After the financial collapse of 2008, Iceland became one of the few European countries where the idea of joining the European Union transformed from a discussion into a matter of national survival. Today, nearly two decades later, the country is revisiting the topic of European integration — but in an entirely different geopolitical reality, facing large-scale external information influence, attempts to divide society, and disinformation campaigns reminiscent of the British Brexit. The term “Arctic Brexit” is increasingly heard in Reykjavik today, behind which lies not only the threat of social division, but also the understanding that this small island nation has unexpectedly found itself at the center of a struggle for the future of the Arctic, the North Atlantic, and European security.
Iceland has historically built its political identity around the idea of sovereignty. After gaining independence from Denmark in 1944, control overfishing resources became the key symbol of national self-determination. Fishing remained the backbone of the country’s economy for decades. In the twentieth century, Iceland entered several conflicts over the expansion of its exclusive economic zone — the so-called “Cod Wars” with Great Britain, which in 1975–1976 nearly led to a complete breakdown of diplomatic relations between Reykjavik and London. For Icelanders, this became historical proof that control over marine resources is a matter of national survival. The idea of joining the European Union was therefore long perceived in Iceland as a threat, and despite close integration with Europe, the country preferred to keep its distance. In 1994, Iceland joined the European Economic Area, and in 2001 it acceded to the Schengen Agreement. In effect, Iceland became part of the European market and implemented a significant portion of EU legislation without gaining the right to participate in decision-making in Brussels.
The turning point came in the autumn of 2008, when the three largest banks in the country — Kaupthing, Landsbanki, and Glitnir — collapsed within a matter of weeks. By that point, the size of the banking sector was nearly ten times Iceland’s GDP. The Icelandic krona plummeted, inflation exceeded 18%, and thousands of people lost their savings and their jobs. In July 2009, the government of Prime Minister Jóhanna Sigurðardóttir officially submitted an application for EU membership. At the time, a majority of the population supported European integration, as for many Icelanders the EU had come to be associated with financial stability, access to the euro, and protection against a repeat of the crisis. Accession negotiations began in 2010, and by 2013, 27 negotiating chapters had been opened, though 11 were temporarily closed. It was already clear by then that the main point of contention between Iceland and the EU had not disappeared.
The chief obstacle was the EU’s Common Fisheries Policy. Many feared that Brussels would gain influence over quota allocation and the access of foreign vessels to Icelandic waters. Eurosceptics made active use of this issue, portraying European integration as a threat to national sovereignty — the fishing industry accounts for around 40% of Iceland’s export revenue, and in coastal regions it remains the primary source of employment.
While negotiations continued, the country’s economy began to recover. By 2012, Iceland was showing steady growth and the tourism sector was experiencing a genuine boom. The argument for urgent EU membership had lost its urgency. In the parliamentary elections of April 2013, two centre-right, Eurosceptic forces — the Independence Party and the Progressive Party — won. By the summer of 2013, the government had officially frozen negotiations with Brussels, while refusing to hold the promised referendum on continuing the European integration process. The final political break came in March 2015, when Foreign Minister Gunnar Bragi Sveinsson sent a letter to the EU requesting that Iceland no longer be considered a candidate country. The decision was taken without a nationwide vote and drew criticism both domestically and from European politicians.
The topic of membership appeared to have been closed for a long time — but the world changed. Following Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, the security of Northern Europe ceased to be taken for granted. This came as a particular shock to the Nordic nations. Finland and Sweden abandoned decades of neutrality and applied for NATO membership. For Iceland, Russian aggression was also a wake-up call. Although the country has no permanent standing army of its own and is already a NATO member, the island’s importance to the North Atlantic security architecture increased sharply, as Iceland is situated in the strategically vital GIUK Gap — the maritime corridor between Greenland, Iceland, and the United Kingdom — which is critical for monitoring the movement of the Russian fleet between the Arctic and the Atlantic.
At the same time, the geopolitical significance of the Arctic intensified. The melting of sea ice is opening new shipping routes and access to resources, and the United States, Russia, China, and the EU are competing ever more actively for influence in the region. Against this backdrop, discussions in Iceland about the need for closer integration with the European Union resumed. An additional factor was the economic instability that emerged following the pandemic and the energy crisis, when Icelanders once again encountered problems with their national currency, rising prices, and high inflation. The question of whether a small economy can weather global shocks on its own was being asked with increasing frequency. In the spring of 2026, the Icelandic government announced a new referendum to be held on 29 August. Formally, the vote concerns not EU membership itself, but merely the resumption of negotiations — yet the political significance of the outcome extends far beyond that. Foreign Minister Þorgerður Katrín Gunnarsdóttir stated directly that the country risks facing a “Brexit moment” — a situation in which public opinion becomes the target of large-scale manipulation. According to a Gallup Institute poll published in March 2026, around 57% of Icelanders supported the resumption of EU negotiations, while around 30% were opposed. Yet it was precisely against the backdrop of this growing support for European integration that the authorities began to record a sharp increase in disinformation content across social media.
Only a few years ago, Iceland was considered almost beyond the reach of external information operations, as trust in state media has traditionally been high, and the Icelandic language — in a country of around 400,000 people — created an additional barrier to foreign propaganda. But the development of artificial intelligence has changed the situation. Generative models make it possible to rapidly produce texts, videos, and fabricated publications even in rare languages. Following 2022, Icelandic media regulators and information security experts began recording a marked increase in disinformation activity within the local segment of social media. Fake news about EU policy, manipulative videos about migration, posts about the supposedly inevitable “loss of sovereignty” upon joining the EU, anti-NATO materials, and conspiracy theories about Western “militarization of the Arctic” began circulating actively in Iceland’s information space. Icelandic authorities have increasingly linked these campaigns to Russian information networks. In 2024, the country joined a joint statement by 42 OSCE member states on Russia’s malicious operations in the information sphere. European researchers have already identified a number of networks operating in the Kremlin’s interests — including Doppelganger, Pravda Network, and the structures of the Social Design Agency — whose task is to amplify internal divisions in European countries, undermine trust in EU institutions, and provoke political instability.
On the eve of the August referendum, the most sensitive issues in Icelandic society — fishing and migration — are once again being actively exploited. Social media is spreading claims that Brussels, following Iceland’s accession to the EU, would be able to redistribute fishing quotas in favour of other European countries, effectively stripping Icelanders of control over their primary national resource. At the same time, materials are being published about an allegedly imminent “migration crisis” that the EU would “impose” on the island along with the common European refugee distribution policy. It is precisely this combination of economic fears, questions of national identity, and geopolitical tension that is making Iceland increasingly susceptible to information operations reminiscent of the campaigns that accompanied Brexit in the United Kingdom. The central narrative holds that after joining the EU, Iceland would lose control over its marine resources and become a “colony of Brussels.”
Another popular talking point is the claim that the EU would “drag Iceland into a war with Russia.” In parallel, messages are spreading about the supposedly “crumbling European Union,” Europe’s economic crisis, and rising crime rates due to migration. Iceland long considered itself protected by its geographical location, but today its island status has ceased to be a guarantee of security. Recently, the head of Iceland’s Media Commission, Elfa Yr Gylfadóttir, acknowledged that the country no longer has immunity to foreign influence — prompting the Icelandic government to strengthen cooperation with Sweden’s Psychological Defence Agency, and to launch media literacy programmes and information operation monitoring initiatives. But the central challenge is that Icelandic society must decide what kind of future it envisions for itself.
For the European Union, Iceland’s potential membership is of enormous significance: for the EU, it would mean a strategic presence in the Arctic, enhanced control over the North Atlantic, and strengthening of Europe’s northern flank — developments that would, for Russia, represent a reduction in room for geopolitical manoeuvre. The battle surrounding the Icelandic referendum is therefore not a local dispute over fishing quotas, but a confrontation over the future of Europe in an era of hybrid warfare, digital manipulation, and a new Arctic geopolitics.