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It’s filled the news lately because a powerful predator has set his sights on it. The name itself has always been a con—bestowed centuries ago by Viking settlers hoping to lure others with fever dreams of free land, fertile soil, a place where you could grow your own garden.
Once, a fellow survivor asked why we couldn’t pool our resources and go somewhere safe—build a defensible colony, grow our own food, live as a family beyond the reach of predators. Our own Greenland.
But Greenland, as an idea for us, is a symptom of a society both willing to tolerate and sometimes be enthralled by predators. It’s not enough that we ignore the sexual violence of those we elevate to power—we license it. We normalize the taking.
We are a society founded by takers: people who denied the humanity of those they dispossessed with violence. And takers are never selective. Sexual violence against children, against their descendants, and ultimately against all of us is part of that inheritance.
We live in a culture steeped in sexual abuse and assault. It is an ongoing theft, wrapped in God, country, flag—and songs sung loudly enough to drown out the screams of the victims. And our screams.
So yes, Greenland sounds tempting: a garden, a refuge, a place apart. But that’s not what’s imagined. It’s the same old taking, repackaged by predators and their admirers.
Where, then, is refuge? Where is the walled garden that keeps the violence out? The longing rises in me from time to time. Yet it’s hard to be separate from this society. Many of us have family, loved ones, and dear friends who also live in this takers’ world.
And so will I live in this taker’s territory. Because there are no walled gardens. No clean escape. No refuge from the takers.
Except this: we have each other. We have our passions. And we have our expression.
I’ve been listening to music lately, music made for motion. Sometimes my feet move before I decide. Arms swing. I sway, I laugh, I cry, I breathe, and I pray in an ecstasy of movement.
When I keep moving, I don’t need walls. Dance becomes my garden—an expression of my soul. And when we dance together, we connect.
Connection is my refuge. My garden. My Greenland.
And it’s meant for sharing—not for the taking.
I’ll see you in Greenland.
