Op-ed: Canada’s Arctic Ascendancy: Leading the West in a Shifting North

This is an opinion piece written by an external contributor. All views expressed are the writer's own.

Donald Trump’s return to the White House in 2025 has reignited his fixation on Greenland, framing it as a national security prize, while chiding Canada for its military spending. Yet his actions reveal a narrower lens—one rooted in territorial ambition rather than a comprehensive Arctic strategy. 

Trump’s rhetoric leans toward an isolationist patriotism: if a conflict doesn’t touch U.S. soil, he’s quick to sideline it, as seen with Ukraine, or redefine it as a domestic concern, like his Greenland and Canada gambits. For him, the Arctic seems less a security priority than a bargaining chip, even as Russia ramps up its military presence in the region, eyeing NATO’s northern flank with growing boldness.

Canada’s actions reflect a conviction that Arctic security demands more than reliance on a distracted United States. Russia’s dominance in the region is undeniable in key areas—its fleet of over 40 icebreakers dwarfs NATO’s handful, and its network of Arctic bases, paired with hypersonic missiles and nuclear capabilities, outpaces the alliance’s northern footprint. 

Meanwhile, the U.S., despite bases in Alaska and Greenland, appears stretched thin. Trump’s focus on strong-arming allies into NATO contributions—while showing little appetite for broader Arctic engagement—leaves a vacuum. Canada, it seems, has decided to fill it, not just for itself but for the West.

Three forces

Three forces are propelling this shift. First, Russia’s military buildup is no abstract threat. Moscow’s recent budget hikes and exercises—like Vostok 2022, with echoes in 2025—demonstrate an intent to control the Arctic, from the Barents Sea to the Bering Strait. 

Second, U.S. engagement, while bolstered by North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD)’s binational framework, lacks the urgency Canada now feels. The 2022 NORAD modernization plan, with its F-35s and satellites, keeps North America vigilant, but Trump’s rhetoric suggests he’d rather Canada and Europe shoulder the load than deepen U.S. commitment. 

Third, climate change is rewriting the Arctic’s map. NASA data shows September Sea Ice Shrinking 12.2% per decade since the 1981-2010 baseline, prying open routes like the Northwest Passage. This isn’t just a commercial boon—China’s joint drills with Russia signal a military dimension, too.

Canada’s response is less a reaction than a redefinition. The Iqaluit base, if Poilievre’s Conservatives prevail, would plant a flag of permanence, projecting power across the eastern Arctic. The three hubs form a strategic triad: Iqaluit guards the Atlantic approaches, Yellowknife anchors the central north, and Inuvik watches the Beaufort Sea and Bering Strait. 

The Arctic as a proving ground

Together, they create a shield—not static, but dynamic—capable of signal intelligence, rapid deployment, and naval dominance. This isn’t about matching Russia’s numbers but outmaneuvering its intent, securing NATO’s northern tier with precision.

What’s striking is the bipartisan resolve. Despite electoral uncertainty, both Liberals and Conservatives see the Arctic as a proving ground. Poilievre’s base and vessel surge align with Blair’s hub investment—different paths to the same end: a Canada that leads, not follows. 

NORAD remains a linchpin, tying U.S. and Canadian capabilities together, but Ottawa’s initiatives suggest a subtle pivot. Where the U.S. once set the pace, Canada now drives the Arctic agenda, using its geography and resolve to compensate for American ambivalence.

This shift carries lessons for NATO’s European flank. Trump’s demands for higher allied spending have sown strategic uncertainty—will the U.S. remain the alliance’s backbone, or retreat to its own priorities? 

Canada’s answer is to act, not wait. Ordering non-nuclear icebreakers from Helsinki, as part of its policy, showcases how intra-NATO partnerships can shore up security without bowing to U.S. dictates. Scandinavian nations, facing Russia’s Barents Sea buildup, could take note—Canada’s model proves smaller powers can steer the alliance when giants falter.

Trans-Atlantic awakening

The broader vision is a trans-Atlantic awakening. Canada’s hubs and base could seed a coalition—think France’s naval expertise, Britain’s intelligence reach, or Germany’s industrial might—united not by U.S. command but by shared stakes. 

Such a consortium would pivot NATO’s Arctic posture from reactive to proactive, countering Vladimir Putin’s ambitions in this newly accessible ocean. Russia thrives on division; Canada’s moves signal unity, a multilateral deterrence rooted in action, not rhetoric.

At its core, Canada’s Arctic ascendancy is a statement of readiness. The $2.67 billion hubs aren’t just infrastructure—they’re a geopolitical chess move, placing Ottawa at the board’s center. 

Poilievre’s base, if realized, cements that position, while the vessel buildup ensures Canada can patrol its waters, not just defend them. This isn’t about replacing the U.S. in NORAD or NATO but amplifying the West’s northern voice when Washington’s is muted. Economic challenges and U.S. tensions—over trade or Trump’s Greenland play—haven’t dulled this commitment; they’ve sharpened it.

The Arctic is no longer a distant frontier. Russia knows it, China sees it, and Canada has acted on it. As the ice melts and rivalries harden, Ottawa’s triad of hubs, its Iqaluit anchor, and its naval push mark a turning point. The West’s Arctic future may hinge less on American might than on Canadian will—a shift that could redefine NATO’s north for decades.