The Whalers: How the State’s Fight Against Foreign Influence Threatens the Traditional Livelihood of Chukotka’s Indigenous Peoples

An inside look at the whaling industry in Chukotka—and how state intervention is once again putting Indigenous life at risk, just as it did in Soviet times.

Chukotka is the only region in Russia where marine mammal hunting is still practiced. Here, seals, walruses, gray whales, and bowhead whales are more than just food—they’re a living part of the region’s cultural heritage and traditional way of life. But due to increasing state interference, that way of life is once again under threat, reminiscent of the Soviet era.

Who Hunts Whales Today

Marine mammal hunting remains the backbone of life in Chukotka’s coastal villages. It provides jobs, food, and helps preserve cultural traditions. Today, around 300 hunters work across nine communities, harvesting more than 2,000 tons of marine mammals each year. In this isolated region with a harsh climate, whale meat has become a vital resource for survival.

“My ancestors—the Yupik people—have lived in the Arctic for thousands of years. The bowhead whale was our main source of food and the key to preserving Yupik cultural heritage. You’ll find it in our oral stories, our creation myths, our festivals, dances, crafts, and even petroglyphs,” said one Yupik woman who has spent many years studying the history of traditional hunting practices.

A member of a Chukchi whaling family, who asked to remain anonymous, also spoke to the importance of the practice:

“All the essential nutrients and trace elements our people need come from marine animals—walrus, bearded seal, or whale. Take that away, and our people won’t survive.”

Today, whales are hunted using small motorboats, harpoons, and rifles. Success depends heavily on weather conditions, navigation skills, and the quality of the equipment. Hunters are not allowed to sell their catch—it’s shared among the local community and may be traded with reindeer herders.

“I know of a village with only 100 people. They hunt two gray whales a year—one in May, one in October—and that’s enough to feed them for the whole year. Six brave men head out at dawn and return with a whale. It’s a celebration for all 100 residents,” the Chukchi hunter added.

How Traditional Whalers Nearly Lost Their Skills—and What the USSR’s Politics Had to Do with It

For centuries, Indigenous peoples hunted whales and walruses in the Far North. But in the 19th and 20th centuries, this ancient livelihood was severely disrupted by the forces of "the larger world" and the march of "big history."

The first major blow to traditional hunting in Chukotka came from the American whaling fleet, explains an anonymous Yupik representative in an interview with Arktida. Between 1849 and 1900, commercial whalers slaughtered an estimated 16,000 bowhead whales and 150,000 walruses.

“The disappearance of so many species our ancestors depended on was devastating. We couldn’t compete with commercial whalers. The Bering Sea’s resources were depleted, and starvation followed—wiping out 60 to 70 percent of the Indigenous population,” she said.

The next disaster came during the Soviet era. In the 1930s, forced collectivization merged many communities into fishing cooperatives. Traditional hunting was absorbed into a state-run industry: whale meat and blubber were used to feed animals at fur farms that bred Arctic foxes and minks. Demand became so high that, in 1969, the government launched a whaling ship called the Zvezdny, completely pushing Indigenous people out of the practice.

“The Soviet authorities commercialized our traditions and relocated us into large urban-type settlements,” said the Yupik representative. “Our village was filled with reindeer herders—two completely different worlds forced to live together. On top of that, Chukotka was heavily militarized. Between 1910 and 1950, village populations grew a hundredfold, with over 95% of residents being military personnel and their families.”

Although the USSR ratified the international convention limiting whaling back in 1948, it never intended to follow it. Reports to the International Whaling Commission (IWC) were falsified. In reality, whaling continued unchecked—including pregnant females, calves, and endangered species.

“From 1948 to 1973, Soviet whalers killed more than 180,000 whales, most of which were protected species. It was one of the greatest environmental crimes of the 20th century,” the Yupik representative claimed.

As whale populations dwindled and hunting became more difficult, the practice eventually lost its economic value to the Soviet state.

In the end, the USSR backed the international moratorium on whaling, which went into effect in 1986 and remains in place today.

The moratorium bans all commercial whaling, except for subsistence hunting by Indigenous peoples as part of their traditional way of life. But ironically, that’s the very form of hunting that was nearly lost during the Soviet period.

How a Grassroots Organization Revived Traditional Whaling

After the collapse of the Soviet Union, whaling in Chukotka nearly disappeared. A revival only began in the late 1990s, largely thanks to the work of the Chukotka Association of Traditional Marine Mammal Hunters (ChAZTO).

The organization united hunters from coastal communities, helped preserve and spread traditional knowledge, and advocated for Indigenous rights at both the national and international levels. For example, in 2010, the association discovered that hunters from four villages were only allocated 75 walruses instead of the 250 they were entitled to—a discrepancy that “got lost” in paperwork between Moscow and Anadyr.

ChAZTO also represented Chukotka’s Indigenous peoples at the International Whaling Commission, which oversees quotas for bowhead and grey whale hunting.

Thanks to their efforts, local Indigenous communities were, for the first time, able to influence quota allocations directly—leading to a significant increase in access to resources.

Another important area of their work was scientific collaboration. Between 2007 and 2009, the association received a grant from the University of Alaska to monitor walrus populations. This research provided more accurate population data and helped justify hunting quotas.

How the State Dismantled ChAZTO

In 2009, a government-run newspaper in Chukotka called Krayniy Sever published an article titled Self-Appointed Diplomats, accusing ChAZTO of accepting U.S. grants and “failing to cooperate with authorities.” The association sued and forced the newspaper to issue a retraction. But the pressure only escalated from there.

“In 2014, a Justice Ministry official told our director, ‘It’s your own fault. Orders from the top—we’re going to start labeling [foreign] agents in every region,’” recounted a ChAZTO member, referring to the “foreign agent” designation used to suppress civil society groups in Russia.

The official claimed that since one of ChAZTO’s leaders was elected to local office, the organization was engaging in political activity—allegedly funded by the U.S. ChAZTO refused to register as a “foreign agent,” but government pressure intensified.

In March 2016, the FSB shut down a ChAZTO meeting at a village library, citing special restrictions in border areas that require advance notice for any “mass gathering.” In 2017, the Labor Inspectorate carried out a surprise audit. That same year, the regional Ministry of Justice filed a lawsuit to dissolve the organization, citing minor financial reporting issues and technicalities in their nonprofit charter. The court initially dismissed the case, but in 2019, ChAZTO was officially liquidated.

How a Government-Backed Union Took Its Place—and Aligned with the FSB

In 2009, around the same time ChAZTO came under fire, a new organization was founded: the Union of Marine Mammal Hunters (UMMH). Its first executive director stated in an interview that it was created “on orders from the President of Russia” and with support from the Chukotka regional government and Ministry of Agriculture.

To strengthen its standing, the Union began cooperating closely with the FSB. In 2013, it helped establish a voluntary civilian patrol to assist in guarding the state border.

“Thanks to the vigilance of Chukotka’s patrol members, over 20 border violations were detected,” reported Krayniy Sever.

According to the Union’s first director, Yuri Tototto, working with the FSB “actually helped preserve national culture and traditions.”

By 2018, after ChAZTO was dissolved, the Union became Chukotka’s sole representative to the International Whaling Commission.

But the Union is fundamentally different from its predecessor.

While ChAZTO actively worked with international research institutions, advocated for Indigenous rights globally, and received grants for scientific work abroad, the UMMH is entirely dependent on Russian state funding.

It’s also closely tied to government structures: Yuri Tototto was a co-founder of the regional branch of the pro-Kremlin All-Russia People’s Front. The current director, Vladimir Devyatkin, began his career in Chukotka’s Department of Agricultural Policy and Natural Resources.

What the Union Does Today—and the Reality for Traditional Hunters

The Union organizes knowledge-sharing seminars, participates in state-funded monitoring of polar bear and walrus populations, promotes healthy lifestyles, and submits monthly whale harvest reports to Rospotrebnadzor (Russia’s consumer safety agency).

Whale harvesting remains tightly regulated. As soon as a whale is pulled ashore, hunters record its length and other biological data, which are reported to regional authorities and the IWC. Even in 2022 and 2023, amid worsening international relations, Russia continued to submit these reports.

The Union still works with the IWC, but its role in advocating for Indigenous hunters is largely symbolic. Quotas are simply renewed without substantial engagement.

Instead, the Union has been much more vocal in supporting Russia’s war in Ukraine. In March 2022, director Devyatkin spoke at a pro-war rally in Anadyr. And after the mobilization began, rather than defending Indigenous people from being drafted, he said the Union discussed sending care packages of traditional foods to Russian soldiers. Eventually, they opted to support soldiers’ families instead—by distributing marine mammal meat.

While the Union shows loyalty to government authorities, the real problems facing hunters continue to worsen. They report fuel shortages (controlled by the Agriculture Department), broken freezers, increased bureaucracy, unfair quotas, and the impact of international isolation.

“We used to get a lot of help from Alaska—donated boats, motors, humane whale-killing devices, even ammo,” said a resident of Providensky District. “All of that came from over there.”

Experts at Arktida are increasingly alarmed by what’s happening. One Yupik representative said that due to the decline in hunting, “the Arctic’s human population is shrinking just as fast as the polar bear population.”

Locals now have fewer and fewer ways to protect their interests. Complaints about broken equipment, confusing paperwork, and unjust quotas make it clear: replacing a grassroots association with a state-controlled organization has done little to solve the real problems faced by Chukotka’s Indigenous hunters.

In fact, these new institutions primarily serve state interests—not the people’s—undermining Indigenous self-governance and cutting them off from global collaboration.

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Cover photo by Vladimir Sevrinovsky

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