Ruso-Sino Relations: An Arctic Approach

Alliances between opponents are seen through a fearful lens by great powers; the enemy of an enemy is, in theory, a friend. It is this logic that leads to concern about rising alliances born out of shared opposition rather than shared interests. However, all relationships have their boundaries and limitations. Post-2022 sanctions pushed Russia toward deeper tactical cooperation with China across the Arctic, in fields of shipping, security and energy, as well as critical minerals. However, this partnership holds a pattern in each echelon, expanding operational convergence layered over unresolved structural insecurity and distrust. Russian doctrine treats the High North as sovereign strategic space; Chinese doctrine treats it as a node in a global commercial network. That divergence, visible in Arctic shipping and security policy, is just as visible, and arguably more consequential, in the two countries' approach to rare earths and critical minerals, where Moscow's growing dependence on Chinese capital, technology, and offtake is beginning to mirror the same vulnerabilities already exposed by the Arctic LNG 2 project.

This piece argues that the Russia-China Arctic relationship should be read as one instance of a broader pattern: a tactical, sanctions-driven partnership in which China supplies what Russia lacks (capital, technology, market access) without ceding the sovereignty and long-term autonomy Moscow is unwilling to trade away. Sections I through III trace that pattern through Arctic doctrine, military and shipping cooperation, and the Arctic LNG 2 case. Section IV extends the argument to critical minerals, where Russia's vast but underdeveloped rare earth reserves are becoming both a point of leverage over the West and a new axis of dependence on Beijing.

Russia's Arctic strategy after 2022 increasingly reflects a shift from economic development towards securitization and strategic competition. Earlier Arctic policy frameworks emphasized resource extraction, shipping development, and international investment, but the geopolitical consequences of the war in Ukraine fundamentally altered Moscow's Arctic posture. Russia's Arctic Strategy 2035, the 2022 Maritime Doctrine, and the 2023 Foreign Policy Concept all frame the Arctic as a core sphere of Russian sovereignty and long-term strategic security.1

At the center of this sphere of influence is the Northern Sea Route (NSR). Russian policymakers increasingly describe the NSR not simply as an economic route and shipping lane but as a sovereign strategic wedge and piece of infrastructure under Russian jurisdiction. This approach towards sovereignty has increased in intensity alongside the ascension of Finland and Sweden into NATO in conjunction with growing Russian concerns over Western confrontation and activity in the High North.2 This accession of traditionally neutral states has begun expanding NATO influence further and further into what Russia considers its sphere of control in the Arctic. Russian strategic discourse increasingly portrays the Arctic as a defensive bastion essential to preserving national security, nuclear deterrence, and Russia's status as a great power.3

At the same time, sanctions imposed after 2022 significantly weakened Russia's ability to independently pursue Arctic economic ambitions. Restrictions targeting shipping access, liquefaction technology, energy infrastructure, and international financing disrupted large-scale Arctic projects central to Russia's long-term Arctic strategy.4 This produced a contradiction at the core of Russia's Arctic posture. While Moscow intensified sovereignty-focused rhetoric and securitized Arctic governance, sanctions simultaneously increased Russia's dependence on foreign economic support, particularly from China, to sustain Arctic development.

Post-2022 geopolitical pressure accelerated tactical cooperation between Russia and China across the Arctic as well as the surrounding maritime regions. Military coordination expanded through a series of joint naval patrols, bomber operations, and coast guard activities near Alaska and the Bering Strait. These exercises have functioned primarily as strategic signaling directed at the United States and NATO while demonstrating increasing and brazen operational coordination between Moscow and Beijing.5 Alongside military activity, Chinese financing and logistical support became increasingly important to Russia's Arctic ambitions. Chinese firms maintained a significant portion of investments in Russian Arctic energy infrastructure, while Chinese shipping networks and logistical systems offered Moscow alternative economic channels under sanctions pressure. China's Polar Silk Road initiative further linked Arctic shipping routes to broader Belt and Road infrastructure networks connecting Eurasian maritime trade corridors and its many global distribution systems.6 Russia and China also converged politically in opposition to expanding Western influence within the Arctic governance structures following the Scandinavian ascension in the past years. Following the collapse of normal Arctic Council cooperation after 2022, both Moscow and Beijing increasingly criticized Western efforts to isolate Russia diplomatically in the High North. Shared opposition to NATO expansion and Western maritime dominance created overlapping short-term interests between the two states, which increasingly propelled the two powers into further collaboration.7 Despite this growing coordination, however, Russia-China Arctic cooperation remains primarily tactical rather than fully strategic. Operational collaboration has expanded significantly, but there is little evidence of deep institutional integration or long-term strategic trust. Cooperation largely reflects converging geopolitical pressures rather than the emergence of a unified Arctic alliance.8

The clearest example of both expanding cooperation and underlying structural tensions is the Arctic LNG 2 project. Intended to serve as a cornerstone of Russia's Arctic energy strategy, Arctic LNG 2 became increasingly dependent on Chinese investment, shipping access, and equipment support after Western sanctions intensified. Chinese firms held substantial stakes in the project, while Russia relied heavily on Chinese commercial participation and engagement to offset its loss of Western technology and financing.9

At the same time, Arctic LNG 2 exposed the vulnerability created by growing dependence on one another. Following tightened U.S. sanctions in 2025, Chinese companies reportedly halted or delayed critical equipment deliveries tied to the project. Arctic LNG subsequently faced operational disruptions linked to shortages of sanctioned LNG carriers, infrastructure bottlenecks, and logistical constraints. The project demonstrated that sanctions had quietly reduced Russia's independent Arctic capacity while increasing Moscow's reliance on Chinese economic participation.10 Russia's growing dependence on Chinese capital and equipment has not translated into full strategic alignment.11 Moscow continues to restrict Chinese military access to Arctic infrastructure and has never permitted permanent Chinese submarine basing in Arctic ports despite increasing bilateral cooperation elsewhere.12 Russian policymakers remain deeply protective of Arctic sovereignty and continue to frame the region as exclusively Russian strategic space. This creates a significant tension between Russian sovereignty claims and China's Polar Silk Road ambitions. Russian doctrine emphasizes its national jurisdiction, sovereign control over Arctic transit, and strategic exclusivity along the Northern Sea Route.13 China, by contrast, frames the Arctic through the language of international commerce, multilateral governance, and global connectivity. Beijing's long-term Arctic vision depends on expanding infrastructural integration and commercial access, while Moscow seeks to preserve sovereign control over Arctic governance and transit systems.14

Russia's Arctic doctrine, like the doctrine of most powers, is based not merely on whims but rather on principles of grand strategy. As such, Russian doctrine at present is not merely shipping lanes and naval bastions but increasingly the pathway of rare earth and critical minerals, a sector in which the Arctic LNG 2 pattern repeats itself. Russian officials have claimed the country holds nearly 28.7 million tons of rare earth element (REE) reserves, a figure reported via Russian state media and cited by the Jamestown Foundation,15 which would rank Russia among the world's richest in REE if accurate. The US Geological Survey independently estimates a conservative 3.8 million tons, ranking Russia fifth globally.16 The distribution of these reserves leads to prominent pockets of Russian resources, particularly in the base of the Arctic zone. The Murmansk region contains an estimated 13.2 million tons alone, whereas the Lovozero deposit contains close to half of Russia's known REE ore.17 Tomtorskoye in the Russian Arctic additionally has one of the highest ore concentrations of REE anywhere in the world.18

The gap between reserves and capacity is a chokepoint where dependence upon China is reinforced. Russia imports roughly 90 percent of its REE requirements, producing only 2,500 metric tons domestically in 2024, a mere 0.6 percent of the global output that year. This reflects Soviet-era processing infrastructure and crippling underinvestment,19 resulting in a system that remains underdeveloped despite its great potential.20 In November of 2025, Putin ordered the government to produce a roadmap for expanding domestic REE mining and processing by December 1.21 Moscow also pursued a $9.2 billion rare earth processing hub in the Angara-Yenisei Valley. This valley is overseen by Sergei Shoigu and is intended to raise Russia's share of global REE from 1.3 to 10 percent by 2030.22 The REDMET-2026 congress, hosted by Rosatom in Moscow, was an extended attempt to position Russia as an REE supply chain partner for nations such as India and China, even while Russian officials concede the nation is dependent upon Chinese processing capacity in the present and short term.23

It is this dependence that benefits China both structurally and technically: China controls approximately 60 percent of global rare earth mining and nearly 90 percent of refining capacity, and its export-licensing regime requires foreign buyers to disclose client lists, stockpiles, and production forecasts, allowing China to monitor downstream industries nation-by-nation and anticipate how each would respond to a supply chain disruption. The Arctic Institute has separately documented how China's mineral dominance is producing ripple effects throughout the Arctic as a whole, as Western states pursue alternative supply chains through strategies such as the Minerals Security Partnership, designed deliberately to reduce this exposure.24

Russia's Arctic REE reserves sit upon a unique intersection of powers; they provide Moscow leverage with anxious Western powers seeking to decouple themselves from China, while also stranding Russia without the processing that China, at present, alone can supply at scale.

The result of this unique positioning is akin to that of the Arctic LNG 2 pattern; Russia holds a resource, but China holds the technology, capital, and market access needed to monetize it. Moscow's sovereignty-first posture, which prevents Chinese submarines from using Arctic ports, similarly limits the terms of the Beijing-Moscow relationship and constrains the extent to which Beijing is able to influence the extraction and processing side of the mineral relationship. Critical minerals, therefore, are not a separate track from Russia's Arctic security posture but instead innately related to it. They provide a different lens on the same view of Russo-Sino power plays.

The Russia-China Arctic relationship is not one of brothers-in-arms so much as a tactical partnership with boundaries outlined by sanctions, pressure, and converging opposition to Western influence. That is to say, it is not, like the Soviet Union, a unified Arctic bloc. Cooperation between Moscow and Beijing has expanded significantly since 2022, with an emphasis on energy, shipping, maritime security, and most recently, critical minerals. The partnership, however, remains structurally limited by competing visions of Arctic order and by Russian concerns that growing dependence on Chinese participation, whether for LNG carriers or rare earth processing, may lead to a depletion of Moscow's long-term autonomy in the High North. For Western policymakers watching this relationship for signs of a genuine Sino-Russian Arctic axis, the more useful indicator is the absence; it is where Moscow lets Beijing in and, more crucially, where China is iced out.

Notes & References