Fear, fatigue, defiance: Greenlanders react to Trump's threat to acquire the Arctic island

Nuuk, Greenland — Nuuk is usually quiet, but recent protests, described as the largest ever in Greenland's history, have shattered that calm, leaving a restless atmosphere.

The fjord sits steel calm, and most conversations keep circling back to the US President Donald Trump who keeps talking about taking over the Arctic island, along with its resources and its tiny population of 57,000.

Trump's renewed insistence that the US must acquire or control Greenland has turned an old provocation into a living anxiety. What was once brushed off as non-serious now feels heavy, intrusive, and exhausting.

In capital Nuuk, people talk less about geopolitics and more about how it feels to be spoken about as territory, not as a people.

Aka Hansen feels it first in her body. The filmmaker and writer has spent days riding what she calls an emotional spiral.

"No, I don't want Donald Trump to be my president ever. No, we have such different values. No. Thank you. I don't want any of the US dollars for my land. It's not any of my interests at all. No. Thank you."

She pauses, then pushes on, trying to name the sensation.

"It's really hard to understand how serious this is. Whether it's something we should laugh about or something we should cry about. Because I think all the emotions from the one side to the other side. I have been going through the past few days because I feel scared. And then I feel relieved, and then I feel tired."

What drains her most is the sense of being dragged into someone else’s politics.

"It's taking a lot of mental space to think about someone else's president who's trying to annex a people, and specifically our people. So it makes me feel all the emotions. And because it's such a roller coaster ride, it feels tiring."

Her voice firms when she talks about belonging.

'Hands off Greenland'

"Hands off Greenland. Greenland is ours and we have been here for many, many years. And we will keep being here in the future as well."

For Hansen, the core issue is not Denmark or Washington. It is recognition.

"We are a people. We are people, according to international law, the Greenlandic people. And we are a country, and everything that goes on in the Arctic and regarding Greenland, should be centering the Greenlandic people."

Partnership is not rejected, but terms matter.

"And all nations who can partner up with the Greenlandic people with the aim to achieve that for the Greenlandic people, is something that we're open to. We're open for business."

What she rejects is being reduced to a strategic square on a global board.

"So whatever is being said from either side about Greenland, almost as if Greenland is just a piece of a puzzle. Instead of a nation and a country with a people with its own visions and ambitions, and goals," notes Hansen.

Last week, thousands of protesters marched across snow and ice to take a stand against Trump, in what is considered to be the biggest protests ever in the island’s history.

Demonstrators protested with signs and flags, chanting "Greenland is not for sale" to defend their self-governance against possible American takeover.

The territory, governed from Copenhagen for centuries, gained autonomy in 1979 but remains part of Denmark, which oversees defence, foreign policy, and funds administration.

Trump says that there is no documentary evidence to support Denmark's claim of ownership over Greenland, asserting that "the fact they had a boat land there 500 years ago does not mean they own the land."

Right to self-determination

Inside parliament, the message is sharper but aligned.

Juno Berthelsen of the Naleraq Party frames the moment as a test of law and principle.

"So it's very important for us that we centre our attention. The whole world centres its focus on the Greenlandic people. We need to follow and adhere to international law."

For him, self-determination is not abstract.

"We are people according to international law and our road to independence and our right to self-determination must be at the very centre of the recent events. And the whole conversation around Greenland and all of the world, all nations around the world need to listen to that."

Bo Martinsen of the ruling Demokraatit Party brings it back to daily life. He laughs briefly when asked about money, then stops laughing altogether.

"You cannot put a price tag on a life. It's so disrespectful. Not even $100 million could make me choose another place than this. My life, it’s not for sale."

He looks outside at the vastness that defines Greenland more than any flag.

"Every day when I wake up, I feel like I'm the richest person in in the world. Have you ever experienced nature like this? Have you ever experienced so much space, so clean air? You cannot buy that with money."

He repeats himself, deliberately.

"I'm not for sale, and neither is my countryman."

'I want independence'

For Najannguaq Hegelund, a legal rights advocate and mother, the crisis has slipped from politics into the home.

"I want independence. I want Greenland to be independent at some point, when we were ready."

But readiness matters.

"And if we can’t get it in ten, five years or tomorrow, I would prefer that we continue to be under the kingdom of Denmark just a little while," says Hegelund, who is also the chairwoman of Sila 360, an Inuit legal rights NGO.

The American offer holds no appeal.

"No, that's not nearly enough. It's even worse than the deal that we have with the arrangement that we have with Denmark at the moment."

What frightens her now is not just rhetoric, but its impact on children.

"It's been very, very, couple of challenging days where there has been a lot of uncertainty on what we should do, what we should prepare for."

She lowers her voice.

"The impact that it had on my children is that they're scared. They're scared that they're coming. American soldiers to Greenland, and they're asking me questions that I can't answer."

The questions linger at night.

"They're asking me. Will they shoot? Well, I don't know if they're going to shoot. They're asking me. Are they coming? And I'm sorry, I can't say no, but I don't know."

Sleep becomes fragile.

"My children very scared, and afraid to go to sleep at night because they don't know what they're going to wake up to."

'We are independent'

In Nuuk suburbs, Larna, a snow crab forewoman, keeps her answer simple, almost defiant.

"We're not for sale. We are independent. We love our country. We will have, free, free Greenland."

Still, she admits to nerves.

"I feel nervous because many armies are coming today and yesterday. They will arrive, many soldiers here in Greenland, to protect Greenland. So, I get nervous about it."

She shakes her head at the idea of money changing minds.

"No way, no, I'm not taking it because here is freedom. We never wanted to have money. No thanks."

Across Nuuk, the message repeats in different voices and rhythms.

Greenlanders are not denying the world’s interest in the Arctic.

They are demanding something more basic. To be spoken to, not spoken for.