In a startling proposal reminiscent of 19th century-era geopolitical ambitions, Donald Trump has suggested the U.S. annex Greenland, Canada, and Panama. Though unconventional even by Trump’s standards, this idea is evidently meant to reflect his vision of consolidating America’s global influence through the acquisition of territories with immense geographic and economic value. To understand the implications, we must examine the context of his plan, the international reactions, and the historical and theoretical frameworks which give insight into this audacious notion.
Trump’s plan, articulated in private discussions and musings made in public, emphasizes the strategic importance of these regions. Greenland, rich in untapped resources and vital for navigation of the Arctic, has long been of interest to the U.S. and was already designated byTrump as one of his expansionist ambitions during his first presidency. Canada’s vast landmass, resources, industry, and strategic value due to its geographic closeness to Russia (and China) make it an equally appealing, though rather improbable, candidate for annexation. As for Panama, its role as major trade route and passageway for military ships via the Panama Canal has solidified its status as the linchpin of U.S. control in the region and, given the many U.S. interventions there, the least surprising candidate for a reassertion of territorial expansion. While Trump’s language on the matter reportedly oscillates between jocular hyperbole and earnest pragmatism, the underlying message is clear: enhancing American dominance, if not over the world, then at least over the American hemisphere, by securing pivotal regions.
The response from Greenland and Denmark has been as swift as it was unequivocal. Greenlandic officials have called the idea “an affront to sovereignty,” with Denmark’s Prime Minister calling it “absurd” while reaffirming that Greenland is not for sale, much less annexation. Nevertheless, the move has bolstered Greenlandic independentists, and were it not for the repercussions of such an annexation for U.S.-EU relations, it is not entirely improbable that adequate financial leverage could persuade the local population to join the U.S. freely. Canada’s political establishment, while more measured in tone, has dismissed the concept of joining the U.S. as “fantastical” and contrary to the close, yet independent, relationship the two nations have enjoyed for over two centuries. Canada’s PM Trudeau even wrote on X: “There isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that Canada would become part of the United States.” In Panama, finally, where the U.S. relinquished its military control of the Panama Canal in 1999, the idea has rekindled fear of imperial overreach. Local leaders decried the suggestion as “a colonialist fantasy,” warning of the damage such rhetoric could do to bilateral relations and regional stability.
Trump’s desire for annexation finds resonance in Carl Schmitt’s “Großraumtheorie” (“Theory of Greater Space”), which posits that great powers should establish clear and coherent spheres of influence defined by direct political and economic control. Schmitt’s framework contrasts starkly with the mixture between liberal multilateralism and de facto U.S.-centrism that has historically underpinned Washington’s foreign policy, favouring instead a return to classical geopolitics characterised by clear territorial delineations. Thus by seeking to absorb strategically vital territories, Trump departs from the cooperative ideals of alliances like NATO or the UN, leaning instead toward a realpolitik worldview in which regional dominance supersedes multilateral diplomacy. In this model, power is not gained by worldwide interventionism but rather through the step-by-step increase of one’s immediate territorial control. The Arctic, Atlantic, and Panama Canal—as zones of critical importance to trade, military positioning, and resource extraction—all align with this Schmittian vision of exclusive (and competing) spheres of control. Such ambitions, should they prove to be more than a passing fantasy, would suggest a fundamental reorientation of U.S. strategy from global leadership through cooperation to increased hemispherical domination via unilateral territorial assertion. Perhaps this reflects a kind of ordered retreat stemming from the insight that the U.S. has already crossed its political zenith and needs to reassure control over its immediate power base, where indirect control is transformed into direct annexation.
The U.S. chaotic retreat from Kabul, Afghanistan may have served as a memento mori for Trump in the sense that, in the end, U.S. power fundamentally relies on controlling the Americas—an insight that had already marked his first presidency, albeit in a less assertive and openly annexationist form. While in 2013, President Obama’s Secretary of State, John Kerry, informed the Organization of American States that “The era of the Monroe Doctrine is over,” Trump told the U.N. General Assembly in 2018: “Here in the Western Hemisphere, we are committed to maintaining our independence from the encroachment of expansionist foreign powers. It has been the formal policy of our country since President Monroe that we reject the interference of foreign nations in this hemisphere and in our own affairs.”
Trump’s endorsement of Elon Musk’s vision for colonising Mars adds a futuristic dimension to his broader strategy of reasserting U.S. power, both on Earth and beyond. During his inauguration, Trump declared, “We will pursue our Manifest Destiny into the stars,” signalling a desire to extend American influence not only across continents but into space. This rhetoric ties neatly into his aspirations for territorial control over the Western Hemisphere. The colonisation of Mars, while seemingly far removed from the annexation of Greenland, Canada, or Panama, serves as a symbolic and strategic extension of the same principle: consolidating dominance in critical spheres before competitors do. Musk’s SpaceX endeavours represent a uniquely American approach to space exploration, blending private innovation with national ambition, and aligning with Trump’s broader worldview of preferring unilateral action over international cooperation. By claiming leadership in space travel, Trump reinforces the U.S. position as a dominant global power, with Mars colonisation acting as a logical progression of Manifest Destiny. For Trump, as on Earth, so too in the stars: dominance is destiny.
But Trump’s vision may not only be a somewhat clumsy way of reasserting the Monroe doctrine and the idea of Manifest Destiny. It may also be informed by the assertive policies of other global powers. China’s claims over Taiwan and its militarisation of the South China Sea represent a modern template for leveraging territorial ambitions to bolster national strength. Similarly, Russia’s growing dominance over Belarus, its annexation of Crimea, and its ongoing war against Ukraine reflect a determination to reclaim historical spheres of influence.
The parallels are striking: Trump’s rhetoric implicitly normalises these expansions while simultaneously (un?)consciously lending legitimacy to a world order where territorial grabs become par for the course. Far from merely reacting to these examples, Trump’s proposal risks emboldening China and Russia by providing justification for their actions. If the U.S. openly entertains annexation, it weakens what remains of its moral authority, and as codified in the UN Charter, to critique similar behaviour elsewhere.
Critics might argue that Trump’s designs on Greenland, Canada, and Panama are no more than passing whims, destined to be forgotten alongside countless other provocative remarks that seem to reflect a salesman’s boastful rhetoric rather than the carefully chosen words of a statesman. Yet history warns us that even rhetorical flights of fancy can leave indelible marks. Such declarations shape perceptions, recalibrate norms, and influence the behaviour of allies and adversaries alike.
In this sense, Trump’s proposal—however implausible in practical terms—could represent a watershed moment; it signals a shift in U.S. discourse from the ideals of multilateral engagement toward a worldview grounded in the holding and, if possible, expansion of one’s territory. The long-term implications for global stability and the rules-based international order remain uncertain, but the seeds of change may have already been sown.
Donald Trump’s proposal to annex Greenland, Canada, Panama, and even Mars encapsulates his unorthodox approach to geopolitics. While the idea has been met with widespread derision, it is not without theoretical merit . In invoking Schmittian logic and drawing parallels to the actions of China and Russia, Trump’s rhetoric reflects a broader shift in international relations—one where territorial ambitions and spheres of control increasingly challenge the liberal order. Whether his vision endures or fades away, its consequences for global politics warrant close scrutiny.