Mindanao almost swapped for Greenland
The Philippines has long held a reputation as a compassionate and welcoming archipelago. Over the last century, we have opened our shores to white Russian refugees fleeing the Bolshevik revolution, Jewish families escaping the Holocaust, and Vietnamese boat people in the wake of the Vietnam War. Remarkably, we even offered an island as sanctuary, not for people, but for endangered Kenyan wildlife, threatened by conflict in their homeland.
This generous spirit is a point of pride for Filipinos. But when it comes to the giving away, selling, or trading of Philippine islands, the sentiment quickly shifts from hospitality to deeply rooted emotional resistance. The fierce national outcry over China’s incursions into our exclusive economic zone in the West Philippine Sea is one clear example. Despite decades of Asean diplomacy, the unresolved claim over Sabah remains another flashpoint. The public opinion on such matters is unmoved and immovable.
Against this backdrop, consider how Filipinos would react today if they learned that more than a century ago, Mindanao and Palawan were casually floated as tradable assets in an internal United States diplomatic letter, suggested as part of a geopolitical swap for Greenland.
Yes, you read that right.
In 1910, then US Ambassador to Denmark Maurice Francis Egan sent a letter to Washington proposing what he himself described as a “very audacious suggestion.” In this proposal, the US could acquire Greenland and the Danish West Indies (now the US Virgin Islands) in exchange for Mindanao and Palawan, which were, at that time, under American colonial rule.
The idea was that Denmark would receive the southern Philippine islands and then trade them to Germany in exchange for Northern Schleswig, a region Denmark had lost to Prussia in 1864. The proposal amounted to a three-way colonial chess move—one that treated territories with entire peoples and cultures as mere geopolitical pieces on an imperial board.
This proposal was never presented to Denmark or discussed with Philippine colonial authorities. But it reveals much about the prevailing mindset of US diplomacy in the early 20th century—one in which strategic territories could be swapped or traded, not unlike rare cards between collectors.
It also casts a long shadow into the present, especially in light of the current campaign of the Trump administration, which again expressed interest in acquiring Greenland by purchase and even with veiled threats of military coercion. While this modern iteration may sound implausible or laughable, it reminds us that the idea has long been simmering in the strategic imagination of the US foreign policy establishment.
To many Filipinos, the idea of swapping an island—even one as far-flung as Greenland—for Mindanao, home to over 26 million people and a cradle of unique cultural and historical identity, is not only unimaginable but also offensive. Mindanao is not a bargaining chip; it is part of our national soul. Yet, the 1910 letter proves that this kind of thinking existed—and perhaps still exists—in circles where power outweighs principle.
The Philippines today finds itself once again in a complex web of great-power competition. As tensions rise in the Indo-Pacific, we depend more than ever on our security and military alliance with the United States. This partnership is rooted in mutual defense treaties and shared democratic values. But as we deepen that relationship, it is worth recalling that our history with the US is not without troubling chapters.
That Mindanao was ever proposed as a tradable item—without the knowledge or consent of its people—is not merely a historical footnote. It is a sobering reminder of how colonial logic treated territories as objects, not homelands. It is a reminder that the Filipino agency was denied, even in decisions that concerned our very geography.
Equally important is the lesson for our future: sovereignty, once compromised or negotiated away, is rarely recovered without struggle. The current tensions in the West Philippine Sea are not just about fishing grounds or rock outcrops; they are about the trauma of dispossession and the emotional weight of place. To many Filipinos, land is not just real estate—it is identity.
So when the world watches in amusement or disbelief as American strategists once again discuss Greenland as though it were a blank slate for conquest or purchase, we Filipinos are not amused. We remember. We remember that even our own islands were once almost part of such a deal.
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