Amarok Petersen was 27 when she finally learned why she couldn’t have children — and why she believes Denmark is responsible.
After years of severe uterine problems, a doctor discovered an IUD in her body that Petersen says she never knew had been inserted. She alleges Danish doctors implanted the device when she was 13 as part of a decades-long population-control effort that affected thousands of Indigenous Greenlandic girls and women.
“I will never have children,” Petersen said, fighting back tears. “That choice was taken from me.”
Denmark issued an official apology last year for past forced sterilization practices targeting Indigenous women and girls. But for many Greenlanders, the legacy of those policies — along with other historic programs and present-day living conditions — continues to shape how they view Danish rule, especially as Greenland becomes a focal point in broader geopolitical competition.
This week, Denmark hosted European troops for military exercises on the island, framing the drills as part of efforts to safeguard Greenland from outside pressures — particularly from the United States. But some Inuit residents say Denmark itself has long been the more immediate threat.
“The Danes don’t see us as humans,” Petersen said at a local Inuit restaurant overlooking Nuuk’s fjords. “They think we’re too expensive, too small a population. But they take our land, our children, our lives and expect thanks.”
“They wanted us smaller — easier to manage”
Petersen said that even in adulthood, she believes medical decisions were made without her consent. After complications she associates with the IUD, she underwent repeated surgeries for unexplained pain. Years later, she said, doctors informed her that her fallopian tubes had been removed during an operation in the early 2000s.
She also pointed to Denmark’s so-called “Little Danes experiment,” a program she said resulted in Greenlandic children being sent to Denmark for adoption or institutional care — often separated from their families for years, and sometimes permanently. The program ran from the 1950s through the 1970s and was part of Denmark’s broader push to assimilate Greenlandic children, often without parental consent, according to accounts shared by families.
“It happened to my mother’s brother,” Petersen said. She added that other relatives were subjected to medical experimentation. “They wanted us smaller. Easier to manage.”
Denmark announced compensation in December for some victims of forced sterilization, but Petersen criticized the program, saying the proposed payments — roughly $46,000 — fail to match the harm.
“They think we are worth pennies,” she said. “They destroyed generations, and now they say, ‘Here — be quiet.’”
“Greenland is for Greenlanders” — but who decides?
Recent renewed U.S. interest has intensified the debate. President Trump has again spoken publicly about wanting to buy Greenland, and Danish officials have repeatedly insisted that “Greenland is not for sale.” Many Greenlanders say they don’t want to exchange Danish control for U.S. ownership — but they do want a real path to independence.
“People say ‘Greenland is for Greenlanders,’” Petersen said. “But that’s not reality. Denmark speaks for us. Denmark decides. They don’t let us speak.”
She pointed to a recent press appearance in Washington in which Denmark’s foreign minister took the lead in remarks following talks with U.S. officials, while Greenland’s representative played a noticeably smaller role.
Foreign Minister Lars Rasmussen argued that Greenlanders would not be persuaded by U.S. money or choose America in a referendum.
“There’s no way that US will pay for a Scandinavian welfare system in Greenland,” he told Fox News.
For Petersen, that moment underscored what she sees as Greenland’s limited autonomy.
“It was colonial,” she said of Rasmussen’s posture. “You could see it in his body language. He didn’t want her to speak.
“If Denmark really believed Greenland belongs to Greenlanders,” she added, “they would let us decide our own future.”
Daily life: high costs, low wages, aging housing
That imbalance, residents say, isn’t just political — it’s economic and personal.
Karen Hammeken Jensen, who lives in Nuuk’s Nuussuaq district, moved from South Greenland seeking better opportunities for her children. Instead, she says she found soaring costs and deteriorating living conditions.
Jensen lives in a government-owned apartment block built decades ago — cramped, aging, and, she says, plagued by black mold. She added that rent consumes most of her household’s income.
“These buildings were never modernized,” Jensen said from her living room, which she described as cold due to poor insulation. “They were built for Inuit, and then forgotten.”
Denmark often points to subsidies as evidence of support, but Jensen said the structure keeps many Greenlanders stuck: high prices, low wages, and few ways to build wealth.
“It’s about affordability,” she said. “Pay versus cost. There is no balance.”
Fishing: “We do the work — others take the value”
Nowhere is that tension more visible, residents say, than in fishing — Greenland’s central industry.
Elias Lunge, a fisherman for more than 40 years, said Greenlanders take on dangerous work while Denmark and large companies capture much of the profit.
“We fish the cod,” Lunge said. “Then it’s frozen whole, shipped out, processed elsewhere and sold for much more.”
He claimed that in some settlements fishermen receive as little as $1.86 per kilo for cod, while prices are higher in Nuuk and rise sharply once processed and exported.
“It’s our fish,” Lunge said, gesturing to freshly caught and filleted seafood at a local market. “Why shouldn’t the money stay here?”
Lunge argued that local markets — where fishermen sell directly to residents — show Greenland could support more of its own processing industry if companies invested locally.
“This shouldn’t even be a debate,” he said.
The long shadow: trauma, addiction, despair
Residents interviewed described widespread social strain — including alcoholism, drug abuse, and violence — which they connect to decades of disrupted families, forced policies, and economic dependency.
“People don’t see a way out,” Jensen said. “And when no one listens, nothing changes.”
Petersen said many Greenlanders feel the weight of generational trauma. She pointed to research indicating Greenland has one of the world’s highest suicide rates, with some estimates around 81 per 100,000 people per year.
“They took our resources. They took our bodies. And then they told us to thank them,” she said. “How do you thank someone who stole your future?”
Petersen said speaking about these abuses isn’t about attacking Danes as individuals — it’s about acknowledgment, healing, and a future where Greenlanders can decide for themselves.
“We never colonized anyone,” she said. “We never stole children. We never sterilized another people. But they did that to us.”
While Greenlanders differ on how quickly independence could realistically happen, many share a belief that the current arrangement cannot last.
Petersen said she doesn’t see Trump as a savior — but she does believe outside attention has cracked open a conversation that was once taboo.
“At least he challenges Denmark’s control,” she said. “That conversation was never allowed before.”
For her, independence isn’t about choosing between Denmark and the United States. It’s about being treated as human — with the right to decide.
“We are only 55,000 people,” Petersen said. “If someone truly cared, this would already be fixed.”
Instead, she added, Greenland is still discussed by others — and too rarely heard.
“They talk about our land,” she said. “They just never talk to us.”
