The Arctic in China's Subnational 14th Five-Year Plans
Heilongjiang Exhibit at the Expo 2010 Shanghai China. Photo: Gary Todd
The Arctic Institute China Series 2023
- Chinese Perspective on the Arctic and its Implication for Nordic Countries
- China and the Arctic: Reflections in 2023
- China’s Polar Silk Road: Long Game or Failed Strategy?
- The Arctic for China’s Green Energy Transition
- Russia’s Full-Scale Invasion of Ukraine: Impacts on China’s Climate Responsibility in the Arctic
- What the 14th Five-Year Plan says about China’s Arctic Interests
- The Arctic in China’s Subnational 14th Five-Year Plans
- Polar Expertise in China’s 14th Five-Year Plan
- China and the Arctic in 2023: Final Remarks
Adopted in March 2021, China’s 14th Five-Year Plan is the country’s first five-year plan to explicitly include the Arctic region. Looking toward 2025, the plan states that China will “participate in practical cooperation in the Arctic and build the Polar Silk Road”.1) But the national five-year plan signed into effect at the People’s Congress two years ago was only the beginning. Following the drafting and adoption of the national plan, provincial governments, ministries, industries, and other subnational actors have gone on to draw up their own plans. Smaller in scope, these documents are often more detailed in their objectives. They are also more likely to reflect local interests to a greater degree than the national plan.
Mapping these plans can also help give a sense of how the Arctic region, and particularly the Polar Silk Road, is being interpreted outside of Beijing. In an effort to break open the black box that is foreign policymaking in China, scholars have turned to provincial governments, state-owned companies, and other subnational actors to try and understand how actors shape foreign policy emanating from the capital.2) Special attention has been given to provinces on the country’s periphery, which at times play outsized roles in informing foreign policy due to their geopolitical positions, local expertise, and cross-border linkages.3) This subnational focus has also emerged as a corrective to the notion that China is a monolithic actor internationally. Research has pointed out the often open-ended and fragmented nature of Chinese policymaking.4) As policies trickle through the state apparatus and down to the local level, the room that subnational actors have to interpret and implement them widens. Scholars of Chinese foreign policy have argued for how large-scale strategies such as the Belt and Road Initiative should be seen less as coherent projects and more as policy slogans.5) As a consequence, local actors might invoke certain foreign policy slogans opportunistically in a bid to access political capital. Conversely, policy slogans may be performatively included in local planning documents to appease higher-ups in Beijing.
Subnational plans began trickling out following the National Congress in early 2021. Several provinces have included the Arctic in their most recent five-year plans. Going through them is an initial proxy for assessing how interests and approaches to the Arctic region differ across the country, at least on paper. Provinces are not situated equally. Their geographic connections to—and economic interests in—the Arctic differ substantially. Coastal provinces are naturally better positioned to take part in maritime initiatives such as the Polar Silk Road. The country’s northernmost provinces, although mostly landlocked, can claim a degree of near-Arctic-ness.6)
For this latter reason it makes sense to begin in the north, with China’s northeastern provinces—Heilongjiang, Jilin, and Liaoning. Often dubbed the country’s rust belt, these provinces have historically been dominated by state-owned extractive and heavy industries. As China began moving away from a command economy and toward greater privatization in the 1980s, however, these provinces fell behind. Guangdong, Zhejiang, and other, more southern provinces better connected to global trade flows have seen immense growth from the country’s increasingly export-oriented economy. The relatively isolated northeastern provinces—although an important source of grains, lumber, oil, and other natural resources—have remained economically depressed. When regional development of the northern provinces is discussed today, “revitalization” is the word most often used.7)
Heilongjiang
Heilongjiang, China’s northernmost province, which derives its name from the Amur River that forms the border between the province and Russia, includes in its provincial five-year plan the Polar Silk Road alongside several other connectivity projects as part of the province’s “opening-up” strategy.8) The Polar Silk Road also appears in the landlocked province’s five-year plan for its transport sector, which sets out the ambiguous goal of “forming a comprehensive international transportation channel connecting [the province] with the sea and the Polar Silk Road”.9) At a press conference in connection with the plan’s launch, a senior official explained that Heilongjiang would focus on the Polar Silk Road and other “development strategies” in order to “promote the transformation [of the province] from being ‘peripheral’ to becoming a ‘Northeast Asian hub’”.10)
Owing to its geography, any provincial opening-up strategy inevitably means an opening up northward.11) Cross-border trade with Russia has long been a priority, manifested in various connectivity projects, such as the Blagoveshchensk-Heihe bridge which opened for traffic in 2022. Moreover, the province plays an important role in the China-Mongolia-Russia Economic Corridor, a central leg of the Belt and Road Initiative. More recently, a transport route connecting industries in the province with ports in the Russian Far East and South Korea has been established. At the heart of these efforts are the cities that dot the China-Russian border, such as Suifenhe, a city located less than 200 kilometers from Vladivostok. In its most recent five-year plan, the city lists “developing new [transport] channels to the Arctic Ocean and building the ‘Polar Silk Road’” as one of its major transportation projects.12)
Technologies with Arctic applications are found in the provincial plan as well. Designing nuclear-powered icebreakers, equipment for underwater operations in polar waters, and developing polar search and rescue capabilities are named as priority projects.13) Local research cooperation with Russia on polar technologies is highlighted too. Harbin Engineering University in the province’s capital hosts the China-Russia Belt and Road Joint Laboratory for Polar Technology and Equipment, which was opened last year.14) The university is also looking to develop facilities for “polar environment simulation and testing,” according to the same document.15)
Jilin
Things are similar in neighboring Jilin province. Also landlocked, the province borders both Russia and North Korea. In its newest five-year plan, it states that:
Facing neighboring countries in Northeast Asia, [Jilin province will take] the initiative to participate in international cooperation and [the international] division of labor, promote economic and technical cooperation, mainly with Japan and South Korea, and resource development and border trade cooperation mainly with Russia, and jointly build the Polar Silk Road.16)
In addition, the plan helpfully includes a policy glossary which defines the Polar Silk Road as “the shipping route that crosses the Arctic Circle to connect the economic centers of North America, East Asia, and Western Europe”.17) Similarly, in the national five-year plan, Chapter 41 (“Deepening the implementation of regional coordinated development strategies”) outlines a strategy to build the Chang-Ji-Tu Development and Opening-up Pilot Area, a collection of projects aimed at connecting Jilin with rail networks across Eurasia, seaports in the Russian Far East, such as Zarubino and Vladivostok, and the Sea of Japan via the Tumen River.18)
Jilin is in a peculiar position, geographically speaking. As with Heilongjiang, its outer borders are a result of nineteenth-century treaties between China’s then war-weakened Qing rulers and European colonial powers. The 1858 Treaty of Aigun ceded most of the Amur River basin to tsarist Russia. The Treaty of Beijing, signed two years later, transferred to Russia vast stretches of coastline facing the Sea of Japan, from where the Amur River empties into the Sea of Okhotsk in the north, to Vladivostok in the south—what today makes up the Primorsky and southern Khabarovsk krais. This hand-over included the mouth of the Tumen River. The river, which today draws part of the border between Jilin and North Korea, flows into the Sea of Japan. The last 16 kilometers before it reaches the sea, however, forms the border between Russia and North Korea, sealing off the province’s access to the Sea of Japan.19)
Beginning in the 1990s, a series of multilateral initiatives have been launched in an effort to develop the Tumen River and the surrounding economic area. In more recent years, China and Russia have established so-called “dry port” arrangements that circumvent the river, taking minerals, agricultural products, and manufactured goods overland from Jilin across the border to Zarubino and other Russian ports, to be shipped south to ports along China’s eastern seaboard.20)
The emergence of the Polar Silk Road has not gone unnoticed by promoters of these initiatives. In 2017, already before the release of China’s first Arctic policy, the president of the Tumen River International Cooperation Society wrote an opinion piece discussing how developing the river could support the Polar Silk Road. He argued that:
The Sea of Japan is critical for connecting the Polar Silk Road. The Tumen River is the only strategic channel for [China] to enter the Sea of Japan, and this is also the coastal area closest to Arctic shipping routes.21)
The idea of connecting the Tumen River with the Arctic, however far-fetched, is not new and has been discussed in the academic literature since at least 2012.22) With the Polar Silk Road entering the country’s foreign policy canon in 2018, more op-eds and scholarly articles have come out that place the Tumen River in the context of the Polar Silk Road, Arctic shipping, and, by extension, China’s claim to being a near-Arctic state.23) Vladivostok and other Far Eastern ports, such as Zarubino, are also seen as integral to this strategy. Even the North Korean port of Rajin has been considered as a potential node in the Polar Silk Road network.24)
This vision is repeated in Jilin’s five-year plan for its transport sector, which states that the province will continue to expand shipping cooperation with Russia and “prepare to participate in Arctic shipping.25) The city of Hunchun, an industrial center in the China-Russia-North Korea tri-border area, situated a few hours from Vladivostok, states in its plan that it will take part in the Polar Silk Road and establish a “Northeast Asia ‘Polar Silk Road’ industrial development fund”.26)
Provincial interest in the Arctic can also be seen in the many institutions and events that have proliferated under the Polar Silk Road banner. The Changbaishan Polar Silk Road Research Institute—named after a local mountain chain—was inaugurated in December 2018 and has since 2020 been holding annual Polar Silk Road conferences. A second institute was opened in 2020, the Northeast Pacific Ocean Development Research Center, which carries the alternate name Jilin Polar Silk Road Research Center. It, too, has started hosting annual conferences on the Arctic. The provincial government announced in 2019 that it would launch a “Polar Silk Road Index” to monitor developments in Arctic shipping.27)
Liaoning
Liaoning, the last of the three northeastern provinces, is decidedly better positioned to play a part in Beijing’s Arctic strategy. The province’s southern border curves around Liaodong Bay, the northmost section of the Bohai Sea, and it faces the Yellow Sea to the east. In one of the province’s five-year plans, under a section on boosting China’s influence in international maritime affairs, it states that it will support research on the legal, technical, navigational, as well as other dimensions of Arctic shipping, including the creation of a provincial “polar marine technology innovation center”.28) It moreover urges closer cooperation with South Korea, Japan, and Russia on issues such as polar policymaking, and calls for “strengthening cooperation with Russia’s Far East when it comes to infrastructure, investment, and resource development, and to jointly build a land and sea development belt along the Polar Silk Road”.29)
Elsewhere, the provincial government states that it aims to turn the “Liaoning-Europe” route into an “internationally recognized ‘Polar Silk Road’ brand”.30) This refers to the shipping route that runs from ports in the province, through the Arctic, to destinations in Europe. In 2013, Yong Sheng, a cargo carrier operated by the Chinese shipping giant COSCO, sailed from Liaoning to Rotterdam via the Northern Sea Route, making it the first Chinese commercial voyage to transit the Arctic to reach Europe. This strategy can in some ways be seen as a precursor to the maritime-centered Polar Silk Road which launched half a decade later.
The province’s favorable position vis-á-vis the Arctic comes from its ports. The Yong Sheng set out from Dalian, the province’s second-largest city, which sits strategically at the southern tip of the Liaodong peninsula, facing the Yellow Sea. Its port is the largest in northern China. It is also a shipbuilding center, and the site of a People’s Liberation Army Navy base. The Dalian Maritime University is active across most facets of polar and Arctic research. The national five-year plan singles out Dalian as the international shipping center in the country’s northeast.31) The city’s own five-year plan calls for integrating into the Polar Silk Road network and “establishing [itself] as a homeport for Arctic shipping”.32) The five-year plan for its maritime economy moreover states that “’the Polar Silk Road’ is bringing new opportunities for promoting connectivity and regional cooperation between Arctic and near-Arctic regions.” The plan goes on to note that “Dalian is an important nodal city and [that] prospects are bright for establishing it as an ‘Arctic shipping homeport.’”
What emerges from these documents is an interpretation of the Polar Silk Road as a regional initiative centered on Northeast Asia. Grand geopolitical visions of lumbering tankers and cargo carriers plying the Arctic Ocean are mostly absent. Understandably so, as these plans are presumably written to reflect the interest of local governments. Instead, the Arctic and the Polar Silk Road are threaded into an at times bewildering array of already existing infrastructure corridors, economic zones, and other development initiatives. For Heilongjiang and Jilin, the Polar Silk Road is framed as a future stage of their cross-border cooperation with Russia. Moreover, both provinces see their (future) connection to the Arctic as a way to reposition themselves regionally. Liaoning, through the Port of Dalian, emphasizes its position as a gateway province. Another thing to note is the anticipatory language used: Jilin and Heilongjiang are “preparing” for Arctic shipping. Liaoning points to its “prospects” as an Arctic gateway province. Although these documents may seem overly optimistic in terms of the near-term prospects of Arctic shipping or overstate the potential impact trans-Arctic trade will have in Northeast Asia, they represent perspectives on the country’s foreign policy from outside of Beijing. In the Tumen River case, it shows how foreign policy concepts radiating out from the capital are harnessed toward more local ends.
Shandong
Across the Bohai Strait from Liaoning lies Shandong province. Under a subsection on participating in global maritime governance, the province states it will “explore the development of Arctic shipping and take part in building ‘the Polar Silk Road’”,33) as well as promote cooperation in developing fisheries, mining, oil, and other polar resources.34) Polar research and polar technologies, including icebreakers, ice-going cargo carriers, and ice-resistant oil platforms, have also made it in. The five-year plan for the province’s shipping industry contains subsections dedicated to polar shipbuilding and the development of hydrocarbons in polar waters.35) Qingdao, the province’s largest city, is an important seaport and naval base. The city has already made efforts to position itself as a gateway for China’s Arctic activities.36) Local fabrication yards have built modules for liquefaction plants in Russia’s Yamal region. The city is also home to the Ocean University of China and the First Institute of Oceanography, both with large polar research portfolios.37) For the current five-year plan period, the city includes the Polar Silk Road as part of its internationalization strategy, vowing to participate in the Polar Silk Road as part of a larger effort in establishing itself as a “maritime community with a shared future pilot area”,38) referencing another policy slogan launched by Xi Jinping in 2019 for China’s vision of global ocean governance.39) Relatedly, the current plan calls for cementing the city’s position as a “global maritime center” and lists Arctic shipping governance among the projects for doing this.40) Its five-year plan covers the full spectrum of Arctic-related issues, from polar research and resource extraction, to regional governance and Arctic legal research.
Southern provinces
Mentions of the Arctic become fewer and farther between as we move further south. Polar science and technology dominate these plans. The coastal province of Zhejiang, for example, plans to accelerate the development of ice-strengthened vessels.41) Shanghai, the country’s main hub for polar research and logistics, has included polar research and a slew of polar technologies in its five-year plan, noting that it will build polar-going vessels and boost China’s capacity to develop polar technologies.42) The megacity’s five-year plan for its strategic industries likewise includes icebreakers in a list of marine technologies to pursue.43) Neighboring Jiangsu also mentions polar technologies,44) while Guangdong, whose shipbuilders have been involved in launching several polar-going vessels, includes “key polar technologies and equipment” as well technologies for polar observation in a section on maritime governance.45) Sun Yat-sen University, the province’s largest public university, became earlier this year the first university in the country to operate its own polar research vessel. The island province of Hainan plans to establish a “national-level far seas test site,” in order to support, among other things, the country’s polar strategy, according to its newest five-year plan.46)
Traces of the polar regions grow even more faint once we head inland. Shanxi,47) Shaanxi,48) Hunan,49) and Guizhou provinces,50) all briefly mention polar technologies and equipment for polar research. Hubei province states in one of its five-year plans that it will strengthen its polar surveying and mapping facilities.51) Slightly more left field is Sichuan’s five-year plan. The province, which borders Tibet in southwestern China, is closer to being a “Third Pole” province than an Arctic one. Still, its current five-year plan encourages its companies to participate in the Polar Silk Road.52) Local state enterprises have previously been involved in infrastructure projects in the High North, with Sichuan Road and Bridge, a state-owned engineering company headquartered in the province, having built the Hålogaland and Beitstadsund bridges in northern Norway, which opened for traffic in 2018 and 2020, respectively.53)
Conclusion
Subnational five-year plans offer a more granular perspective on local interests in the Arctic. They help give a sense of the division of Arctic labor among subnational actors across China, and highlight the differing interests and aspirations of various provinces and even individual cities. Thinking about policies and projects such as the Polar Silk Road in terms of policy slogans rather than coherent and centrally coordinated strategies also helps us move past overly alarmist views of Chinese activities in the Arctic. Although not an exhaustive survey, this overview should provide a starting point for digging deeper into the geopolitical economy behind different provinces’ and subnational actors’ relationship to the Arctic, how Arctic foreign policy becomes entangled with local politics, especially on the country’s periphery, and, finally, how these actors might act to influence foreign policy-making in Beijing.
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