ALIAZON REVISTAS: Good-Bye Atlanticism, Hello Darkness

Gordon F. Sander, interviewed by Chandler Fritz ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌

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President Donald Trump’s threat to annex Greenland has by now been buried under dozens of new headlines about the depraved exploits of his second administration, but for the 57,000 people living there, being in the crosshairs of an expansionist American president is not something that fades quickly from memory. The consequences of Trump’s belligerence have been extensive, in both Greenland and Denmark, where, according to polling, favorable public opinion of the United States has dropped by a greater percentage than it has in any other European country. “One of the unintended effects of Trump’s threats against Greenland is that they have brought Danes and Greenlanders together,” writes Gordon F. Sander in the December 4 issue of the Review. Sander visited the island a few months after the president first threatened to “get” it, and across the autonomous territory as well as in Denmark, he finds most people—Inuits and Danes alike—angry at the Trump administration and anxious about the future.

Gordon F. Sander

For the past thirty-five years Sander has been reporting from Scandinavia and the Baltic states for dozens of outlets, including The New York Times, The Christian Science Monitor, and Politico. Since 2022 he has been writing for the Review about the rapid political changes in the region following Vladimir Putin’s invasion of Ukraine. His tenth book, The Finnish Front Line: Kekkonen, Kennedy, and Khrushchev’s Cold War Showdown, will be published in December.

I wrote to Sander at his home in Riga this week to learn more about Trump’s machinations, Greenland’s future, and the joys and perils of life as a correspondent in Europe’s “wild, wild east.”

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Chandler Fritz: Your piece begins with a reflection on how nineteenth-century landscape art influenced the Danish imagination of Greenland as a colonial frontier. What do you think informs Trump’s vision of Greenland? Where does he get the idea that it’s a blank space on the map?

Gordon F. Sander: In truth I don’t think art, no less Danish landscape art, has “informed” Trump’s imagination about much of anything. Reportedly, his billionaire friend Ronald Lauder first suggested the idea of buying the island. If art informed anyone’s vision, per se, of Greenland, it was probably that of Lauder, a notable art collector, rather than a philistine like Trump.

I hesitate to say exactly what moves Donald Trump, surely the most capricious US president in history. Apart from whatever realistic strategic concerns he might have regarding Greenland I think he basically sees it as a piece of real estate. He also, by his own admission, is an expansionist. I think he would like to be able to say that he is the first president since William McKinley to expand US territory. But ultimately I think he sees Greenland as a piece of property he can acquire for his—or America’s, two concepts that for him are interchangeable—portfolio. It is as though the island is something he needs to get, in the same way he might want to acquire a property adjacent to Trump Tower.

The real question, of course, is what will Trump do in order to get Greenland?

What do you think Trump will do?

I’m not sure. Peering into his mind is like peering into a very murky crystal ball. His recent actions in the Caribbean confirm that he has few qualms about using military force sans provocation. I don’t think he will invade Greenland, as many Greenlanders—and Danes—feared earlier this year. I don’t think he wishes to go to war over Greenland, or shed Danish, no less American, blood over it.

One course Trump might pursue is dropping MAGA-minded American colonists into one of the island’s vast uninhabited spaces, on the order of the demented American Equatorial Islands Colonization Project of the 1930s, when the US dropped some hapless Hawaiian students on a number of inhabited islands in the central Pacific in order to check potential Japanese expansion. That didn’t end very well—two colonists were killed by Japanese planes, and the rest were quickly evacuated—nor would any similar action by Trump and his minions. But I think he will try something.

Recent elections in Greenland reinforced the fact that independence from Denmark remains a popular cause throughout the territory. How much does Nordic solidarity with Greenland depend on Danish rule? Would independence make it more vulnerable to American annexation?

I think, as Jonas Gahr Støre, the Norwegian prime minister, states in my essay, the recent Nordic solidarity with Greenland, as well as with Denmark, derives from something more fundamental than Danish rule: the rule of law. I believe that Greenland will ultimately become independent, although it is difficult to predict when—probably not for at least another decade or so. How vulnerable it will be to American annexation at that point depends on whether future US administrations wish to annex it. Of course, it’s always possible that the Greenlanders themselves may wish to associate with the US at that point, as Trump hopes.

In the Review’s August 15, 2024, issue you wrote about how Russia’s invasion of Ukraine had prompted Sweden, a country known for its long-standing policy of neutrality, to join NATO. How has the second Trump administration complicated the Atlanticist position in Scandinavia?

Immensely. I am not sure if the Atlanticist position—that is, advocating a closer alliance with the United States under the NATO umbrella—even exists in Scandinavia anymore because of Trump’s refusal to commit himself to Article 5, the moral and political glue binding the alliance together. This is not to mention the instability that he and his isolationist sycophants have injected into the larger American military and security complex.

Reassuring words and photo ops with American officers aside, the fact of the matter is that the US is no longer seen as a reliable ally in this part of the world. And that’s a very scary thing indeed. Russia’s invasion of Ukraine was not just a watershed for Sweden; it was for Finland, too, which likewise abandoned its neutrality. The two nations basically jumped into NATO together, something that Putin certainly didn’t predict. Indeed, you could say that, from a geostrategic point of view, for Europe, the Finns’ and Swedes’ decisions to join NATO in spring 2023 were the most momentous consequences of the invasion.

At the time, it also validated the Atlanticist position in Scandinavia. I vividly remember a meeting I had with Pål Jonson, the Swedish defense minister, who belonged to that small coterie of Swedish analysts who had long campaigned for Sverige to join NATO, and how excited and relieved he was that his country was finally in. Later, during the 2024 presidential campaign, I met with my friend Michael Claesson, then chief of staff for the Swedish Armed Forces, who was concerned about Trump’s attitude toward the alliance, and what would happen if and when he was elected.

I am sure that both Jonson and Claesson are now very worried. How could they not be? The alliance is in disrepair, or at least reformulating itself. The Swedes, who are just getting used to the idea that they may have to go to war with another great power—something they have not done since the Napoleonic era—are rapidly ramping up their military spending. They have good soldiers and leaders. They just have to get their heads around the idea that if war comes to Scandinavia and the Baltic states, they may not be able to count on US support. (Incidentally, this is nothing new for the Finns. Back in 1939, after Russia invaded Finland, the Finns had hoped that America would help defend them, but the US, which was then in an America First mood, did nothing.)

To be sure, the Swedes and the Finns and the Danes and the Balts are still participating in joint military exercises with the US, but mentally, as the Russian threat draws closer and becomes more palpable, people hereabouts are circling the wagons. Good-bye Atlanticism, hello darkness.

You’ve covered Scandinavia for nearly four decades, yet you choose to live in Latvia, a Baltic nation. Perhaps I’m wading into regional waters that are out of my depth, but why do you choose to live in a Baltic country instead of a Nordic one?

Do wade. When I finally moved to Europe in 2017, a lot of people expected that I would move to Finland. I had written several books about Finland. The president of Finland, Sauli Niinistö, had just knighted me. I didn’t know anyone in Latvia, except the manager and the house parrot at the hotel where I had once stayed. So why did I choose Latvia? Well, why not? I already knew Estonia quite well from my work with the Finns, but Latvia—which was more isolated in the sense that it didn’t have the same close bond with one of its Nordic neighbors that Estonia had with Finland, even though part of it once belonged to the Swedish Empire—intrigued me.

I first visited Latvia in 2002. Riga used to be called the Pearl of the Baltic during the heyday of the Russian Empire, partly because of its rich architectural legacy. It was, to be sure, still quite pearly when I arrived, if frayed around the edges. But I would have never considered living there at the time. Too wild, too rough. This was when the Balts, which had only regained their independence after a half-century under the Soviet yoke, were still called “the wild, wild east.” The aftermath of “the Soviet time,” as the Balts call it, was still everywhere. Service in restaurants was comical. People didn’t smile.

Then I returned in 2015 and I could see that the country was sloughing off the dead cultural and spiritual weight of the Soviet era—sort of the same way the Finns did during the 1990s, after their onerous “special relationship” with Moscow ended. With the encouragement of the Latvian government I laid the groundwork for my move to Riga two years later. Latvia was rising. It still is. And that has been a fascinating process to watch and report on and, in my own small way, participate in: as far as I know I am the only full-time accredited American journalist in Riga.

Today, when I fly from Helsinki to Riga or Tallinn, or vice versa, I no longer feel like I am going to another planet or taking my life in my hands, as I did during my first forays to Estonia in the mid-1990s. The nine Nordic and Baltic countries have essentially become one region. It has taken nearly thirty-five years, but the Baltic Curtain—as the northern wall of the Iron Curtain used to be called—is basically gone. That’s a good thing.

In our July 21, 2022, issue, you wrote about the controversy around Soviet monuments in Latvia, especially after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Many worried that if Putin successfully annexed Ukraine the Baltic countries would be next. Is that fear still widespread in the region?

There is still considerable—and realistic—fear of Russia here, as well as concern about what will happen if Russia succeeds in Ukraine. Remember Riga is only about nine hundred miles from Kyiv: we are on the fringe of a war zone, and we feel it and see it every day. Virtually every other building flies a Ukrainian flag. There are many Ukrainian refugees here.

Latvia has a large Russian-speaking minority, which includes a pro-Putin faction, as we are reminded by occasional acts of sabotage by the local Bolsheviki, like the arson attack on the Museum of Occupation last year. And yet, despite the friction between the ethnic Latvian majority and the Russian minority, the social contract in this country is strong. After the Victory Park Memorial was blown up in 2022, to the consternation of Russian speakers, I feared that there would be bloody riots here, like the one that erupted in Tallinn in 2007, in which one person was killed, after the Soviet cenotaph there was moved. Although there was a lot of grumbling in Latvia from the Russian-speaking population over the destruction of the Victory Park Memorial, as well as the demolition or removal of other Soviet-era monuments around the country, the protests that have occurred here have basically been peaceful.

Meanwhile the work on improving and strengthening Latvian democracy continues, to Moscow’s consternation. I am particularly impressed by the increasing involvement of young people in the political process here, as seen, for example, in the rise of the Progressives party, which barely existed when I first arrived and is now a member of the governing coalition. Selma Levrence, the Progressive student activist I interviewed for that 2022 essay, now sits in Saeima, the Latvian parliament. I think that’s encouraging.

Is it true the Russian mafia once tried to kill you?

Yes, it’s true. I have had an interesting career. Sometimes too interesting.

Back in 1996 I took the ferry from Helsinki to Tallinn for a story I was writing for The New York Times’ Out There travel series. I had discovered a Chicago Prohibition era–style nightclub called Dekoltee—it featured waitresses with neon dresses and authentic-looking gangsters and the like—and I had arranged to meet the owner that day. In my haste to catch the ferry and make my appointment I cut the line. I had presented my press credentials, of course, but that didn’t matter to the two Russian mafiosi who had been patiently waiting their turn and subsequently shoved me from behind after I boarded. No problem. I asked the ferry attendant to buy the two gentlemen a beer and apologize to them on my behalf, and promptly went to rest for the ninety-minute trip across the Gulf of Finland. About fifteen minutes before the ferry arrived in Tallinn, the same attendant came over and told me in a polite, nervous voice that those same two gentlemen over there were still livid and threatening to kill me the moment the ferry docked. Evidently, the other Estonian passengers thought they were serious, because the staff asked me to be the first off the ship when it docked.

I pointed out that being the first to disembark would likely make it easier for them to kill me. Consequently, I insisted the captain have three of his strongest crewmen escort me off the boat, through customs, and into a taxi. Sure enough, a minute or two later, three suitably brawny Estonian sailors appeared and briskly walked me off the ship. The Estonian police were there in force: evidently they had been alerted to the situation. Ninety seconds later I was through customs and in a cab to my hotel in Tallinn.

I did get my interview, by the way. And my story as well. Unfortunately, the Gray Lady decided that Dekoltee was too, well, out there, and it never ran. However, for better or worse, I am still over here.