20 Feb Britain Backed Greenland’s Autonomy – What Does That Mean for Wales?

Global undercurrents are reshaping Europe’s understanding of strategic alignment. Not long ago, an invasion such as the one in Ukraine would have triggered a decisive and unified military response from allies. The idea that another state – let alone a partner – might openly threaten to annex territory within the Western sphere would have been unthinkable. Yet last month’s developments in Greenland show how quickly old assumptions can be unsettled.

What makes Greenland so significant is not only that it challenges established Western norms, but that it offers countries like the United Kingdom an unexpected mirror. Both the UK and Denmark are unitary states with significant devolved and autonomous regions although only Britain is showing increasingly confederal dynamics and for Wales, watching Greenland’s story unfold raises the question: Can Britain learn from Greenland to build a better relationship with its own devolved nations?

Greenland and Wales have gone through divergent paths to self-determination

President Trump’s climbdown over Greenland came as a relief for many but shouldn’t come as a surprise. Support for annexation was shaky even domestically, with opposition from Representatives across the political spectrum in DC. However, it is unlikely that Trump will abandon his view that allies are a burden and shared values a weakness. What transpires now will be a larger conversation about NATO, the role of the European Union and Britain re-configuring its post war relationships. Britain must navigate this change while simultaneously grappling with the realities of its own multinational union. 

Both the UK and Denmark’s relationship with their territories have been fraught, often tense and top-down, historically weighted by scandals. For Denmark, the IUD scandal between the 1960s and early 1990s and the forced relocation of Inuit Communities to make way for Thule Air Base in Greenland were major flashpoints. For Wales, it was the flooding of Tryweryn in 1965 to provide fresh drinking water for Liverpool. 

While Greenland gained home rule in 1979 and then self-government with the right to self-determination under international law in 2009, the path to self-determination for Wales has been far more complex. 

In stark contrast, Wales’ journey to self-government has been piecemeal. Cultural recognition came first through the Welsh Language Acts of 1967 and 1993, but meaningful political authority was not granted until the creation of the National Assembly in 1999 which was an administrative assembly only. This is in contrast to Scotland which had secured primary legislative law-making powers from the outset. Only after a 2011 referendum did Wales gain the ability to legislate independently and it was not until 2017 that the reserved powers model used in Scotland was adopted, placing Wales on a clear constitutional footing. 

It should therefore come as no surprise that this drawn-out process has created a complex relationship between Wales and the UK Government in London over the years. 

The UK’s navigation of its place in the world mirrors Wales’ place in the Union. 

Over the past century, Britain has moved from projecting power outward – through empire, trade, and exported institutions – to managing an accelerating series of realignments closer to home. The postwar decades saw a pivot toward European integration and collective frameworks like the EEC, NATO, and the UN. By the end of the 20th century, even the domestic centre was under pressure, as devolution began redistributing power amongst UK nations. 

Now, in the 21st century Britain faces a range of tests. In 2016, Brexit tested Europe and the UK’s relationship with post-war institutionalisation. Russia’s invasion of Ukraine is a test of the west’s collective approach to security. Now, with the United States becoming an increasingly volatile partner, another shift is underway, stress testing the postwar order as we’ve all come to know it. European institutions are being re-examined and redesigned, and Britain is once again preparing for domestic realignment with the potential for three of its four nations soon being governed by pro-independence parties. The pattern is familiar: when the centre stops offering a compelling future, the periphery starts looking for one of its own, and Wales is no exception. 

In her speech at the Institute for Government, the First Minister of Wales Baroness Eluned Morgan called for a “new chapter for devolution”, fairer funding, and stronger devolved powers and a Constitutional Reform Act to protect devolution. Her calls came shortly after she offered a rather candid and brave acknowledgement that in May’s Welsh Parliamentary elections, voters were unlikely to return a majority Welsh Labour Government but instead not one, but two pro-independence parties. 

Declining attachment to Westminster is nothing new nor unique. John Rapley and Peter Heather remind us of this in “Why Empires Fall”. Central power cannot endure without genuine buy-in from its peripheries – including a fair share of wealth, opportunity and political voice. This political voice hasn’t been clearly defined for the devolved nations and the fact that Welsh devolved elections have failed to ever reach 50% voter turnout is evidence of this.

The UK should learn from Greenland that the values it espouses abroad should also be applied at home

Liberal democratic institutions were built for a world where the nation state was stable, the centre was strong, and the periphery largely accepted the legitimacy of central authority. That world isn’t just fading; it’s pretty much gone.

Denmark ultimately recognised, even if unintentionally, that a heavily centralised unitary model could not accommodate profound cultural and historical differences. Instead, it built institutions that have attempted to reflect these differences to strengthen Denmark’s capacity to meet both domestic and global challenges. 

Liberal democracy’s challenge today isn’t an external ideological rival, it isn’t the Trumps of today, it’s whether its own institutions can continue to present themselves as the stable, credible framework for managing inevitable change. It will be about showing people that there is value in and necessity for their existence, to participate and to view them as the better alternative. This is why the relationship between Denmark and Greenland has remained stable. Both operate within strong democratic cultures with robust institutions that command trust on both sides. When the annexation scare emerged, the system didn’t fall. It responded clearly, consistently and with a shared sense of purpose. The strength of the institutions – not just the politics – prevented a moment of external pressure from becoming a constitutional crisis.

The UK should consider framing changes in domestic and global undercurrents as anything but mutually exclusive. If it wants to maintain a liberal order abroad it must do so at home. The devolved nations should not feel sidelined or treated as an afterthought, just as Europe should not feel marginalised by Washington. By not resisting this, as we’ve seen with Denmark and Greenland, a unified and consistent posture during potential threats proves effective. The deeper question for Britain is not just how it treats its devolved nations, but whether constitutional architecture can guarantee it. A written constitution has been floated before, maybe now the conditions are different.

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