To Greenland, or Not to Greenland: The U.S. Question

On December 22, 2024, President Trump stated on Truth Social: “For purposes of National Security and Freedom throughout the World, the United States of America feels that the ownership and control of Greenland is an absolute necessity.”

Over the last 158 years, the United States has sought to purchase Greenland from Denmark at different times, beginning in 1867, when Secretary of State William H. Seward (Johnson administration) pursued Greenland for its Arctic position and telegraph ambitions. In 1910, the United States explored acquisition again, and again in 1946, and so on to the present day. Below is a chart/table I put together of each attempted push to acquire the island.

Year(s)U.S. Actor(s)Context / MotiveWhat HappenedOutcomeKey Primary Sources
1867–1868Sec. of State William H. Seward (Johnson admin)Post–Civil War expansion; Arctic navigation, coal stations, telegraph routesInformal discussions about buying Greenland + Iceland from DenmarkDenmark declinedU.S. State Dept. Papers Relating to Foreign Affairs (1868) • Congressional Executive Documents, 40th Congress
1910State Dept. (Taft admin)Arctic strategy; North Atlantic positioningDraft tripartite land-swap treaty (U.S.–Germany–Denmark) involving GreenlandNever ratified• U.S. National Archives, RG 59 (State Dept. records) • Draft treaty text in Foreign Relations of the United States (FRUS), 1910
1946Pres. Harry S. TrumanEarly Cold War; Soviet threat; air/naval basingFormal offer: $100 million in gold to DenmarkDenmark refused• FRUS 1946, vol. XI • Truman–Byrnes correspondence • Danish Foreign Ministry archives
1951Truman adminNATO consolidationInstead of purchase, long-term base agreement (Thule Air Base)U.S. gains permanent military access• U.S.–Denmark Defense Agreement (1951)
2019Pres. Donald TrumpArctic shipping lanes, China/Russia activity, rare earthsPublic inquiry to buy GreenlandDenmark refused• White House press statements (2019) • Danish PM statements

So, is the potential acquisition of Greenland good or bad? Politically, there is significant pushback—and rightfully so. This comes from Denmark, the European Union, and NATO, not to mention critics within the United States and, most importantly, the people of Greenland, who have the greatest say. However, the world is still ruled by realpolitik, justified by raison d’État. So, once again: is the purchase or taking of Greenland good or bad?

Politically, it is a bad move. The more relevant question is what the political fallout would be.

The harm stems from system-level consequences, and it starts with NATO.

Buying territory via coercion from a fellow NATO member (Denmark) fractures alliance trust. This, in turn, sets a precedent in which alliances become conditional when power shifts. Moreover, it weakens Article 5’s credibility—psychologically, even if not legally.

This also brings us to EU and allied backlash, which reinforces the narrative that the United States treats allies as instruments rather than partners. Because of this, it could—or will—push Europe toward strategic autonomy. If so, one should expect hedging behavior, in which state “A” avoids fully committing to one power or one alliance and instead spreads its risks across multiple options.

This kind of behavior represents a form of neo-feudalization of international politics. States “A,” “B,” and so forth will no longer give exclusive loyalty to a single patron, but instead distribute their security, economic, and diplomatic dependencies across multiple great powers. Power is thus measured in self-economic control and security guarantees, which will increasingly resemble conditional contracts rather than formal alliances. These alliances will remain, but they will come to resemble contractual arrangements more than political communities bound by ideological similarity.

This is a major issue, for legitimacy flows from the people, not merely from territory or treaties. In other words, sovereignty is no longer simply control of land. Control over the land people live on is now justified by the consent, identity, and political will of the population itself, and this has been the norm since 1945. One can point to the UN Charter, which promotes self-determination, decolonization, referenda, and human rights.

So, in the Greenlandic context, even if the United States and Denmark agreed legally, without Greenlandic consent, the acquisition would be viewed as illegitimate by most international institutions, most states, and the population itself. This could translate into chronic political instability, resistance politics, and permanent narrative warfare against the United States.

When I say resistance politics, I do not mean armed rebellion. More likely, it would take the form of protests and strikes, refusal to cooperate with institutions, and the emergence of sustained political movements.

Even a legal “purchase” without genuine local consent would create a permanent legitimacy deficit—that is, a lasting condition in which authority is never fully accepted by the governed population or by much of the international system. While this makes a low-level insurgency or sustained unrest unlikely, it would still serve as political cannon fodder: a propaganda gift to Russia and China.

This brings us to the global precedent.

The acquisition of Greenland could establish a global precedent if the United States were to go through with it. In other words, normalization. Normalizing territorial acquisition by a great power would encourage others to proceed with calculated caution. One can think of Russia’s dealings with Ukraine, Georgia, and Moldova (the Transnistria conflict), Turkey in northern Syria, or China in the South China Sea and the possible invasion of Taiwan. Not to mention the many other states with unresolved border disputes scattered across the globe.

This is where spheres-of-influence logic, to some degree, supersedes the rules-based order. In doing so, it weakens the very system that benefits the United States economically and financially.

From a short-term perspective, this would create a severe diplomatic crisis with Denmark. The European Union would almost certainly condemn the United States, and NATO would fracture internally under the strain. One would also expect significant domestic political backlash and public protest.

From a mid-term perspective—if there even is one—NATO becomes more transactional and less cohesive. In other words, NATO would still exist, but it would stop functioning as a political community and start operating more like a marketplace of temporary bargains. Think of it as a mercenary state for hire. Support becomes case-by-case. NATO members begin to think in terms of: What do I get in return? What does this cost me domestically? Is U.S. support conditional this time?

Obligations become negotiable and reversible rather than automatic. Alliance membership begins to resemble a protection racket—a pay-for-play arrangement, a mercenary logic applied at the level of states. NATO shifts from a community of mutual defense into a market for security guarantees. This is not a moral condemnation. It is a structural diagnosis.

Historically, systems built on that logic are stable only until the price changes. When it does, uncertainty follows.

Europe accelerates toward defense independence. China and Russia exploit the hypocrisy narrative relentlessly. Arctic militarization accelerates.

From a long-term perspective, two possible equilibria emerge.

The first is what one might call power normalization, in which the world once again accepts spheres of influence. The United States gains territory but loses moral authority, and the international system reverts to a more openly nineteenth-century character. History does not repeat, but it rhymes.

The second scenario is strategic overreach. In this case, the United States gains territory, but it pays a persistent alliance and legitimacy tax—one that quietly compounds over time. The map improves. The balance sheet deteriorates. Regardless of the territorial gain, the net power position stagnates or even weakens.

Surprisingly, none of this means the United States would be acting irrationally. Nor, for that matter, would any other major power. From the standpoint of realpolitik, the logic is clear. Geography does not change. The Arctic is opening. The chess pieces are positioning themselves, as if in a game of Go. The United States is acting rationally in seeking to secure Greenland regardless of EU or NATO cohesion, because in a multipolar system, strategic geography outweighs institutional loyalty. And when control is lost, it is rarely regained without cost.

As for raison d’État, it has never concerned itself with moral comfort, only with survival and advantage. Institutions will always preach unity to the masses, but states prepare for fragmentation. That is the essence of raison d’État. The problem is that what is strategically coherent can still be systemically destructive. The acquisition of Greenland may strengthen the United States on a map, but weaken the architecture that made that map stable in the first place.

Power is gained, and trust is spent. And in international politics, trust—once gone—is rarely rebuilt at the same price it was lost. That is the dilemma. Not whether the United States can pursue Greenland, but what kind of international order it is willing to inhabit if it does.

This is where the Wild West meets the Wild East.

National Security Strategy of the United States of America

Trump’s National Security Strategy of the United States of America document is short-sighted in its long-term strategic architecture, but not necessarily short-sighted in the tempo of modern conflict, where political and military incentives often reward rapid repositioning. Adaptability over consistency carries significant political advantages. Yet even when adaptability is prioritized over fixed positions, one can still be consistent in one’s adaptability. In this way, adaptability itself becomes a coherent and recognizable strategic posture, providing a framework for action that is both flexible and systematically applied.

Washington’s War Against Eurasia in the Americas

In this undated political cartoon about U.S. expansionism in the Pacific, Uncle Sam straddles the Americas while wielding a big stick inscribed with the words “Monroe Doctrine 1824-1905.” The stick is a metaphor for military force. The caption reads “Expansion! The western patrol’s long stretch.” Getty Images.

Two centuries after President James Monroe warned European powers against interference in the Western Hemisphere, the United States finds itself resurrecting the spirit—if not the letter—of that doctrine. Today, the adversaries are no longer colonial monarchies but twenty-first-century powers: China and Russia.

The battleground is not Cuba or Nicaragua, like in the 1960s or 1980s, but Colombia and Venezuela, where the United States now invokes the familiar rhetoric of the “war on drugs” while pursuing a broader, unspoken aim—to curtail Eurasian influence and maintain strategic dominance in its own hemisphere.

What is unfolding in Colombia and Venezuela is a hemispheric echo of the Thucydides Trap—where the United States, long the unchallenged hegemon of the Americas, now confronts the creeping advance of rising Eurasian powers. The “drug war” is real, but it is also a symptom of strategic anxiety: the fear of displacement in its own backyard. At the heart of that anxiety stand Colombia and Venezuela—the lynchpins of the hemisphere’s balance:  

Together, they form the pressure point where old doctrines collide with new realities.

Few nations are as strategically crucial to the Americas as Colombia. It’s the only South American nation with access to both the Caribbean Sea and the Pacific Ocean. That dual maritime identity is almost unmatched.

Militarily, this makes Colombia a hemispheric hinge—a base from which U.S. forces can project power into both oceanic theaters, monitor transnational trafficking routes, and maintain logistical access to the Panama Canal and the Andean corridor.

For Washington, losing influence in Colombia would not simply mean losing an ally; it would mean sacrificing a key strategic partner and ceding maritime control over the entire northern arc of South America. This space doesn’t just connect Atlantic trade routes to Pacific supply chains—it links the Caribbean directly to the Indo-Pacific strategic arena.

But the very geography that makes Colombia indispensable to Washington also makes it irresistible to its rivals. In recent years, Bogotá has charted a more independent course—restoring ties with Venezuela, distancing itself from U.S. policy, and opening economic channels with China. Under President Petro, Bogotá has reoriented its foreign relations around regional autonomy rather than dependency, marking the end of automatic alignment with Washington—for now. This shift has unsettled the United States. For decades, Colombia was the cornerstone of U.S. influence in Latin America—a reliable base for counternarcotics, surveillance, and regional diplomacy. Yet the landscape is shifting. China is now Colombia’s second-largest trading partner, investing capital in infrastructure, as seen in Venezuela, while Russia’s influence extends through its deepening alliance with Caracas. Together, these powers are quietly eroding U.S. dominance in the one region Washington once considered untouchable. Now, it is a matter of strategic competition.

Officially, U.S. operations in Colombia and neighboring Venezuela are framed in the language of counternarcotics—targeting drug cartels, trafficking networks, and the corruption they sustain. But beneath that language lies a more complex reality.

The narrative surrounding the “drug war” gives Washington legitimacy to carry out covert operations in the region. This policy masks its true intentions, enabling the U.S. to deploy resources, strengthen regional alliances, and ultimately justify interventions that align with its broader geopolitical objectives.

In practice, it operates as a strategic mask for the containment of Chinese and Russian economic and military penetration. This is not to say the drug problem is imaginary. This is not to say that drug trafficking, cartel violence, and state collusion remain serious challenges, because it does, to varying degrees. Yet the U.S. emphasis on these threats conveniently aligns with its larger geostrategic anxieties—namely, the encroachment of rival powers in its historic sphere of influence.

Russia has entrenched itself as Venezuela’s principal military patron. Since the early 2000s, Moscow has sold billions of dollars’ worth of arms to Caracas, including Sukhoi fighter jets, Mi-series helicopters, S-300 surface-to-air systems, and T-72 tanks, among other items. Russian advisers and technicians maintain and train Venezuelan forces, while joint naval and air exercises routinely project power into the Caribbean.

Beyond the military sphere, the Russian state has embedded itself in Venezuela’s oil industry through government-to-government financing, naphtha supplies, technical assistance, and bilateral energy agreements—both to gain leverage and to help Caracas circumvent U.S. sanctions. The relationship functions as mutually assured protection between two sanctioned states.

Moscow’s objective is not merely commercial. It is symbolic and strategic: to plant a flag in America’s backyard and show that Russia can still challenge U.S. power far from Eurasia.

While Russia supplies arms and advisers, China supplies money and infrastructure. Over the past two decades, Beijing has extended more than $60 billion in loans to Venezuela, making it China’s largest debtor in the Western Hemisphere. Chinese firms have invested heavily in mining, telecommunications, and oil projects, while digital giants such as Huawei have established surveillance and communications networks across Venezuela.

In Colombia, China’s footprint is subtler but growing—focused on infrastructure, technology, and trade diversification. As Bogotá seeks alternatives to U.S. capital and military aid, Beijing offers credit lines and construction deals that quietly bind local economies to Chinese supply chains.

For Washington, this is the real threat: a slow economic colonization of the hemisphere under the guise of development and partnership.

At the heart of this regional struggle lies oil—an immense and paradoxical resource. Venezuela holds the world’s largest proven reserves, surpassing even Saudi Arabia’s. Yet most of it is extra-heavy, sulfur-rich crude—the infamous “dirty oil”—which is costly to extract, energy-intensive to refine, and environmentally ruinous to process.

This reality breeds a dual dynamic: vast potential wealth locked behind near-total dependence on foreign technology and capital. For China and Russia, Venezuelan oil is strategic leverage—a wedge into Western markets and a grip on a resource that still powers the global economy. For the United States, it is both a prize and a problem: a colossal reserve that cannot be ignored, even as sanctions and politics block the path.

What is unfolding in Colombia and Venezuela today carries the unmistakable imprint of a modern Monroe Doctrine—repackaged for an era of multipolar rivalry.

EraRival PowersU.S. JustificationUnderlying Motive
19th CenturyEuropean EmpiresProtect hemispheric sovereigntySecure U.S. primacy in the Americas
Cold WarSoviet Union & CubaContain communismPrevent ideological and military encroachment
21st CenturyChina & RussiaCombat narcotics and corruptionCounter Eurasian influence and protect access to resources

In one sense, the language has evolved—from sovereignty to security, from colonialism to cartels—but the core principle endures: no external great power shall dominate the Western Hemisphere.

Whether framed as counternarcotics, democracy promotion, or regional stability, U.S. actions in Colombia and Venezuela reveal a deeper continuity of purpose. The Monroe Doctrine never vanished—it evolved.

Colombia’s two-ocean gateway, Venezuela’s vast “dirty oil,” and the rising presence of China and Russia have fused to make northern South America the new proving ground for America’s hemispheric resolve. The “drug war” is real—but it also serves as cover for something older, larger, and far more strategic: a shadow war for influence, waged under the banner of security, in a region where geography and resources once again dictate the balance of power.