Antarctica may be remote, but it hasn’t escaped the scans of Google Street View. If you digitally drop into McMurdo Station, the U.S.’s busiest Antarctic installation, and slide along the volcanic rock of Ross Island, you’ll find muddy, tire-tracked roads. Along their edges are cargo containers marked “USAP,” the U.S. Antarctic Program, run by the National Science Foundation (NSF); you may also see Ivan the Terra Bus, a substantial people mover with burly tires that are nearly six feet tall.

But McMurdo—normally a humming hub of research—has gotten quieter. Amid budget concerns and delayed upgrades to the station’s aging infrastructure, the NSF has pulled back on the number of scientific projects and associated people it sends to the globe’s deepest south.

As the U.S. presence has decreased, though, other countries have been pouring more resources into the Antarctic. And although it’s not a contest, some experts are sounding alarms about that disparity. Security researchers say that “presence equals influence” in Antarctica, and they’re worried that the U.S. may slip in both categories while setting its scientific work back. Adrop inU.S. influence could affect geopolitics in the region and potentially endanger the safeguards ensuring the peaceful use of the Antarctic.

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Antarctica, as a continent and an idea, isn’t just some icy backwater: it’s an important place environmentally, scientifically and politically. “People just think of Antarctica as really far away and that it doesn’t have any impact on them,” says Deneb Karentz, vice president for science at the Scientific Committee on Antarctic Research (SCAR). The Southern Ocean’s circulation redistributes heat globally, and deep ocean currents also carry nutrients toward the equator. “It’s a really vital part of the whole ocean system and the way that the ocean interacts with the atmosphere,” Karentz says.

Antarctica is also a prime place for space research. With its stable atmosphere and lack of electromagnetic interference from civilization, astronomers and physicists can seek faint signals from long-ago, faraway, mysterious parts of the universe—signals that may be hidden from instruments on busier continents. People come from all over the world to study the ice itself, which contains 90 percent of the world’s surface fresh water. And then there’s the geology, the sea life, the extremophiles and the changing climate.

Karentz’s organization, SCAR, helps countries share scientific results of all sorts and collaborate on projects. In August the organization will bring the global community together in Chile for the SCAR Open Science Conference—the first in-person meeting since 2018. Carolina Merino, a biologist at the University of La Frontera in Chile, plans to be at the meeting. She’s a member of SCAR and studies how microbes survive Antarctica’s harsh conditions. “Understanding these processes can have significant implications for climate change science and environmental conservation,” she says. At the SCAR meeting, she’s hoping to bolster international collaboration on research.

In addition, the group serves as science adviser to the Antarctic Treaty system—a treaty and related documents that govern existence on the continent. SCAR shares expertise about topics such as which areas should be protected or what’s going on with climate change lately.

The Antarctic Treaty isn’t complicated. “There are two things in the treaty,” Karentz says: one, Antarctica is to be used only for science, and two, “it has to be peaceful,” she says. Militaries are allowed to provide logistical support; the Department of Defense and the Department of Homeland Security do so for the U.S. The treaty also has an Environmental Protection Protocol that lays out conservation measures and environmental management policies.

The treaty was originally signed in 1959 and entered force in 1961, with the conflicted superpowers of the U.S. and the Soviet Union both coming onboard. “They agreed at that time that expanding the cold war into the coldest continent was not a useful activity,” says William Muntean, a senior associate at the Center for Strategic and International Studies.

Even with that enforced peace, though, Antarctica is geopolitically important: it contains, for instance, resources such as fisheries, minerals and natural gas that, because of the treaty, no one can exploit. It’s also geopolitically strange. “It’s not divvied up into countries or ownership in the way the rest of the world is,” says Muntean, who served as senior adviser for Antarctica at the U.S. Department of State and, in that role, led the nation’s delegation to Antarctic Treaty meetings. Before the treaty, seven countries had already made claims on the continent, but when they signed the agreement, they barred themselves from legally acting on those claims.

That’s a sovereignty situation unlike any other on Earth—and one that many researchers don’t think about when they’re preparing neutrino detectors and ice corers for the South Pole. Few people in the United States focus on the politics of Antarctica, Muntean says. “You could find a lot of scientists who can talk about penguins and ice cubes and all that sort of stuff, but very few talk about the politics of it,” he adds.

The science that they do, however, is twined with the politics. Research projects—and infrastructure such as McMurdo or the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station—exist not just for the sake of knowledge gathering but also for the sake of influence. “If you want to be influential in any capacity—be it diplomatically, economically, militarily, doesn’t matter—you need to be present in a region,” says Ryan Burke, a professor at the U.S. Air Force Academy and the University of Alaska Fairbanks’s Center for Arctic Security and Resilience. That’s especially true in a place where military flexes, traditional ways for nations to establish both presence and influence, are prohibited. Muntean cites China and South Korea as countries that are increasing their Antarctic footprint and therefore their own influence.

Burke and Muntean are both concerned that the U.S., meanwhile, has decreased its presence in Antarctica. In 2023 NSF announced that it was canceling more than half of the USAP projects and activities that had been funded for the 2023–2024 research season. In the two summers to follow, the announcement said, the agency would focus on already-funded projects. It did not solicit any new USAP proposals in 2024.

Those changes came in part because McMurdo Station needed to be modernized for the 21st century and is in the midst of upgrades.

The initial renovation was interrupted by the COVID pandemic, as were Antarctic trips in general. The disease and its disruptions delayed the work—a new dorm, for instance, is off schedule by three years—meaning there aren’t enough beds available for the typical number of scientists who would visit. Plus, as grocery stores on the mainland show, costs of all sorts have increased, meaning a given amount of money results in less renovation.

Not taking new proposals in 2024 “allows NSF to focus resources on reducing the lingering backlog of projects affected by the pandemic and major upgrade work at McMurdo Station,” an NSF spokesperson says.

The science agency also stated last year that it would only operate one research ship in the coming decades, rather than the two it has in the past, partially because of budgetary concerns. The Coast Guard, meanwhile, is experiencing problems with its Polar Security Cutter program, and acquisitions of new ships are delayed.

All of that together, despite the logistical and financial constraints that make it seemingly necessary, has the effect of decreasing American presence in Antarctica and backing up the scientific pipeline. “It is an issue,” Karentz says, “and I think there’s legitimate concern about what it's doing to the future of the U.S. Antarctic Program.”

Muntean worries about early-career researchers, whose research path might be more affected by delays due to the Antarctic slowdown and who could also face more competition because of the backup. “Right now it’s a little bit tough, I think, to say South Pole or Antarctic research has got a bright future,” he says.

In Muntean’s view, U.S. planners aren’t thinking enough about pipelines in general, such as replacement plans for aging ships and planes that can move in that harsh environment. As with the on-land infrastructure, if you wait until vehicles face obsolescence, you often face a gap in capability. “The icebreaker that is currently operational—Polar Star—is almost as old as I am,” Muntean says, describing the ship that creates a channel through the ice to clear the way to McMurdo Sound. “This is not good for us.”

An NSF spokesperson points to President Biden’s May 2024 National Security Memorandum on U.S. Policy on the Antarctic Region, “which reaffirms the importance of the Antarctic Treaty System ... [and] reiterates the long-standing mandate to maintain an ‘active and influential presence.’”

But if the U.S. loses influence in Antarctica, there could be negative consequences for the dynamics of the region. “We have a nice, neutral, calming effect, usually, on the politics of Antarctica,” Muntean says.

Burke agrees. “The U.S. is largely interested in maintaining the continent as a zone of peace and research,” he says—upholding the original tenets of the treaty, in other words.

The current American pullback has led some to worry that, as Muntean put it in a recent commentary, other countries may be more likely to “pursue their individual interests rather than their collective interest.”

The collective interest involves those “peace and science” ideals in the treaty, and individual interests perhaps include putting dual-use capabilities at Antarctic installations—instrumentation that’s useful both to scientists and to the military—or looking into using resources that have been set aside for conservation.

Worries about countries pursuing individual interests are why treaties have enforcement mechanisms. The Antarctic Treaty has two. Countries can do unannounced inspections of other nations’ stations. “Countries show up and check out what’s happening to see whether countries are doing what they’re saying they’re doing,” Muntean says. Every state present in Antarctica also has to document their planned activities, equipment and in-person presence.

A U.S. team slid in just before the pandemic in 2020 to perform recent inspections. It was led by Muntean, and members included officials from the Department of State, the Coast Guard, NSF and the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. “We were welcomed with open arms by all stations,” Muntean says.

Over the entire lifetime of the treaty, however, only around 60 inspections have occurred—not exactly enough to keep a sharp eye on the goings-on. And in 2023 just 10 of 29 parties had done their required documentation every year for the past decade.

Given all those fuzzy variables, Muntean believes that scientists who study the Antarctic shouldn’t just pay attention to their own projects and care about their own results. They also need to be part of the policy and the politics, especially if they want to ensure they get to continue to do their science at the levels they have in the past. “The U.S. needs to be thinking about how to make the platforms, and maintain the platforms, for decades to come in a manner that keeps us in the forefront of science [and] environmental protection,” Muntean says, “as well as the politics.”