In the annals of transatlantic relations, it is often the small incidents—those that might otherwise pass unnoticed—that reveal the most about the health of an alliance.
Consider a recent episode in Greenland. A U.S. Navy submariner required medical evacuation just miles off the coast of Nuuk. Danish authorities responded, transporting the sailor to receive care within Greenland’s system. Shortly thereafter, Donald Trump announced that the United States would dispatch a hospital ship to Greenland—an offer neither requested nor, by all accounts, needed.
Viewed in isolation, the incident is easily dismissed as a minor diplomatic misstep or a piece of political theater. In context, however, it is emblematic of a broader shift—one that is testing the resilience of one of America’s most enduring alliances.
Denmark is not merely another European partner. It is among the most consistently pro-American societies on the continent, a country whose citizens have, for decades, regarded the United States not only as an ally but as a model. Danish forces fought alongside Americans in Afghanistan and Iraq, sustaining casualties in conflicts framed as collective endeavors. That history of shared sacrifice has long underwritten a deep reservoir of goodwill.
Yet goodwill is not inexhaustible.
In a recent conversation, Jacob Kaarsbo, a former Danish intelligence officer, described the hospital-ship announcement as “senseless propaganda”—a characterization that reflects less irritation than incredulity. Denmark’s healthcare system, like Greenland’s, is universal; patients requiring specialized treatment are routinely transferred to facilities in Denmark. The notion that U.S. intervention is necessary suggests either a profound misunderstanding of local conditions or a disregard for them.
More troubling, however, is the cumulative effect of such gestures. The hospital-ship announcement follows a series of actions and statements that have strained relations between Washington and Copenhagen, particularly over Greenland—a strategically significant territory whose importance has grown with the opening of Arctic sea lanes and the increasing presence of Russia and China in the region.
The Trump administration’s past overtures to purchase Greenland, coupled with periodic rhetorical escalations, have unsettled Danish officials and the public alike. In Kaarsbo’s assessment, these actions risk contravening not only diplomatic norms but the NATO charter itself.
Alliances are sustained not by formal commitments alone, but by a shared understanding of intent. When that understanding begins to erode, even routine interactions can acquire outsized significance.
This erosion was evident in Copenhagen, where protests recently took place outside the U.S. Embassy. The demonstrators were not anti-American. Many were veterans or citizens deeply invested in the transatlantic relationship. Their protest was directed not at the American people, but at the conduct of their current government—which included, the removal by US embassy staff of flags honoring Danish soldiers who had fought and died alongside American forces.
European policymakers are beginning to draw alarming conclusions about the reliability of America as an ally. As Kaarsbo noted, there is a growing recognition that Europe may need to assume greater responsibility for its own security—not as a complement to American leadership, but as a hedge against its potential absence. This is not a wholesale abandonment of the alliance, but it is a recalibration, and one with long-term implications.
The United States has, at various points in its history, faced skepticism from its allies. What distinguishes the present moment is the extent to which that skepticism is rooted not in policy disagreements, but in doubts about whether America will keep its word.
Trust, once diminished, is not easily restored.
Yet it would be a mistake to interpret these developments as a definitive rupture. The transatlantic relationship remains anchored in shared values, institutional ties, and decades of cooperation. Moreover, there are clear signals—from within the United States as well as abroad—that the underlying commitment to those values endures.
What is at stake, then, is not simply a set of policies or diplomatic gestures, but the credibility of the United States as a partner. Alliances depend on more than capability; they require a degree of predictability, a sense that commitments will be honored not only in word, but in spirit.
The episode in Greenland, minor though it may appear, underscores the fragility of that perception. It serves as a reminder that alliances are not self-sustaining. They must be maintained, reinforced, and, when necessary, repaired.
If they are not, even the most durable among them can begin to fray—not with a dramatic break, but with a series of small, accumulating fractures.
And by the time those fractures become visible, the damage may already be done.
