The Case for Taking Greenland Seriously

Greenland matters to the United States for reasons that have not changed since the Cold War, even if Washington’s attention has. Geography still governs strategy. Warning time still defines deterrence. And the Arctic remains the shortest and most unforgiving avenue between Eurasia and North America.

From a national defense standpoint, Greenland is not symbolic territory or diplomatic trivia. It is the forward edge of American homeland defense. The shortest flight paths for intercontinental ballistic missiles launched from Russia cross the Arctic. Hypersonic systems designed to compress decision time exploit the same routes. Whether the United States detects, tracks, and understands those threats early depends in no small measure on assets positioned in and around Greenland.

That reality becomes clearer when examining how America’s competitors structure their forces. Russia’s nuclear deterrent relies heavily on ballistic missile submarines operating from its Northern Fleet. Borei-class submarines carry multiple submarine-launched ballistic missiles and are designed to survive a first strike while retaining the ability to deliver a second. To operate effectively, those submarines rely on Arctic bastions and, in certain scenarios, transit routes through the Greenland-Iceland-United Kingdom Gap into the North Atlantic. That chokepoint was central to Cold War anti-submarine strategy. It has regained relevance as undersea competition intensifies.

Greenland sits squarely on that line. Anti-submarine warfare, seabed sensors, and space-based tracking systems are only as effective as their forward nodes. Greenland strengthens each layer. It enhances the ability to detect submarine movement, track missile launches, and discriminate between tests, accidents, and attacks. In an era when warning time is measured in minutes rather than hours, Greenland provides margin. Margin is what keeps deterrence stable.

The U.S. presence at Pituffik Space Base is therefore not a relic of a bygone era. It is a cornerstone of missile warning, space domain awareness, and nuclear command and control. These systems inform presidential decision-making in moments when miscalculation carries catastrophic consequences. Treating that posture as outdated reflects a misunderstanding of how modern deterrence actually functions.

The Arctic itself is no longer a frozen buffer. It is operational space, and America’s competitors treat it accordingly. Russia has reopened Soviet-era bases across the Arctic, expanded its Northern Fleet, deployed layered air defenses, and resumed long-range bomber patrols near Greenlandic airspace. These flights are not theatrical. They test radar coverage, response timelines, and escalation thresholds tied directly to Greenland-based sensors.

China’s approach has been more indirect but no less deliberate. Beijing prefers civilian entry points to overt military ones. In 2018, a Chinese state-owned enterprise attempted to secure contracts to build and operate airports in Greenland, including in Nuuk and Ilulissat. These were not remote airstrips. They were infrastructure nodes in a region central to Arctic transit, surveillance, and logistics. The effort collapsed only after Denmark intervened and Washington quietly made clear its objections. China has since pursued influence through mining proposals, research partnerships, and diplomatic outreach framed as economic development. The pattern is familiar. Infrastructure first. Influence second. Leverage later.

That these efforts were blocked does not diminish their significance. It underscores that Greenland is already contested terrain.

What makes this moment uncomfortable for Washington is that none of this is new. The United States recognized Greenland’s strategic importance generations ago. During the Cold War, it invested accordingly. After 1991, attention drifted. The Arctic became a footnote. The American footprint shrank. Strategy stagnated. The assumption was that geography no longer imposed consequences. Russia and China never accepted that premise.

There is also an industrial dimension that defense planners can no longer afford to ignore. Advanced weapons systems, satellites, and modern militaries require rare earths and critical minerals. The United States remains heavily dependent on supply chains dominated by strategic competitors. Greenland offers diversification under Western governance, allied frameworks, and predictable legal regimes. Development will not be simple. But optionality matters in strategic competition. Dependence is the risk.

Skepticism toward Greenland’s importance often arrives cloaked in irony. Critics frame concern as paranoia or nostalgia, as if deterrence expired with the Cold War. What they are really defending is complacency. Calm language is mistaken for sound strategy. Neglect is repackaged as restraint.

Greenland forces a less comfortable conclusion. National defense still depends on geography. Warning time still matters. Forward posture still deters. Ignoring those facts does not reduce risk. It increases the odds of miscalculation.

Greenland is not optional. It is essential. And the most radical position in today’s debate is pretending otherwise.