The Stage and Its Ghosts: Why Alaska is More Than Just a Venue

5 minutes read time.

As one of the last good weekends of the Alaskan summer approaches—the peak of the salmon run, the middle of berry season—the eyes of the world are fixed on Anchorage. This is a city more accustomed to the rhythms of nature and the quiet bustle of tourism than to the high-stakes, globally televised drama of a superpower summit. Yet, it is here, amid the sprawling suburbs and stands of birch at the base of the Chugach mountains, that Felonious Punk is set to meet Vladimir Putin. The choice of venue is anything but a matter of simple convenience; it is a stage deliberately and densely layered with historical ghosts, potent symbolism, immense logistical challenges, and a current of dark, local humor.

For Vladimir Putin, the location itself is a preliminary and profound victory, a subtle assertion of historical grievance before a single word is spoken. As Michael McFaul, a former U.S. ambassador to Russia, pointedly noted, hosting Putin in “a part of the former Russian Empire” is a deeply provocative act. Tsarist Russia sold the territory to the United States in 1867 for a mere $7.2 million. The deal, long derided in the U.S. as “Seward’s Folly,” is viewed by Russian nationalists as a historical wound. As one Russian tabloid, Moskovsky Komsomolets, crowed in the run-up to the summit, the Alaska sale is a clear example “that state borders can change,” a chilling sentiment when Russia is actively attempting to redraw the map of Europe by force. For Putin, whose political project is steeped in righting perceived historical wrongs, arriving in Anchorage is a powerful, non-verbal statement.

The specific setting, Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson (JBER), is equally steeped in symbolism. This sprawling installation, home to over 32,000 people and accounting for roughly 10% of Anchorage’s population, was a crucial nerve center for American power during the Cold War. Its motto was “Top Cover for North America,” overseeing a network of early warning radar sites and hosting squadrons of aircraft whose sole purpose was to monitor and deter the very Soviet threat that Putin once served as a KGB agent. While much of that hardware has been retired, the base still hosts some of the world’s most advanced F-22 Raptor stealth fighters that, on a regular basis, intercept Russian military aircraft probing U.S. airspace.

The base also has a history as a stage for delicate diplomacy, lending a certain gravity to the proceedings. It was here in 1971 that President Richard Nixon hosted Emperor Hirohito of Japan in a historic meeting, the first time a reigning Japanese monarch had visited a foreign country, with thousands packing a hangar to witness the event. President Ronald Reagan also stopped at the base in 1983. This precedent, however, does little to diminish the sheer irony of the current summit.

Behind the diplomatic curtain lies a monumental logistical and security undertaking, described by insiders to Bloomberg as an “all-out sprint” compressed into a single, frantic week. The operation began with the lone Secret Service agent permanently assigned to the state preparing for hundreds of reinforcements to descend. The challenges were unique to the location; Anchorage is in its high tourist season, meaning hotels are booked solid and the rental car market is small. This necessitated flying in essential assets, including the heavily armored motorcade SUVs, on massive cargo planes from the lower 48. The complexity of the operation is captured in the anecdote of one local realtor, Beau Disbrow, who received near-simultaneous calls from both the U.S. Secret Service and the Russian consulate, both desperately seeking short-term housing for their teams.

The security planning itself is a complex dance of diplomatic protocol and armed preparedness, governed by strict reciprocity rules. As one planner noted, “Everything is matched body for body, gun for gun.” If ten U.S. agents are posted outside a meeting room, ten Russian agents will stand on the other side, a symmetrical tableau of mutual mistrust. This immense effort is being undertaken while the Secret Service is already stretched thin, with personnel simultaneously protecting the Vice President in the UK, preparing for the UN General Assembly, and supporting the federal takeover of the D.C. police force.

For the residents of Anchorage, the summit has been met with a characteristic mix of weary skepticism, civic pride, and gallows humor. As Jeff Landfield, owner of the Alaska Landmine news site, told The Guardian, some locals are just hoping the diplomatic maelstrom doesn’t ruin their weekend fishing or camping plans. There’s a tangible feeling of being “back on the map,” but it’s tempered by a deep distrust of the visitors and the process. “I would say we’re expecting Trump to do something horrible,” retired state senator Hollis French admitted. The historical context is never far from mind, sparking the satirical refrain among locals: “Please don’t sell us back.” This dark humor is a coping mechanism, expressed through local newsletters and joke polls suggesting the leaders meet at “Sarah Palin’s house” or “Skinny Dick’s Halfway Inn.”

Ultimately, Alaska is far more than a backdrop. It is an active participant in the narrative, a character whose history, geography, and people add layers of meaning to the carefully choreographed event. As Felonious Punk and Putin convene on a military base built to repel the Soviet Union, in a state that was once part of the Russian Empire, surrounded by a population that views them with a mix of awe and deep suspicion, the very ground beneath their feet speaks volumes about the complex, enduring, and deeply fraught relationship between their two nations.