After Venezuela, Is Greenland Really “Easy” for Trump? Why Annexation Isn’t a Shortcut
The idea that “after seizing Venezuela, taking Greenland won’t be hard” is designed to provoke, not to explain. It mashes together two fundamentally different situations—one framed as a rapid, high-pressure crisis response, and the other a slow, deeply political question of sovereignty in the Arctic. Even if a dramatic event in one region dominates headlines, it does not create a legal or moral shortcut for absorbing territory elsewhere.
Donald Trump has revived a familiar argument: Greenland matters to U.S. security. Strategically, that claim is easy to understand. Greenland sits across vital North Atlantic and Arctic routes, and it has long been tied to defense infrastructure that supports early warning and space-related missions. In an era of growing great-power competition, the Arctic is no longer treated as a remote frontier. It is viewed as a strategic theater where basing, surveillance, shipping access, and resilience of critical infrastructure all matter.
But “important” does not mean “easy to take.” Greenland is an autonomous territory within the Kingdom of Denmark, with its own elected government and a strong sense of national identity. In practical terms, the people who live there—through their institutions—are the central decision-makers on Greenland’s political future. That fact alone makes annexation-style talk unrealistic. Any move toward a new status would require political legitimacy, public support, and long negotiations. In other words, it would be a process, not a conquest.
The Venezuela comparison is what turns this into a dangerous narrative. When commentators imply that one aggressive or extraordinary action proves capability for another, they invite a domino theory of geopolitics: if it happened once, it can happen again. That framing can be intoxicating for partisans and alarming for allies. It also tends to ignore the most powerful forces in modern international politics: alliances, economics, law, and domestic consent.
If the United States wanted to increase influence in Greenland, it would have many tools that do not involve annexation. Economic investment, expanded defense cooperation, joint infrastructure projects, scientific partnerships, and mutually beneficial development initiatives can all deepen ties. Those options are precisely why annexation is such a costly choice: you can pursue strategic goals without crossing the line into territorial absorption.
Annexation would also carry steep consequences. It would strain alliance relationships, especially within NATO, because Denmark is a key ally and Greenland’s status is directly linked to Danish sovereignty. A coercive move would invite diplomatic isolation, economic retaliation, and a crisis of credibility for any U.S. claim to respect territorial integrity elsewhere. It would also raise practical governance questions: who controls resources, how are communities consulted, and what does representation look like? These are not details; they are the core of legitimacy.
There is another reason the “easy” claim collapses: Greenland’s politics are not a blank space. Debates about independence, economic self-sufficiency, environmental protection, and cultural preservation are real and ongoing. Even if some Greenlanders want a looser relationship with Denmark, that does not automatically translate into wanting to join the United States. Treating Greenland as an object to be obtained is a reliable way to harden opposition.
So, is Greenland “not hard” after Venezuela? The more accurate answer is that Greenland is hard precisely because it is not a battlefield problem. It is a sovereignty problem—and sovereignty disputes in the modern era are rarely solved quickly without enormous long-term costs. If anything, loud annexation rhetoric tends to make the strategic outcome worse: it spooks partners, empowers skeptics, and turns what could be cooperation into confrontation.
