𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝙷𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚂𝚞𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗

𝙻𝚎𝚝 𝙾𝚞𝚛 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝙻𝚒𝚟𝚎

Directed by: Håvard Bustnes

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The opening of Let Our Mountains Live unfolds in a profound, contemplative silence within the mountains, a silence that is not merely the absence of sound, but a suspension in time. The camera lingers in the calm of nature, as if presenting a world in balance.

That equilibrium, however, is abruptly shattered by the violent sound of an explosion, a moment that pulls the viewer out of passive observation and into a visceral experience. Immediately after, the terrified eyes of fleeing livestock elevate this rupture to a sensory and emotional level. This opening is not simply an aesthetic choice, but a condensed articulation of the film’s logic: the intrusion of violence into the heart of nature.

The narrative then emerges from a concrete and immediate protest: the resistance of Sámi reindeer herders, who argue that wind turbines disrupt the natural grazing cycles of their herds. This intervention is not merely a transformation of the landscape, but a direct disturbance of everyday life, in which the movement and behaviour of animals, and consequently the viability of an entire way of life, are placed at risk. From this perspective, the wind project becomes less a grand economic or environmental initiative and more a deeply lived, daily concern.

In a world where renewable energy is celebrated as a symbol of progress and environmental responsibility, the film poses a fundamental question: if “sustainability” is built upon the exclusion or marginalization of certain communities, can it still be called progress? The story unfolds in the Fosen region of Norway, where Europe’s largest onshore wind power project continues to operate despite a Supreme Court ruling recognizing it as a violation of Sámi rights. This gap between legal victory and the realization of justice forms the film’s central tension, a space where the law speaks, yet politics and economics impose silence.

To deepen this tension, the film turns to the past, referencing the Alta Conflict and revealing a historical continuity. The large-scale protests of the 1970s and 1980s against dam construction in Alta, marked by civil disobedience, human chains, and hunger strikes, became a turning point in raising public awareness of Sámi rights. Yet the film suggests that while the forms of confrontation have changed, the underlying logic of power remains constant. Where once protesters faced physical violence, arrests, and direct suppression, today that violence reappears in more complex, bureaucratic forms, through prolonged delays and political inaction.

One of the film’s key moments occurs during the questioning of a government official in parliament, where they are asked why addressing the protesters’ situation has taken more than 500 days. The evasive and ambiguous responses, culminating in an apology that contradicts political decisions, reveal how institutional language can become a tool for suspending justice. Meanwhile, what continues to move forward uninterrupted is the powerful logic of economics, a force that advances quietly, yet relentlessly.

Formally, the film constructs this structure of power not through slogans, but through images. Expansive long shots of the mountains do more than capture natural beauty; they establish a scale in which human struggle appears painfully small. The camera’s movement, from mid-shots to vast, sky-opening long shots, creates a gradual expansion of space, as though individual experience is elevated to a collective and historical dimension. Alongside these visual elements, the film’s music is carefully synchronized with its narrative movement, not as decoration, but as a carrier of its internal tensions, creating a cohesive audiovisual experience.

At the center of this narrative stands the Sámi community, a people whose relationship with the land is not merely economic but deeply rooted in identity, history, and lived experience. For them, the land is not a resource, but an extension of being. From this perspective, industrial projects represent not only an intervention in nature but a rupture in the relationship between humans and their environment.

As the struggle expands from the courtroom into the public sphere, the film highlights the emergence of a new generation of Sámi activists, seeking to redefine their voice in the face of institutional power. Their presence signals the continuity of resistance, a resistance shaped not only in response to a single project, but to a longer history of marginalization.

Ultimately, Let Our Mountains Live leaves us with a simple yet profound question: when even a formal legal ruling fails to alter the lived reality of a community, where does justice truly reside? The film suggests that the issue extends beyond a wind project or a specific geography; it reveals a fundamental gap between what is called “right” and what is enacted in practice. In this gap, the lives of those who depend on the land remain suspended.

Perhaps the film’s most significant achievement lies precisely here: in reminding us that progress, if not accompanied by responsibility and accountability, can be as merciless as it is hopeful.