A Worthy Ally Requires a Mandate

Sólrún Proppé, research associate and analyst at Varða, argues that being a worthy ally is not only a matter of spending and capabilities but of democratic consent at home: Iceland's commitment to invest tens of billions of krónur a year in security will not hold over time unless the public understands and backs it.

A commitment that needs public backing. From 2035 Iceland is committed to spending 1.5% of GDP annually on security and defence – tens of billions of krónur a year that will shape budget priorities for years. Yet this concerns a field most Icelanders have never had to take a position on. The political will exists, she argues, but public opinion may not follow over time, and when sums of this scale are involved it is natural for people to ask what the money is for and what priorities lie behind it. Answering is part of the responsible handling of public funds.

Iceland never had to discuss security. Iceland has long been an exception among the Nordics, where security debate has been limited and almost taboo. For decades its security was largely guaranteed from outside – through alliances and distance from conflict – so questions of deterrence, preparedness and vulnerability rarely surfaced publicly. By contrast, Finland built its "comprehensive security" approach, Sweden is reviving "total defence," and Norway has notified thousands of citizens that their vehicles and boats could be requisitioned in a crisis. Iceland, she argues, needs to move closer to its neighbours in how openly it discusses these matters.

Building public support. Within government and among experts these issues are now discussed regularly, but to much of the public they appear as disconnected news of rising spending and new projects – arriving while households face higher prices, strained healthcare and a housing shortage. It is natural, then, to ask why money should go to defence rather than to daily concerns. A society cannot sustain a security policy it does not understand; without that understanding, support can fade fast and the debate grows vulnerable to polarisation and to the idea that security spending competes with welfare rather than underpinning it. This requires treating the public as participants, not spectators.

A shared understanding of risk. Informed debate depends on a shared assessment of how likely various threats are and what they would mean – sabotage of critical infrastructure, cyber security, subsea cables, GPS jamming, drone incidents, and intensifying great-power competition in the Arctic. Without a common framework, discussion splits between those who think threats are underestimated and those who dismiss them as scaremongering. Many neighbouring states publish regular public risk assessments; doing the same, she argues, would be an important step toward a more mature Icelandic national-security debate.

Trusting the public with reality. None of this means stoking fear – discussing risk is not the same as alarmism. Democracies rest on the premise that citizens can handle complex information, uncertainty and uncomfortable realities. Trusting the public, she writes, lies not in shielding them from that debate but in entrusting them with it.

Her conclusion. Attention usually falls on visible measures – spending, infrastructure, readiness, Iceland's NATO contribution – but long-term reliability as an ally also depends on whether security policy has support at home. Without that mandate, even necessary decisions become politically fragile. Being a worthy ally, she concludes, means not only investing in defence but building a society that understands the decisions taken in the name of security, stands behind them, and is willing to sustain them.