Greenland’s Rising Stakes: From Trump’s Vision to Global Power Play

Greenland’s Rising Stakes: From Trump’s Vision to Global Power Play

DILIP DAIMARY

When Donald Trump floated the idea of buying Greenland in 2019, the world laughed.

Denmark’s government issued a terse rejection, European allies smirked, and pundits chalked it up to a real estate mogul’s whimsical overreach—a geopolitical Monopoly game gone awry.

Yet, as Trump revived the proposal during his 2024 campaign and into his second term as U.S. President in 2025, the chuckles have faded, replaced by a sobering recognition: beneath the bluster lies a calculated rationale.

Greenland, an autonomous territory of Denmark and the world’s largest island, is no mere icy outpost.

It is a strategic linchpin, a resource jackpot, and a military frontier—a prize that reveals profound shifts in global power dynamics. Trump didn’t see glaciers; he saw gates, gold, and geopolitics. In 2025, as the Arctic thaws and rivalries intensify, his once-dismissed pitch looks less absurd and more prophetic.

The Arctic is no longer a frozen backwater—it’s a theater of transformation. Climate change, warming the region seven times faster than the global average, is melting polar ice at an unprecedented pace, unlocking new sea lanes that promise to reshape global trade.

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The Northwest Passage through Canada’s archipelago and the Northern Sea Route along Russia’s Siberian coast are emerging as viable shortcuts between Asia and Europe, slashing thousands of kilometers off traditional routes through the Panama or Suez Canals.

By 2025, these corridors are no longer theoretical: Russia has deployed missile systems, expanded its nuclear icebreaker fleet to over 50 vessels, and opened a dozen new bases along its Arctic frontier. China, branding itself a “near-Arctic power,” has invested in polar infrastructure and research, eyeing its “Polar Silk Road” as a complement to its Belt and Road Initiative

Greenland sits at the heart of this unfolding drama. Flanked by Alaska to its west—already under U.S. control—Greenland forms the eastern gateway to the Arctic Ocean. Together, they command the region’s entrances and exits, a position of immense strategic value as economic and military flows pivot northward.

The Greenland-Iceland-United Kingdom (GIUK) Gap, a Cold War-era maritime chokepoint, has regained prominence as melting ice exposes new shipping lanes and heightens naval competition.

“Whoever controls Greenland and Alaska holds the keys to the Arctic,” says Rear Adm. (Ret.) David Titley, a former U.S. Navy oceanographer. For Trump, acquiring Greenland wasn’t a whim—it was an attempt to lock the gate against rivals like Russia and China while securing a foothold in a region poised to redefine global power.

Geography is only the beginning. Beneath Greenland’s ice lies a treasure trove of raw materials critical to the modern world. The island boasts some of the planet’s richest deposits of rare earth elements—17 metals essential for electric vehicle motors, wind turbines, smartphones, and advanced weaponry like the F-35 stealth fighter.

It also harbors niobium, tantalum, zirconium, graphite, fluorspar, titanium, and vanadium—obscure names that power next-generation batteries, aerospace technologies, and defense systems. The Kvanefjeld deposit in southern Greenland ranks among the world’s most promising rare earth sources, while other regions hold untapped potential for uranium, oil, and natural gas

In 2025, these resources are more than commodities—they’re geopolitical leverage. China dominates the global rare earth market, refining over 70% of supply and wielding that control as a diplomatic weapon amid tensions with the West. For the United States, this dependency is a glaring vulnerability, especially as the Fourth Industrial Revolution—marked by AI, clean energy, and advanced manufacturing—drives demand skyward.

Greenland offers a counterweight. “It’s not just about minerals—it’s about breaking China’s stranglehold on the tech supply chain,” notes Amanda Lynch, a professor of earth sciences at Brown University. Trump’s “America First” agenda, reinvigorated in his second term, sees Greenland as a means to secure domestic resilience and challenge Beijing’s dominance, a priority underscored by escalating U.S.-China trade frictions in 2025.

Greenland’s military significance adds another layer. The U.S.-operated Pituffik Space Base (formerly Thule Air Base), perched in the island’s northwest, is America’s northernmost installation.

Established during the Cold War, it remains a cornerstone of early warning systems, satellite tracking, and missile defense—roles amplified in 2025 as Russia modernizes its Arctic forces and China tests hypersonic weapons capable of polar trajectories.

Vice President JD Vance’s March 2025 visit to Pituffik, where he accused Denmark of “underinvesting” in the region, signaled the Trump administration’s intent to bolster this outpost. Bringing Greenland under U.S. control could expand its infrastructure—think additional radar arrays or drone bases—fortifying Washington’s northern flank in an increasingly contested domain.

A surprising twist ties Greenland to the Atlantic. The UK’s nuclear deterrent, housed at HMNB Clyde in Faslane, Scotland, relies on U.S. warhead technology and NATO integration.

Scotland’s independence movement, gaining traction in 2025, threatens to evict these Trident submarines, with the Scottish National Party vowing a nuclear-free state. Such a rupture would disrupt Western defense strategy, leaving the UK and NATO scrambling for alternatives.

Greenland, with its vast landmass and existing U.S. presence, emerges as a fallback—a potential hub for missile defense and surveillance to plug the gap. “Greenland’s strategic depth could stabilize the Atlantic if Faslane falters,” says Ulrik Pram Gad, a researcher at the Danish Institute for International Studies, highlighting its overlooked role in transatlantic security.

Then there’s the ice itself. Greenland’s glaciers and ice sheets lock away 10% of the world’s freshwater—a resource growing scarcer as climate change strains global supplies. In 2025, experimental iceberg harvesting by firms in Canada and Norway hints at a future where water rivals oil in value. While large-scale extraction remains impractical, the concept underscores Greenland’s long-term potential.

“Water security could one day eclipse mineral wealth,” says Aqqaluk Lynge, an Inuit leader, though he warns against external exploitation of Greenlandic resources.

Trump’s proposal likely wasn’t his alone. Defense planners, geostrategists, and resource security advocates—quiet voices in the military-industrial complex—probably fed him the idea, recognizing stakes the public overlooked. Trump, unburdened by diplomatic niceties, simply said it aloud. Historical precedent supports this: the U.S. eyed Greenland in 1867 under Andrew Johnson, occupied it during World War II, and offered $100 million for it in 1946 under Truman.

The 1951 Defense Treaty with Denmark secured military access, but Trump’s 2025 rhetoric—refusing to rule out “coercion”—marks a bolder gambit, one that alarms NATO allies and tests international norms.

Yet, Greenlanders reject this vision outright. With a population of 57,000—90% Inuit—the island has chafed under Danish rule since the 18th century, gaining autonomy in 1979 and 2009. Independence is a growing aspiration, but not as a U.S. vassal. “Greenland belongs to us,” declared outgoing Prime Minister Múte Egede in March 2025, a view backed by 85% of residents in a February poll.

The March election, won by the Democratic Party’s Jens-Frederik Nielsen, reinforced this stance, with Trump’s overtures shifting focus from Danish colonialism to American overreach. Denmark, meanwhile, bolsters its Arctic presence—$1.2 billion in military upgrades in 2024—and insists, via Prime Minister Mette Frederiksen, that “Greenland is not for sale.”

Strikingly, the European Union remains a bystander. Greenland exited the European Economic Community in 1985, and Brussels has since treated it as a distant appendage of Denmark rather than a strategic asset. No EU Commission President has visited, and no robust Arctic policy matches China’s or Russia’s ambitions. This passivity baffles observers, given Greenland’s proximity to Europe and its tether to an EU state.

As the U.S. grows more transactional—Trump’s January 2025 hints at coercion rattled NATO—Europe risks ceding the Arctic to others. “Brussels talks of strategic autonomy but sleeps on Greenland,” notes Jean-Noël Barrot, France’s Foreign Minister, urging a rethink.

Trump’s Greenland bid isn’t feasible—international law, Danish resolve, and Greenlandic resistance make ownership improbable. Yet it’s no joke either. It’s a signal: the U.S. is reawakening to geopolitical chess, driven by climate change, resource rivalry, and technological imperatives. The Arctic is moving—economically, militarily, environmentally—and Greenland is its fulcrum. Russia and China see it. Washington does too.

The question isn’t why Trump wanted Greenland, but why others haven’t acted sooner. In a world where gates, gold, and geopolitics collide, whoever controls this island may shape the future.

02-04-2025

Headline Image by Visit Greenland on Unsplash

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