re-
port on “Naval Operations in an Ice-Free Arctic,” a follow-on meeting in 2005
will consider naval operations in an “ice-reduced” Arctic. If the US Navy is
steering clear of the misperception that the Passage is becoming truly ready
for naval operations and commercial shipping, we may expect the American
Government as a whole to steer clear. Canadians, rather than dwelling on a

417
PATHETIC FALLACY

similar misperception and its crisis-soon corollary, might well explore the
opportunity for new Arctic North American security cooperation.36
Professor Huebert cited the American Ambassador in Ottawa to deny the
potential for Canada-US collaboration on Arctic-waters issues. Mr. Cellucci,
however, said some new and interesting things about Canadian Arctic sover-
eignty on a trip to Iqaluit in October 2004.37 There he suggested in an interview
that the Northwest Passage might better be left to Canada. Coming from an
American ambassador, this was noteworthy. Cellucci reasoned that at a time
when the US saw everything through the prism of terrorism, it could be safer
with the Passage under Canadian control. This view he had communicated
to Washington. “So, perhaps when this ... is brought to the table again we
may have to take another look at this.” Of course the Ambassador does not
make the policy. Nonetheless, there is a signal here. It should be explored,
and with it the potential for change in the US thinking about the Northwest
Passage in an era of homeland security. It is collaboration, not the unfounded
and overwrought expectation of a sovereignty crisis that ought to command
our attention now, and in future dealings with the United States on the Arctic
waters of North America. What I said about without-prejudice arrangements
a couple of years back38 still holds true and is hereby reaffirmed.

Conclusion
In my view the whole idea of sovereignty on thinning ice is a fallacy, and a
pathetic one at that. We could well do without it. However, and here I must
concede, not until an alternative is at hand. In truth, sovereignty is the first
language of southern Canadians as they consider Arctic affairs. Say “Arctic”
and “sovereignty,” and an entire field of meaning is accessed without effort.
Until we evolve and get used to a new idiom, the old vocabulary will be with
us. Furthermore, it has to be recognized that Canadians’ readiness to fixate
on Arctic sovereignty, wrong-headed as it is, does serve us in our dealings
with the US. That informed Americans know Canada would go ballistic in
the event of a confrontation, much less a defeat, over the Northwest Passage
is surely a factor for stability in the agree-to-disagree regime. Still, we could
help ourselves by looking afresh at the idea of sovereignty to see whether,
aside from its effects in Canadian-American relations, it might also be made
to serve us better in the Canadian Arctic itself.
For most of us, if and when we happen to think about it, sovereignty
amounts to the legitimate and exclusive right in law to control what goes on
in a territorially delimited space. Accordingly, we set ourselves up to deal
with what I call old-style legal sovereignty problems with old-style hardware.

418
 FRANKLYN GRIFFITHS

But there is another and more political meaning to the idea of sovereignty. It
highlights the capacity of the sovereign to choose freely and autonomously
in exercising the legal right to exclusive jurisdiction.
For example, consider the potential for loss of sovereignty when, in the
absence of any great increase in the volume of intercontinental shipping
through the Passage, we are faced with the risk of foreign control over the
shipment of Canadian hydrocarbons and hard minerals southwards from
the Canadian Arctic. Any such shipping would, of course, be done in con-
formance with Canadian law. The ships would doubtless be operated by
firms registered in Canada. Year-round resource transportation from the
Canadian high Arctic by heavy icebreaking ships would, therefore, pose no
challenge to sovereignty in the legal sense of the term. However, the capital
required for resource extraction as well as transportation might well be sub-
stantially non-Canadian. The same could apply to the requisite technology,
shipbuilding capacity, and operational expertise, all of which would have a
cutting-edge quality. The less the Canadian content in such things, the more
Canada’s Arctic physical capabilities, appreciation of how to operate in its
own space, sources of scientific and other intelligence, and ability to resist ad-
verse local environmental and social consequences would all suffer. Possible
net effect: reduced Canadian ability to determine what goes on in its Arctic
waters and, on certain of its high Arctic islands as well. The sovereign would
be reduced in the Arctic without anyone anywhere having made the slight-
est reference to title in international law. Carried to an extreme, this kind of
thing could leave us with all but unchallenged title to a Canadian Arctic over
which we had lost all effective control.
To the extent it is agreed that Arctic sovereignty in the legal sense is
well in hand, political sovereignty and capacity building for choice are the
real challenges of the coming years. If so, our needs today are transitional.
In no way slighting preparedness to deal with direct foreign threats to ex-
clusive jurisdiction, we should also be gathering new capacity to maximize
the benefits, within Canada, of international collaboration into which we
have entered voluntarily. We should also prepare to anticipate, avert, and
minimize unwanted environmental and social effects of any resource- and
shipping-related activity in the Archipelago. None of this can be well done in
reactive fashion that is without a larger vision, ambition, and plan for what
we wish to accomplish in the northernmost parts of our country.
One way of starting towards a vision may be to think of Canada as keep-
er of the Northwest Passage – keeper as distinct from loser, but also keeper in
the sense of taking care of. Consistent with the need to make a transition from

419
PATHETIC FALLACY

one understanding of sovereignty to another, we might also begin to define

the agenda for policy in the two interrelated domains of Canadian action as
keeper. Now, however, is not the moment to open a discussion of Canadian
priorities as keeper of the Passage – whether we need new icebreaking and
remote sensing capability, greatly improved bathymetry (underwater depth
charting), stepped-up scientific research in key problem areas, a larger Inuit
representation in the Arctic workforce, or federal government insistence that
Canadian Arctic resource transportation be done in Canadian-owned ships.
Certainly fair game for comment by anyone who is interested, matters such
as these are best ordered in a discussion in which all the interested parties
have a direct say. That we have no such way of proceeding, and that we need
one, are points on which Professor Huebert and I agree.
We should build a stronger capacity for collective choice in the Canadian
Arctic. This we could do by establishing a new Arctic consultative process
which allows all the principal players – federal government departments, ter-
ritorial governments, above all that of Nunavut, and interested private-sector
and civil-society actors – to thrash out a consensus on the priorities for action
with little or no new money any time soon. Call it a consultative committee
on the future of the Archipelago. Such a body would aim to create enduring
coalitions in support of priority measures for stewardship and occupancy of
the high Arctic Archipelago in its entirety. I say include the Government of
Nunavut first of all because Inuit know the area best. They are constant in
their attachment to it in ways that southerners cannot equal. In partnership
with the Federal Government, they will insist on an exercise of control which
is not remote but sensitive to local conditions, not agitated about a distant
place but grounded in that place.
Pathetic fallacy is ordinarily a literary contrivance. An author employs it
to achieve heightened emotion by mirroring a protagonist’s inner state, usu-
ally one of turmoil, in surrounding nature. In Canada, we have the unusual
phenomenon of a pathetic fallacy that is being lived. A number of us have
unwittingly contrived to reinforce our inner state of agitation about the future
of Canada as a distinct society by contemplating the effects of climate change
on the Arctic, and on the Northwest Passage in particular. A pathetic fallacy of
sovereignty on thinning ice does resonate quite nicely. People are not only per-
suaded, but also predisposed to go along with it. However, this kind of thing
does not help us act coherently and consistently in the Arctic. We get nowhere
treating our Arctic as a derivative of our relationship with the United States.
Far better that we southerners move forward with Inuit, and with confidence
in our ability to succeed together, in the high Arctic Archipelago.

420

Notes
Originally published in Canadian For-
eign Policy 11/3 (Spring 2004): 1-16.
1 Rob Huebert, “Climate Change and
Canadian Sovereignty in the North-
west Passage,” Isuma 2/4 (Winter 2001-
2002) 2(4):93. In a similar vein: “If it’s
handled correctly, you sit on an inter-
national strait, take a proactive stand,
and profit nicely.” Usha Lee McFarling,
“Melting Ice, Winds of Change,” Los
Angeles Times, 19 January 2003.
2 Franklyn Griffiths, “The Shipping
News: Canada’s Arctic Sovereignty
Not on Thinning Ice,” International
Journal 58/2 (Spring 2003): 200-222.
3 Rob Huebert, “The Shipping News Part
II: How Canada’s Arctic Sovereignty is
on Thinning Ice,” International Journal
58/3 (2003): 295-308; Franklyn Grif-
fiths, “Is Canada’s Arctic Sovereignty
Threatened?” Arctic Bulletin (World
Wildlife Fund) 1/4 (March 2004): 15-
16; Rob Huebert, “The Coming Arctic
Maritime Sovereignty Crisis,” Arctic
Bulletin 2/4 (July 2004): 22-24.
4 Huebert, “Climate Change and Can-
adian Sovereignty,”86.
5 Huebert, “Climate Change and Can-
adian Sovereignty,” 91.
6 Huebert, “Climate Change and Can-
adian Sovereignty,” 91.
7 Huebert, “Climate Change and Can-
adian Sovereignty,” 91.
8 Huebert, “Climate Change and Can-
adian Sovereignty,” 91, 94.
9 Huebert, “Shipping News Part II”: 295-
308.
10 Huebert, “Shipping News Part II,” 298,
300-02, 305.
11 Huebert, “Shipping News Part II,” 298.
12 Huebert, “Shipping News Part II,” 308,
302, 305.
13 Huebert, “Shipping News Part II,” 300.
The principal reference here is to J.C.
Comiso, “A Rapidly Declining Peren-
FRANKLYN GRIFFITHS
nial Sea Ice Cover in the Arctic,” Geo-
physical Research Letters 29/20 (2002):
17.1-17.4. Huebert might also, but does
not, consult “Accounts from 19th-cen-
tury Canadian Arctic Explorers’ Logs
Reflect Present Climate Conditions,”
Eos 84/40 (2003): 410-412.
14 Huebert, “Shipping News Part II,” 300.
15 In Lancaster Sound, for instance, there
has been a 76 percent increase in the
seasonal coverage of multi-year ice
during summer since 1971, albeit
from very low levels to begin, as old
ice that has lost salt drifts east and
south through the Archipelago. John
Falkingham et al, “Trends in Sea Ice in
the Canadian Arctic.” Paper presented
at the 16th IAHR Symposium on Ice,
Dunedin, New Zealand, 2-3 December
2002: 6-7. More generally, as young-ice
cover is reduced, the way is opened
for larger amounts of multi-year ice
to drift into the Archipelago from the
Western Arctic pack and Beaufort Sea.
16 Huebert, “Shipping News Part II,” 302,
303.
17 Huebert, “Shipping News Part II,” 303,
304.
18 Huebert, “Shipping News Part II,” 304.
19 Huebert, “Shipping News Part II,” 306.
20 Huebert, “Shipping News Part II,” 306
21 Huebert, “Shipping News Part II,” 307.
22 “Bearings: What’s Happening to our
Arctic Sea Ice?” Nature Canada 32/3
(Winter 2003-2004): 28-29.
23 Gordon Laird, “On Thin Ice,” This
Magazine 37/3 (November/December
2003): 32-37; Editorial, “Guarding the
Arctic,” Toronto Star, 5 April 2004; CBC,
“Mapping More of the Northwest
Passage Question of Canadian Sover-
eignty: Scientists,” CBC News Online,
17 August 2004.
24 Arctic Council, Arctic Climate Impact
Assessment: Overview Report (Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press,
421
PATHETIC FALLACY

2004). This being the executive sum- in the 2004 season – one by the Russian
mary of a vast study published in cruise ship Kapitan Khlebnikov, two
2005. See <http://amap.no.acia> for by pleasure craft which took two years
further detail. each to complete the voyage, and all
three of which provided notification
25 Joe Friesen, “Arctic Melt may Open up
prior to entry. Canada’s capacity for
Northwest Passage,” Globe & Mail, 9
surveillance of its Arctic waterways
November 2004.
is, however, such that a ship or ships
26 Huebert, “Coming Arctic Maritime refusing to give notification could
Sovereignty Crisis,” 23. have made the transit in 2004 without
27 Huebert, “Coming Arctic Maritime detection. Again, the problem here is
Sovereignty Crisis,” 24. one of enforcement, not sovereignty.
On security grounds alone, it should
28 Huebert, “Coming Arctic Maritime quickly be set right.
Sovereignty Crisis,” 24.
34 Huebert, “Coming Arctic Maritime
29 Huebert, “Coming Arctic Maritime Sovereignty Crisis,” 24.
Sovereignty Crisis,” 24.
35 Huebert, “Coming Arctic Maritime
30 ����������������������������������
Huebert, “Climate Change and Cana- Sovereignty Crisis,” 23-24.
dian Sovereignty,” 91;
�������������������
Huebert, “Ship-
ping News Part II,” 300. 36 Naval as well as commercial collabora-
tion is briefly considered in Franklyn
31 Julius Strauss, “Polar Thaw Opens Griffiths, “New Illusions of a North-
Arctic Sea Route,” Daily Telegraph, 4 west Passage,” in International Energy
March 2004. Policy, the Arctic and the Law of the Sea
32 Huebert, “Coming Arctic Maritime eds. Myron H. Nordquist, John Norton
Sovereignty Crisis,” 24. Moore, and Alexander S. Skaridov
(Dordrecht: Martinus Nijhoff, 2005):
33 What we do require, at a minimum, 303-9.
is advance notification by any ship
intending to arrive at a Canadian port, 37 Canadian Press. “U.S. Protected by
Arctic ports included. This require- Canadian Control over Northwest
ment is laid out in section 221 of the Passage: Cellucci,” 2004.
new marine transportation security 38 Franklyn Griffiths, “The Northwest
regulations, which implement the Passage in Transit,” International Jour-
International Ship and Port Facility nal (1999), 269-72.
Code of the International Maritime
Organization (IMO). Canada Gazette
138 Part II, 2 June 2004. As of Novem-
ber 2004, some Canadian government
officials interpreted the new regula-
tions to require mandatory prior noti-
fication by masters of all ships entering
Canadian waters, whether or not they
intend to land. Others regarded the
IMO Code as an instrument intended
for the regulation of ships arriving
at ports. On this view, commercial
vessels in direct transit through the
Passage would be exempt from the
requirement to provide prior notifica-
tion. Meanwhile, the Canadian Coast
Guard reports only three transits of the
Northwest Passage by foreign vessels

422
Calgary Papers in Military and Strategic Studies, Occasional Paper No. 4, 2011
Canadian Arctic Sovereignty and Security: Historical Perspectives Pages 423–436

Conclusions: “Use It or Lose It,”

History, and the Fourth Surge
P. Whitney Lackenbauer

Canada’s Arctic is central to our national identity as a northern nation.

It is part of our history. And it represents the tremendous potential of
our future.
-- Prime Minister Stephen Harper, 20071

I
n July 2009 the Conservative government of Stephen Harper released its
long awaited northern strategy. It reaffirms the broad array of military
measures promised by the prime minister since he took office in January
2006 and assigns a robust role to the Canadian forces in the Arctic. “The
Government of Canada is firmly asserting its presence in the North, ensur-
ing we have the capability and capacity to protect and patrol the land, sea
and sky in our sovereign Arctic territory,” the strategy asserts. “We are put-
ting more boots on the Arctic tundra, more ships in the icy water and a better
eye-in-the-sky.”2 To justify this increase in Canada’s military presence in the
region, politicians, journalists and scholars have identified a multitude of
issues as potential threats to the Arctic, including climate change, boundary
disputes, commercial exploitation and even terrorism.
As the chapters in this volume reveal, sovereignty and security threats to
Canada’s North have changed, evolved, and resurfaced over the last seventy
years, forcing successive governments to respond. During the Second World
War and the early years of the Cold War, the advances of the Axis forces and
the more tangible danger posed by the Soviet Union and its massive arsenal
finally led strategists to portray the northern approaches not as a natural
defensive barrier, but as an undefended roof of the continent. In the 1970s
and 1980s Canada’s defence planners still acknowledged the Soviet menace
in the Arctic, but tended to emphasize new environmental and sovereignty
threats after the Northwest Passage transits of the oil tanker S.S. Manhattan
in 1969 and the U.S. Coast Guard cutter Polar Sea in 1985. The interrelation-
ship between sovereignty and security continues to evolve as the Arctic and
circumpolar geopolitics change, but the distinction between the two con-
cepts – and the precise nature of their interaction – is seldom explained in a
systematic way that is attentive to historical experience and decision-making.

© Centre for Military and Strategic Studies http://cmss.ucalgary.ca/ 423

“USE IT OR LOSE IT,” HISTORY, AND THE FOURTH SURGE

Although most of the current debate over Arctic sovereignty and secur-
ity revolves around what the future will hold, history continues to inform
perceptions of Canada’s legal position, relationships, and priorities. Political
statements are embedded with assumptions about what Canada should have
done, and therefore must do, to protect its sovereignty. After all, the current
“crisis” is predicated on the notion that previous governments have failed
to protect Canadian interests. Since coming to office in early 2006, Prime
Minister Harper’s “use it or lose it” refrain has become the dominant political
message. Tapping into primordial national anxieties about sovereignty, this
phrase resonates with southern Canadians who have taken little interest in
their Arctic but have been led to believe that military capabilities will shield
Canada from “the perfect storm” brewing in the circumpolar north.3 The
logic of “defending sovereignty” from foreign challenges has also brought
a shift from past governments that favoured recognition − persuading others
to accept our claims without demonstrating a capacity to enforce them – to a
Harper government that favours enactment.4
If popular ignorance about the Arctic facilitates a message of alarmism
– as some commentators alleged5 – so too does a lack of knowledge about
past promises, practices, and relationships. Various authors in this volume
point to the dynamics that generated perceived crises historically. By calling
something a sovereignty or security crisis, an actor elevates an issue from
the realm of low politics (bounded by democratic rules and decision-making
procedures) to the realm of high politics (characterized by urgency, priority
and a matter of life and death).6 The line between risk management – concern
that potential risks are prevented from developing into concrete, acute threats
to Canada7 – and the perception of actual threats to sovereignty and secur-
ity becomes blurred. Is anxiety about “using or losing” our Arctic inherit-
ance more revealing of the Canadian psyche (particularly our chronic lack
of confidence) than of objective realities? Who are the alleged “enemies” to
Canada’s national interests, and what is the nature of their challenge? Does
the discourse of “crisis” encourage a disproportionate emphasis on national
defence at the expense of a broader suite of social, economic and diplomatic
initiatives?
The media plays a pivotal role in generating and framing sovereignty
crises demanding political attention. Several chapters in this volume reveal
how press coverage influences political perceptions, priorities, and messaging
about Arctic issues. At various intervals during the Cold War, for example,
Canadian journalists and politicians panicked about Canada becoming too
dependent on the United States and thus abdicating our de facto sovereignty.

424
 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

Since 1968, the media has frequently reminded Canadians that the United
States opposes our legal positions on the status of the Northwest Passage,
and has served as the primary vehicle for commentators and politicians to
disseminate their views – either alarmist or reassuring – to the public.
This has certainly played out again in recent years. While Huebert and
Griffiths offered differing assessments early in the twenty-first century on
the risks that climate change might pose to Canada’s sovereignty and secur-
ity in the Arctic, media interest in the issue grew sharply in the middle of
the decade. First came the fanfare over Hans Island. Denmark and Canada
quietly disagreed over ownership of the tiny, uninhabited island for more
than three decades before political theatre and hyperbolic rhetoric created a
“crisis” that some media commentators portrayed as the opening salvo in a
coming boundary war. The Danes sent naval vessels to the island in 2002 and
2003. Canada responded in 2005 with an inukshuk raising and flag-planting
visit by a small group of Canadian Rangers and other land force personnel,
followed by a highly publicized visit by Minister of National Defence Bill
Graham. The media frenzy soon spiraled out of hand, alluding to Canada’s
1995 “Turbot War” with the Spanish and even a “domino theory” effect sug-
gesting that if Canada lost Hans Island its other Arctic islands might suc-
cumb to a similar fate. This distorted the simple reality that Canada’s title to
the archipelago itself had been explicitly recognized for more than half a cen-
tury, but history was easily overlooked to create a sense of alarm. Although
Canada and Denmark soon restored the dispute to a well-managed diplo-
matic track, Hans Island remains a touchstone for the outstanding sover-
eignty issues that Canada faces in the north.
The whole idea of “use it or lose it” has become intertwined with a
broader swath of unresolved maritime boundaries in the Arctic. Although
the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea defines the rights and responsibil-
ities of states in using the oceans and lays out a process for determining mari-
time boundaries [see Figure 17], pessimists began to forecast that Canada
might fail to submit its extended continental shelf claim by its 2013 deadline,
or stronger states might use their military might to disabuse Canada of its
sovereign rights. Media coverage held up the Russian submarine expedition
that planted a titanium flag on the seabed at the North Pole in August 2007,
coupled with renewed Russian military overflights and warship deploy-
ments into Arctic waters the following year, as evidence of Russia’s nefarious
intentions.8 Were these deliberate messages to Canada and the other Arctic
coastal states? Did this signal a trend towards militarization of the region?
Canada soon engaged in “muscle-flexing,” former Foreign Affairs minister

425
 “USE IT OR LOSE IT,” HISTORY, AND THE FOURTH SURGE
IMAGE 17

Figure 17. Maritime Limits and the Continental Shift in UNCLOS. Diagram by the Associa-
tion of Canadian Land Surveyors.

426
 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

Lloyd Axworthy observed – even though he believed that “this is a contest

we cannot win.”9
Canada’s defence capabilities in the Arctic had atrophied in the 1990s,
which played into growing concerns that Canada had not demonstrated sig-
nificant resolve to defend its sovereignty. The 2000 Arctic Capabilities Study
admitted that the CF would have been “hard pressed to conduct operations
in the Arctic” at the dawn of the new millennium. At the same time, it recog-
nized that northern security had evolved to include environmental, social and
economic aspects, but argued that the coming decades would make the North
even more vulnerable to “asymmetric” security and sovereignty threats. The
Canadian Forces had to be prepared to respond to challenges related to en-
vironmental protection, increased shipping as Arctic sea lanes opened due to
climate change, heightened commercial airline activity and “trans-national
criminal activity” that would accompany resource development such as dia-
mond mining. This required improved capabilities to monitor and respond
to emergencies.10 As Huebert noted in chapter 14, the Department of National
Defence decided at that time that, given its limited budget, the equipment and
programs proposed to address anything more than surveillance issues would
be extremely expensive. Scarce military resources would, instead, be devoted
to more pressing priorities. Although the Liberals modestly increased the
tempo of military operations in the Arctic in the early twenty-first century and
promised to augment capabilities in their 2005 Defence Policy Statement, Paul
Martin’s government fell before it could deliver on its promises.
Since coming into office in 2006, Stephen Harper’s Conservatives have
made the CF the centerpiece of their “use it or lose it” approach to Canadian
sovereignty. In short, the government’s sovereignty strategy has become a
security strategy. This fits within their Canada First Defence Strategy (2008)
vision that pledges to defend “our vast territory and three ocean areas”
through increased defence spending and more Regular and Reserve forces.11
Naval patrols, overflights, effective surveillance capabilities and boots on the
ground are portrayed as the tools with which Canada will defend its claims.
Accordingly, the Harper government has announced a spate of “new” mil-
itary measures to respond to the anticipated sovereignty challenges:

• 3 heavy, armed naval icebreakers (2006 campaign) – this

was later changed to one polar-class Coast Guard icebreaker
(August 2008)
• implementing an arctic national sensor system to monitor
submarines and ships (2006 campaign)

427
“USE IT OR LOSE IT,” HISTORY, AND THE FOURTH SURGE

• six to eight Arctic Offshore Patrol ships (May 2007)

• establishing a Canadian Forces Arctic Training Centre in
Resolute Bay, Nunavut (2006 campaign, announced August
2007)
• expanding the size and capabilities of the Canadian Rangers
(August 2007)
• building a deep water Arctic docking and refuelling facility
in Nanisivik, Nunavut (2006 campaign, announced August
2007)
• conducting annual military exercises in the Arctic (Operations
Nanook, Nunalivut, and Nunakput)
• creating an Arctic Response Company Group (introduced in
May 2009)
• establishing a new CF Reserve unit in Yellowknife (announced
September 2008, stood up in August 2009)

Critics suggested that this was more of a “shopping list” of military initia-
tives rather than a coherent Northern policy vision,12 and that this emphasis
on “hard security” seems to reverse the direction charted by the Liberal
government in the 1990s. This should not be surprising for partisan political
reasons, as well as past trends. The chapters in this volume show how, over
the last four decades, governments have frequently turned to the Canadian
Forces when faced with northern sovereignty “crises.” Indeed, previous
governments had promised several of the initiatives announced by Harper –
such as the polar-class icebreaker, subsurface detection systems, and a high
arctic base –and then abandoned them when the immediate sovereignty
crisis passed.
The belief that an improved military presence can bolster Canada’s
sovereignty has been prevalent during past sovereignty crises in the Arctic.
In recent years, the Harper government again has made frequent reference to
the “critical role” that the CF plays in asserting sovereignty. “We believe that
Canadians are excited about the government asserting Canada’s control and
sovereignty in the Arctic,” Harper told a Toronto Sun reporter on 23 February
2007:

We believe that’s one of the big reasons why Canadians are

excited and support our plan to rebuild the Canadian Forces. I
think it’s practically and symbolically hugely important, much
more important than the dollars spent. And I’m hoping that years

428
 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

from now, Canada’s Arctic sovereignty, military and otherwise,

will be, frankly, a major legacy of this government.13

The justification for these claims seems to be rooted in the notion that, if a
country does not demonstrate its occupation and effective control over its
territory, then it can lose its sovereignty “by dereliction.”14 Harper told an
audience in Winnipeg in December 2005 that “you don’t defend national
sovereignty with flags, cheap election rhetoric or advertising campaigns.
You need forces on the ground, ships in the sea, and proper surveillance.”
In a speech delivered in Whitehorse on 11 March 2009, Minister of Foreign
Affairs Lawrence Cannon re-affirmed that military exercises are required to
“demonstrate a visible Canadian presence in the Arctic.”
Should the burden of enforcing Canada’s Arctic sovereignty really be
placed on the CF? Where is the justification to validate this accepted wis-
dom? A country must be able to control activities in its territory, but does
a military presence actually contribute to our Arctic sovereignty? Critics
suggest that this emphasis on presence is based on a fundamental misunder-
standing of sovereignty, which international lawyers insist is a legal concept
entailing ownership and the right to control over a specific area (as regulated
by a clearly defined set of international laws). As Lackenbauer and Kikkert
reveal in chapter 11, officials in the Department of External Affairs were scep-
tical in the late 1960s and early 1970s that increased military capabilities and
activities strengthen our sovereignty. The context has changed since then:
Canada has extended its territorial waters to 12 miles, clarified its position on
the internal waters of the Arctic Archipelago by declaring straight baselines
effective 1 January 1986, and is now mapping its extended continental shelf.
Nevertheless, many of the underlying issues that they raised remain pertin-
ent today. Erik Wang’s questions “how much is enough to ensure adequate
Canadian influence and control,” and how much is “feasible” given finite mil-
itary resources and competing defence priorities, are seldom posed directly
in the current debate. They should be. Furthermore, Wang’s attentiveness to
the public relations and political value of “presence” and “visibility,” which
generate “Canadian self-esteem” but do little to strengthen Canada’s legal
case, should be better acknowledged today. Legal officers at External Affairs
warned that continuous talk about the need for a stronger Canadian Forces
presence could actually undermine Canada’s sovereignty, by suggesting that
Canada thought its claim was weak. Does current rhetoric have the same
unintentional, but unfortunate, effect – even though Canada has developed a
solid sovereignty position over the last century?

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“USE IT OR LOSE IT,” HISTORY, AND THE FOURTH SURGE

The meaning of core concepts remains important. How one interprets

“sovereignty” and “security” influences expectations of military, federal, ter-
ritorial/provincial, and municipal government stakeholders. Expanded def-
initions of security are helpful to understand the interconnections between
environmental, socio-economic, and military variables, but are problematic
when this inclusive definition of security is simplistically translated into the
need for military action. If sovereignty is accepted as a legal issue solved
through legal processes, it becomes inappropriate to frame military pres-
ence in the Arctic as essential in the defence of sovereignty. Furthermore,
does accepting “an integrated concept of security – one in which military
requirements are combined with an awareness of the need to act for eco-
logical, economic, cultural, and social security” – allow northerners to play a
more direct role in setting agendas and fostering cooperation and dialogue,
as Franklyn Griffiths anticipated?15 Northern indigenous leaders believe
that their voices have been pushed to the margins in light of the recent em-
phasis on purported legal and military threats to Arctic sovereignty. This is
problematic, given that these citizens represent the clearest case of sustained
Canadian presence.16 By extension, a coherent, integrated, “whole of govern-
ment”17 Arctic strategy – with the CF playing an important but supporting
role – is preferable to “erecting ‘Fortress Igloo,’ operated and staffed by the
Canadian Forces personnel.”18
The historical insights in this volume also suggest that commitments to
invest in new or improved military capabilities must be rationalized and co-
ordinated with other government objectives, or else they might be built upon
“shifting political sands” (to borrow Erik Wang’s phrase). Several authors
criticized Canada’s past policy approach to the Arctic – or lack thereof – for
being cautious, ad hoc, and reactive to external developments. Others suggest
that it was reactive and pragmatic, gradually entrenching Canada’s sovereign-
ty as international law evolved – a remarkable success given the country’s
parsimonious and half-hearted commitment to investing in the region.19
These interpretations point to a central dilemma facing policy-makers today.
Do changing Arctic conditions internationally warrant a radical departure
from the gradualist approach of the past?
The chapters in this volume reinforce that Canada’s dominant inter-
national relationship in the Arctic is with the United States. In the early Cold
War, the US was a provider of security, but in so doing posed a perceived
sovereignty threat to Canada. Bilateral agreements guaranteed Canadian
security at relatively little expense to the federal government, and “defending
against help” meant that Canada needed only modest defence capabilities

430
 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

to ensure that the Americans did not take unilateral action to defend the
northern approaches to North America. Canada could instead focus on being
“providers” of security abroad rather than at home.20 Given that our closest
military and economic ally was also our main challenger, symbolic shows of
control sufficed. Canada knew that, in the end, the US could be relied upon
for continental security21 and this spared Canada the expense of trying to
defend its remote regions alone. The Manhattan and Polar Sea controversies
revealed that, when the federal government perceived Canadian sovereignty
to be threatened, it adopted unilateral legal measures to assert jurisdiction.
When the short term crises faded, the government’s willingness to deliver
on its promised investments in Arctic security also melted away. Instead,
Canada sought multilateral or bilateral agreements to lessen the likelihood
that its claims would be challenged in the future.
How policy-makers conceptualize US intentions and Canadian responses
informs expectations for the future. The chapters in this volume, which pay
careful attention to process, produce “lessons learned” that (re)shape our
understanding of Cold War relations. Like the historiography more general-
ly, they yield two main interpretations. Which side of the debate one chooses
to accept influences the lessons that might guide future scenario-setting and
policy-making. On the one hand, contributors like Bernd Horn and Adam
Lajeunesse pick up on themes first raised by Donald Creighton and Shelagh
Grant, which intimate that the US had little regard for Canadian sensitivities
and interests. By extension, this interpretation suggests that Canada must
be more activist to entrench and protect its Arctic interests against American
challenges. Incompatible interests demand that Canada consolidate and
defend its sovereignty outside of cooperative frameworks unless the US is
willing to concede its legal arguments in favour of Canada’s.
On the other hand, contributors like Peter Kikkert and Dan Heidt join
other historians who promote a narrative of mutual understanding and
cooperation over one of conflict.22 By seeing Canadian and American inter-
ests as generally compatible (and friction as inevitable but manageable), these
authors suggest that a history of diplomacy and successful working relation-
ships helps to explain how and why Canada’s security and sovereignty inter-
ests have been enhanced since the Second World War. Quiet diplomacy and
practical, bilateral solutions have allayed most of the acute “crises” concerns
that arose. Accordingly, decision-makers today might seek to perpetuate a
long tradition of cooperation with the United States that respects legal differ-
ences and seeks practical agreements without prejudicing either country’s
national or international interests.

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“USE IT OR LOSE IT,” HISTORY, AND THE FOURTH SURGE

These specific themes converge most directly over the Northwest Passage.
While Canada sees its archipelagic waters as internal, the US insists that they
constitute an international strait with an accompanying right to transit pas-
sage. Some Canadian commentators suggest that if Canada demonstrates it
has the rules, regulations and capabilities to better control activities and thus
increase continental security in the Passage, then the United States will not
contest, and may even support, Canada’s claims.23 This would be a dramatic
departure from its longstanding legal position which emphasizes that the
NWP-as-internal-waters and would set a dangerous precedent elsewhere.
Such hypothetical scenarios involving US acquiescence to Canada’s position,
then, might be read as presentist and unrealistic. While the United States
sees the NWP in global terms, Canada views it in narrow national terms
as a coastal state. If one reads Canadian and American interests as inher-
ently incompatible and opposed, then Canadian nationalists will read the
two countries’ disagreement over the NWP as an untenable basis for future
cooperation. If one reads the historical record as a series of precedents in
which Canada has “agreed to disagree” with the United States and has man-
aged to safeguard its essential interests, then this situation seems less pre-
carious.24 This volume is a reminder that we have a long history of working
with the Americans in defending the North, that balancing sovereignty and
security interests requires creativity and dialogue, and that differences of
opinion on difficult legal issues are nothing new.
More generally, the authors remind us to situate Canadian decision-
making in an international context. Does Canada face a conventional mil-
itary threat to (or through) the Canadian Arctic? Recent commentators are
divided in their assessments. Huebert suggests that there is an “arms race”
in the region that requires a Canadian response. Foreign affairs and de-
fence officials suggest that there is no conventional military threat to our Far
North. Yet the prime minister, foreign affairs minister, and defence minis-
ter repeatedly assert that they will “stand up for Canada” in the face of for-
eign aggression, and Canada will “not be bullied” by countries like Russia.
Does this speak to contradictory threat assessments, or is this simply polit-
ical messaging designed to appeal to a domestic audience? If Canada does
face military threats, should it work through alliances and bilateral partner-
ships to meet them, or invest in unilateral solutions? Although alliances
and partnerships are expressions of sovereignty, history reveals that an
over-dependence on Canada’s allies (particularly the Americans) raises per-
ennial concerns about de facto (practical) sovereignty and perpetuates cycles
of crisis-reaction.

432
 P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER

Canada’s responses have implications beyond the national and inter-

national level. Several chapters in this volume point to the impacts of Arctic
defence initiatives “on the ground.” Most existing scholarship supports
policy scholar Frances Abele’s observation that “sovereignty and security
policy decisions, in their immediate impact, have been and continue to be dis-
proportionately costly to northern indigenous peoples.”25 In their chapter on
the Northwest defence projects, Coates and Morrison point to the downside
of militarization, such as prostitution, disease, alcohol, and environmental
degradation.26 This reminds defence planners that sovereignty and security
projects, conceived from afar and implemented locally, can have unintended
consequences. Ken Eyre and Whitney Lackenbauer also suggest positive
contributions that the military has made to Northern life, such as improved
communications, transportation, training, and community-development.
They introduce the social or nation-building role of the Canadian Forces in
the region, and the expectation that military activities contribute to the gov-
ernment’s broader nation-building objectives.
To this end, how much should National Defence and the Canadian
Forces focus on national rather than departmental goals? Canada’s Northern
Strategy: Our North, Our Heritage, Our Future (2009) identifies four pillars:

• exercising our Arctic sovereignty;

• promoting social and economic development;
• protecting the North’s environmental heritage; and
• improving and devolving northern governance, so that
Northerners have a greater say in their own destiny.

This multi-faceted strategy requires a whole-of-government approach. In

addition to exercising sovereignty, the CF will contribute to other pillars
(even if only in terms of secondary effects such as capacity-building, local
infrastructure, and support to local governance).
This resurrects difficult questions about how the CF can play a leader-
ship role in the evolving Arctic. Northern indigenous leaders have lamented
what they see as an over-emphasis on defence at the expense of the broader
suite of human security issues. Mary Simon of Inuit Tapiriit Kanatami noted
in 2008:

The Arctic has the country’s worst housing, health and education
indicators. This cannot be allowed to continue.... [A] quick review
of the recent federal budget shows where the federal government

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“USE IT OR LOSE IT,” HISTORY, AND THE FOURTH SURGE

priorities rest at the moment: sizeable new funding for mineral

development alongside earlier big ticket commitments to mil-
itary facilities and hardware, with a “hold-the-line” approach to
endemic social problems…. In this backwards-looking focus, the
aboriginal realities of the Arctic – our demographic majority, our
aboriginal and treaty rights, our distinct languages and cultures
– are effectively pushed out of sight.27

If the government has shifted to a whole-of-government approach, why

should it invest money and resources in the CF rather than the Coast Guard,
the RCMP, or other departments more involved in human security efforts?
If it is unlikely that Canada will find itself unilaterally engaged in kin-
etic operations in the Arctic, what roles should the CF play beyond surveil-
lance? The obvious answer is that the military’s training makes it an ideal
responder to probable emergency scenarios, and it is funded and equipped
to do contingency operations beyond the capabilities of any other depart-
ment.28 But is this the political message that Canadians are receiving? Does
it have sufficient appeal to sustain the Harper government’s bold agenda for
investments in Arctic defence? History suggests that promised investments
in military capabilities, announced in a “crisis environment” with little ex-
plicit justification beyond their contributions to sovereignty, do not fare well
over the long-term. Implementation is difficult once political and popular
perceptions of an immediate sovereignty threat pass, the lack of an obvious
military threat becomes apparent, and budget pressures force cuts to “non-
priority” areas. The challenge today is to learn from history and implement
a Northern Strategy that balances domestic and international interests, justi-
fies appropriate and sustainable roles for the Canadian Forces, and reflects
the priorities of Canadians – particularly Northerners, the primary stewards
of our Arctic homeland.

Notes
1 Stephen Harper quoted in Max De-
lany, “Gas and Glory Fuel Race for the
Pole,” Moscow Times, 27 July 2007.
2 Canada’s Northern Strategy: Our North,
Our Heritage, Our Future (Ottawa: Indi-
an and Northern Affairs, 2009). Avail-
able online at http://www.northern-
strategy.gc.ca/cns/cns-eng.asp#chp3.
3 Rob Huebert, “Canada and the
Changing International Arctic: At the
Crossroads of Cooperation and Con-
flict,” in Northern Exposure: Peoples,
Powers and Prospects for Canada’s
North, ed. Frances Abele et al. (Ot-
tawa: Institute for Research on Public
Policy), 1.
4 Franklyn Griffiths, “Canadian Arctic
Sovereignty: Time to Take Yes for an
Answer on the Northwest Passage,”
in Northern Exposure: Peoples, Powers
and Prospects for Canada’s North, ed.

434

Frances Abele et al. (Ottawa: Institute
for Research on Public Policy, 2009),
3-5. Online version available at http://
www.irpp.org/books/archive/AOTS4/
griffiths.pdf.
5 Griffiths, “Canadian Arctic Sover-
eignty”; Lackenbauer, From Polar Race
to Polar Saga: An Integrated Strategy
for Canada and the Circumpolar World,
Foreign Policy for Canada’s Tomorrow
No. 3 (Toronto: Canadian Internation-
al Council, July 2009).
6 See Barry Buzan, Ole Waever, and Jaap
de Wilde, Security: A New Framework
for Analysis (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rien-
ner, 1998): 21-26.
7 Rens van Munster, “The Copenhagen
School, Risk Management and the War
on Terror” (Syddansk Universitet Pol-
itical Science Publications, 2005), 6-7,
available online at http://www.sdu.
dk/~/media/Files/Om_SDU/Institutter/
Statskundskab/Skriftserie/05RVM10.
ashx
8 See, for example: “The Arctic contest
heats up,” The Economist, 9 October
2008.
9 Lloyd Axworthy, “A New Arctic
Circle,” The Globe and Mail, 22 August
2008.
10 Canadian Forces Northern Area
(CFNA), Arctic Capabilities Study (2000),
8-1, 8-3.
11 Prime Minister’s Office (PMO), “PM
unveils Canada First Defence Strat-
egy,” 12 May 2008.
12 David Bercuson, “Comedy of Errors:
First, a defence strategy, then a shop-
ping list,” Globe and Mail, 21 May 2008,
A17.
13 Kathleen Harris, “Laying claim to
Canada’s internal waters,” Toronto Sun,
23 February 2007.
14 Donald M. McRae, “Arctic Sover-
eignty: Loss by Dereliction?” CARC –
Northern Perspectives 22, no. 4 (1994-95),
available online at http://www.carc.
org/pubs/v22no4/loss.htm.
P. WHITNEY LACKENBAUER
15 Franklyn Griffiths, “Civility in the
Arctic,” in Arctic Alternatives: Civility or
Militarism in the Circumpolar North, ed.
Franklyn Griffiths (Toronto: Science
for Peace/Samuel Stevens, 1992): 279-
309.
16 See, for example: Mary Simon, “Inuit
say budget falls far short of Throne
Speech promises,” Inuit Tapiriit Kana-
tami (ITK ) press release, 27 February
2008.
17 At an October 2009 workshop on Arc-
tic sovereignty and security, partici-
pants proposed a working definition
of a “whole of government” approach
as “the ability to apply applicable ele-
ments of national power to implement
desired goals.” The report observed
that the Canadian Forces/ Department
of National Defence was only one of
those elements, and it could support
other government departments if
necessary but not at the expense of
its primary Defence of Canada mis-
sion. P. Whitney Lackenbauer, Peter
Archambault and Yvan Gauthier,
“Towards an Arctic Campaign Plan:
Syndicate Results and Recommenda-
tions from the Arctic Sovereignty
and Security Symposium” (Defence
Research and Development Canada
letter report, 1 December 2009).
18 Captain (Navy) Jamie Cotter, “De-
veloping a Coherent Plan to deal with
Canada’s Conundrum in the North-
west Passage,” Journal of Military and
Strategic Studies 11/ 3 (Spring 2009): 1-51.
Collaboration does exist. The Arctic
Security Working Group, co-chaired
by the Commander, Joint Task Force
North (JTFN) and the Regional Direc-
tor of Public Safety’s Arctic Regional
Office, was formed in 1999 as a forum
for federal/territorial departments and
agencies to discuss Arctic issues and
exchange information. Furthermore,
Operation Nanook exercises test what
capabilities various federal, territorial
and municipal government stakehold-
ers could bring to emergency scenar-
ios. While press releases emphasize
that these operations are important
435
“USE IT OR LOSE IT,” HISTORY, AND THE FOURTH SURGE

assertions of “sovereignty,” they are Coast Guard in Canada’s Arctic: Interim

more important as opportunities for Report (June 2008), 24; Bill Rompkey,
government departments and agen- “Arctic Sovereignty,” Ottawa Citizen,
cies to critically analyze their policies 17 July 2008.
and procedures and to refine their
24 See, for example, Griffiths, “Canadian
relationships.
Arctic Sovereignty,” 14, 22, and John
19 Lackenbauer, From Polar Race to Polar Noble, “Arctic solution already in
Saga. place,” Toronto Star, 8 February 2006.
20 Desmond Morton, “Providing and 25 Frances Abele, “Confronting harsh
Consuming Security in Canada’s Cen- and inescapable facts,” in Sovereignty
tury,” Canadian Historical Review 81/1 and Security in the Arctic ed. Edgar Dos-
(2000): 1-28. man (London: Routledge, 1989), 189.
21 Joseph T. Jockel, Security to the North: 26 Recently, Lackenbauer and Ryan
Canada-U.S. Defence Relationships in the Shackleton drew similar conclu-
1990s (East Lansing: Michigan State sions about the postwar period. “The
University Press, 1991), 193. federal government’s approach to
Arctic defence was paradoxical,” they
22 David Bercuson, “Continental De-
observed. “Although the military …
fense and Arctic Security, 1945-50:
was not at the forefront of intentional
Solving the Canadian Dilemma,” in
social engineering nor did its practices
The Cold War and Defense ed. K. Neilson
represent a well orchestrated scheme
and R.G. Haycock (New York: Praeger,
to ‘civilize’ the Inuit, its activities cre-
1990): 153-70; P. Whitney Lackenbauer,
ated or exacerbated dependencies on
“Right and Honourable: Mackenzie
wage employment and Western goods,
King, Canadian-American Bilateral
encouraged the sedentarization of the
Relations, and Canadian Sovereignty
Inuit, and set up unsustainable ex-
in the Northwest, 1943-1948,” in Mack-
pectations given the ‘boom and bust’
enzie King: Citizenship and Community
cycles associated with defence work.”
ed. John English, Kenneth McLaugh-
Lackenbauer and Shackleton, “Inuit-
lin and P.W. Lackenbauer (Toronto:
Air Force Relations in the Qikiqtani
Robin Brass Studios, 2002): 151-68.Gor-
Region during the Early Cold War,”
don W. Smith, “Weather Stations in
The Canadian Air Force’s Experience
the Canadian North and Sovereignty,”
in the Arctic ed. P. Whitney Lacken-
Journal of Military and Strategic Studies
bauer and Major W.A. March (Trenton:
11/ 3 (Spring 2009); Peter Kikkert, “The
Canadian Forces Aerospace Warfare
Polaris Incident: ‘Going to the Mat’
Centre, Canadian Aerospace Power
with the Americans,” Journal of Mil-
Studies Series, forthcoming 2011).
itary and Strategic Studies 11/ 3 (Spring
2009); and Kikkert and Lackenbauer, 27 Mary Simon, Nunatsiaq News, 11 April
“Sovereignty and Security: The De- 2008.
partment of External Affairs, the
28 Lackenbauer et al, “Towards an Arctic
United States, and Arctic Sovereignty,
Campaign Plan,” 7.
1945-68” in Serving the National Interest:
Canada’s Department of Foreign Affairs
and International Trade, 1909-2009, ed.
Greg Donaghy and Michael Carroll
(Calgary: University of Calgary Press,
forthcoming 2011).
23 Michael Byers, “Unfrozen Sea: Sailing
the Northwest Passage,” Policy Options
28/5 (2007): 33; Standing Senate Com-
mittee on Fisheries and Oceans, The

436
Calgary Papers in Military and Strategic Studies, Occasional Paper No. 4, 2011
Canadian Arctic Sovereignty and Security: Historical Perspectives Pages 437–446

Further Reading

General Overviews
Coates, Ken, Whitney Lackenbauer, William Morrison and Greg Poelzer.
Arctic Front: Defending Canada’s Interests in the Far North. Toronto: Thomas
Allen, 2008.
Elliot-Meisel, Elizabeth B. Arctic Diplomacy: Canada and the United States in the
Northwest Passage. New York: Peter Lang, 1998.
Elliot-Meisel, E.B. “Still unresolved after fifty years: the Northwest Passage
in Canadian-American relations, 1946-1998,” The American Review of
Canadian Studies 29/3 (Fall 1999): 407-430.
Eyre, Kenneth C. “Custos Borealis: The Military in the Canadian North.”
Unpublished Ph.D. thesis, University of London - King’s College, 1981.
Eyre, Kenneth C. “Forty Years of Military Activity in the Canadian North,
1947-87,” Arctic 40/4 (December 1987): 292-99.
Grant, Shelagh. Polar Imperative. Vancouver: Douglas and McIntyre, 2010.
Lackenbauer, P. Whitney and Matthew Farish. “The Cold War on Canadian
Soil: Militarizing a Northern Environment.” Environmental History 12, no.
3 (2007): 920-50.
Lajeunesse, Adam. “The True North As Long As It’s Free: The Canadian Policy
Deficit 1945-1985.” Unpublished M.A. thesis, University of Calgary, 2007.
Morrison, William R. “Eagle Over the Arctic: Americans in the Canadian
North, 1867-1985,” Canadian Review of American Studies (Spring 1987): 61-85.
Purver, Ron. “The Arctic in Canadian Security Policy, 1945 to the Present,”
in Canada’s International Security Policy, eds. David B. Dewitt and David
Leyton-Brown. Scarborough, ON: Prentice-Hall, 1995: 81-110.
Whittington, Michael. The North. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1985.
Wonders, William C., ed. Canada’s Changing North. Toronto: McClelland and
Stewart, 1971.
Wonders, W.C., ed. Canada’s Changing North, rev. ed. Toronto: McClelland and
Stewart, 2003.

Introductions to the North and Ideas of “Nordicity”

Abel, K. M. and K. Coates. Northern Visions: New Perspectives on the North in
Canadian History. Peterborough: Broadview Press, 2001.
Abele, Frances. “Canadian Contradictions: Forty Years of Northern Political
Development,” Arctic 40/4 (December 1987): 310-320.

© Centre for Military and Strategic Studies http://cmss.ucalgary.ca/ 437

CANADIAN ARCTIC SOVEREIGNTY AND SECURITY

Bone, Robert. The Geography of the Canadian North: Issues and Challenges.
Toronto: Oxford, 1992.
Brody, Hugh, Maps and Dreams. Vancouver: Douglas & McIntyre, 1981.
Brody, Hugh. The Living Arctic. Vancouver: Douglas and McIntyre, 1987.
Coates, Kenneth S. and William R. Morrison. The Forgotten North. Toronto:
James Lorimer, 1992.
Coates, Kenneth S. and William R. Morrison. “The New North in Canadian
History and Historiography,” History Compass 6/2 (2008): 639-58.
Dickerson, Mark. Whose North? Political Change, Political Development, and Self-
Government in the Northwest Territories. Vancouver: University of British
Columbia Press, 1992.
Duffy, R. Quinn. The Road to Nunavut: The Progress of Eastern Arctic Inuit since
the Second World War. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1988.
Grace, Sherrill. Canada and the idea of north. Montreal, McGill-Queen’s
University Press, 2001.
Hamelin, L.-E. Canadian Nordicity: It’s Your North Too. trans. W. Barr. Montreal:
Harvest House, 1978.
Hamilton, John D. Arctic Revolution: Social Change in the Northwest Territories,
1935-1994. Toronto: Dundurn Press, 1994.
Lopez, Barry. Arctic Dreams: Imagination and Desire in a Northern Landscape.
New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1986.
McGhee, Robert. The Last Imaginary Place: A Human History of the Arctic World.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005.

International Law
Bankes, Nigel D. “Forty Years of Canadian Sovereignty Assertion in the
Arctic, 1947-87,” Arctic 40/4 (December 1987): 292-99.
McDorman, Theodore. Salt Water Neighbours: International Ocean Law Relations
Between the United States and Canada. New York: Oxford University Press,
2009.
Pharand, Donat. The Law of the Sea of the Arctic with Special Reference to Canada.
Ottawa: University of Ottawa Press, 1973.
Pharand, Donat. Canada’s Arctic Waters in International Law. Cambridge:
Cambridge University, 1988.
Rothwell, Donald R. The Polar Regions and the Development of International Law.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996.

438
 FURTHER READING

The Second World War

Coates, K.S. and W.R. Morrison, eds. For Purposes of Dominion: Essays in
Honour of Morris Zaslow. Toronto: Captus University Press, 1989.
Coates, K.S. and W.R. Morrison. Land of the Midnight Sun: a History of the Yukon.
Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2005.
Coates, K.S. and W.R. Morrison. The Alaska Highway in World War II: The
American Army of Occupation in Canada’s Northwest. Norman, OK:
University of Oklahoma Press; Toronto: University of Toronto Press,
1992.
Dziuban, Stanley W., Military Relations Between the United States and Canada
1939-1945. Washington: Office of the Chief of Military History,
Department of the Army, 1959.
Gagnon, Melanie and Iqaluit Elders. Inuit Recollections on the Military Presence
in Iqaluit. Iqaluit: Nunavut Arctic College, 2002.
Grant, Shelagh. Sovereignty or Security?: Government Policy in the Canadian
North, 1936-1950. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 1988.
Grant, Shelagh. “Northern Nationalists: Visions of a ‘New North,’ 1940-
1950,” In For Purposes of Dominion: Essays in the Honour of Morris Zaslow,
eds. Ken Coates and William Morrison. North York: Captus University
Publications, 1989: 47-69.
Hesketh, Bob, ed. Three Northern Wartime Projects. Edmonton: Canadian
Circumpolar Institute, 1996.
Lackenbauer, P.W. “Right and Honourable: Mackenzie King, Canadian-
American Bilateral Relations, and Canadian Sovereignty in the
Northwest, 1943-1948,” in Mackenzie King: Citizenship and Community
eds. John English, Kenneth McLaughlin and P.W. Lackenbauer. Toronto:
Robin Brass Studios, 2002: 151-68.
Morrison, W.R. and K.S. Coates. Working the North: Labor and the Northwest
Defense Projects, 1942-1945. Fairbanks: University of Alaska Press, 1994.

The Early Cold War

Aronsen, Lawrence R. “American National Security and the Defense of the
Northern Frontier, 1945-51,” Canadian Review of American Studies 14/3
(Fall 1983): 259-77.
Bercuson, David J. “Continental Defense and Arctic Security, 1945-50: Solving
the Canadian Dilemma,” in The Cold War and Defense ed. K. Neilson and
R.G. Haycock (New York: Praeger, 1990): 153-70.
Bercuson, D.J. True Patriot: The Life of Brooke Claxton, 1898-1960. Toronto:
University of Toronto Press, 1993.

439
CANADIAN ARCTIC SOVEREIGNTY AND SECURITY

Conant, Melvin. The Long Polar Watch: Canada and the Defence of North America.
New York: Harper, 1962.
Evans, Michael W. “The Establishment of the Distant Early Warning Line,
1952-1957: A Study of Continental Defense Policymaking.” Unpublished
M.A. thesis, Bowling Green University, 1995.
Grant, Shelagh. Sovereignty or Security?: Government Policy in the Canadian
North, 1936-1950. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 1988.
Harris, John N. “National Defence and Northern Development: The
Establishment of the DEWLine in the Canadian North.” Unpublished
M.A. thesis, Simon Fraser University, 1980.
Head, Ivan L. “Canadian Claims to Territorial Sovereignty in the Arctic
Regions,” McGill Law Journal 9 (1963): 200-226.
Herd, Alexander W.G. “As Practicable: Canada-United States Continental Air
Defense Cooperation 1953-1954.” Unpublished M.A. thesis, Kansas State
University, 2005.
Jockel, Joseph. No Boundaries Upstairs: Canada, the United States, and the Origins
of North American Air Defence, 1945-1958. Vancouver, UBC Press, 1987.
Kikkert, Peter. “Pragmatism and Cooperation: Canadian-American Defence
Activities in the Arctic, 1945-1951.” Unpublished M.A. thesis, University
of Waterloo, 2009.
Kikkert, Peter. “The Polaris Incident: ‘Going to the Mat’ with the Americans,”
Journal of Military and Strategic Studies 11/3 (Spring 2009): 1-29.
Lackenbauer, Whitney. “From Defence Against Help to A Piece of the
Action: The Canadian Sovereignty and Security Paradox Revisited.”
CMSS Occasional Paper No. 1. Calgary: Centre for Military and Strategic
Studies, 2000.
Lackenbauer, Whitney and Peter Kikkert. “Sovereignty and Security:
The Department of External Affairs, the United States, and Arctic
Sovereignty, 1945‐68” in Serving the National Interest: Canada’s Department
of Foreign Affairs and International Trade, 1909-2009, ed. Greg Donaghy.
Calgary: University of Calgary Press, forthcoming 2011.
Lajeunesse, Adam. “The Distant Early Warning Line and the Canadian Battle
for Public Perception,” Canadian Military Journal (Summer 2007): 51-59.
Lloyd, Trevor. “New Perspective on the North,” Foreign Affairs 42/2 (1964),
293-308.
MacDonald, R. St. J., ed. The Arctic Frontier. Toronto: University of Toronto
Press, 1966.
Morenus, Richard. DEW Line: Distant Early Warning, The Miracle of America’s
First Line of Defense. New York, Rand McNally, 1957.

440
 FURTHER READING

Noakes, Jeffrey D. “Under the Radar: Defence Construction (1951) Limited

and the Military Infrastructure in Canada, 1950-1965.” Unpublished
Ph.D. dissertation, Carleton University, 2005.
Smith, Gordon W. “Sovereignty in the North: The Canadian Aspect of
an International Problem,” in The Arctic Frontier. Edited by R. St. J.
MacDonald. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1966. 194-255.
Smith, Gordon W. “Weather Stations in the Canadian North and Sovereignty,”
Journal of Military and Strategic Studies 11/3 (Spring 2009). www.jmss.org.
Sutherland, R.J. “The Strategic Significance of the Canadian Arctic,” in The
Arctic Frontier. Edited by R. St. J. MacDonald. Toronto: University of
Toronto Press, 1966. 256-78.
Tester Frank J. and Peter Kulchyski, Tammarniit (Mistakes): Inuit Relocation in
the Eastern Arctic, 1939-63. Vancouver: University of British Columbia
Press, 1994.
Zaslow, Morris. The Northward Expansion of Canada, 1914-1967. Toronto:
McCelland and Stewart, 1988.
Zaslow, Morris, ed. A Century of Canada’s Arctic Islands 1880-1890. Ottawa: The
Royal Society of Canada, 1981.

The Trudeau Years

Axworthy. T. S. and Pierre Elliott Trudeau, eds. Towards a Just Society.
Markham, ON: Viking, 1990.
Berger, Thomas. Northern Frontier/Northern Homeland: The Report of the
Mackenzie Valley Pipeline Inquiry, vol. 1. Ottawa: Department of Supply
and Services, 1977.
Cohen, Maxwell. “The Arctic and the National Interest,” International Journal
26/1 (1970-71): 52-81.
Dobell, Peter C. Canada’s Search for New Roles: Foreign Policy in the Trudeau Era.
Toronto: Oxford University Press, 1972.
Dosman, Edgar. The National Interest. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1975.
Dosman, Edgar, ed. The Arctic in Question. Toronto: Oxford University Press,
1976
Frederick, Michel. “La délimitation du plateau continental entre le Canada
et les Etats-Unis dans la mer de Beaufort,” in Annuaire canadien de Droit
international 1979. Vancouver: UBC Press, 1979: 30-98.
Griffiths, Franklyn. A Northern Foreign Policy. Toronto: Canadian Institute of
International Affairs (CIIA), 1979.
Head, Ivan. “The Foreign Policy of the New Canada.” Foreign Affairs 50/2
(January 1972): 237-252.

441
CANADIAN ARCTIC SOVEREIGNTY AND SECURITY

Head, Ivan and Pierre Trudeau. The Canadian Way: Shaping Canada’s Foreign
Policy, 1968-1984. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart Inc., 1995.
Kirkey, Christopher. “The Arctic Waters Pollution Prevention Initiatives:
Canada’s Response to an American Challenge,” International Journal of
Canadian Studies 13 (Spring 1996), 41-59.
Kirton, John and Don Munton, “Protecting the Canadian Arctic: The
Manhattan Voyages, 1969-1970,” in Canadian Foreign Policy: Selected Cases
ed. Kirton and Munton (Toronto: Prentice-Hall, 1992): 206-221.
Kirton, John and Don Munton. “The Manhattan Voyages and Their
Aftermath.” Politics of the Northwest Passage. Edited by Franklyn Griffiths.
Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1987: 67-97.
Lackenbauer, P. Whitney and Peter Kikkert, eds. The Canadian Forces and Arctic
Sovereignty: Debating Roles, Interests and Requirements, 1968-1974. Waterloo:
Laurier Centre for Military Strategic and Disarmament Studies/Wilfrid
Laurier University Press, 2010.
Page, Robert. Northern Development: The Canadian Dilemma. Toronto:
McClelland and Stewart, 1986.
Tynan, Thomas M. “Canadian-American Relations in the Arctic: The Effect
of Environmental Influences upon Territorial Claims,” The Review of
Politics 41/3 (July 1979): 402-427.
Wang, Erik. “Canadian Sovereignty in the Arctic,” Canadian Yearbook of
International Law 1976. 1976. 307-12.
Wang, E.B. “The Role of Canadian Armed Forces in Defending Sovereignty:
A Paper by E.B. Wang, 30 April 1969,” Journal of Military and Strategic
Studies 11/3 (2009): 1-23.

The Mulroney Years

Berger, Thomas R., ed. The Arctic: Choices for Peace and Security. Vancouver,
Gordon Soules, 1989.
Briggs, Philip J. “The Polar Sea Voyage and the Northwest Passage Dispute.”
Armed Forces & Society 16/3 (1990): 437-52.
Caldwell, Nathanial F. Arctic Leverage: Canadian Sovereignty and Security. New
York: Praeger, 1990.
Dosman, Edgar, ed. Sovereignty and Security in the Arctic. London: Routledge,
1989.
Griffiths, Franklyn, ed. Politics of the Northwest Passage. Kingston & Montreal:
McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1987.
Griffiths, Franklyn, ed. Arctic Alternatives: Civility or Militarism in the Circum­
polar North? Toronto: Science for Peace/Samuel Stevens, 1992.

442
 FURTHER READING

Honderich, John. Arctic Imperative: Is Canada Losing the North? Toronto:

University of Toronto Press, 1987.
Huebert, Rob. “Steel, Ice and Decision-Making: The Voyage of the Polar
Sea and its Aftermath.” Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Dalhousie
University, 1994.
Huebert, Rob. “A Northern Foreign Policy: The Politics of Ad Hocery,” in
Diplomatic Departures: The Conservative Era in Canadian Foreign Policy,
1984-93 ed. N. Michaud and K.R. Nossal. Vancouver: University of
British Columbia Press, 2001: 84-112.
Jull, Peter. Canada, Arctic Peoples, and International Affairs. Behind the Headlines
45/6 (July/August 1988).
Kirkey, Christopher. “Smoothing Troubled Waters: The 1988 Canada-United
States Arctic Co-operation Agreement,” International Journal 50 (1995):
401-426.
Kirkey, Christopher. “The Canadian-American Bargaining Relationship in
the North: Explaining Interstate Bargaining Outcomes.” Unpublished
Ph.D. dissertation, Brandeis University, 1993.
Larson, David L. “United States Interests in the Arctic Region.” Ocean
Development and International Law 20 (1989): 167-91.
McMahon, Kevin. Arctic Twilight: Reflections on the Destiny of Canada’s Northern
Land and People. Toronto: Lorimer, 1988.
McRae, Donald M. and D.J. Goundrey. “Environmental Jurisdiction in the
Arctic Waters: The Extent of Article 234.” UBC Law Review 16/2 (1982):
197-228.
Pullen, Thomas C. “What Price Canadian Sovereignty?” U.S. Naval Institute
Proceedings 113/9 (1987): 66-72.
Rothwell, Donald. Maritime Boundaries and Resource Development: Options for
the Beaufort Sea. Calgary: Canadian Institute of Resources Law, 1988.

The 1990s
Canada. House of Commons Standing Committee on Foreign Affairs and
International Trade. Canada and the Circumpolar World: Meeting the
Challenges of Cooperation into the Twenty-First Century. April 1997.
Canada. Government Response to Standing Committee on Foreign Affairs and
International Trade Report “Canada and the Circumpolar World: Meeting the
Challenges of Cooperation Into the Twenty-First Century.” 1998.
Canada. Department of Foreign Affairs and International Trade. The Northern
Dimension of Canada’s Foreign Policy. 2000.

443
CANADIAN ARCTIC SOVEREIGNTY AND SECURITY

Griffiths, Franklyn, ed. Arctic Alternatives: Civility or Militarism in the

Circumpolar North. Toronto: Science for Peace/Samuel Stevens, 1992.
Huebert, Rob. “New Directions in Circumpolar Cooperation: Canada, the
Arctic Environmental Protection Strategy, and the Arctic Council,”
Canadian Foreign Policy 5/2 (1998): 37-58.
Huebert, Rob. “Canadian Arctic Security Issues: Transformation in the Post-
Cold War Era,” International Journal 54/2 (1999): 203-229.
Jockel, Joseph T. Security to the North. Canada-U.S. Defence Relationships in the
1990s. East Lansing: Michigan State University Press, 1991.
McRae, Donald M. “Arctic Sovereignty: Loss by Dereliction?” Northern
Perspectives [Canadian Arctic Resources Committee] 22/4 (1994-95).
Young, Oran R. Arctic Politics: Conflict and Cooperation in the Circumpolar North.
Hanover: University Press of New England, 1992.
Young, Oran R. Creating Regimes: Arctic Accords and International Governance.
Cornell University Press, 1998.

The Twenty-First Century

Arnold, Samantha. “Nelvana of the North: Traditional Knowledge and the
Mythical Function of Canadian Foreign Policy,” Canadian Foreign Policy
14 (2008): 95-108.
Arctic Climate Impact Assessment (ACIA). Impacts of a Warming Arctic: ACIA
Overview Report. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004. http://
amap.no/acia/.
Borgerson, Scott G. “Arctic Meltdown: The Economic and Security Implications
of Global Warming,” Foreign Affairs (March/April 2008): 63-77.
Byers, Michael. Intent for a Nation: What is Canada For? Vancouver: Douglas
and McIntyre, 2007.
Byers, Michael. Who Owns the Arctic? Vancouver: Douglas and McIntyre,
2009.
Carnaghan, Matthew and Allison Goody. Canadian Arctic Sovereignty.
Ottawa: Library of Parliament, 2006. www2.parl.gc.ca/Content/LOP/
ResearchPublications/prb0561-e.htm.
Charron, Andrea. “The Northwest Passage: Is Canada’s Sovereignty Floating
Away?” International Journal 60 (2005): 831-848.
Charron, Andrea. “The Northwest Passage Shipping Channel: Sovereignty
First and Foremost and Sovereignty to the Side,” Journal of Military and
Strategic Studies 7/4 (2005).
Cotter, Captain (Navy) Jamie. “Developing a Coherent Plan to deal with
Canada’s Conundrum in the Northwest Passage,” Journal of Military and
Strategic Studies 11/3 (Spring 2009): 1-48.

444
 FURTHER READING

Dittmann, Major Paul. “In Defence of Defence: Canadian Arctic Sovereignty

and Security.” Journal of Military and Strategic Studies 11/3 (Spring 2009):
1-77.
Griffiths, Franklyn. “Canadian Arctic Sovereignty: Time to Take Yes for an
Answer on the Northwest Passage.” in Northern Exposure: Peoples, Powers
and Prospects for Canada’s North. Edited by Frances Abele, Thomas J.
Courchene, F. Leslie Seidle and France St-Hilaire. Ottawa: Institute for
Research on Public Policy, 2009.
Griffiths, Franklyn. Towards a Canadian Arctic Strategy. Foreign Policy for
Canada no.1. : Canadian International Council, June 2009.
Haftendorn, Helga. “Arctic Policy for Canada’s Tomorrow,” International
Journal 64/4 (2009): 1139-46.
Huebert, Rob. “The Shipping News Part II: How Canada’s Arctic Sovereignty
is on thinning ice.” International Journal 58/3 (2003): 295-308.
Huebert, Rob. “Renaissance in Canadian Arctic security?” Canadian Military
Journal 6/4 (2005-06): 17-29.
Huebert, Rob. “Canadian Arctic Maritime Security: The Return to Canada’s
Third Ocean.” Canadian Military Journal 8/2 (2007): 9-16.
Huebert, Rob. “Canadian Arctic Security: Preparing for a Changing Future.”
Behind the Headlines 65/4 (2008): 14-21.
Huebert, Rob. “Walking and Talking Independence in the Canadian North,”
in An Independent Foreign Policy for Canada? Challenges and Choices for the
Future ed. Brian Bow and Patrick Lennox. Toronto: University of Toronto
Press, 2008: 118-134.
Huebert, Rob. “Canada and the Changing International Arctic: At the
Crossroads of Cooperation and Conflict,” in Northern Exposure: Peoples,
Powers and Prospects for Canada’s North, ed. Frances Abele, Thomas J.
Courchene, F. Leslie Seidle and France St-Hilaire. Ottawa: Institute for
Research on Public Policy, 2009.
Huebert, Rob. Canadian Arctic Sovereignty and Security in a Transforming
Circumpolar World. Foreign Policy for Canada’s Tomorrow no.4. Toronto:
Canadian International Council, July 2009.
Huebert, Rob, ed. Thawing Ice – Cold War: Canada’s Security, Sovereignty and
Environmental Concerns in the Arctic. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba,
Bison Paper No. 12, 2009.
Inuit Tapiriit Kanatami (ITK). An Integrated Arctic Strategy. January 2008.
http://www.itk.ca/sites/default/files/Integrated-Arctic-Stratgey.pdf.
ITK and Inuit Circumpolar Council (ICC) (Canada). Building Inuit Nunaat: The
Inuit Action Plan. 2006. http://www.itk.ca/sites/default/files/Inuit-Action-
Plan.pdf.

445
CANADIAN ARCTIC SOVEREIGNTY AND SECURITY

Koivurova, Timo and David Vanderzwaag. “The Arctic Council at 10 Years:

Retrospect and Prospects,” UBC Law Review 40/1 (2008): 121-94.
Kraska, James. “The Law of the Sea Convention and the Northwest Passage,”
International Journal of Marine and Coastal Law 22/2 (2007): 257-81.
Lackenbauer, P. Whitney. “The Canadian Rangers: A Postmodern Militia
That Works,” Canadian Military Journal 6/4 (Winter 2005-06): 49-60.
Lackenbauer, P. Whitney. From Polar Race to Polar Saga: An Integrated Strategy for
Canada and the Circumpolar World. Foreign Policy for Canada’s Tomorrow
No. 3. Toronto: Canadian International Council, July 2009.
Lalonde, Suzanne. “Arctic Waters: Cooperation or Conflict?” Behind the
Headlines 65/4 (2008): 8-14.
Loukacheva, Natalia. The Arctic Promise: Legal and Political Autonomy of
Greenland and Nunavut. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2007.
MacDonald, Brian, ed. Defence Requirements for Canada’s Arctic. Vimy Paper
2007. Ottawa: Conference of Defence Associates, 2007.
McDorman, Ted. “Canada-United State Bilateral Ocean Law Relations in the
Arctic,” Southwestern Journal of International Law 5 (2009): 283-300.
McRae, D.M. “Arctic Sovereignty: What is at Stake?” Behind the Headlines 64/1
(2007).
Nord, Douglas. “Canada as a Northern Nation: Finding a Role for the Arctic
Council,” in Handbook of Canadian Foreign Policy ed. Patrick James, Nelson
Michaud and Marc O’Reilley. Lanham: Lexington, 2006: 289-316.
Okalik, Paul. “Arctic Priorities: A Northern Perspective.” Behind the Headlines
65/4 (2008): 3-8.
Pharand, Donat. “Arctic Waters and the Northwest Passage: A Final Revisit,”
Ocean Development and International Law 38/1&2 (January 2007): 3-69.
Wilson, Gary N. “Inuit Diplomacy in the Circumpolar North,” Canadian
Foreign Policy 13/3 (2007): 65-80.
Young, Oran R. “Governing the Arctic: From Cold War Theatre to Mosaic of
Cooperation,” Global Governance 11 (2005): 9-15.
Young, Oran R. “Whither the Arctic 2009? Further developments,” Polar
Record 45 (2009): 179-81.
Yukon, Northwest Territories, and Nunavut Governments. A Northern Vision:
A Stronger North and a Better Canada. 2007. http://www.anorthernvision.
ca/.

446
 Calgary Papers
Volume 1 (2007): Canada in Kandahar
Volume 2 (2007): Canadian Defence Policy
Volume 1 (2008): Strategic Studies
Volume 2 (2008): Military Studies and History
Volume 3 (2008): Civil Military Coordination: Challenges
and Opportunities in Afghanistan

Occasional Papers
Number 1 (2008) Lock Stock and Icebergs? Defining
Canadian Sovereignty from Mackenzie
King to Stephen Harper
Adam Lajeunesse
Number 2 (2008) Equipment Procurement in Canada and the
Civil Military Relationship: Past and
Present
Dr. Aaron Plamondon
Number 3 (2009) Censorship, the Canadian News Media and
Afghanistan: A Historical Comparison with
Case Studies
Dr. Robert Bergen

Forthcoming Occasional Paper

Number 5 (2011) Inuit Art and the Quest for Canada’s
Arctic Sovereignty
Dr. Patrick Lennox
CENTRE FOR MILITARY AND STRATEGIC STUDIES

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areas including military history, Canadian defence
policy, and international strategic and security
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ABSTRACT: Climate change is transforming the Arctic. Questions abound

about what this will mean for the Canadian Forces, for Canada’s sover-
eignty position, for northern peoples, and for stability and security in the
circumpolar world. Fortunately, Canadians have encountered and debated
similar issues in the past. This volume, featuring chapters by established
and emerging scholars, offers essential historical analysis on Canadian
Arctic security and sovereignty policies and practices since the Second
World War. The “lessons learned” lay a solid foundation for future research
and historiographical debate in this dynamic field, and should inform
Canadian thinking on what is necessary to protect national interests in the
twenty-first-century Arctic.

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University of Calgary 2500 University Drive NW
Calgary AB T2N 1N4
Tel. 403.220.4038 / Fax 403.282.0594
www.cmss.ucalgary.ca / cmsspub@ucalgary.ca