In a development that manages to be both geopolitically aggressive and profoundly tedious, France has decided that the one thing the melting Arctic ice shelf needs right now is more boots, more jets, and more boats. Following what reports are delightfully calling "inconclusive talks" in Washington—a diplomatic euphemism for "we sat in a room, stared at each other, and realized we despise one another"—Paris has begun deploying troops to Greenland. Yes, Greenland. That massive, frozen expanse that usually only makes headlines when an American president tries to buy it like a used car or when a climate scientist starts crying on a graph.

Apparently, the French military establishment, in a fit of Napoleonic nostalgia, looked at a map, saw a large white space, and decided it needed a touch of the tricolore. We are told that this deployment includes "land, air, and sea" forces. It is the full trifecta of military projection, a sort of geopolitical surf-and-turf designed to remind the world that Europe still possesses hardware capable of functioning below freezing. The sheer theatricality of it is almost impressive, were it not so transparently desperate. When diplomacy fails—or simply becomes too boring for the attention-deficit disorder that plagues the ruling class—governments inevitably turn to the movement of heavy machinery. It is the international relations equivalent of revving a motorcycle engine because you have nothing intelligent to say.

The specific inclusion of "high-mountain specialists" from the French army is a detail so absurd it almost feels literary. One imagines these elite soldiers, trained to scale the craggy peaks of the Alps and endure the thin air of altitude, now finding themselves standing on the Greenlandic ice sheet, looking around for a mountain to conquer, only to find a flat, white void extending into infinity. It is a perfect metaphor for modern Western foreign policy: highly specialized training applied to an environment that renders it entirely moot. They are there, we are told, as part of a "European military exercise." The word "exercise" is doing a lot of heavy lifting here. It suggests physical fitness and discipline, when in reality, these events are massive, carbon-spewing photoshoots designed to justify budget swells and keep the defense contractors in the style to which they have become accustomed.

Let us not overlook the timing. This deployment comes immediately after talks in Washington proved "inconclusive." We are not told exactly what was discussed, nor does it matter. The outcome is the only relevant data point. The suits in D.C. shrugged, or perhaps they yawned, and in response, Paris decided to flex its muscles in the Arctic Circle. It is a reactive flailing, a temper tantrum thrown with destroyers and fighter jets. The logic is impenetrable to anyone who isn't suffering from terminal brain rot caused by exposure to think-tank white papers. If you cannot get what you want at the negotiating table, simply ship a battalion of freezing soldiers to the top of the world to stand guard over... what? Snow? The vague concept of sovereignty? The mineral rights that will become accessible once we finally succeed in boiling the planet alive?

The Right will undoubtedly cheer this on as a show of strength, a demonstration that the West is awake and ready to defend its frozen borders against whatever phantom menace they are hallucinating this week. They love the aesthetic of hardware; they fetishize the image of the soldier in white camouflage, regardless of the strategic vacuity of the mission. The Left, meanwhile, will wring its hands about militarization while silently relieved that the troops are freezing in Greenland rather than policing a protest in Paris. Both sides miss the fundamental point: this is theater. It is expensive, dangerous theater performed by actors who don't understand the script, for an audience that stopped watching years ago.

Ultimately, this deployment is a testament to the intellectual bankruptcy of the global order. We have run out of ideas. We have run out of diplomatic creativity. When faced with the complexity of a multipolar world and the shifting dynamics of the Atlantic alliance, the only lever our leaders know how to pull is the one marked "Send Troops." It doesn't matter where. It doesn't matter why. Just send them. Put them on a boat, fly them to the ice, and have them walk around looking busy. It creates the illusion of action, the mirage of competence. France is stepping up its presence, we are told. They are arriving by land, air, and sea. The mountains may be missing, the talks may be inconclusive, and the purpose may be obscure, but the fuel is being burned and the flags are waving. And in the end, isn't that all that really matters to these people?