Tales of Atlantis

IN HAIDA legend, Ground Hog despairs when Beaver abandons him on an island off Alaska’s coast. Confused and hungry, he sings for freezing weather—an ingenious plan, as an ice-covered sea will let him escape. At last, the ice forms and Ground Hog decides he will have no more to do with Beaver. No amount of singing will freeze waters now. The Arctic is warming twice as fast as the rest of the world; summer sea-ice cover there has declined more than 40% over the past 36 years. Since America bought Alaska from Russia in the 19th century, the average sea level has risen by more than eight inches. The sea is expected to rise another foot by 2050.

Thirty Alaskan native villages on the coast are about to disappear into frigid waters; 12 are considering moving altogether. As sea ice melts earlier and forms later, more open water is left in the Chukchi and Bering Seas and the Arctic Ocean (which surround Alaska). Storms are larger and wreak more damage as a result (because ice protects the shoreline). And thawing permafrost, on which many villages are built, worsens matters by causing homes to sink towards calamity and releasing methane into the atmosphere. “Climate is changing faster than our efforts to address it,” Barack Obama said at a conference on climate change in the Arctic on August 31st. Lee Stephan, president of the Tribal Council of Eklutna, a native village, agreed: “If all the ice on Mother Earth melts we will all live in water,” he said.

Greenhouse gases bear the blame; America alone produces 15% of global carbon-dioxide emissions. Nevertheless, Alaska’s first residents profit from much of the oil and gas drilling in their state, as do others. The oil and gas industry provides a third of Alaskans with jobs and, through taxes, once covered 90% of state expenses. Plunging prices mean Alaska now faces a $3.5 billion deficit.

When America’s biggest oilfield was discovered at Prudhoe Bay in 1968, the federal government had to settle land claims with native communities in order to pipe oil south. They received 44m acres of land, $1 billion and shares in 12 regional corporations and more than 200 village ones under a law signed in 1971. Thirteen regional corporations currently exist, tasked with turning a profit for their shareholders while also safeguarding native Alaskan societies and cultures.

Mining and drilling have enriched many, as have rules requiring government to favour native corporations with contracts. “We don’t see any reason to allow the federal government to determine how we develop the land,” argues Greg Razo, vice-president of the Cook Inlet regional corporation, which he says distributes a $23m annual dividend to its 8,400 shareholders. Tribal elders believe their long history of environmental stewardship—in the days when big projects were impossible—justifies their thirst for development now. “Alaska did not cause global warming,” argues Mr Stephan.

The profits made by native corporations help pay for local health and social services. But corporations cannot afford to support communities affected by flooding, and cannot give their shareholders in places under threat handouts that they do not offer all others. “They aren’t charities,” explains Julie Kitka, president of the Alaska Federation of Natives. And besides, corporations have their work cut out to reduce the rates of infant mortality, sexual assault and suicide among natives, which are far higher than among other Alaskans.

Relocation is expensive, and painful for people who depend on hunting reindeer and catching salmon to survive. As most of America’s largest state cannot be reached by road, getting materials to remote villages requires fine flying weather, too. Newtok’s 400-odd residents will cost about $380,000 each to move. Kivalina needs $123m to up sticks. It has been trying to do so since 1994—but no mechanism for deciding how and when a community should move exist, according to Robin Bronen of the Alaska Immigration Justice Project, an NGO. Where it should go is complicated, too; the federal government owns 60% of Alaska’s land, the state 28%.

Shaktoolik, another village, wants to stay put despite losing 38,000 square feet to the sea each year. “When we first said we wanted to relocate they pulled funding for our clinic,” explains one resident. The mayor obtained money, instead, for a sea wall made of driftwood to stem the water’s onslaught. If and when a storm overwhelms it, emergency funding will help pay for the damage because Shaktoolik is an established village. But neither the state nor the federal government wants to pay for infrastructure that will be abandoned. Nor can residents do without the roads, bridges and airstrips needed to keep villages functioning until their inhabitants are relocated.

When he visited Kotzebue on September 2nd, Mr Obama became the first sitting president to visit Alaska’s Arctic. His travels will encourage efforts to save threatened native villages. But money must be found for federal agencies in Alaska. The president’s budget for 2016 will not cover the re-siting of a single village threatened by storms and floods. As the state’s budget weakens, thanks to cheap oil, federal involvement will become increasingly vital. Offering federal land in trust to those determined to move could speed up the process. Chuck Degnan, a former Democratic state representative from Unalakleet, sees land transfers as a way to escape the sea’s clutches. “I don’t even like swimming,” he says. Neither did Ground Hog.