THE collapsing price of crude over the past six months has been a boon for oil-importing countries and a curse for oil-exporting ones. But in one corner of the north Atlantic, it is frustrating hopes of becoming an independent nation at all. Greenland, formerly a Danish colony, has secured significant self-rule in recent decades, and now terms itself an autonomous country. But areas including justice, defence and foreign affairs remain under Copenhagen’s thumb. Some Greenlanders are satisfied with this, but others want full independence, and their recent leaders have tended to promise it to them, while keeping the timing vague.

When Cairn Energy, a British petrochemicals company, discovered traces of oil beneath Greenland’s territorial waters in 2010, it seemed the secessionists’ prayers had been answered. Oil and other minerals including aluminium and gold, it was hoped, would give the territory of just 56,200 inhabitants the financial clout to go it alone. Nuuk, Greenland’s tiny capital, has resembled an Arctic Klondike for the past few years, with oil executives in suits pouring out of the airport, and hotels and restaurants stuffed to capacity. Fishermen and tradesmen have developed lucrative side jobs as fixers for the visitors. One local hotel owner caused consternation with ambitions to open a brothel to service the 2,000 Chinese workers expected at a planned smelting works in Maniitsoq, a small town on the west coast.

Greenland's politicians were emboldened by the prospect of petrodollars. Aleqa Hammond, who served as her country’s first female prime minister between April 2013 and September 2014 (when a corruption scandal drove her from office), said independence was possible “within her lifetime”. Dispassionate observers were more circumspect. A study commissioned by the universities of Copenhagen and Nuuk concluded in January 2014 that Greenland would remain dependent on Danish money for at least 25 years, if not longer.

One year later, the political rhetoric has dropped a few tones. At a press conference on January 9th in Copenhagen, the new prime minister, Kim Kielsen, said the “light of independence burned within” but he was unsure if it would be realised in his lifetime. Mr Kielsen is 48, suggesting that the timeline has been pushed back a few decades.

In the long term, Mr Kielsen is an adamant supporter of nationhood. A rugged former policeman, he dresses casually, eschewing the business suits often affected by Greenland's aspiring politicians, and ensures he has time for outdoor pursuits like seal fishing and reindeer hunting. While fluent in Danish, he prefers to speak his native Greenlandic, an Inuit dialect, at press briefings.

But the prime minister seems to be realistic about his country’s financial limits. Greenland only ticks over by dint of a 3.6 billion kroner ($604m) annual subsidy from Denmark. The money underwrites budgets for medical facilities, schools and the business of government itself. The previous government (also led by Mr Kielsen’s party, but with a narrower coalition) allowed spending to run out of control. An interim 2014 budget report in September showed a deficit of 283m kroner, instead of the expected 21m-kroner surplus.

Mr Kielsen says he will cut that deficit by boosting income from fisheries and tourism as well as from oil and minerals. But he is disturbingly vague about the details. During the election campaign, his party made a series of expensive promises, including corporate-tax cuts, new airports and grants for everything from free internet in schools to home help for the elderly.

Meanwhile, those once-tantalising oil revenues now seem far-fetched. The oil-price collapse of the past six months has made Arctic exploration too pricey for most. Three oil companies, Norway’s Statoil, France’s GDF Suez and Denmark’s Dong Energy, returned their exploration licences in early January. Other companies have put theirs on hold. Independence may still be the hottest political topic in Greenland, but the climate has chilled.