NUUK, Greenland — Qooqu Berthelsen, a young resident of Greenland, stands on a boat amidst majestic snow-capped mountains and glistening blue icebergs. He points to the cracking sea ice, a signal of climate change that threatens his livelihood. Yet, his current apprehension is not merely environmental but rather tied to geopolitical concerns—that President Trump might actually attempt to purchase Greenland.
Berthelsen, a 23-year-old who juggles roles as a hunter, fisherman, and business owner, repeats what has become a refrain throughout Greenland since Trump expressed interest in acquiring this Arctic island, bringing Greenland into international focus. This has fueled a renewed drive towards complete independence from Denmark, a critical subject in Greenland’s parliamentary elections scheduled for March 11.
“Greenlanders don’t want to be Danish. Greenlanders don’t want to be American,” asserts Berthelsen. “Greenland is not for sale.”
These sentiments echo throughout Greenland—from Nuuk, the globe’s northernmost capital, to the sparsely populated villages scattered across the world’s largest island, Kalaallit Nunaat, as the native Greenlanders call it. This predominantly Inuit population of approximately 57,000 takes great pride in their historical and cultural heritage, which has enabled them to endure in one of the planet’s most remote and captivating regions.
The U.S.’s interest stems from Greenland’s strategic Arctic location and its untapped mineral wealth, including rare earth elements vital for modern technology, alongside its vast oil reserves and potential for new shipping routes as the polar ice continues to dissipate. Despite this, the thought of ceding their territory to the U.S. alarms and disconcerts many Greenlanders.
Aqqaluk Lynge, a former Inuit Circumpolar Council president, warned how a few uttered words are “playing with fire” and reshaping the world’s perception. He sees a shifting landscape of new aspirations and visions. This American interest stirred diplomatic turmoil in Denmark, prompting the prime minister to seek European support while bolstering Denmark’s military foothold around Greenland to guard against potential U.S. overtures.
Attending political forums, such as in the bay of Nuuk where local icons like mining engineer Qupanuk Olsen gather with their supporters, there is a shared sense of uncertainty over Greenland’s future. Yet, amidst anxiety and bewilderment, some individuals like Inuk filmmaker Aka Hansen find a silver lining. She appreciates the newly amplified international spotlight on Greenland and the cultural solidarity that has ensued.
Greenland’s yearning for independence has historical roots in Danish colonialism and its associated transgressions—like the assimilation strategies imposed on Inuits during the mid-20th century. The possibility of more autonomy is enticing to many. The hope for a future that fosters self-governance and direct international dealings, especially in defense matters with major powers like the U.S., has ignited fervent national discourse.
This enclave of 1979, when Greenland obtained self-rule from Denmark, aims for full independence by leveraging its strategic positioning in the Arctic. While still economically tethered to Danish subsidies, Trump’s remarks have inadvertently spurred Greenland’s desire to redefine its association with Copenhagen and seek reparative measures for past injustices.
In recent weeks, Nuuk citizens witnessed atypical weather patterns and social media buzz following Trump Jr.’s visit, contributing to a surreal atmosphere. Yet, life continues with elements of daily normalcy—their children experiencing unique Arctic childhood joys, like playing on frozen ponds, unperturbed by international interest.
“This is the longest January,” quipped Tukumminnguaq Olsen Lyberth, amid the unexpected global attention. The spate of media interest in their homeland leaves many Greenlanders feeling overwhelmed, torn between maintaining cultural isolation and stepping into newfound global political relevance.
