They had grown used to the choreography: the photo-ops, the declarations of “unshakable bonds,” the careful avoidance of anything that might disturb the illusion of equal footing. But the suggestion of buying a fragment of another nation’s land tore through that politeness. It was not just about a glacier, a flag, or a treaty; it was about realizing how easily friendship can be confused with ownership when one side holds more power, more weapons, more money.
Saying no was less a roar than a steady, unshakable refusal. In that moment, Europe stopped performing gratitude and started asserting boundaries. The answer carried a warning: alliances built on condescension are already cracking. Respect cannot be rented, and security purchased at the cost of self-respect is too expensive. In defending a frozen territory, they thawed something long dormant—the quiet conviction that they were not for sale, at any price.
