To the editor:
In March 2025, Vice President JD Vance stood on the icy tarmac of Pituffik Space Base in Greenland, a U.S. outpost dwarfed by the vastness of the Arctic, and lobbed a rhetorical grenade at Denmark: it had “underinvested” in the territory’s security. Denmark’s Foreign Minister, Lars Løkke Rasmussen, fired back, decrying the “tone” of an ally turned accuser. The spat, sparked by President Trump’s renewed push to acquire Greenland, laid bare a deeper truth: the United States has spent decades ceding the High North to neglect, leaving a strategic vacuum that Russia and China eagerly fill. This is not just Denmark’s failure — it’s ours. To secure its future, the U.S. must reassert a robust military, industrial, and diplomatic presence in Greenland and the Arctic, not through bluster or buyouts, but through a pragmatic, alliance-driven renaissance of American leadership.
The stakes could not be higher. Greenland, a Danish territory of 56,000 souls atop a mineral-rich ice sheet, sits at the crossroads of North America and Europe, a sentinel in the Arctic’s thawing frontier. Once, the U.S. recognized this, staffing over a dozen bases there during the Cold War — airfields, radar stations, even Camp Century, an audacious subterranean outpost powered by a nuclear reactor. Today, only Pituffik remains, a lone sentinel with 150 personnel where 15,000 once stood. Russia, meanwhile, commands more than 50 Arctic bases, its icebreakers slicing through waters the U.S. barely navigates with its two aging vessels. China, styling itself a “near-Arctic state,” eyes Greenland’s rare earths — 25 of 34 critical minerals vital to batteries and defense tech — while the U.S. dawdles. The Arctic, ice-free by 2035 per NOAA projections, is no longer a frozen backwater; it’s a geopolitical chessboard where America plays with pawns against kings.
This retreat is a bipartisan failing, not a partisan sin. Post-Cold War complacency under Democrats and Republicans alike saw the Soviet threat’s end as an Arctic exit ramp. Budgets shifted to desert wars and Pacific pivots, leaving the High North to Denmark’s stewardship and our own inertia. The 1951 Defense of Greenland Agreement secured basing rights without ownership — a smart deal then, a crutch now. Closing our Nuuk consulate in 1953 (reopened only in 2020) signaled disinterest as Greenlanders grew their autonomy and rivals grew bold. We’ve reaped the harvest: a Russia flexing hypersonic missiles across the GIUK gap, a China cornering mineral markets, and a U.S. scrambling to catch up with $12 million aid packages that pale beside billion-dollar foreign bids.
Yet finger-pointing at Denmark, as Vance did, misses the mirror. If Greenland’s security lags, so does ours. Pituffik’s radar tracks missiles and satellites, but it can’t patrol thawing seas or deter Russian subs. Our icebreaker fleet — Polar Star and Healy — creaks against Russia’s 40-plus, including nuclear behemoths. Greenland’s resources, untapped by American firms, fuel China’s tech dominance while we import minerals at a premium. Politically, our absence let Denmark and Greenland chart their course, leaving Trump’s 2019 and 2025 purchase dreams as quixotic as they are divisive. The U.S. has dropped the ball not by malice, but by myopia — a centrist critique that spares neither party but demands both act.
The case for reengagement is clear, and it begins with military renewal. The Arctic is no longer a “zone of peace” but a theater of competition. Russia’s 2025 Zapad exercises showcased Arctic might; China’s Polar Silk Road looms. Six new U.S. icebreakers, planned by 2030, are a start, but we need more — bases in Alaska and Greenland, upgraded Pituffik facilities, and joint NATO drills to match Moscow’s tempo. Critics will cry cost, but the 2024 defense budget’s $886 billion dwarfs the $2 billion annually needed for an Arctic surge, per CSIS estimates. Security isn’t cheap; losing the High North is costlier.
Industrial presence must follow. Greenland’s rare earths — neodymium, dysprosium — power everything from F-35 jets to Tesla batteries. A 2023 USGS survey pegs its reserves as China-scale, yet U.S. firms like Energy Fuels lag behind Australia’s Lynas and China’s Shenghe. Why? No strategy. A public-private Arctic Industrial Pact — tax incentives, streamlined permits, and $500 million in seed funding — could jumpstart mining and refining, securing supply chains and jobs from Nevada to Nuuk. Pair this with shipping investments as the Northwest Passage opens, and the U.S. could rival Russia’s Northern Sea Route dominance. Economic nationalists will cheer self-reliance; globalists will laud competitiveness. Both are right.
Diplomacy, though, is the linchpin. Trump’s buyout bluster alienates; Biden’s quiet aid underwhelms. A centrist path — call it “Arctic Partnership” — offers balance: deepen the U.S.-Denmark alliance with joint security funding (Denmark spent $74 million on Greenland’s defense in 2023; we can match it), reopen cultural exchanges sidelined since Vance’s curtailed 2025 visit, and court Greenlanders directly. Their 2024 foreign policy shift toward “open partnerships” isn’t rejection — it’s an invitation. Offer infrastructure — roads, ports, renewable grids — tied to mutual prosperity, not ownership. Critics will decry neo-colonialism, but Denmark’s stretched budget and Greenland’s 30% poverty rate beg for partners, not patrons.
Skeptics abound. Progressives will balk at militarization, citing climate risks in a melting Arctic. Fair point—bases must be green, icebreakers hybrid-powered, mining sustainable. Conservatives will demand ROI, not “foreign handouts.” Fine — frame it as jobs and security, not charity; every dollar in Greenland offsets billions lost to Chinese monopolies. Isolationists will shrug — why care about ice? Because the Arctic isn’t “over there” — it’s our backyard, shaping trade, defense, and climate. Realists will note Russia’s lead; true, but a decade of focus can close gaps, as post-9/11 spending proved.
The alternative is grim. Drift further, and Russia locks the Arctic militarily — CSIS warns of unchallenged submarine dominance by 2030. China locks it economically — Greenland’s minerals could power their next decade, not ours. Greenland drifts politically — toward neutrality or rival orbits — eroding NATO’s northern flank. The U.S. becomes a bystander in a region it once shaped, its Pituffik outpost a relic of faded ambition.
This isn’t about owning Greenland; it’s about leading there. Ownership is a fantasy — Denmark won’t sell, Greenlanders won’t bend. Leadership isn’t — history proves it. In 1941, we defended Greenland from Nazis; in 1951, we fortified it against Soviets. Now, we must fortify it against new rivals, not with threats but with commitment. A 2025 Senate hearing on Arctic policy could catalyze this, grilling past neglect and charting a future course. Pair it with a bipartisan “High North Caucus” to sustain momentum beyond Trump’s term.
Imagine 2035: an Arctic where U.S. icebreakers patrol alongside Danish frigates, American miners extract neodymium beside Greenlandic workers, and Pituffik hums as a NATO hub. Russia’s bluster meets a united front; China’s bids face competition. Greenland thrives, not as a pawn, but a partner. This vision isn’t nostalgia — it’s necessity, rooted in a centrism that blends security hawks’ resolve with diplomats’ nuance.
The U.S. once saw the Arctic’s value and built a fortress there. We’ve spent decades dismantling it, brick by brick, while others erect their own. Vance’s 2025 jab at Denmark was half-right — underinvestment plagues the High North — but the mirror he dodged reflects our own retreat. It’s time to return, not as buyers or bullies, but as builders — of bases, industries, and bonds. The Arctic’s future is thawing fast; America must shape it, or watch it slip away.
Ronald Beaty
West Barnstable, MA
