Surviving the Thaw: Greenland’s Inuit Grapple with Their Melting World

This story includes discussion of suicide. If you or someone you know needs help, the national suicide and crisis lifeline in the U.S. is available by calling or texting 988. There is also an online chat at 988lifeline.org. The suicide and crisis helpline in Greenland can be reached at +299 80 11 80 or SMS: +299 1899. Reporting for this story was supported by the Pulitzer Center. NUUK, GREENLAND—Nikkulaat Jeremiassen was 6 years old when he was tasked with holding the fishing net on his father’s boat, gripping the ropes tightly in his little fists to prevent the day’s catch from escaping. Not long after, he had a 20-caliber hunting rifle shortened to suit his small frame. He was given an old fishing boat when he was 15 and was soon a self-employed fisherman. During the summer months, he would often sleep for only an hour a day for weeks on end, working overtime to stock up for the lean winter ahead—a common routine among the sea-bound workers. Fisheries are an important industry in Greenland, providing over 90 percent of the island’s exports. But even before its industrial expansion, fishing was a source of sustenance and cultural pride for Greenland’s Inuit people. Fathers taught their sons to fish and hunt using the sea ice, and to follow their prey’s migration patterns through the seasons, Jeremiassen remembers. Now, Jeremiassen, 64, is watching as warming temperatures threaten these Inuit traditions and the Greenlandic way of life he grew up with. He’s practiced traditional hunting and fishing for as long as he can remember, but future generations may not be able to say the same. Much of Greenland is above the Arctic Circle, where temperatures are climbing nearly four times faster than the global average as the build-up of greenhouse gases from fossil fuel combustion and other human activities warm the atmosphere. The Greenland Ice Sheet—which covers about 80 percent of the island—has shed around 270 billion metric tons of ice annually since 2002, while the sea ice that normally rings the island’s coastlines is growing thinner and less stable.  The retreating ice has made Greenland more accessible to the world and exposed rare earth minerals that have piqued the interest of developers and the administration of U.S. President Donald Trump, who called U.S. control of Greenland “an absolute necessity” and has not ruled out the use of military force to acquire the island.  But for Greenland’s Indigenous Inuit people, who make up most of the island’s population, these environmental changes are undermining the fishing, hunting and strong ties to nature that have long defined their culture, making it harder to practice their traditions and pass on generational knowledge. Inuit communities feel the effects of climate change in many aspects of daily life, through disrupted livelihoods, food insecurity and housing problems, and in changes to their cultures and identities. Ninety-two percent of Greenlanders believe climate change is occurring, and 76 percent say they have personally experienced its effects, according to a 2019 survey conducted by the University of Copenhagen, the Kraks Fond Institute for Urban Economic Research and the University of Greenland. A majority of respondents think climate change will harm sled dogs and hunting, and about half say it will negatively affect fishing. Mental health experts say climate change is driving stress and feelings of disconnection from Inuit culture that could add to the pile of risk factors affecting native Greenlanders’ psychological well being. Though sparsely populated, Greenland has frequently had one of the world’s highest suicide rates. “Nature is like a healing place. We understand the nature, the nature understands us,” said Arnârak Patricia Bloch, a doctoral student at the Center for Public Health in Greenland studying youth suicide and a Greenlandic suicide prevention instructor. “The only thing we can heal from is now being affected with climate change.”

“Reality is Different Now”

The sea ice around Greenland’s northernmost city, Qaanaaq, disappeared last winter, when it normally would have formed a frozen highway for dog sleds. Seasonal darkness made it difficult for locals to sail, leaving them largely landlocked, unable to fish or hunt on the sea or its ice for months, community members and local media reported. The fishers and hunters, who would normally sell their catch to local markets or fish processing plants, had little income to feed their families or pay their bills. Many could no longer afford to care for their sled dogs, a part of Inuit culture dating back thousands of years. In the past two decades, declining sea ice, snowmobile use, increasing food prices and disease have halved Greenland’s sled dog population to around 15,000, and it’s still declining.

Locals asked the government for help, but some found it to be a difficult and often fruitless process. So the community raised money for them instead.  “We are dealing with an emergency situation,” wrote Aviâja Egede Lynge, Greenland’s spokesperson for children, in a petition for assistance for families affected by climate change. “It has reached the point where some families will soon no longer be able to feed their children.”  Ice used to form on the sea in the winter, circulate in the Arctic Ocean throughout the summer and then gain more mass each subsequent winter to evolve into multi-year sea ice that grew thick and sturdy as it aged, said Twila Moon, an expert on the Greenland Ice Sheet at the National Snow and Ice Data Center in Boulder, Colorado. Scientists, however, have seen a shift in the last couple of decades.  Because of warming oceans and air, most sea ice now forms and melts yearly, Moon said.  And while South Greenland profits from warming oceans that draw in new fish species and allow for boating year-round, the warmth is constricting hunting opportunities in other areas. Greenlanders have noticed the migration patterns of key marine life, such as seals, narwhals and beluga whales, change because of the melting sea ice, Jeremiassen said through an interpreter. Jeremiassen is now chairman of Greenland’s Fishermen and Hunters Association, which represents and communicates with fishers and hunters throughout Greenland. “Several hunting methods that were prevalent in earlier days no longer exist,” Jeremiassen said. Climate change “means that there’s no more hunting using the sea ice in the North.”

The association has received more requests for financial assistance over the past few years from hunters and fishers, Jeremiassen said, particularly during the winter months when it’s become increasingly difficult to harvest fish and marine mammals. It takes a toll on their mental health, Jeremiassen said. It is a source of pride in Greenlandic culture to support your family. Even the Greenlandic word for hunter, “piniartoq,” means “provider.”  But as Jeremiassen folded hands worn from years hunting in the Arctic cold on the table in front of him, it was not with hopelessness that he viewed climate change. Instead, he demonstrated an almost surprising matter-of-factness.  “Reality is different now,” Jeremiassen said. “We have to adapt to a new reality.”

“Build Our Soldiers Around Us”

A few icebergs float silently off the coast of Qaqortoq as they gradually melt from the summer heat. It’s June, and boats stream in and out of the colorful southern city. On a sunny weekday, the town of 3,000 is bustling. Children play pick-up baseball outside the small school during breaks, running bases and chasing after the batted ball when it rolls down the road. Groups of locals walk past the river that cuts through town and chat under the beaming sun. Nearby, a boat sails from the harbor to visit hot springs for the afternoon.  But the weather can change quickly.  The next day, the temperature dropped, clouds obscured the sun that was high in the sky even at night and unrelenting rain slicked the rocky hills and pelted against windows. Few people occupied the streets, opting to stay warm and dry inside. 

The sudden switch in weather is not entirely unusual in Greenland, but locals say the changes have grown far more erratic in recent years.  Qaqortoq resident Kornelia Rungholm, 30, grew up watching her grandfather hunt and helping her grandmother prepare traditional Greenlandic food. As a girl, she would pick berries from the nearby hills. But maintaining such traditions is harder now because of the unpredictable weather, she said. Research shows a warming Arctic is producing more frequent, severe storms. Ice cores recently analyzed by scientists found temperatures during the decade beginning in 2001 were the hottest on record in at least a thousand years. And as temperatures continue to spike, researchers expect around 30 to 60 percent more precipitation in the Arctic. Increased flooding, changes in marine life and less weather that allows for spending time outdoors make it difficult for local Inuit to continue some traditions like fishing and hunting.  But it’s more than that.  “Nature is medicine,” said Iluuna Sørensen, a youth climate activist from Nuuk.  Locals even have a word for it: “sila.”  “You can say ‘sila’ just about the weather,” Sørensen said, “But you can also say it about one’s soul.” 

Nature and spirit are connected, and both are affected by the changing climate, mental health experts and community members said.  Climate change already contributes to residents’ feelings of stress and anxiety, a 2019 survey found. Some experts say it could exacerbate existing risk factors for suicide, such as alcoholism and abuse. Suicide is common in Greenland, with around 40 to 60 per year. The island’s average annual suicide rate in 2018 was 87.3 per 100,000 people, more than six times the U.S. rate of 14.2 per 100,000 people.  With a tiny population of around 56,000, that means most people have lost a friend or loved one to suicide, or know someone who has. But though Greenland has a history of mental illness and frequent suicide, mental health resources remain scarce and often inaccessible, particularly in smaller communities.  There’s a 24/7 suicide helpline, but in towns with no therapist, it can feel like there’s nowhere else to go. The island’s sprawling and icy landscape makes it impossible to drive to another city for in-person help. Instead, people seeking medical or psychiatric help in other communities have to take a small plane, helicopter or boat, and sometimes all three, to get care, which can be costly. Round-trip plane tickets can be well over $1,000.  But there is strength in community, said Bloch, the suicide prevention instructor and doctoral student. That’s why in 2018 she began training locals in suicide prevention.  “An Alaskan Iñupiat elder named (Mamaaq) Linda Joule told me once that we as human beings are equipped with communication skills—our eyes can see and our ears can listen to people and our hearts can show compassion,” said Bloch, who started losing friends to suicide when she was 11 years old.  “That’s basically what I’ve been doing.”  Bloch has visited every municipality in Greenland over the past six years to teach Inuit frontline workers—police officers, teachers, nurses and public officials—conversation techniques and how to assess the risk of people experiencing suicidal thoughts to prevent suicide within their communities. Over 500 people have taken her course—taught entirely in Greenlandic—and a few have gone on to become suicide prevention instructors themselves.  Rungholm is one of those students who later took an exam to become an instructor. “I realized that I can help people,” said Rungholm, who lost three of her siblings to suicide. In Qaqortoq, where there are typically no mental health professionals year-round, Rungholm said she now has frequent conversations with people about mental health and suicide prevention. 

It is one way people in the community can support one another as global warming persists, Bloch said.  “When we know the problems are coming, we have to build our soldiers around us, we have to be prepared,” Bloch said. “Climate change—It’s coming, it’s there. So we have to have plans for how to tackle it.”

Finding Your Place in Nature 

The phrase “suna arlaat inissaminiippoq” describes health.  But the concept is understood differently in Greenland than in much of the Western world.  “It means that something or someone is in the right place; finding your place in the nature” said Ingelise Olesen, an Inuit grandmother, as snow fell softly outside the window behind her.  For the past 20 years, Olesen has been the research coordinator at the Center for Public Health in Greenland, where she studies the relationship between Indigenous health and culture. She recently noticed a disconnect between young people—who have one of the highest rates of suicide in Greenland—and their traditional Inuit roots. So she decided to do something about it.  Borrowing a concept from colleagues in other Arctic countries, Olesen and the center created a pilot program in 2020 that brought youth and elders on a camping trip to reconnect with nature, form intergenerational bonds and enjoy traditional oral storytelling, a feature of Inuit culture for thousands of years. These kinds of relationships with elders are closely linked to positive mental health outcomes, Olesen said, particularly for Indigenous communities. But as climate change and industrialization propel social and cultural change on the island, it has become harder for elders to pass their knowledge on to the young.  Many Greenlanders work 9-to-5 jobs, while their children commonly travel abroad in search of educational opportunities not available on the island. There’s little time to pass on hunting and other cultural practices from one generation to the next. And when there are such opportunities, unpredictable weather can derail plans at a moment’s notice.  Greenlanders are used to the weather determining what they can do, said Kamilla Nørtoft, a senior researcher at the Center for Public Health in Greenland.  “That’s a condition of life in the Arctic,” Nørtoft said. “But of course, some changes might happen faster than traditions change.” Still, community members say there are efforts to preserve Inuit culture in the face of the climate crisis. On a small island outside the capital city, a group of nearly 20 youth, ages 11 to 14, and elders sat in a circle and exchanged stories. A tattoo artist explained the significance of traditional Inuit tattoos, or Tunniit, and the children painted temporary ones onto their skin. The elders taught the children how to build a fire and prepare Greenlandic food—fish, seal and reindeer—and peel the most meat from the animals’ bones. The kids taught the elders how to adjust the settings on their Apple smartwatches. The elders talked about the meanings of their names, which in Inuit culture can signify the continuation of family, a way to carry on the soul of someone who came before. Most of the children didn’t know why they were named as they were, but they came back the following day after having asked their parents.  “The elders, I feel that they felt they gave something and gained something too,” Olesen said. “It has always been a normal thing that you pass on your cultural hunting knowledge to your children. And if you ask people living here, ‘What is important for you in your life?’ It is passing on knowledge.”  Nørtoft assumed leadership of the program, which hosts a few camping trips each year, from Olesen in 2022. It is now owned by Greenland’s municipality of Qeqqata Kommunia and operated with the support of Nørtoft and others at the Center of Public Health in Greenland. Nørtoft said they’re broadening the program to include the local kindergartens, so intergenerational activities and time with nature can be incorporated into the children’s everyday routines from a young age.  “Because of climate change, it’s important that you know something of the earlier condition of climate, and then you pass that to the next generation,” Olesen said.  “It’s how you can adapt,” she said. “But it’s also how you can fight against it.”

They’ll Survive This, Too

On the morning of the National Day of Greenland, cannon booms echoed through the cobbled streets of the capital city of Nuuk. Locals who trickled in from homes painted in shades of red, blue, yellow and green to join tourists near the boardwalk by the shore knew what the cannon firings meant: The annual seal hunt had begun.  Dozens of small fishing boats sped from the harbor, leaving frothy white wakes in the still sea. There was a sense of anticipation in the air; the first hunter to return with a slain seal wins the competition. Seal hunting is an integral part of the Greenlandic culture and diet, and a source of great pride among Native Greenlanders.

Not even an hour had passed before onlookers rushed to the steps leading down to the water. A boat was returning, its white metal interior streaked with blood.  As it neared the dock, the winning hunter in the boat waved at the cheering crowd and beamed.  That evening, boats glided through calm waves as the last of the holiday crowd meandered back from the coast and into the city center. A row of jagged hills separated the sky from the frigid sea, which were nearly the same shade of blue. The sun dipped low on the horizon, but never fully set. The future of Greenland’s environment may be uncertain, but locals say the Inuit have survived centuries in the unforgiving Arctic, and they’ll survive this, too.