President Donald Trump’s sudden decision to shelve punitive tariffs on eight European countries was accompanied by an unexpected olive branch: he told audiences at Davos and on social media that Washington had sketched a “framework” for Arctic cooperation covering Greenland. Mr. Trump said the arrangement — which he characterised as beneficial to “everyone” and indefinitely binding — addressed defence and mining, and he insisted he would not seize the Danish territory by force while seeking to negotiate its transfer by other means.
The outline that has emerged is striking for its blend of security and economic ambitions. U.S. officials and Western media cite plans to update the 1951 defence accord between Washington and Copenhagen, to expand NATO activity in the Arctic and to permit the deployment of a U.S. missile‑defence system on Greenland, alongside clauses on mineral extraction. Some senior NATO officers have even discussed whether the United States could obtain sovereign rights over land for a permanent base — an idea that cuts directly into questions of Danish and Greenlandic sovereignty.
European leaders offered mixed responses. For some, most visibly the Dutch prime minister Mark Rutte and others who welcomed the tariff reprieve, the episode appeared to open a door for calmer diplomacy. For many more it confirmed a worrying pattern: sharp, transactional American moves followed by ad hoc retrenchment that leave allies scrambling. Denmark, which retains sovereignty over Greenland, immediately insisted that sovereignty is not negotiable and Greenland’s representatives protested NATO’s role in talks that exclude them.
The diplomatic scramble laid bare a larger strategic anxiety: can Europe speak with one voice? Brussels convened an emergency summit to craft a collective reaction, yet the timing of Mr. Trump’s volte‑face risks splintering the EU’s response. Some capitals saw the U.S. gesture as a chance to de‑escalate, while others feared it was a tactical manoeuvre designed to divide the bloc and secure bespoke bilateral concessions.
The stakes go beyond diplomatic pique. Greenland sits astride new Arctic shipping lanes, vast mineral potential and strategic approaches to North America. The Cold War era defence footprint and the prospect of modern missile defences or bases would change the military geography of the high north and complicate NATO’s already delicate internal politics. For Greenland’s Inuit population and Copenhagen, any transfer or foreign military expansion would raise domestic political and legal questions that cannot be papered over by statements from third parties.
Longer term, the episode accelerates a debate that predated Mr. Trump: Europe’s desire for strategic autonomy in the face of an unpredictable Washington. It may strengthen calls in Brussels for enhanced defence capabilities and a tougher EU posture on trade and security coordination. Equally, the U.S. tactic of alternating broad threats with narrow concessions could incentivise bilateral bargaining among member states, weakening collective bargaining power on trade, Ukraine, and Arctic governance.
In the immediate term, the EU summit will test whether Europe can translate indignation into coherence. Denmark has set firm red lines on sovereignty, Greenlandic voices demand inclusion in any negotiations affecting their future, and NATO leaders must balance alliance solidarity with respect for member states’ prerogatives. The episode will not vanish simply because tariffs were withdrawn; rather, it has exposed structural tensions that will shape transatlantic relations and Arctic politics for years to come.