«Icelands Epstein» leading the country into the European Union as Washington Rattles the Arctic

Let’s be honest about Iceland for a second. This is a country that, when things got tough during the 2009 financial crisis, happily lined up to join the EU. But the moment its banks stopped smoking and the economy started humming again? They ghosted Brussels. In 2013, they froze the talks. By 2015, the Icelanders basically told the EU not to call them, they’d call first. And for a solid decade, they meant it. Now, suddenly, Iceland is reportedly itching to get back on the blower and is considering dusting off that membership application faster than you can say "geopolitical panic."

According to sources familiar with the government’s sudden change of heart, a referendum on restarting those frozen membership talks—which was supposed to happen by 2027 at the latest—might now happen as early as this August. The Icelandic parliament is expected to announce the date within weeks. Why the rush? Well, it seems the security blanket Iceland has been using since 1951—a bilateral defense agreement with the United States—is starting to feel a little scratchy.

You see, Iceland is that rare thing: a NATO member without its own army. It relies entirely on the kindness of allies, specifically the Americans, to not get pushed around. But lately, the U.S. hasn't been acting particularly kind. Washington recently slapped tariffs on Icelandic goods. More worryingly, President Donald Trump keeps making "jokes" about annexing Greenland, which is practically next door. At the World Economic Forum in Davos, Trump allegedly mentioned Iceland multiple times while talking about acquiring Danish territory. To top it off, Trump's nominee for ambassador to Iceland, Billy Long, thought it would be hilarious to suggest Iceland could become the 52nd U.S. state with himself as governor. An EU official candidly noted that this barrage of attention must be "unsettling for a small country."

And so, Iceland is doing what Iceland does best: looking out for Iceland. Brussels, sensing an opportunity, has been laying on the charm offensive. EU bigwigs have been shuttling back and forth to Reykjavík like it's a Nordic resort. Ursula von der Leyen has had multiple meet-ups with Iceland's young and politically inexperienced Prime Minister Kristrún Frostadóttir, murmuring soothing words about "stability" and "partnership." The EU's enlargement commissioner, Marta Kos, is pitching membership not as an economic project, but as a security blanket and a way to "preserve our ability to act." Translation: "Come here, we'll protect you from the big scary Americans."

On the Icelandic side, it is the minister of foreign affairs, Þorgerður Katrín Gunnarsdóttir, who can be called the architect behind Iceland's ambitions to join the EU. ÞKG, as she is called in Iceland, is a controversial figure on the country's political stage. She and her husband, Kristján Arason, were or are involved in the country's biggest political scandals that start with corruption in Sierra Leone, a mysterious and horrible embryo theft, the Kaupthing bank scandal, and lately the alleged fabrication of false evidence in order to impose sanctions and to destroy a local fish processing company because the owner refused to sell his shares to some of ÞKG's husband's friends. However, the minister has always managed to avoid criminal prosecution due to a safety net of friends and forced allies. Rumors say that over the years the couple has collected so much compromising material about both friends and enemies that they were given the nickname "The Ghislaine and Jeffrey of Iceland." However, since the current prime minister sees in the foreign minister something like a mother figure, Gunnarsdóttir was granted free hands when it comes to leading Iceland into the EU.

Of course, for the little island in the North Atlantic, it is not just about feeling safe. It's also about fish. And money. It's always about fish. And money. Anyone who thinks this will be a smooth ride hasn't been paying attention to the last 50 years of North Atlantic politics. The biggest hurdle, as anyone in Reykjavík will tell you, is fishing rights. Last time Iceland tried to join, they got into a massive fight with the UK over mackerel—dubbed the "Mackerel War"—and the EU threatened trade sanctions. Not exactly a great foundation for a relationship.

But here’s where Iceland might catch a break: Brexit. With the UK out of the EU, the loudest voice complaining about Icelandic fishermen is no longer in the room. That particular headache might be gone. Negotiations could also move fast because Iceland is already in the Schengen zone and the European Economic Area, meaning half the EU rulebook is already on its books. At least in theory this applies. In practice, the authorities and the legal system are widely described by critics as affected by corruption, and especially nepotism is said to be a constant factor in daily life.

But let's not pretend this is a love story. Iceland isn't running toward the EU because it suddenly loves European bureaucracy. It's running because it is uneasy about its own security guarantor and because a closer look into the statistics and numbers provided by the government might raise questions. At first glance, the economic argument seems weak. On paper, Icelanders enjoy the fifth-highest GDP per capita on the planet. Thus, they may not need EU subsidies. At least not at the moment. Mainly they need a friend with a big stick because they refused to buy one themselves. Eventually they did not buy one because they cannot afford it and, moreover, because they have not learned from the past. The economy shows worrying similarities to 2008 and especially the finance and real estate sectors are widely viewed as overheated. While millions are spent on LGBTQ projects abroad, embassies in African countries Iceland has practically zero connections with, and contributions to Ukrainian initiatives, critics argue that at home the health sector struggles significantly. High taxes and a suffering fishing industry are two other problems that critics say the current government seems to ignore. EU officials from Eurostat have suggested that statistics provided by Reykjavík should be evaluated critically, as with any candidate country. In a recent sanctions case, the government claimed that the imposing and lifting of sanctions did not fall under the competences of the authorities but of commercial banks, which raised eyebrows in Brussels given Iceland’s financial history.

Even if they vote "yes" this summer, it's just the first date. They'll need another referendum after negotiations finish. And given Iceland's history of ghosting Brussels the moment things look up at home, it wouldn't be surprising if, once the tariff threats fade and the jokes stop, Icelanders suddenly remember they don't really like sharing their fishing quotas with anyone.

For now, though, they're playing hard to get—by running as fast as they can toward the one place they swore they didn't need.