Today, as Greenland once again becomes a strategic prize, history seems poised to repeat itself. Staying with the Polar Inuit means refusing to speak of territory while erasing those who inhabit it.
On 16 June 1951 Jean Malaurie was travelling by dog sled along the north-west coast of Greenland. He had set out alone, almost on a whim, with a modest grant from the French National Centre for Scientific research (CNRS), officially to study periglacial landscapes. In reality, this encounter with peoples whose relationship with the world followed an entirely different logic would shape a singular destiny.
That day, after many months among the Inuit, at the critical moment of the spring thaw, Malaurie was travelling with a few hunters. He was exhausted, filthy and emaciated. One of the Inuit touched his shoulder: “Takou, look.” A thick yellow cloud was rising in the sky. Through his binoculars, Malaurie first thought it was a mirage:
