What Happens When There's a Crime in Antarctica?

In 2018, headlines around the world carried a chilling story from one of the most remote places on Earth — Antarctica.

Russian engineer Sergey Savitsky, 54, was stationed at Bellingshausen Research Station on King George Island when something went terribly wrong. In an apparent breakdown, Savitsky attacked a colleague, 52-year-old welder Oleg Beloguzov, stabbing him with a kitchen knife inside the station’s canteen.

Beloguzov was urgently evacuated to Magallanes Clinical Hospital in Chile, where he underwent surgery. Remarkably, he survived and was discharged two weeks later, according to Chilean outlet T13.

Russian news agency Interfax suggested the violence may have been fueled by “tensions in a confined space.” But this was no ordinary confinement. Antarctic research stations are isolated, frozen outposts — cut off from the rest of the world for months at a time, especially during winter, when no ships or aircraft can reach them. Darkness, extreme cold, and total isolation become the norm.

So what finally pushed Savitsky over the edge?

The UK tabloid The Sun claimed both men were avid readers who passed the long polar nights reading books from the station’s small library — until Beloguzov allegedly began spoiling the endings before Savitsky could finish them. According to the paper, this seemingly minor irritation sparked uncontrollable rage.

There is no independent evidence to support this claim, and the quote was never attributed to a reliable source. The true motive may never be known.

Yet the case raised unsettling questions. Was this the first attempted murder in Antarctica? What other crimes have occurred on the frozen continent — and how are they handled?

Despite territorial claims by several countries, Antarctica has no police force, courts, or prisons. Under the 1959 Antarctic Treaty, anyone accused of a crime is subject to the laws of their home country.

In theory, this sounds straightforward. In practice, it’s anything but.

Savitsky reportedly surrendered to the station commander. With evacuation impossible at the time, he was held — improbably — inside the station’s Russian Orthodox Church for ten days until a flight could transport him back to Russia to face trial.

This was not the first time isolation had turned deadly.

Canadian Geographic recounts a 1959 incident at Vostok Station, one of the most isolated research bases on Earth, located at the infamous Point of Cold — the coldest naturally recorded place on the planet, where temperatures have plunged to −89.2°C (−128.6°F).

There, an argument over a game of chess reportedly ended in murder, though some accounts say the victim survived. Following the incident, chess was allegedly banned at all Russian Antarctic stations. A sensible decision — though Monopoly might deserve the same fate.

Violence in Antarctica hasn’t been limited to Russian bases.

In 1996, at the American McMurdo Station, a fight erupted between two cooks. According to the Associated Press, one attacked the other with the claw end of a hammer, injuring a third cook who tried to intervene. Both victims required stitches but survived.

The attacker was placed under constant guard until three FBI agents were flown in to investigate — one of the rare instances of law enforcement being deployed to the frozen continent.

Then there is the deeply unsettling case of Rodney Marks.

In May 2000, the 32-year-old Australian astrophysicist fell ill at the Amundsen–Scott South Pole Station, repeatedly visiting the station doctor with nausea, fever, and severe stomach pain. The next day, he was dead.

His body was stored in a freezer for six months until summer allowed transport to Christchurch, New Zealand, for an autopsy. Initially, the U.S. National Science Foundation stated Marks had “apparently died of natural causes.”

The autopsy revealed otherwise.

Marks had been poisoned with methanol.

Both the United States and New Zealand launched investigations, but neither has publicly identified a suspect or explained how the poisoning occurred. With only 49 people at the station at the time, the question remains chillingly unresolved: did someone get away with murder at the South Pole?

Some crimes are less subtle.

In 1984, at Argentina’s Almirante Brown Station, a doctor was reportedly furious after being ordered to stay for another winter. Determined not to endure the isolation, he solved the problem in the most extreme way possible — by burning the station to the ground, ensuring immediate evacuation.

It worked.

Perhaps it’s not surprising that people crack under such conditions. Months of darkness. Crushing cold. Monotony. Isolation. The same faces, the same routines, day after day, with no escape.

Would you be certain you wouldn’t snap if a co-worker kept ruining your books, cheating at chess, or simply breathing too loudly in a place you couldn’t leave?

Or would you do anything — even commit a crime — to avoid another long, frozen, claustrophobic Antarctic winter?

Antarctica is vast, remote, and seemingly untouched. But wherever there are people, there is conflict. And where there is conflict, there is crime — even at the bottom of the world.