Greenland has returned to the global spotlight as President Trump renews his interest in acquiring the northern island during his second term. The idea first surfaced publicly in 2019, when the White House floated the possibility of such a move, prompting a firm response from Greenland’s Premier: “Greenland is ours. We are not for sale and will never be for sale.” Despite this unequivocal stance, reports suggest the administration’s ambitions remain undeterred; as I write this, Donald Trump Jr. is visiting the island, to the panic of Denmark’s prime minister.

At first glance, the idea of acquiring Greenland seems outlandish—perhaps even insulting—a relic of imperial ambition that feels incompatible with modern sensibilities. And for what purpose? President Trump’s widely shared image of one of his hotels towering over the island did little to quell concerns about trivial motives.

Yet the reality is far more complex. There is a legitimate and strategic rationale for prioritizing American interests in Greenland, one that aligns with both their national interests and American foreign policy. As Arctic ice thaws, it is revealing a contested geopolitical arena rich in natural resources, critical trade routes, and significant security implications. Greenland has emerged as the focal point of this broader polar contest. America must lead in this frozen expanse, or it will be led.

The Arctic Matters

In the minds of typical Americans, the Arctic is rendered as the home of fantastical stories of explorers and Santa Claus, but for other countries, it is an everyday, brutal, and vital reality. Nearly 20% of Russian GDP is extracted within the Arctic Circle, and the U.S. Geological Survey estimates nearly 5% of global oil reserves and 25% of global gas reserves lie in the Far North. Alaska alone could provide for nearly all American critical mineral needs, not to mention the rare earth, zinc, and uranium resources across Greenland and the Canadian Shield.

But to access this resource wealth, the United States has some catching up to do. The year 2007 marked the first ice-free summer in the Arctic Ocean, making transit possible for the first time. This same year, Russian explorers descended 4,000 meters beneath the North Pole to plant their nation’s flag on the seabed of the Lomonosov Ridge. While dismissed by the media as a publicity stunt, this act underscored a larger truth: Russia recognizes that its future is intertwined with the Arctic. By some estimates, summer sea ice is declining 12% per decade, and is expected to be nearly ice-free by 2040, not to mention Siberia is becoming increasingly habitable.

For America, a robust Arctic strategy demands a thorough understanding of sovereignty and Greenland’s unique role in the region. In the Arctic, nations make claims under the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS), which allows exclusive economic zones (EEZs) up to 200 nautical miles from shore. Beyond this, UNCLOS permits an extended continental shelf (ECS) claim if a country can prove the seabed naturally extends from its landmass— “science” here commonly yields different definitions.

Since 2007, Russia, Denmark (through Greenland), and Canada have each presented distinct geological claims to the Lomonosov Ridge, an underwater mountain range at the North Pole believed to contain vast oil and gas reserves. These submissions are currently awaiting review by the UN Commission on the Limits of the Continental Shelf (CLCS), but decisions are likely to be indefinitely postponed to avoid potential conflicts. Even similar disputes between less hostile nations, such as the one between Canada and the United States over the Northwest Passage, remain unresolved. And of course, any territorial acquisition by the United States would mean it would inherit the same claims.

And such claims can be quite meaningful, so much so that geopolitical chess is already standard for the Arctic’s high-grade mineral deposits, particularly in Greenland. A zinc-lead mine on the northern side of the island initially entered into an agreement with a state-backed Chinese entity, but under growing political pressure, ultimately opted for $657 million in financing from the United States Export-Import Bank. This agreement was later terminated due to the project’s inability to secure more private funding.

Financing for Greenland mines has not been the only issue. The Kvanefjeld project sold a 10% stake to Shenghe Resources, a Chinese state-backed mining company with global investments to secure mineral feedstock, including the Mountain Pass rare-earth mine in California. Despite substantial funding, significant public opposition to the radioactive byproducts associated with the project have effectively halted all development. As a result, Kvanefjeld—considered the second-largest source of rare earths and the fifth-largest uranium deposit accessible to the West—remains inactive.

Despite setbacks, some projects appear to be working, like the Tanbreez rare-earth mine in southern Greenland. The project received an exploitation license from the Greenlandic government and, in 2024, announced new discoveries of heavy rare-earths and gallium deposits. This project offers a vital supply source for the West, and with no uranium or thorium found, minimizes the environmental concerns that burdened Kvanefjeld. And while still in early exploration phases, the Amitsoq graphite and Sarfartoq rare-earth mines also stand out as high-priority projects for the United States.

Russian and Chinese Interest in Arctic Trade Routes

While accessing the Arctic’s wealth has historically been difficult and thus financially unsustainable, thawing sea ice, growing demand, and larger ice-breaker fleets have altered the equation. The Northwest Passage, once considered a sailors’ myth, is now regularly traversed, and Russia’s “Northern Sea Route” along its Arctic coastline sees over 30 million tons of cargo transported annually. Since 2007, when ice-free Arctic summers began, thousands of voyages have successfully passed through its frigid waters.

In 2023, there were 79 transit voyages across the length of the Northern Sea Route—nearly all of it moving crude oil, coal, or iron ore from Siberia to China. Growth of this route has largely been driven by decline in European imports due to sanctions, opting to sell to Asia by way of the Arctic. Destination voyages, on the other hand, are shorter, localized trips that do not traverse the full length of the route. Instead, they primarily transport Russian resources—typically, liquefied natural gas (LNG)—to domestic ports or nearby European markets. By tonnage, there is roughly ten times the goods flowing west into Europe than east to China today, though this is flipping as the European Union cuts off imports and Asian hunger grows; 2024 saw a 45% annual increase in transit voyages headed east.

This is hardly surprising since, on a map, the Arctic Ocean offers notable shortcuts compared to routes going through the Suez or Panama canals. For instance, a voyage from Japan to Europe takes around 22 days via the Suez, but only ten days via the Arctic. However, while distance is one variable, cargo shipping considerations are much more complex. Economic sailing—like “super-slow steaming” where speed is decreased to reduce the amount of fuel needed to complete a journey—and scheduling are much more important than speed alone. Some shipping routes, like Rotterdam to Hong Kong, are actually shorter through the Suez than the Arctic.

Most cargo ships follow fixed routes called “liner services,” but the Arctic’s unpredictable conditions make the Northern Sea Route less appealing. Unlike the Suez Canal, which allows short-notice transits, Arctic voyages face variable weather, shifting ice, limited infrastructure, and require approval months in advance. Ships also need an ice-worthiness inspection paid by the operator and often require interpreters, as local crews rarely speak English. Finally, reliance on the Russian GLONASS positioning system due to limited western GPS coverage complicates navigation.

The Northwest Passage has so far seen less activity. The route poses more significant challenges, with historically heavier ice and shallower waters making it harder to navigate. Canada and the United States also have greater political and ideological objections to developing previously untouched nature for resource extraction than Russia. For example, the Mary River Mine on Baffin Island in Canada planned to ship its high-grade iron ore west through the Northwest Passage, but environmental and Indigenous groups blocked the effort. Today, Mary River Mine iron ore is transported east into the Atlantic.

Despite these challenges, Arctic shipping continues to grow. This activity serves a dual purpose: securing Russia’s economic survival and supporting China’s efforts to diversify its resource import. This partnership has rapidly strengthened, largely due to Western sanctions accelerating its necessity. Russia’s recently completed Yamal LNG facility primarily exports to Europe, fueling a surge in summer destination voyages despite tensions. However, these sanctions have successfully hindered the Arctic LNG 2 project, delaying its expansion by forcing the withdrawal of Western oil service firms that would have supplied critical machinery and expertise.

But export infrastructure is just one aspect of Arctic development: specialized icebreaker ships are essential for opening trade routes, even with melting sea ice. The CIA tracks the global icebreaker fleet by operational capability, revealing stark disparities. While many nations operate icebreakers, only Russia possesses nuclear-powered vessels capable of extended voyages through thick ice. Russia leads with over forty icebreakers, compared to China’s three and the United States’ meager two. Finland also stands out as the world’s leading designer and manufacturer of icebreakers—and is no longer helping Russia build new ships.

China is not really anywhere close to the Arctic, yet publicly declares itself a “near-Arctic” state and builds its own icebreakers—Beijing has taken keen interest in the Far North. In 2017, China announced the “Polar Silk Road” as part of its Belt and Road Initiative, with state-backed shippers like COSCO navigating Arctic waters and owning approximately 30% of the Yamal LNG facility via Chinese state-owned entities. However, sanctions following the 2022 Russian invasion of Ukraine disrupted these plans. Between 2013 and 2021, COSCO completed 42 Arctic voyages, peaking at fourteen passages in 2021, but underwent none in 2022.

China has since been more careful with their engagement, but their work in the Arctic has not ceased entirely. Western sanctions impeding the developing Arctic LNG 2 facility have forced China’s hand—a complex plan to deliver critical power systems ahead of the winter freeze is underway. And while COSCO has stepped back, China-based NewNew Shipping is commissioning up to ten new ships for regular service on the route. 

China buying Russian energy is nothing new; as their largest source of it, Russia supplies nearly 20% of China’s crude oil imports, with the bulk delivered through overland pipelines. However, such pipelines are increasingly viewed as viable military targets—as Russia knows well—and pass through heavily contested regions in Central Asia, like Xinjiang. While Arctic shipments currently account for only around 0.5% of China’s energy imports, they are emerging as a strategic secondary route, particularly in the event of conflict. Moreover, as the European Union fully cuts off Russian energy, the supply elects to go east: a more comprehensive EU ban on Russian LNG imports coming in March 2025 is expected to shift 20% of Arctic energy exports to China.

Appropriately, Russia has bolstered their Arctic military presence to secure this naval corridor and surrounding region. Over fifty Soviet-era bases have been reopened and the majority of Russia’s nuclear submarines are stationed in the Arctic as part of their new Northern Fleet, collectively vastly outnumbering NATO forces in the area. In 2023, Russia even tested a nuclear-powered missile at one of these bases, and military incursions into Alaskan airspace are commonplace.

Of course, Alaska plays a critical role in the United States’ Arctic security net. Key bases like Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson and Eielson Air Force Base ensure strong Pacific-Arctic defense and rapid response capabilities, but Alaska’s strategic reach is largely confined to the western Arctic and lacks power projection over transatlantic trade routes or the broader North Pole region, particularly in winter months.

In this sense, Greenland complements Alaska by providing critical access to the North Atlantic and Europe, securing influence over eastern Arctic trade routes and mineral resources, and addressing gaps in North Pole claims. While Alaska anchors American Arctic strategy with its Pacific defense capabilities, Greenland’s strategic position near transatlantic routes makes it indispensable for asserting dominance across the Arctic and countering Russia and China’s growing presence. 

The United States is no stranger to transatlantic Arctic operations, maintaining control of Pituffik Space Force Base (formerly Thule Air Force Base) as an early warning station for missile threats to North America. This strategic presence proved vital when China attempted to build airports in Greenland—moves widely seen as veiled attempts to establish a foothold in the region—prompting the United States to pressure Denmark into rejecting the plan after Greenland had initially accepted. Together, Alaska and Greenland would form a robust Arctic security framework, but Greenland’s location and strategic potential make it a linchpin for American dominance in the region.

As the Arctic transforms into a navigable “blue-water” ocean year-round, infrastructure becomes increasingly vital, with icebreakers emerging as a critical factor. Russia has already launched a “combat icebreaker” for sea trials, while China operates three “research” ships with a fourth nearing completion. In stark contrast, the U.S. faces significant challenges: the only heavy icebreaker is in dry dock, and a smaller vessel recently suffered a fire. The Polar Security Cutter program aims to expand the U.S. fleet to six, but delays push the first delivery to around 2030, forcing the Coast Guard to consider repurposing an old commercial vessel. By that time, Russia plans to deploy its massive Project 10510 nuclear-powered icebreaker, the largest ever built, capable of breaking nearly ten feet of ice.

Despite infrastructure buildout, the Arctic remains relatively inconsequential in global markets. And even with major oil projects on Alaska’s North Slope, the Arctic isn’t as economically important to the United States as it is for Russia—we don’t have 20% of our GDP in the Arctic because we have Texas. However, the Sino-Russian partnership in the Arctic isn’t measured in dollars but in tons—strategic imports and resource security prioritized above all. America must adopt a similarly pragmatic approach, focusing on the Arctic’s high-grade mineral deposits and securing control of developing trade routes.

That said, alternative mineral deposits and trade routes in more favorable climates exist and are also geopolitically important—rare earth elements aren’t rare and mainland China’s mineral processing remains the true bottleneck. Still, the Arctic presents a unique strategic opportunity. America doesn’t truly need the Arctic, but our rivals do; America must ensure they do not succeed. How might we accomplish this? We return to Greenland.

The Political Path for Greenland

Put bluntly, Arctic geopolitical intrigue has accelerated Greenland’s future. Protecting American interests in Greenland—and the Arctic as a whole—is unlikely to be achieved through crude gestures like bribes or rushed buyout offers. The solution lies in a strategy that aligns Greenland’s goals with American interests, while mitigating the risk of direct confrontation with Russia. However, to grasp this approach, we must first understand the island’s intricate history of international status and domestic affairs.

In the late 10th century, Erik the Red led the Norse to the island, establishing settlements and naming the land “Greenland” to entice settlers. Their expeditions were recorded in sagas, and the colonies flourished through farming, livestock, and trade with Europe. The Norse coexisted with the native Dorset people, who had lived on the island since 800 BC, until the Thule arrived from the Canadian Arctic around 1200 AD. Over time, the Thule displaced the Dorset, leveraging dog sleds and large umiak boats to thrive in Greenland’s evolving climate.

By the 15th century, even the Norse settlements mysteriously disappeared, possibly due to environmental changes, economic isolation, or conflict with the Thule—the Norse were out-colonized and out-adapted, in a sense. What endured was the third wave of Inuit migration, the Thule people, whose descendants are today called the indigenous Greenlandic population. This Inuit group, adapted to modern sea-ice conditions and Arctic life, continues to shape Greenland’s cultural identity and aspirations for greater self-determination into the present day.

In the late 18th century, Denmark-Norway re-established control over Greenland through missionary efforts and expanding trade networks aimed at fishing and whaling, gradually solidifying colonial rule. But following the dissolution of the Denmark-Norway union in 1814, Greenland officially became a Danish colony, alongside Iceland and the Faroe Islands, marking the start of a prolonged period of more centralized governance from Copenhagen.

Greenland’s modern independence movement traces its origins to World War II. In 1941, with Denmark under Nazi occupation, Danish Ambassador Henrik Kauffmann independently negotiated and signed the Greenland Agreement with the United States, allowing America to establish military bases on the island. This agreement, made without the consent of the occupied Danish government, secured Allied control over the North Atlantic and safeguarded Greenland from potential Nazi advances.

Iceland followed a similar path, but with a more decisive outcome. After Denmark’s occupation in 1940, Britain swiftly invaded Iceland to prevent Nazi control. Although unapproved by Denmark or Iceland, the occupation was tolerated to avoid conflict. In 1941, Iceland signed a defense agreement with America, but unlike Greenland, it did so independently, having gained Home Rule in 1918 with a functioning central government. This autonomy allowed Iceland to manage its foreign affairs during Denmark’s occupation—by 1944, as Denmark recovered from occupation, Iceland was able to declare full independence, peacefully severing its ties to the Danish crown and establishing itself as a republic.

In contrast, Greenland’s strategic importance grew after the war, but independence remained out of grasp. In 1951, American base rights were formalized under NATO. Two years later, Greenland was granted provincial status, dissolving its colonial designation and integrating it more closely with Denmark. Despite this, dissatisfaction with resource exploitation and the erosion of indigenous culture fueled nationalist sentiment. This led to the establishment of Home Rule in 1979, granting Greenland significant control over local governance, education, and fisheries. The new autonomy also allowed Greenland to hold referendum on key issues, including its relationship with the European Economic Community, a precursor to the European Union.

In 1985, following a referendum driven largely by concerns over fishing rights, Greenland became the first territory to leave the European community—many decades before the United Kingdom’s withdrawal in 2020. This decision was formalized in the Greenland Treaty of 1985, which established Greenland’s status as an “Overseas Country and Territory,” allowing continued cooperation and trade with the European Union while asserting greater control over its resources.

In 2004, the 1951 Defense Agreement was amended to enhance cooperation between the United States, Denmark, and Greenland’s Home Rule Government, addressing local concerns and officially recognizing the island’s political input. Greenland’s autonomy advanced significantly again in 2009 with the Act on Self-Government, granting it control over judicial affairs, law enforcement, and natural resources. Denmark, however, retained authority over defense, foreign policy, and would continue to provide an annual block grant of approximately $600 million—about 25% of Greenland’s GDP—to sustain the public budget, underscoring Greenland’s poor economy and dependence on volatile resource industries. That said, the designation of Greenlandic as the official language in 2009 further asserted a national identity; such a measure marked a decisive step toward sovereignty, even as Greenland remained financially reliant on Denmark.

Today, Greenland continues to balance greater independence and economic survival. The discovery of valuable natural resources has reignited discussions about sovereignty in the face of vying foreign interests. It’s no surprise that the 2021 general election saw pro-independence parties gain ground; the newly elected Inuit Ataqatigiit (IA) Party-led coalition government has made achieving greater autonomy a central objective, potentially ending more than a century of Danish rule. 

Aligning this ambition with American interests—and Western interests broadly—presents a challenge for the incoming administration intent on securing the Arctic. Afterall, IA gained support largely off the back of public opposition to uranium mining. The populist environmental and cultural stance driving this Greenlandic movement remains as strong as it is unpredictable.  But despite this political energy, economic realities remain a major inhibitor of sovereignty.

Given the island’s complex history and aspirations, the clearest path to securing American interests in Greenland would be a Compact of Free Association (COFA) rather than a straightforward purchase like Alaska. This COFA status has already been successfully employed for analogous cases with three small, Pacific island nations: Micronesia, the Marshall Islands, and Palau. With a COFA, both Greenland and America achieve political victories. America gains control of Greenland and Greenland gains independence.

This sounds like an oxymoron, but it is not. A COFA would allow Greenland to declare independence, while also benefiting from American security, visa-free access for its citizens to live and work in the United States, and economic subsidies for critical infrastructure development. These are generally outlined in 15-20 year terms, but can be broken at any time. In this fashion, America can provide greater support than Denmark.

Denmark, of course, rejects any talk of Greenland acquisition, though has only more silently signaled disapproval of independence. But Greenland explicitly has the right to seek independence by referendum as part of the 2009 Act on Self-Government—it doesn’t matter if the Danish crown makes Greenlandic symbols a bit more pronounced on the royal coat of arms.

As much as it is a blow to Denmark, a COFA with Greenland would present a significant win for the United States and the Trump Administration. Securing influence over Greenland’s foreign policy and infrastructure through diplomacy rather than purely financial means offers better terms than Seward’s Purchase of Alaska, aligning seamlessly with America’s Arctic goals. Perhaps more importantly, it cements President Trump’s legacy in expanding America’s footprint in both the “last frontier” (the Arctic) and the “final frontier” (outer space). 

Strategically, a COFA with Greenland best positions America to lead in the Arctic through a regional proxy. A Russo-Greenlandic dispute carries a very different narrative than direct Russo-American confrontations, with Greenland playing the underdog role to America’s advantage. To this end, the United States should support Greenland’s independence, paving the way for the island to embrace the stability and security of an American Compact of Free Association.

Why not pursue Greenland as a U.S. state or territory? Full legal and economic integration into the American system would be fraught with challenges and risks, both practical and political. First, such a move would be in fundamental tension with Greenland’s historic progression toward sovereignty, and the cultural and political identity that has been cultivated over decades—the precise political force that has been harnessed to drive Danish separation. A significant portion of Greenland’s population—steeped in Inuit culture and fiercely protective of their autonomy—would likely resist such a move, potentially damaging long-term relations.

Statehood or territorial status would also subject Greenland to U.S. federal laws, regulations, and economic frameworks, which may not align with Greenland’s unique realities, nor truly align with the immediacy of American interests. The integration process would require not only substantial development to bring Greenland to parity with existing U.S. states or territories, but also sustained social investment spanning generations, just as Denmark has attempted. Finally, this approach risks international backlash, as it could be seen as a neocolonial overreach. A COFA offers a more pragmatic alternative, achieving the same strategic benefits while avoiding these political liabilities entirely.

The Arctic holds the key to maintaining American hegemony through the 21st century, securing critical resources and trade routes, while also preventing China and Russia from gaining strategic ground in our backyard. Containing geopolitical rivals is already core to American policy, especially as they openly acknowledge and contest these frontiers through their own territorial claims and development initiatives. When it comes to the Far North, remaining frozen is tantamount to suicide. Investments in Finnish-made icebreakers and bold moves like a COFA agreement with a newly-independent Greenland would define an American-led Arctic for the decades ahead.