Ice in International Law!

By Kamrul Hossain

This week, I had the privilege to speak at the Arctic Centre, University of Lapland, ahead of the premiere of the short documentary “About Ice” in Arktikum. The film follows a sailboat journey through the Northwest Passage and overwintering in Kalaallit Nunaat, exploring the role and agency of ice in shaping Arctic futures. The event is part of the Planetocene2025 project, which asks us to imagine a world where all life depends on the well-being of nature—a world where ice is not just a backdrop but a vital actor in global systems.

Thinking about ice in this way naturally led me to a question: What role does ice play in international law? At first glance, the answer seems simple: ice has no independent legal status. It cannot hold rights or obligations, and it is not a “subject” of law. And yet, the presence—or absence—of ice profoundly shapes legal norms, state responsibilities, and global environmental governance.

Ice, after all, is just water in a frozen form. But that frozen form exists everywhere—from glaciers in Greenland and the Himalayas to the sea ice of the Arctic and the vast frozen continent of Antarctica. Depending on where it lies, ice interacts differently with legal regimes: within national borders, it forms part of a state’s territory; in maritime zones, it affects navigation rights and environmental responsibilities; and beyond national jurisdictions, it becomes part of the global commons.

Under the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS), for example, coastal states have special rights to regulate navigation in ice-covered areas of their Exclusive Economic Zones when ice makes navigation hazardous. In contrast, floating icebergs—detached and drifting—are seen simply as movable natural objects, not territory.

In the Antarctic, ice holds an almost mythical legal status. The Antarctic Treaty System “froze” sovereignty claims in 1959, creating a framework that treats the continent as a global commons devoted to peace and science. Meanwhile, the Central Arctic Ocean, though beyond national jurisdiction, has not been given a similar designation—but new treaties, like the Central Arctic Ocean Fisheries Agreement, recognize the need to protect its ice-covered ecosystems through precautionary measures.

Ice is also central to international climate law. Frameworks such as the UNFCCC, Kyoto Protocol, and Paris Agreement all aim—explicitly or implicitly—to slow ice melt by limiting greenhouse gas emissions. Losing ice doesn’t just mean losing frozen landscapes; it means losing the Earth’s reflective surface, the albedo effect, which helps stabilize global temperatures. As ice melts, seas rise, ecosystems shift, and communities—especially those in low-lying islands—face existential risks.

Recent international court opinions have deepened this legal connection. In 2024, the International Tribunal for the Law of the Sea declared that greenhouse gases are a form of marine pollution under UNCLOS. And just this year, in 2025, the International Court of Justice confirmed that failing to act on climate change—and by extension, failing to protect ice—could amount to an internationally wrongful act. These are landmark moments. They bring ice, indirectly but unmistakably, into the heart of international legal responsibility.

So while ice itself remains legally voiceless, it speaks volumes through the systems it sustains and the laws it compels us to create. To me, ice is not just a physical substance; it is a common good—a shared planetary foundation that underpins life, law, and justice alike.

And perhaps that’s the real message of this event here at the Arctic Centre: that protecting ice is not merely about saving the Arctic or the Antarctic—it’s about preserving the balance of our entire world.