Why the EU Treaty Matters as Much as NATO in Defending Denmark’s Arctic Territory
For five centuries, Greenland was little more than a frozen outpost of Arctic cod. Remote, inhospitable, and sparsely populated, the world’s largest island existed on the margins of European power. Yet history has a way of turning peripheries into strategic centres. Today, Greenland stands at the crossroads of geopolitics, climate change, and great-power rivalry, reminding both Europe and the United States that sovereignty in the Arctic is not a matter of improvisation or rhetoric.
Greenland’s modern story begins as part of the once-mighty Kingdom of Denmark. In the early nineteenth century, Denmark ruled a vast North Atlantic realm that included Norway, Iceland, the Faroe Islands, and Greenland itself. That power collapsed after Copenhagen made the fatal mistake of siding with Napoleon. In 1814, the price was severe: Denmark lost Norway to Sweden, retaining only Greenland, Iceland, and the Faroe Islands. The Arctic island remained Danish, peripheral but symbolically important.
The Second World War marked another turning point. In 1944, Iceland declared independence, while Greenland was occupied by the United States to prevent Nazi Germany from gaining a foothold in the North Atlantic. After the war, Denmark regained control of Greenland but formalized American involvement through a 1951 defense agreement. That treaty placed Greenland firmly within the strategic framework of NATO, recognizing its importance for transatlantic security, early-warning systems, and Arctic defence.
Today, Greenland remains part of the Kingdom of Denmark, but with a political status that reflects decades of evolution. Defence and foreign policy are managed by Copenhagen, while nearly all internal affairs are handled locally by the island’s 56,000 inhabitants under a broad autonomy regime. This system, widely seen as advanced and progressive, stands in sharp contrast to the colonial past, particularly the long marginalization of the Inuit population. Greenland governs itself in practice, even if it is not a sovereign state in international law.
Its relationship with Europe has followed an equally complex path. When Denmark joined the European Economic Community in 1973, Greenland entered alongside it. Less than a decade later, however, Greenlanders voted to leave the Common Market, wary of external control over fishing and resources. Yet the island never fully severed its European ties. In 1992, with Denmark’s entry into the European Union, Greenland rejoined as an “associated territory,” gaining access to the single market without assuming full obligations. Crucially, Greenland cannot sign treaties independently; its international status remains anchored to Denmark.
This legal and political reality is what makes recent American rhetoric so consequential. Statements suggesting that the United States might seek control over Greenland—echoed most notably during Donald Trump’s presidency and reinforced by remarks from figures like J.D. Vance—have raised alarms in Europe. A transfer of sovereignty is simply not an option. Greenland is not for sale, nor could Denmark legally cede it without shattering the foundations of the European and transatlantic order.
What is more likely is that Washington seeks expanded agreements for resource exploitation and strategic access, leveraging Greenland’s minerals, rare earths, and geographic position. That ambition, however, has clear limits. Any violent action against Denmark would not merely provoke a diplomatic crisis; it would trigger a systemic one.
NATO’s Article 5 is often cited as the cornerstone of collective defence, but it is not the only line of protection. Under Article 42 of the Treaty on European Union, an attack on a member state obliges the others to provide aid and assistance by all means in their power. In other words, the EU itself carries a binding collective defence clause. An assault on Danish sovereignty in Greenland would activate not only NATO but also the European Union’s own security mechanisms.
This dual framework sends a clear message. Europe is not defenceless, nor is its security solely outsourced to the Atlantic Alliance. Greenland’s history—from cod fisheries to Cold War outpost to twenty-first-century strategic prize—illustrates how law, treaties, and alliances constrain power politics. For Washington, bravado may play well domestically, but the legal and political reality is unambiguous. In the Arctic, as elsewhere, sovereignty is protected not by slogans, but by binding commitments.