Donald Trump’s interest in buying Greenland wasn’t just a political spectacle — it was a wake-up call. Suddenly, a mirror was held up to the face of every Dane, forcing us to question not just our relationship with the territory but the very foundation of our national identity.
By Anne Mie Ryding, from Copenhagen
When I first moved to Copenhagen, back in 2022, I started frequenting a smoky karaoke bar right by the main street of the inner city. To my knowledge, it is still one of the only dedicated karaoke bars, and most definitely the only one where you could smoke inside. With a Chinese restaurant above and a pawnshop to the right, Sam’s Bar lured me and my new friends in with its cracked charm. Most nights that end in bad karaoke are usually hazy blurs. However, I now remember one night distinctly, thanks to Donald Trump and his recent, rejuvenated master plan for Greenland.
After boozing most of the night, inhaling the fumes of cigarettes and a new, exciting city, I struck up a conversation with two women, the only natives in the karaoke bar. They were originally from Greenland. The two timid ladies sat in silence at the bar but did not seem to mind my small talk. One of them had beautiful tattoos sprawled over her hand and one further up her arm. According to the small talk rulebook, you should always ask about the meaning of someone else’s tattoos, right? So I did. “Does it mean anything?” She looked me in the eyes, then she looked at the other woman, then started to cry.
Although I didn’t know a lot about Greenlandic culture, I could still recognise the Inuit style of the tattoos, or tunniit in Greenlandic. The tunniit is an extension of people’s collective spiritual responsibility, and the most important markings are usually on the hands or face. I was not able to determine any meaning beyond that; I could only deduce that I had perhaps stepped into a delicate topic.
A look in the mirror
I don’t remember Greenland, or Kalaallit Nunaat, being on the curriculum at school — ever. As a kid, my only awareness of Greenland was connected to the address of Santa Claus. Later in life, as a teenager, I was only made aware of the cold country during Queen Margrethe’s annual New Year’s speech. Greenland is undeniably a part of Denmark’s identity and self-conception, not only by its current status as part of the Danish Commonwealth but also due to our past history.
When U.S. President Donald Trump first expressed interest in Greenland in 2019, during his first term, it seemed to be a small wave in a big sea. However, his recent, more aggressive interest in the territory has made a far bigger wave, forcing Denmark to grasp even harder onto Greenland whilst facing a grimmer past.
By the end of the year 900, a group of Northerners arrived on the land, and the Norwegian Viking Erik the Red was amongst the first settlers. Later, around 1100, Inuit people settled on the land as well, and since then, Greenland has been the center of rotation for trade, colonization, and decolonization. It began as a Danish-Norwegian trading colony, and around 1726 a priest named Hans Egede arrived as a missionary to spread Christianity and teach about European lifestyles as the true way of life. To this day, schools in Greenland mostly have Danish books on the curriculum.
Danish? American? Independent?
In 2009, Greenland achieved autonomy and took a step further towards complete independence, reaffirming a longstanding wish. Today, the relationship between Greenland and Denmark is still unbalanced, inflamed, and painful. The deep-seated scars of colonization are evident in the territory’s highly disproportionate suicide rates, whilst the ugly history and its consequences are a glaring shard in Denmark’s identity. As of right now, 85% of Greenlanders do not wish to step out of the Commonwealth to become a part of the USA; however, 56% answered that they wished for immediate independence from Denmark.
I was not aware of all this when I asked about a stranger’s tattoo in that smoky karaoke bar. Dumbfounded by her tears, I panicked internally, profusely apologising whilst glancing at her friend, failing to read her face. Through her pained expression, she simply said, “You are the first one to ask me.” What seemed to me such an insignificant action deeply moved someone else, showing an odd and uncomfortable balance I believe is also evident in Denmark’s national identity.
(Edited by Rogerio Simoes)
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