It is a testament to the terminal decline of Western civilization that the primary geopolitical debate of our era involves an orange-hued real estate developer attempting to purchase a tectonic plate and a neighboring nation of polite bystanders wondering if they can survive without being tucked into bed by the Pentagon. The recent panic regarding Greenland and the subsequent hand-wringing by Canadian 'defence experts' is not a strategic discussion; it is the death rattle of a diplomatic order that was already on life support. We are currently witnessing a race to see who can most effectively mismanage a melting wasteland, and the participants are exactly the kind of intellectual lightweights you would expect to find at a suburban HOA meeting gone violent.

Donald Trump’s recurring fever dream of acquiring Greenland is, in its own grotesque way, the most honest thing about modern American foreign policy. It strips away the tiresome pretenses of 'spreading democracy' or 'protecting human rights' and reveals the core truth: the United States is essentially a giant, heavily armed RE/MAX franchise. To the American mind, sovereignty is just a line item in a closing cost statement. The absurdity of trying to buy a sovereign territory belonging to Denmark—a country that mostly exists to provide the world with affordable flat-pack furniture and existential dread—is lost on a man who views the Arctic Circle as potential frontage for a golf course. It is a puerile, 19th-century colonial impulse reimagined for a digital age where nothing is real unless it can be branded. Greenland, for all its ice and isolation, is merely the latest shiny object for a nation that has lost the ability to build anything of value and has instead decided to just buy the planet piece by piece.

On the other side of this frozen farce, we have Canada. If the United States is the aggressive landlord, Canada is the tenant who has forgotten to pay the rent for thirty years and is now horrified to learn that the building might be sold. The suggestion that Canada could 'go it alone' on Arctic security is perhaps the funniest joke to emerge from Ottawa since the invention of the beaver as a national symbol. The Canadian military—a collection of three vintage canoes and a very sternly worded letter—is currently in no position to defend a Tim Hortons, let alone the Northwest Passage. For decades, the Great White North has outsourced its security to the American war machine, resting comfortably under the NORAD umbrella while lecturing the world on the virtues of 'peacekeeping.' It is a special kind of hypocrisy: enjoying the protection of the neighborhood bully while pretending you’re only friends with him because you like his taste in music.

Now, the 'experts' are emerging from their tax-funded burrows to warn that abandoning U.S. partnerships like NORAD would be 'unwise.' This is the kind of profound insight that usually costs fifty thousand dollars in consulting fees. Of course it is unwise. To 'go it alone' in the Arctic, Canada would need a navy that doesn't rust in saltwater and a political class that cares more about sovereignty than it does about appearing 'progressive' on the global stage. The reality is that Canada’s Arctic strategy has always been a policy of hope: hoping the ice doesn't melt, hoping the Russians don't notice the empty space, and hoping the Americans continue to pick up the tab. But with the ice turning into slush and the Americans entering a state of permanent narcissistic collapse, hope is looking increasingly like a suicide pact.

The Arctic itself has become a stage for the final act of human stupidity. As the permafrost thaws, exposing the mineral wealth and shipping lanes that our ancestors were too frozen to exploit, the world’s 'leaders' are salivating. They aren't worried about the ecological catastrophe; they are worried about who gets to plant their flag in the mud first. It is a gold rush for a planet that is already on fire. The experts talk of 'security' and 'defense,' but what they really mean is the preservation of the right to pillage. Russia is building bases, China is calling itself a 'near-Arctic state'—which is geographically equivalent to calling me a 'near-billionaire' because I once walked past a bank—and Canada is wondering if it’s okay to say 'no' to the man who wants to buy the neighbors' house.

This entire saga is a masterclass in futility. Whether Greenland is sold to the highest bidder or remains a Danish protectorate is irrelevant in the long run. Whether Canada pretends to be a sovereign power or continues its role as a polite American vassal is equally moot. The climate is doing the one thing that politicians cannot: it is actually changing the map. While the bureaucrats in Ottawa and the developers in Washington argue over who gets to guard the freezer, the door has been left wide open and the ice is already on the floor. We are watching a group of toddlers argue over the ownership of a melting popsicle while the sun reaches its zenith. It would be tragic if it weren't so predictably pathetic. But such is the fate of a species that treats the end of the world as a real estate opportunity.