The international crisis around the status of what President Trump refers to as a “piece of ice” in the far north Atlantic and the tropical Pacific U.S. island possession of Guam should be examined together. Studying Guam can help us understand the recent flurry of U.S. exclamations around Greenland and can help explain the U.S. longing for the island.

The themes of ownership, defense, and strategic denial have defined the recent, unreciprocated U.S. interest in Greenland. Putting aside the chaotic public confessions of the U.S. coveting Greenland (and the rebuff of U.S. advances), the expectation of U.S. “ownership” is a tell that resonates through the Guam experience. This sentiment, however, is not limited to Greenland. This hunger for territory has the potential to reshape even more U.S. relationships around the globe.

Ownership: Rent vs. Own

A consistent message from U.S. officials has been that the U.S. needs to own Greenland.  As the U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations noted, “Everybody knows if you’re renting a place, you treat it differently than if you own it.” The U.S. president has forcibly declared his intent to acquire Greenland, initially not ruling out the use of military force if necessary. Unsurprisingly, Greenlanders, the Danish government, and most European countries did not support the U.S. annexation of Greenland. “Colonialism” was a word that was used to describe the unreciprocated U.S. desire. Some less allied countries have trolled the U.S. and Europeans, raising the issue of the United Nations’ list of non-self-governing territories, indirectly bringing Guam’s colonial status into the fray.

In Guam, we know quite a lot about being “owned.” We are no strangers to being possessions.  Like Greenland, we were never asked about being owned. And after almost 130 years, those who acquired us still do not really seem to care much about what we think.

The preference for “ownership” is certainly not limited to recent U.S. political and diplomatic officials’ views with respect to Greenland.  In Guam, the idea that the U.S. has a right to own us has been defined by the military. From the U.S. Navy’s long opposition to civilian government and observations of senior military officers in recent years to the standing misapplication of international law by the U.S. Indo-Pacific Command, ownership of Guam is seen as necessary by the military. Greenland is just now getting exposed to this strategic “logic.”

This “rent vs. own” argument in Greenland deserves a critical review. At first read, this suggests that if something is owned, it is more respected, cherished, and requires defense. This seems to be the current U.S. administration’s intent for Greenland. “You need the ownership to defend it” was part of the U.S. president’s early claim on the need for Greenland. “You can’t defend it on a lease. Who the hell wants to defend a license agreement or a lease?”             

Another reality of the “rent vs. own” condition is one we often hear in Guam. When you own something, you do not require anyone else’s permission on how to use it. For example, Guam is a forward platform from which the U.S. military can “launch missions without requiring host-nation approval, a distinct advantage over other overseas bases.” This “benefit” of ownership is not about defense but maximum flexibility to project military force without anyone else’s permission. From an adversary’s point of view, the ability to launch lethal force from Guam without political constraints means that we are a certain target in the event of conflict. A recent review of wargames between the U.S. and China suggests that U.S. bases in Guam “could suffer up to 90% attrition in the opening wave of (People’s Liberation Army) strikes.”

There is clearly a yin-yang to ownership. Ownership can lead to pride and a self-interested sense of honor, as is frequently the case in national patriotism. Ownership of possessions, however, also means that property can be vacated, sacrificed, or even destroyed.

Ownership = defense?

Current conditions in Guam make clear that ownership does not lead to a secure defense. Greenland (and others) should take note. Setting aside Guam’s pre-WWII history (when U.S. war plans adopted a recapture rather than rescue posture), current U.S. operations and plans in the Micronesian region demonstrate Guam’s insecurity.

A great deal of U.S. treasure is currently being put into a “missile defense” system in Guam. At the same time, an equal amount of U.S. taxpayer dollars has been appropriated to develop alternative military operating locations along the Mariana-Palau arc in the second island chain. These new “divert” facilities are being built in case Guam is unavailable. Of course, one expects that the U.S. military will defend its basing infrastructure, even if the defense is pyrrhic. In Guam’s case, even the military admits that the developing missile defense architecture is limited to addressing only “small coercive attacks.”

Perhaps the most telling is that U.S. ownership of Guam means little to nothing for civilian defense. As military commanders in Guam have repeatedly noted, facilities to protect Guam’s civilian population in the event of conflict is not their responsibility. Guam’s status as a U.S. possession has, to date, yielded not a single cent for shelters or food resiliency in preparation for a conflict that military forces are preparing for. Ownership does not assure security for those whose sovereignty has been usurped.

A new ownership model and the old ownership experience

While detractors of the current U.S. Administration treat Greenland (or emerging security and defense strategies in Asia) as a Trump-influenced bug, Guam’s experience speaks to the long-established military features of this U.S. policy. The current administration has merely articulated a military preference for maximum operational flexibility, regardless of location. As the stakes for U.S. military superiority rise with the emergence of China’s power, this urgency has increased. The open acknowledgment that the U.S. military alone cannot deter China means the U.S. is interested in creating more than contact layers and tripwires.  The U.S. strategy requires military commitment from countries on the frontlines of potential conflict.

“Ownership,” whether it is in the classic colonial sense like Guam, or “owning” the land from which U.S. military forces operate in foreign countries, gives the military the ability to project force without host nation approval. This operating autonomy, while it may increase deterrence by denial capacity, also represents a significant threat to any adversary. In the event of conflict, the bases, places, and spaces that are free to project force will be targeted proportionally by any peer adversary.

Guam’s station is instructive. The PLA’s long-range missile development is built on the back of the DF-26, aka the “Guam Killer” or “Guam Express.”  U.S. allies can expect nothing less from U.S. adversaries if they host sovereign, militarized U.S. facilities. In Korea, the U.S. military is increasingly calling on the (Republic of Korea) government to commit forces to a contingency involving China. Underscoring this view, the U.S. president directly pitched the idea of the U.S. owning bases in Korea. Similarly, U.S. operational control of scarce Virginia-class submarines provided under an AUKUS (a trilateral security partnership between Australia, the United Kingdom, and the United States) agreement or to South Korea should be anticipated, effectively pre-committing Australia and/or Korea to conflict.

There is no doubt that expanding sovereign U.S. operating bases, places, and spaces distant from American shores will make American forces more lethal, perhaps even increasing deterrence. But they do not assure victory. Moreover, in conflict, the “hosts” of such lethal force will likely find security fleeting and insecurity ascendant.

The extension of a sovereign space outside of one’s homeland itself is not entirely novel. Embassies, under the Geneva Convention (1961), offer something short of sovereignty to advance diplomatic purposes. But even these privileges are revocable, and personnel can be ordered removed.  A sovereign military space in another’s country, however, is the inverse of the embassy model.  The military posture simultaneously curtails diplomacy and enhances the credibility of military deterrence. This may be effective (especially in a non-peer, non-nuclear situation) until deterrence fails and exposes the host country to a conflict risk that may not be of their choosing. Sovereign military bases, places, and spaces assumed by an outside power could also be used as simple bargaining chips, further complicating (or erasing) a host nation’s security interests. In short, the substantial benefits of cooperation that enable nations to mitigate and hedge their security risks vanish when sovereign military authority is granted to external powers.

The most dangerous element of the U.S. military’s “own” model is that it affords the extraterritorial use of military force by a foreign power.  Either the targeting or pawn-sacrifice risks that a “host” nation faces occur because of the perverse incentives the foreign power has to employ a more aggressive or less sensitive military posture. In using “sovereign” spaces outside its homeland for deterrence, force projection, or bargaining, the security risk ultimately accrues to the host rather than to the beneficiary of acquired sovereignty.

Perhaps Guam’s colonial experience as an indispensable strategic hub for the United States’ Pacific strategy and simultaneously, a sacrifice zone is an oversimplification. But the emergence of what appears to be a U.S. military requirement that foreign hosts grant U.S. forces maximum (and sovereign) operational flexibility warrants reflection on Guam’s situation.  If Guam, which some U.S. military and other officials refer to “as a part of the homeland”, can be both essential and anticipated to be overwhelmed in conflict, the strategic value of ownership presents a Rorschach test for others.  The bipolar nature of what U.S. ownership brings to Guam is underscored by the fact that none of the U.S. security architecture offers the civilian community even the bare minimum of protection.

If you give up your seat at the table, expect to be on the menu.

 

The Pacific Center for Island Security (PCIS) is a Guam-based, nongovernmental, nonprofit organization and research institute that anchors an island and islander perspective among geopolitical posturing and in regional security issues. Its advisory council includes former presidents of the Federated States of Micronesia, the Republic of the Marshall Islands, the Republic of Kiribati, and the Republic of Palau. For regular updates, PCIS is on Twitter @PCIS_Guam.