The Empire’s Dilemma

The return of geopolitics has brought back an uncomfortable but unavoidable truth: power matters again. Territory, strategic depth, trade routes, chokepoints, and access to resources are no longer abstract concepts but concrete variables shaping state behaviour. In this environment, it is neither surprising nor illegitimate that the United States increasingly thinks and acts—and now, also speaks—in imperial terms.

Assertiveness, deterrence, and the willingness to act decisively are not signs of decay. They are often the tools through which great powers survive periods of systemic transition. The problem, however, is not that Washington is rediscovering power politics. The problem is how it is doing so—and how others respond to it.

Few scenarios illustrate this dilemma more clearly than the recurring debate over Greenland—especially after the “Venezuela affair”—, whether framed in terms of coercion, annexation, or even purchase. Each option exposes the same underlying risk: confusing the possession of power with the wisdom to use it. And there reason is that empires not just rise, but also fall; and they do not collapse because they act forcefully. They collapse because they act forcefully without prudence.

Realism Is Not Impulsiveness

Across Europe, a number of countries have also quietly adopted a more realist posture in international affairs over the past few years. Countries such as Italy or Hungary—despite their different histories, alliances, and political cultures—share a clear-eyed understanding of the limits of ideology and the primacy of national interest.

Realism, however, does not mean recklessness. It means recognising trade-offs, managing incentives, and avoiding moves that produce irreversible systemic damage. These countries understand that power must be exercised within constraints, not because of moral hesitation, but because international systems punish those who destabilise them without a credible endgame.

This distinction is often lost in contemporary debates. Assertiveness is too easily celebrated as an end in itself, while the long-term architecture that sustains power—alliances, credibility, and institutional trust—is treated as expendable. The Greenland discussion exposes this imbalance with striking clarity.

Greenland and the Misreading of Strategic Strength

Greenland is undeniably strategic. Its geographic position, Arctic relevance, and growing importance in an era of polar competition make it attractive to any power concerned with long-term positioning. The question is not whether the United States has legitimate interests there. It does. The question is how those interests are pursued.

A forcible annexation or military seizure would be catastrophic. It would shatter the foundational premise of NATO: That alliance members do not turn power against one another. The result would not be a temporary diplomatic crisis, but a structural rupture in the transatlantic system.

Even the idea of purchasing Greenland—often presented as a more “reasonable” or lawful alternative—carries serious risks. While legally conceivable, such a move would still signal a shift from partnership to proprietorship. It would imply that sovereignty is negotiable and that alliances are ultimately transactional. For European states already debating strategic autonomy, this would be a powerful accelerant rather than a stabilising move.

Realist-minded governments understand instinctively that legality does not equal legitimacy, and that legitimacy, once lost, is extraordinarily difficult to rebuild.

Incentives, Hedging, and the Quiet Exit from Alignment

International politics is governed less by declarations than by incentives. When a dominant power behaves in ways that increase uncertainty for its partners, those partners do not necessarily respond with open confrontation. More often, they hedge quietly.

This dynamic is already visible. France’s conservatives sharp criticism of Donald Trump over Venezuela and now Greenland was not merely rhetorical, but indicative of deeper unease. Canada has begun reassessing long-held strategic assumptions with China. Some Southern European countries, such as Spain, increasingly diversify their economic and diplomatic exposure towards China—not necessarily out of ideological sympathy, but out of risk management.

This is how influence erodes in practice. Not through dramatic rupture, but through gradual disengagement. Each imprudent assertion of power creates incentives for allies to seek alternatives. Over time, the system that once amplified American strength begins to dilute it.

Realist states pay close attention to these second- and third-order effects. They know that strength is measured not by how much pressure one can apply, but by how little pressure is required to maintain alignment.

Europe’s Own Test: Avoiding an Imprudent Overreaction

Yet prudence is not a one-sided obligation. Europe, too, faces a strategic test.

In recent days, Giorgia Meloni has rightly cautioned against impulsive or emotionally charged European responses that could escalate tensions unnecessarily or lock the continent into self-defeating positions. Her rhetoric reflects a realist understanding that European interests are not served by reflexive anti-Americanism, symbolic overreaction, or strategic grandstanding.

An imprudent European response—whether through maximalist rhetoric, hasty decoupling, or performative displays of “strategic autonomy”—would risk compounding the damage rather than mitigating it. Europe still depends on transatlantic cooperation for security, trade, and technological competitiveness. Burning bridges in a moment of crisis would not create sovereignty; it would create vulnerability.

Realism demands discipline on both sides of the Atlantic. If American overreach can destabilise the system, European overreaction can accelerate its fragmentation. Strategic autonomy, if pursued wisely, should strengthen Europe’s hand within the alliance—not replace one dependency with another, nor push European states prematurely into alternative spheres of influence.

The Imperial Paradox

The paradox of imperial power is that its greatest asset is often invisibility. When an empire functions well, its leadership feels natural, even beneficial, to those within its orbit. When it begins to rely on overt coercion or overt transactionalism, it reveals insecurity rather than confidence.

The United States still possesses extraordinary advantages: military reach, financial centrality, technological leadership, and cultural influence. None of these require territorial acquisition—by force or by cheque—to remain effective. What they require is predictability, restraint, and an understanding of alliance psychology.

Realist governments understand this intuitively. They may reject naïve universalism, but they are acutely aware that systems outlast gestures. A single dramatic move can undo decades of accumulated strategic capital.

Prudence as the Missing Dimension of Power

Greenland is not the core issue. It is a symptom. The deeper problem is a growing temptation—on both sides of the Atlantic—to equate boldness with strategy and disruption with strength.

True realism does not glorify shock. It avoids it. It recognises that power, once exercised imprudently, cannot always be retracted, and that trust, once broken, does not reset with elections or diplomatic resets.

For the United States, the choice is not between weakness and empire. It is between durable leadership and spectacular self-sabotage. For Europe, the challenge is to respond with discipline rather than emotion, realism rather than posturing.

Countries that follow an international realist logic know that prudence is not a constraint on power, but its precondition. Empires and alliances alike survive not by acting first, but by acting wisely.