‘Very scary’: Greenland’s Southeast Asian migrants caught in Trump’s takeover push

This widespread apprehension was directly triggered by the resurgence of United States President Donald Trump, who, after securing a second term in office in January 2025, reignited his controversial insistence that Greenland should fall under American control. His rhetoric was unequivocal, leaving "military options on the table" for acquiring the autonomous Danish territory. This pronouncement, echoing his earlier attempts in 2019, quickly escalated from diplomatic friction to an undeniable threat, plunging the remote Arctic nation into an unforeseen geopolitical maelstrom.

Early 2026 witnessed an unprecedented and alarming military build-up across Greenland in direct response to Trump’s aggressive stance. Denmark, Greenland’s sovereign power, swiftly initiated "Operation Arctic Endurance," deploying an additional 200 troops to bolster the island’s defenses. This deployment was not merely symbolic; it came with a comprehensive strategy involving enhanced surveillance capabilities and the preparation of sophisticated defense assets, all underscored by a firm commitment to protect Greenland during what had become a period of heightened international tension. The move reaffirmed Denmark’s historical responsibility and its determination to safeguard its constituent territory against external pressures. Adding another layer of international solidarity, French President Emmanuel Macron also announced additional military deployments, alongside a significant diplomatic gesture: the commitment to open a consulate in Nuuk. This was a visible and potent signal of European support, emphasizing that Greenland was not isolated in its struggle for sovereignty.

Suddenly, Nuuk, a city accustomed to quiet Nordic rhythms, buzzed with an unfamiliar energy. Soldiers from various European nations mingled in hotel corridors, their presence a stark visual reminder of the unfolding crisis. Red and white Greenlandic flags, symbols of national pride and defiance, sprouted defiantly in the snow, mirroring the rising political temperature that starkly contrasted with the brutal sub-zero winter. The world’s largest island, an autonomous territory within the Kingdom of Denmark, was suddenly at the epicenter of a renewed great power struggle, its immense strategic value – prized for its critical geographical location, burgeoning military significance, and vast untapped mineral resources – now laid bare for all to see.

Trump’s desire for Greenland, explicitly articulated at the beginning of the year with his warning that Washington would get it "the easy way" or "the hard way," ignited a furious backlash among the local populace. Thousands of Greenlanders took to the streets, organizing mass demonstrations around the US consulate in Nuuk. Placards emblazoned with defiant slogans like "Greenland Is Not For Sale" and "Make America Go Away" were held high by crowds resolute in their refusal to surrender their homeland. These protests were not an isolated outburst but a clear reflection of public sentiment; opinion polls conducted at the time indicated that a staggering 85 per cent of Greenlanders vehemently opposed the territory joining the United States. For them, the debate transcended geopolitics; it was fundamentally about sovereignty, self-determination, and the right to chart their own future.

For the growing community of Southeast Asian migrants, particularly Filipinos and Thais, who have rapidly increased in number in recent years, the crisis presented a different, yet equally profound, challenge. Having chosen Greenland as their new home, drawn by economic opportunities and a peaceful environment, they now found themselves unwilling participants in tense global power politics. The stability and viability of their new lives hung precariously in the balance. GP Dupitas, from his apartment perched along an elevated ridge overlooking the bustling Port of Nuuk, where ferries, fishing boats, container ships, and now naval vessels competed for space, felt the full weight of this uncertainty. Beyond the port, the largely undeveloped Akia peninsula stretched out, a landscape of rolling tundra and rocky slopes. The once-remote peaks now seemed a plausible backdrop for the emergence of American warplanes.

"The longer it went on… it got so real," Dupitas reflected, a shiver still running through him. "If I look back, it’s kind of funny, but that time was actually very scary. I also want to protect my kids, my family." His wife, deeply unsettled by the escalating rhetoric, urged the family to uproot their lives in Greenland and seek the security of Denmark, where they would also have legal work permits. But for Dupitas, starting over was a last resort. Instead, they clung to local advisories, stocking up on water and food, a poignant symbol of their determination to weather the storm. "In that way, we feel safe that we’re ready, even if something happens, we’re prepared," he stated, highlighting the psychological toll of living under constant threat.

Others, however, were too spooked to stay. A week after the massive demonstration in Nuuk, a severe winter storm caused heavy winds that damaged the transmission line from the hydroelectric plant, cutting off most of the capital’s power. A city-wide blackout ensued, impacting water supply and internet connectivity. For Ursilito Esig, a Filipino brewery worker from Cebu City, losing electricity and heating in the brutal Arctic winter, compounded by the political instability, cemented his fear that Greenland had become an uncertain place to raise his young child. "It’s really hard if I have my family here. Especially when we don’t have heat in our room, it was so dangerous for us. That’s why we decided, me and my wife, that they will go to the Philippines for good," he explained, his voice tinged with sadness. Now alone, he works tirelessly, sending money home to support his loved ones over 10,000 km away. The separation is painful, he admits, but it also brings a grim solace: "I have no family to worry about if there’s some chaos going on."

Opportunity Amid Uncertainty

While world leaders debated Greenland’s strategic value and contested its future, many of those who kept its economy running remained focused on much simpler, yet fundamental, concerns: ensuring their safety, supporting families back home, and planning for their children’s futures. Despite the geopolitical turmoil, Greenland’s economy continued to operate, and its persistent labor shortages meant that local businesses still looked to Southeast Asia to fill vital roles. The numbers underscore this trend: approximately 1,300 Filipinos and 460 Thais now reside in Greenland, making them the country’s largest foreign communities. The Filipino population, in particular, has seen a dramatic increase, growing almost fivefold in just five years, while the Thai community has roughly doubled.

This vibrant migration is evident everywhere in Nuuk, from the bustling hotels and tranquil massage parlors to the vibrant restaurants and crucial seafood processing plants. This movement of essential workers extends far beyond the capital, reaching high above the Arctic Circle to Greenland’s most remote settlements, where these communities form the backbone of local industries. The island’s uncertain future, once a distant political abstraction, has now become an undeniable part of their daily lives. Greenland’s ambitious drive to diversify its economy beyond its traditional fishing industry, with expansions into tourism, mining, energy, and service sectors, is placing increasing pressure on an already stretched labor market, according to Christian Kjeldsen, CEO of the Greenland Business Association, the territory’s largest private sector employers’ and trade organization. While opportunities for workers remain, the prevailing political flux is undeniably applying a "handbrake" on new investments, which could ultimately impact broader migration pathways. "The risk is, obviously, we don’t know what’s going to happen. We don’t know how this is going to end," Kjeldsen admitted. "There is a risk that this place could be a different jurisdiction in a couple of years. That’s putting some tension in there for investors and people are scared at the moment. We’ve seen a lot of things over the years, but this year was bad."

With Greenland thrust onto the global diplomatic stage, its leaders have been compelled to recalibrate their international relations. For years, there had been a "hyper focus" on building ties with Washington, but the recent aggression has prompted a clear shift. "It’s very clear that rather than looking west to the US, they’re looking back east to Europe, and to different partners," explained Rasmus Leander Nielsen, head of the Centre for Foreign and Security Policy at the University of Greenland. Tillie Martinussen, a former member of the Greenlandic parliament, sees potential upsides in closer relations with the European Union, a clarified relationship with Denmark, and increased global exposure. "There’s a lot of ways that we’re trying to put some positive spin to it. It’s already a saying here, ‘so, thank you, Trump’," she quipped, acknowledging the irony. "It’s a little bit ironic, but I think we’re going to see a tourism boom this year and it’s going to be good for our economy. We just don’t want to be a part of the United States."

Some business owners, like Meena Manly, originally from northeastern Thailand, share this cautiously optimistic outlook. She has successfully operated Smile Thai Massage and Beauty in Nuuk since 2019, gradually expanding her operations and hiring more practitioners from Thailand. As more cruise ships are drawn to the local harbor, and direct flights from the US become more frequent, the 54-year-old believes the heightened global attention on Greenland could translate into a significant increase in customers. "It’s exciting for tours, and there are a lot of people I’m sure, keeping an eye on business also," she noted. "Now a lot of people want to know where Greenland is."

"Enough Already"

Despite a few months of relative calm, the imposing shadow of America continues to loom large over Greenland. Any fleeting sense that tensions had eased has proven short-lived. Washington has long viewed Greenland as increasingly vital to its own security, especially with Russia’s entrenched presence in the Arctic and China’s expanding influence. This geopolitical imperative has been underscored by constant reminders over the past 18 months. In a provocative Facebook post on Greenland’s National Day in June, Trump’s special envoy to the territory, Jeff Landry, suggested that the US’ 251st birthday next year could be celebrated with the addition of a "51st state" – a thinly veiled reference to Greenland. Furthermore, Greenland was back on the president’s agenda at the NATO summit in early July, where he outrageously suggested that Washington might rethink its military commitment to Europe if Denmark refused to "cooperate" over the territory. "That should be controlled by the United States, not by Denmark. And when they wouldn’t go along with it, and with all the money we spend to help them with Russia, we don’t have to spend any money. We could remove all of our soldiers out of Europe," Trump declared in Ankara on July 7, explicitly linking European defense to his Greenland ambitions.

The US government has also physically upgraded its presence in Nuuk. It recently moved its consulate into a significantly larger, modern building in the city center, a portrait of Trump visibly displayed through its glass doors, alongside the Great Seal of the United States. In the downtown core, the new consulate’s sheer scale stands out, an unmistakable assertion of American intent. At 2,800 square meters, the complex is far larger than the modest offices and historic buildings that have traditionally housed foreign representations in Nuuk. Hundreds of Greenlanders protested its opening in June, interpreting this sprawling facility as undeniable evidence that Washington intends to play a much more active and intrusive role in Greenland’s future. "Not really knowing what the motivation of the Trump administration was – an annexation or a bargaining situation – was quite difficult to digest," said Nielsen, reflecting on the psychological impact of the uncertainty. Alongside the Greenlandic demonstrators, Southeast Asian migrants like Merlyn Mejala from Mindanao in the Philippines, who moved to Nuuk with her Danish husband in 2010, walked in solidarity. "Of course, we are also devastated, because we love what we have. And then suddenly there’s tension," she lamented. "We get affected. We don’t want this. It’s enough already."

Combined with Trump and Landry’s latest utterings, this persistent pressure has been enough to keep Greenland’s lawmakers firmly on edge. Bo Martinsen, a member of the Greenlandic parliament for the Democrats party, believes nothing about Trump’s messaging has fundamentally changed, even if it is currently less frequent than before. "We always have to be cautious when a big nation threatens your freedom," he warned. "I feel very mad, but also sad, that individuals can feel like they are in their right mind to own a country or their people. It’s a very sick way of thinking, in my opinion." From the perspective of many Greenlanders, especially the indigenous population, much of the international conversation fundamentally misses the point. They increasingly reject being portrayed as a mere object to be acquired or competed over. Their message has become simple, clear, and resonant: decisions should be made with Greenlanders, not about them. "You cannot forget that there are actually people living in the Arctic; it’s not just a pristine national park, or polar bears running around everywhere," Nielsen asserted, highlighting the dehumanizing aspect of the discourse. That sense of dehumanization has become one of the defining frustrations of Greenland’s current geopolitical situation. "It seems like everyone is just talking about us like we’re kind of a savage people, or like a block of ice, as Trump said at Davos, and it’s a little disheartening," said Martinussen. "First it was frightening, now it’s annoying. And I think one of the most prevalent things I’ve seen is anger."

She noted that within political circles, there has been a conscious and concerted effort to move beyond fear, focusing instead on unity and a collective hope to outlast the Trump presidency. Whatever uncertainty lies ahead, Martinussen firmly believes Greenlanders have repeatedly demonstrated an innate ability to endure adversity. "Greenland has been colonised over and over and over again, so it’s in our DNA to survive." For Southeast Asian migrants, who have fewer indelible ties to the Arctic landscape and its history of struggle, having a backup plan has become a reluctantly necessary part of their reality. Yet, the thought of going home – having come so far to build new lives – remains a difficult prospect to contemplate. "For me, I want Greenland to be Greenland as it is," said Ursilito Esig, the Filipino brewery worker, articulating a sentiment shared by many. "If America wants to help, it will be okay. But if it invades, I don’t think so." In the harsh beauty of the Arctic, a fragile balance hangs in the air, a testament to both human resilience and the precarious nature of sovereignty in an increasingly contested world.