Iceland Moves Closer to Banning Commercial Whaling

For over four decades, Kristján Loftsson has defended an industry that much of the world wants to see disappear. Now, his most formidable adversary may be his own country.

As the proprietor of Hvalur hf., Iceland’s sole whaling enterprise, Mr. Loftsson has spent recent decades merely surviving. He has weathered international moratoriums, protests, acts of sabotage, and the collapse of the domestic whale meat market. Iceland remains one of just three nations engaging in commercial whaling, alongside Norway and Japan.

However, on Thursday, Iceland’s ruling coalition introduced a potential legislative revision that could result in a complete ban. This proposal follows a summer rife with controversy. Workers at Hvalur played the national anthem while butchering a whale, prompting the Icelandic coast guard to stage a dramatic raid on an anti-whaling vessel at sea.

Public opinion in Iceland remains divided, reflecting a nation caught between tradition and change. Where 75% of Icelanders supported whaling in 2003, only 33% do so today, with 41% opposed and 26% neutral. This ambivalence underscores the uncertain future of the proposed ban, yet it also highlights a profound shift in the national conscience. The confrontations of this summer were merely the precursor to deeper changes.

Sitting in a Reykjavík café, Mr. Loftsson does not project the image of a man fighting a losing battle. He speaks warmly about his upbringing within the company his father established, recalling how he started as a mess boy at 13 and became a deckhand two years later. “Everyone was working in fishing vessels and trawlers,” he reminisces about the summer rites of his youth.

Mark Sappenfield/The Christian Science Monitor

Kristján Loftsson, owner of Hvalur hf., Iceland’s only whaling company, sits in a café in Reykjavik, Aug. 26, 2026. He has run the company since 1974.

Despite this nostalgia, Mr. Loftsson sees no reason to abandon the practice. “If you have a healthy stock [of whales], why not utilize it the way you do with fishing?” he asks. He maintains that North Atlantic fin whales are not endangered and dismisses research highlighting their intelligence and social complexity as fabricated.

For years, Mr. Loftsson’s strongest ally has been Iceland’s spirit of independence. The nation has historically defied convention, and for many citizens, whaling represents a bold assertion of sovereignty. “If I go to a restaurant, people come up to me and say, ‘Carry on,'” he notes.

Yet, for others, the anthem playing and cries of “Áfram Ísland” (“Forward, Iceland!”) crossed a line. Iceland’s minister of industries rebuked the workers to “behave like adults.”

Shifts in public support have been building for years. Footage of whale kills released in 2023 shocked many Icelanders, exposing the brutality of the hunt, which often involves multiple explosive harpoons over an hour or more. “Everyone could see how horrible the hunting is,” says Valgerður Árnadóttir, co-founder of Hvalavinir, an Icelandic whale protection organization. “It is impossible to hunt in a humane way.”

Shannon Mann attempted to halt this year’s hunt entirely. Aboard the ship Bandero in July, she joined the Captain Paul Watson Foundation’s global anti-whaling efforts. Instead of succeeding, she was detained and deported.

Mark Sappenfield/The Christian Science Monitor

Nick Bohnet of the anti-whaling Captain Paul Watson Foundation stands on the bridge of the Bandero in Akranes, Iceland, Aug. 28, 2026. The Bandero was involved in a dramatic encounter with a whaling vessel at sea in July.

For weeks, the Bandero played a game of cat and mouse, attempting to locate Hvalur’s vessels to disrupt the hunt, aided by the Icelandic coast guard keeping their movements secret. Eventually, running low on supplies, the Bandero tracked one Hvalur ship into Icelandic territorial waters. Mr. Loftsson claims the Bandero attempted to sink the whaling vessel by ramming it, though Ms. Mann insists they never came within two nautical miles. “No one was ever at risk. We’re not out to hurt anyone,” she states.

Within hours, the Icelandic coast guard helicopterized a team to board the Bandero. The vessel remains docked in Akranes, north of Reykjavík, where Nick Bohnet has taken command and is attempting to convince Icelandic authorities to allow the ship to depart.

Recently, Mr. Bohnet has been preoccupied with determining who might have stolen the Captain Paul Watson flag overnight. Upon the ship’s arrival, he feared a hostile reaction from locals, given that Hvalur’s processing plant is nearby.

Outside, the atmosphere has been relatively calm, save for a few onlookers curious about the vessel. One woman, who wished to remain anonymous, expressed support for whaling. “We should be allowed to do what we are doing.” Nearby, Almar Johanesson walks his dog. He worked at the Hvalur facility for several summers years ago, describing the job simply as a means to earn money. Whaling, he asserts, “It’s useless and stupid.”

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