Training on Terra Nullius? A decolonial approach to militarisation in Sápmi and Northern Finland

Militarisation is pervasive in the northernmost areas of Norway, Sweden, and Finland, where increasing military training activities and infrastructure projects are the most visible aspect of the ongoing change. The area is of high importance for NATO as this is where the three Nordic states are conjoined by land, bordering Russia. In the context of climate change, the circumpolar Arctic region is also considered a new geopolitical hotspot and an object of growing extractive, logistical and military interests. The area, which some call the Nordic ‘High North’, also encompasses most parts of Sápmi, the homeland of the Indigenous Sámi people stretching across Norway, Sweden, Finland, and the Kola Peninsula in Russia. Militarisation of the Nordics is therefore inseparable from the militarisation of the Arctic, which takes place mostly on Indigenous lands and in one of the world’s most vulnerable ecological environments.

Accordingly, decolonial approaches which pay attention to the social and ecological impact of military land use and to histories of colonialism should be central for critical studies of militarisation in the Nordics, alongside feminist approaches. The aim of this short intervention is to contribute to such an effort by exploring how the discourse of terra nullius and struggles relating to land use operate in the particular context of Rovajärvi firing range, a large military training area in Northern Finland.

Military geographies and the discourse of terra nullius

As a result of Finland’s NATO membership, Northern Finland has become not only a major NATO frontline with Russia and an important access point in the Arctic but also a hub for Arctic warfare training in a landscape that is similar to Russia. In my own everyday life in Rovaniemi, a small Finnish university town and the capital of the Lapland province known internationally as the home of Santa Claus, militarisation is omnipresent. The noise of fighter jets taking off from Rovaniemi airport at an increasing frequency dramatically affects the town’s soundscape; the presence of Finnish as well as international military personnel in shops, hotels and restaurants during large joint exercises; long military convoys on the roads connecting towns and military facilities; and a constant exposure to stories in the media framing local and regional news, or development, or whatever topic that can possibly be given such a twist, in terms of military considerations and defence. This all works to normalise the prospect of war in the middle of peace time.

This kind of militarisation of my everyday also means that I understand my surroundings in a new way. Today, I am aware that some of the hills in and around Rovaniemi may hide large weapons storage facilities, as well as one of the Finnish Defence Forces’ two control and reporting centres. I have learnt that the SantaPark theme park, ‘the home cavern of Santa Claus’, doubles as the region’s only public bomb shelter, and that the serene lake and hill view at our summer cottage hides a large radar station central for Finnish air defence, hence, a likely first target. I am also aware that once Finland officially approves the Defence Cooperation Agreement that it has already signed with the United States, my hometown could become home to US troops. Among the 15 designated areas, the agreement lists two sites in Rovaniemi: Rovaniemi airport and Rovajärvi firing range 40 kilometres east of Rovaniemi. They are listed as sites not only open for US military use, but areas where restricted US only zones may be established. Curiously, public information and debate on the matter remains non-existent. Military geographies (Woodward 2004) advance in secrecy.

Given all this, I was not surprised that the Finnish National Broadcasting company YLE in April 2023 published an article titled ‘This is how NATO looks like in Finland: interest to train in Lapland is so high that queues pile up’ (Fresnes Tulikukka and Martikainen 2023). What caught my attention, or feminist and decolonial curiosity, however, was the justification for the growing international interest in military training in Lapland. According to a military expert interviewed, Lapland and especially the Rovajävi firing range is attractive because, unlike in other sites: ‘there is plenty of space, you can put a lot of troops in there, and it doesn’t disturb the civilians’.

In other words, the article seemed to construct the area as an empty space, as no-one’s land - terra nullius - that is up for grabs because no one, supposedly, is using it, at least not in ways recognised by the appropriator. The discourse of terra nullius has been central to especially European conquest of other peoples’ lands since the time of the crusades and leading up to full-blown colonisation on five continents, including in the Arctic region. Today, it is still employed regularly in Northern Scandinavia, for instance to justify invasive and broadscale land use in the context of industrial and extractive mega-projects. The planned mine in Gállok in Northern Sweden a few years back is a case in point. There, the Beowulf Mining Plc’s chairman Clive Sinclair-Poulton sought to publicly undermine local and Sámi resistance to the mine by asking the rhetorical question: ‘What local people?’ while showing an aerial image of the Gállok forest landscape (see Persson, Harnesk, and Islar 2017). In this instance, however, the strategic employment of the discourse of terra nullius did not work very well. The remark provoked wide discontent among the Swedish public, and eventually may have done more harm than good to the mining company’s case.

From a local, place-based perspective, there is scarcely any area in the North that would not already be used by someone and for some purpose. Rural areas have often historically been constituted as peripheries, and as sites for natural resource- and/or settler-colonialism. In these spaces, growing pressure on land use, as well as questions over who gets to use it, and how, constitutes the backbone of social, political and cultural identities and struggles, whether in defence of Indigenous and traditional livelihoods and place-based identities, extractive industries and communities, tourism, or whatever else. Since conflicts over land use are also conflicts over local and regional identities and futures, they tend to matter a great deal to civilians.

Training on ‘Terra Nullius’

Let’s return to the case of the Rovajärvi firing range, one of the two identified areas where restricted US only zones may be established in the future. Obviously, rural regions are more sparsely populated than urban centres. As a result, the disturbance caused by military training to civilians may be considered less, if quantified in terms of the number of persons affected. The area covered by Rovajärvi firing range is vast, about 1,200 square kilometress. In addition to military training infrastructure – roads, weapon storage facilities, army barracks, fenced target areas, military debris, and an impressive network of outdoor toilets – the area mostly consists of an unbuilt environment: forests, lakes, rivers, hills, and swamps.

However, this does not mean that the area would not be used by civilians, or that a sharp increase in military training would not ‘disturb civilians’. Neither does it mean that there would be plenty of space (another way of saying the place is empty). First, in addition to being a military training area, Rovajärvi firing range is a reindeer pastureland that forms a major part of Pyhä-Kallio reindeer herding district, where about 140 reindeer herders take care of roughly 6,500 free-roaming reindeer. Reindeer herding is a traditional, semi-nomadic livelihood, which forms the material basis of Indigenous Sámi culture and peoplehood. However, the reindeer herders in Pyhä-Kallio are mainly of Finnish origin. Unlike in Sweden and Norway, where reindeer herding has historically been the exclusive right of the Sámi, in Finland it was adopted also by Finnish settlers since there were no state laws forbidding it. Due to the cold environment, it was one of the most sustainable livelihoods that could provide a steady source of food. Although Finnish and Sámi reindeer herding practices differ in some important ways, both groups consider it a way of life that carries strong social and cultural meanings. For many, it is an essential aspect of local and regional histories and the foundation of land-based identities and communities.

The firing range was established on Pyhä-Kallio reindeer herding pastures in 1949 and the area used by the Finnish Defence Forces has expanded ever since. According to a report published in 2013, the sustainability of reindeer herding in this area is in steep decline. This is largely due to military activities that disturb the reindeer, making them avoid certain pasturelands, resulting in over-grazing on others (Helle et al. 2013; see also Rovajärven kehittämistyöryhmä 2013). Reindeer herding in a military training area can also be demoralising. Sometimes reindeer venture onto the target areas where they risk being injured or killed by shrapnel. Others get entangled in or are injured by military debris that litters the area. In addition, explosions cause large holes in the ground, creating potential hazards to reindeer herders using snowmobiles. The largest military exercises also coincide with the calving period in May, causing complications for reindeer reproduction. In autumn, larger military exercises overlap with reindeer roundups in late autumn reindeer work, forcing the herders to rush through the autumn tasks, which are already dependent on weather conditions and the movement of the reindeer. The Finnish Defence Forces does compensate some of the losses, but the herders consider the compensation insufficient.¹

Second, Rovajärvi is also a space of private landowners and rich in cultural history. When the firing range was first established, the area covered not just state land, but also privately owned land, including houses and entire villages. As the military use of the area has expanded, more private land has been affected but much of it has been purchased by the state, through forced land expropriation and voluntary sales. Despite this, many people still hold on to their properties: today about 6,400 hectares remains under private ownership. Most of the landowners were either born, or have a long family history in this area, which the locals call Naarmankaira. While having a home or summer cottage inside a military training area where access is restricted might not sound attractive, all property owners whom I have interviewed highlight family history and a personal sense of belonging as the main reasons why they still want to stay. These people have learned to live with, and accept, the thrill of rockets being launched above their cottages from one side of the area to another. However, pressure from the state to leave the area is growing. Since the early 2010s, private landowners have no longer been able to secure any new construction permits for their properties. The new policy, clearly reflecting the state’s desire to diminish non-military presence in the area, prompted landowners to organise behind a shared association, Pro Rovajärvi Ry, to protect their rights and to attract attention to their cause. A decade on, the policy is still in place and the number of private landowners continues to decline. Moreover, in the present context of hyper-militarisation, the space to defend the landowners’ rights is dwindling as any talk against the area’s military use risks being conflated as ‘unpatriotic’ and/or ‘harmful’ for Finland’s defence.

Third, Rovajärvi or Naarmankaira is also known as a legendary hunting and fishing ground rich in both prehistoric and historic archaeological sites. For example, the area has a notably dense concentration of seita, ancient offering stones or places of worship dating back to the 16^th century often found near good fishing places. It has a rich wildlife and is a place where local people go hunting, fishing, berry- and mushroom picking, or simply visit for recreation. During the summer and autumn, Thai seasonal guest-workers who arrive in Finland to harvest wild berries are a common sight. Each of these land users must reconcile with the Defence Forces, as ultimately, it is the military who has the final word on who can access and use the area, when and how. The extent of area closure varies depending on the intensity and quality of training, but since also the intensity of training is set to increase in the context of NATO membership and the DCA, some locals fear that in the future, civilian access to the area, or at least large parts of it, could be entirely prohibited. In the absence of reliable public communication on the area’s future by the Finnish Defence Forces, locals who are directly affected must rely on rumours.

Finally, the area’s military geography also includes groups and actors that are not there, precisely due to decades of military use. Tourist activities and operators are forbidden, and as a result, the Defence Forces do not need to consider them when planning their activities. Likewise, no heavy industries operate in the area because the military has kept them off. It is impossible to know how the area and the broader region would have developed, and what kind of civilian use would have taken place, had the area not been prioritised for the military. Despite any potential disturbance, many in the region also welcome the increasing military activity, because it is believed to have a positive impact on the local economy. In the context of an ageing population, dwindling public funding and the closure of the border with Russia, northern municipalities are desperate for new sources of income and consider military investments and presence an opportunity bringing life and economic wellbeing to the region. The problem is that, as with mines, the social, economic, cultural, political, and environmental effects of military land use remain outside public debate and hence, beyond democratic deliberation. Questions that should be asked and discussed include, for instance, what does it mean, long term, for municipalities to become economically dependent on the presence of militaries? How does the growing presence of international troops affect constructions of gender in the region? What kind of, and whose, future does the military land use enable, and what futures are closed off?

A decolonial approach to militarisation in the Nordics

Rovajärvi is in the Finnish part of the Lapland province, but the questions and concerns raised in this piece are equally relevant in the Sámi region a couple of hundred kilometres further north. Also there, military activities have sharply increased during recent years and Sámi reindeer herders are especially concerned over changes that NATO membership and the DCA may bring on the ground as military land use expands.

Historically, militarisation has worked as a close ally of settler colonialism, promoting extractive infrastructure development, land use practices, and patterns of settlement that have been highly adversarial to Indigenous peoples (Lackenbauer and Farish 2007). The issue is recognised in the United Nations Declaration of the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP) which clearly cautions against the militarisation of Indigenous lands. According to UNDRIP Article 30.1, ‘Military activities shall not take place in the lands or territories of Indigenous Peoples, unless justified by a relevant public interest or otherwise freely agreed with or requested by the Indigenous Peoples concerned’. Should militarisation proceed anyways, states that have signed UNDRIP are obliged to ‘undertake effective consultations with the Indigenous Peoples concerned, through appropriate procedures and in particular through their representative institutions, prior to using their lands or territories for military activities’.

According to the Sámi Parliament in Finland, such obligations have not been followed so far. Instead, future plans relating to military land use are advanced largely in secrecy, without proper hearings and consultations with those who are affected. The DCA between Finland and the US is a recent example. Despite the agreement designating an area within the Sámi homeland region (Ivalo) as a possible site for US troops and/or weapons storage, the Sámi Parliament was not informed in advance.

This, and the fact that the terra nullius discourse is used increasingly in the context of military land use highlights the need to develop decolonial approaches to Nordic militarisation alongside feminist critique. Talking about feminist approaches to militarisation and international politics, Cynthia Enloe explains that to her, feminist curiosity means asking constantly, where are the women? Who is where, and who put them there? And further, who benefits from them being there? (Enloe 2015). Conversely, I suggest that a decolonial approach centres curiosity on land. Who is using land, where, and how? Who is not there, and why? In whose interests is the land used, and who benefits? A decolonial curiosity, which is closely aligned with the study of military geographies (Woodward 2004), directs attention to the ways in which military land use shapes economic, social, environmental, and cultural geographies. What kind of, and whose futures does the land use enable, and what futures are precluded or closed off? Militarisation always happens somewhere, in some place. The first task for a decolonial approach is to deconstruct the discourse of terra nullius, wherever it is being used.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Additional information

Notes on contributors

Laura Junka-Aikio

Laura Junka-Aikio is a Professor of Northern Politics and Governance at the University of Lapland. Her current research interests include contemporary colonialism, social change, Arctic world politics and decolonial and Indigenous geopolitics and security.

Notes

1. Interview with the head of Pyhä-Kallio reindeer herding district Kyösti Uutela. October 2023.