Greenlanders speak out against Danish rule after decades of forced sterilization, poor living conditions: ‘They stole our future’
NUUK, Greenland — Amarok Petersen was 27 when she learned the devastating reason she would never be able to have children — and who was responsible.
After years of severe reproductive health problems, a doctor discovered an intrauterine device (IUD) inside her body that she had never consented to or even known about. Danish medical authorities had inserted it when she was only 13 years old, part of a widespread population-control initiative targeting thousands of Indigenous Greenlandic girls and women.
“That decision was stolen from me,” Petersen said, fighting back tears. “I will never have children.”
Denmark formally apologized last year for decades of forced sterilization and reproductive abuse involving Indigenous women. But for many Greenlanders, the damage — physical, emotional and generational — remains unresolved, fueling deep mistrust toward Copenhagen at a time when Greenland has become the focus of renewed geopolitical interest.
This week, Denmark hosted European military exercises on Greenland, framing them as a defense against foreign powers, particularly the United States. Yet many Inuit residents say Denmark itself has long been the real threat.
“They don’t see us as people,” Petersen said at a restaurant overlooking Nuuk’s fjords. “They say we cost too much, that we’re too few — but they take our land, our children and our bodies, and then expect gratitude.”
Petersen says the violations did not end with childhood. As an adult, she endured repeated surgeries for chronic pain without clear explanations. Years later, doctors told her her fallopian tubes had been removed during an operation in the early 2000s — without her informed consent.
Her family history also bears the scars of Denmark’s “Little Danes” program, which forcibly relocated Greenlandic children to Denmark from the 1950s through the 1970s in an effort to assimilate them. Many were adopted out or placed in institutions, permanently separated from their families.
“It happened to my uncle,” Petersen said, adding that other relatives were subjected to medical experimentation. “They wanted us reduced — easier to control.”
Although Denmark announced compensation in December for victims of forced sterilization, Petersen called the roughly $46,000 payments insulting. “They destroyed entire generations and think this makes it right,” she said.
As the United States renews interest in Greenland — with President Trump openly expressing interest in purchasing the island — Danish officials have repeatedly insisted that “Greenland is not for sale.” Many Greenlanders argue that statement hides a deeper reality: Denmark still governs Greenland, often without Greenlanders having real authority.
“They treat us like we’re worth pennies,” Petersen said. “They speak for us and tell us to be quiet.”

That imbalance was on display recently in Washington, where Denmark’s foreign minister dominated a press conference after talks with U.S. officials, while Greenland’s own foreign minister was largely sidelined.
Danish Foreign Minister Lars Rasmussen said Greenlanders would not vote to become American and suggested the U.S. would never fund a Scandinavian-style welfare system on the island.
For many Greenlanders, U.S. interest has been unsettling — but also revealing.
“It was colonial,” Petersen said of Rasmussen’s remarks. “He didn’t want her to speak. If Denmark truly believed Greenland belongs to Greenlanders, they would let us decide our future.”

Economic control is another source of resentment.
Karen Hammeken Jensen, who moved to Nuuk from southern Greenland for better opportunities for her children, lives in a government-owned apartment block riddled with mold, poor insulation and decades of neglect. Rent consumes most of her income.
“These buildings were built for Inuit and then abandoned,” she said, sitting in her cold living room. While Denmark points to subsidies as proof of support, Jensen says the system traps residents with high costs and low wages.
“There’s no balance between pay and living expenses,” she said.

That imbalance is especially clear in fishing, Greenland’s most vital industry.
Elias Lunge, a fisherman for four decades, said Greenlanders do the work while profits flow elsewhere. Cod caught locally can earn fishermen as little as $1.86 per kilo in remote settlements, while the same fish sells for much more after processing abroad.
“It’s our fish,” Lunge said. “Why shouldn’t the money stay here?” He pointed to local markets selling fish for up to $12.50 per kilo as evidence Greenland could sustain its own processing industry if given the chance.
The human toll of colonial rule is visible everywhere, residents say — in addiction, violence and despair.


Jensen described daily encounters with alcoholism and drug abuse in her neighborhood. “People don’t see a way out,” she said.
Petersen added that hopelessness has deadly consequences. Greenland has one of the highest suicide rates in the world, with researchers estimating about 81 deaths per 100,000 people annually.
“They took our resources. They took our bodies. And then told us to say thank you,” she said.
Petersen rejects claims that Denmark is merely protecting Greenland from President Trump. Speaking openly about past abuses, she said, is not anti-Danish — it is necessary for healing and independence.
“We never colonized anyone,” she said. “They did that to us.”
While Greenlanders differ on how and when independence should happen, many agree the current system cannot last.
Petersen does not see President Trump as a savior, but she believes his interest has opened a conversation that was once forbidden. “At least he challenges Denmark’s control,” she said.
For her, the issue is not choosing between Denmark and the United States — it is about dignity.
“We are only about 55,000 people,” Petersen said. “If anyone truly cared, this would already be fixed.”
Instead, she said, Greenland continues to be discussed, negotiated and claimed — without being heard.
“They talk about our land,” she said. “They just don’t talk to us.”