Trust. Integrity. Reputation.
December - 2005 Arctic Christmas: The then and nowNovember - 2005 Characters with a capital "C": Tumasi Kudluk
October - 2005 Searching for an Aboriginal governor general
September - 2005 Books of wisdom and knowledge for Qallunaat
August - 2005 Guided by books of wisdom and knowledge
July - 2005 Addressing the threshold of elder-hood
June - 2005 Wit and substance absent from the House
May - 2005 Two times the tragedy that taxes are
April - 2005 Time long past to dub Inuit out of APTN
March - 2005 Some ideas that will make products Arctic-friendly
February - 2005 Willing to take the time to develop film
January - 2005 A survey of today's new political correctness
2004 Guest Columns 2003 Guest Columns
2001 Guest Columns
December - 2005
Arctic Christmas: The then and nowNASIVVIK
Zebedee Nungak, Windspeaker ColumnistIn the days before the pace of Arctic life quickened beyond all control, the Christmas season in Inuit communities was very short, very specific, and intensely memorable. This was an age when the passage of time seemed to be less hurried; not harassed by computers, Internet, e-mail, microwavable instant food, or remote-manipulating dozens of channels on cable TV. Furthermore, there was never the prospect of a federal election during Christmas.
Back then, the lack of material possessions in the communities and among the people was not in any way a hindrance to the celebration of Christmas. It was a blessing uncluttered by "stuff," of which there is so much today! A defining memory of the season in that past age is of genuine, spontaneous, unregimented JOY! Quviasuvvik, The Happy Time, was an occasion when the people and the community were uniquely One.
The atmosphere at the midnight church service on Christmas Eve was filled with a solemn joy shared by all the people, young and old, Inuk and Qallunaaq. Absolutely everybody came to this event. Children behaved properly, sitting quietly beside their parents. Kids dozed off to sleep on their mothers' backs, or on the floor. In the religious celebration, people's hearts seemed to beat close to that event 2,000 years ago, which was the cause of it all.
The Qallunaat (White People) living in Inuit settlements were generally fur traders, missionaries or policemen. They would lay out a feast of beans, biscuits and tea, a royal feed good enough eaten once a year by the people then. The lack of variety in the menu of the Christmas feast never mattered. People old enough to remember bean feasts speak of them with nostalgia more affectionate than they express for today's great spreads of every imaginable food.
One of the main events was the dog team race, where the racers jockeyed to demonstrate their prowess as dog team handlers in a celebratory setting. Of course, the 100-pound sack of flour offered as first prize added to the competitive spirit, although this was not the sole incentive. The name of the winner of the race would be known, and talked about, far and wide, that year. A positively enhanced reputation was no less valued than the bag of flour.
Then there were the running races, the tugs of war, races under the seal net, and joyous scrambles for then-rare sweets and candy. At the dances, most participants wore sealskin kamiks, and the button accordion was played without amplification. Whoops of joy were spontaneously expressed here and there as many otherwise normal and respectable people pleasantly surprised others by demonstrating some inimitable jerks and fancies in dance.
After the celebrations were over, Inuit would travel back to their various traditional living areas, and immediately continue to eke out a living from the land and sea. There was no room in life then for any lingering celebrations.
Nowadays, Christmas season celebrations take up a jam-packed period of 10 days or more. Furthermore, this period is preceded by a long lead-in time stretched beyond the bounds of healthy, eager expectation. Since the quickening of the rhythms of life, modern distractions seem determined to dilute the joy of Christmas Day.
These days, stores start to display Christmas season things sometime in November. Christmas music is everywhere for a full month before the Day itself. The "commercialization" jingles of Christmas are unavoidably evident for so long before the Day itself, it's a wonder collective "Christmas Fatigue" does not creep in. All this can be described as a "Christmassy too soon" whirlwind. The Arctic has not been spared of it.
Not having enough money is now a standard item of anxiety way before Christmas. This anxiety is totally foreign to Inuit regard of Christmas, and is one of the symptoms of having been nominally "civilized". Back then, money was practically unheard of, and prizes awarded in races and contests were likely to be something to eat, something to wear, or something to smoke. Now, prizes are either money or expensive trinkets; certainly not useless, but maybe not as appreciated.
Various local organizations stir themselves awake and get into a fundraising mode. Christmas parties and dinners hosted by various agencies two weeks before Dec. 25 are now standard.
There are now literally dozens of these. Even small villages nowadays have to formulate a schedule for that 10- or 12-day block of time that defines the season.
Previously, community dances at Christmas were ones among many held throughout the year. Now, Christmas season dances are almost the only dances of the whole year!
Still, we should be deliberately determined to enjoy an anxiety-free, uncluttered, good joyful and blessed Christmas season! No man-made occasion can draw us together like a real Merry Christmas!
November - 2005Characters with a capital "C": Tumasi Kudluk
Nasivvik, Zebedee Nungak
In the course of life, we often have the good fortune to intersect with people of character, with a capital "C". People with Character seem to have a high "magnetic field" of human qualities, which inspire and touch others. Such people are blessed with the gift of being able to uplift other human beings by what they say, or what they do. They make life very interesting. Everybody knows Characters who are worth talking about, in the context of enriching any setting they happen to be in.People with capital "C" character seemed somehow more plentiful in the old days. Our folklore and legends are chock full of them. I suppose the theory can be that the constant struggle for food, clothing, and shelter forged character more readily hand-in-hand with the adventure and adversity life was then. Our population in Nunavik has more than doubled in the past 40 years. But the relative ease of modern life seems to have actually reduced the prevalence of Character among our people.
Nevertheless, I've been privileged to encounter my share of such folks, and they are as diverse as humanity itself. There is no standard definition that identifies people with these qualities. Some are short, and very talkative. Some are tall, and don't talk much at all. Some are old, and some, very young. Some definitely inherit their character from forbears. Others seem to have acquired it out of who knows where, and wear their Character without having to show it off.
People of Character are often irrepressible, and their attitudes toward life provide a much-appreciated boost to those around them. They tend not to take themselves, or others, too seriously. They'll see something in a situation that nobody else sees, and give expression to it in a way that makes it fun, or funny. Most of them have an abundant sense of humor, which they readily utilize to make life's diverse grief bearable.
Such individuals are to be found in every society. I once encountered a cabbie in London, England whose stand-up comic's repertoire of continuous good humor made an hour-and-a-half ride at the height of rush hour to downtown seem like a 10-minute hop. Here is another Character:
Tumasi Kudluk of Kangirsuk, who died in October 1989, was one of the last true Nunamiut, People of the Interior among the Inuit. He had a deep, intimate knowledge of Inuit life prior to contact with "civilization". What made him special was his ability to communicate and share his knowledge with new generations of Inuit. He had the gift of making those who heard him appreciate, and take pride in, their unique identity as Inuit.
Tumasi had known severe hardship and hunger early in his life. He would recount being part of the group that accompanied part-way the migration led by the great Inukpuk from Ungava to the Hudson coast in 1912. On the return, food was so scarce that they had resorted to eating entrails of lemmings regurgitated by snowy owls.
Hunger inland was most severe, Tumasi said. At least in coastal areas there was kelp and seaweed to feed on.
Tumasi was an expert on caribou; his knowledge of the subject was unparalleled among Inuit in the region. Once in December, our hunting party killed a caribou, which was still in its summer fur. This, to us, was very unusual. Naturally, I went to see Tumasi about this to find out what explanation there might be for this seeming oddity.
He questioned me like a police investigator: Was the animal male or female? Was it with a herd, or was it walking alone? Was its meat lean or fat? After I answered all his questions, he announced with authority that the animal was an aged female, past calf-bearing age, fending for itself, moving alone, separate from the security of a herd. Tumasi had a way of explaining such things in a very unassuming way, but one never forgot the lesson within his explanation.
Tumasi always had an opinion to express about any issue at hand. At a one-man show of his artwork in Toronto, he was confronted by an animal rights activist, who told him "You Inuit are cruel to animals for killing all sorts of them, and claiming to use them as food!" Tumasi's reply was: "Well, you Qallunaat aren't so blameless in the business of killing! I'm told many of you kill each other, but you certainly don't eat any of what you kill!"
In my mind's eye, I can still see Tumasi, choreographing Christmas dances in Kangirsuk. In his eighties, and getting around only by crawling on all fours, he displayed more stamina than the youngsters, and stayed up till five in the morning, making everything absolutely joyful!
October - 2005Searching for an Aboriginal governor general
Nasivvik, Zebedee Nungak
The selection of Haitian immigrant Michaelle Jean as governor general of Canada has fast-forwarded the need to do the thinking required for an eventuality that will happen in its own time: the appointment of an Aboriginal governor general. The outer fringes of the rumor mill surrounding this appointment contained the odd reference to the possibility of an Aboriginal person being considered for this job. As if we need an Aboriginal vice-regent now!
"Candidates" for the position, if they can be called that, are subjected to scrutiny greater than that applied to prospective senators, and only slightly less than those who might "run" for pope. A governor general prospect has to have a clean past, free of associations with fascist/anarchist organizations, and innocent of having worn a swastika on a lab coat in their youth, prank or no prank, especially if somebody has photographic evidence of such an indiscretion.
Being considered for governor general is serious stuff. It is not just old-stock immigrants appointing more recent immigrants to a ceremonial position. Nobody is picked willy-nilly off the streets. They don't look for Ordinary Joe or Plain Jane when they look for a Gee-Gee. The government of Canada searches the country from coast to coast to coast to the 49th parallel for somebody with the "right stuff" or the "royal jelly" to be the Queen's representative in Canada.
Down the timeline, enough immigrants will have had their turn at this post. The government's governor general search committee (GGSC) will one day turn its attention to processing possible Aboriginal candidates. Any candidate would certainly be expected to speak Canada's two official languages. There may be scores of Aboriginal people who can fit this bill. But many of the ones I know are fluently bilingual in the wrong two languages. That is, in English, and their own language. This alone would wash out whole classes of Aboriginal prospects.
More problematic than linguistic facility for the GGSC would be vetting candidates on their total devoted loyalty to Canada. This is entirely different from the issue of separatism in the Quebec context, or support for another brand of "independence" that a future candidate for the job might have been filmed drinking a toast to. Canada's search for an Aboriginal governor general will run head-on into a series of closets piled high with the political skeletons of its settlers' history with Canada's original people.
Any Indian or First Nation candidates are likely to be members of "nations" who have suffered the negative consequences of the broken promises of any number of royal proclamations or numbered treaties that were entered into with the "Crown." It's hard to point to a showcase model of a treaty that did not serve as legal fiction allowing immigrants the run of the country. It's hard to think of success stories, which can serve as evidence of how greatly life has been enhanced for Aboriginals since immigrants from other lands arrived here.
A Métis governor general might want to fully rehabilitate Louis Riel, who was hanged for treason in 1885. Where would Sir John A. Macdonald's statue, and place in history, be readjusted and relocated to? An Inuk governor general might want to square away many Inuit forced-relocation issues. One of these is the relocation of Inuit to the High Arctic in 1953 and 1955, which uniquely enhanced Canada's sovereignty over that area, at great sacrifice to those Inuit.
"Are you now, and have you always been, totally devotedly loyal to Canada?" would be one of the questions a prospective Aboriginal governor general would be asked. "Absolutely!" would be the expected answer. But the catalogue of historic wrongs inflicted upon the Aboriginal people by the Crown in right of Canada would have to be fundamentally corrected before that answer could be true. Each of the Indian, Métis, and Inuit peoples continue to have a variety of unresolved grievances with Canada.
Occasionally, real power is exercised through the office. Some governors general have refused prime ministers' resignations in a minority government situation, and ordered certain said prime ministers to forge a coalition with another party to continue governing. Prime ministers never issue a dictatorial order for an election. They seek the permission and approval of the governor general to go to the ballot box. Imagine an Aboriginal wielding these powers!
The power relationship between Canada and its Aboriginal peoples has first to be fundamentally renovated before any Aboriginal person can assume this position in any comfort. The purpose of the post is to represent the Crown in Canada, and the Crown has not always been just to, or done right by, Aboriginals.
Suppose an Aboriginal governor general took steps to give the country back to its rightful owners, and force immigrants into tiny reserves? Unlikely, maybe, but it would be a royal wrench thrown into Canada's political civility.
September - 2005Books of wisdom and knowledge for Qallunaat
Nasivvik
Zebedee Nungak, Windspeaker Columnist
How on earth does one counter the terminal paternalism articulated in The Eskimo Book of Knowledge, published by the Hudson's Bay Company in 1931, and The Book of Wisdom for Eskimo, published by Canada's Department of Mines and Resources in 1947? What possible antidote can be administered for such an affliction, without stooping to the dense ignorance entwined with a rigid superiority complex, which saturates these writings?
Certainly not with toxic bitterness, or an eye for an eye! The best solution seems to be to reflect these writings on distortion mirrors, the kind found in southern amusement parks. I first search for a possible co-author and co-conspirator in this project, whose name rhymes with mine. I find John Ningark of Kuugaaruk, Nunavut, who is a former MLA for Nattilikmeot in the last N.W.T. legislature, which sat prior to Nunavut's formation.
Nungak-Ningark feels perfect on the tongue as a made to order counterweight to those Books of wisdom and knowledge. I would set out to write a Book of Wisdom for Qallunaat (white men), while John Ningark would work on The Qallunaat Book of Knowledge. Each of us would "borrow" the writing styles of the authors of those books, and simply apply our knowledge of Qallunaat into the written word.
I would write, "You are a White Man. In the Arctic, the Eskimos (now called Inuit) will call you a Qallunaaq, but will accept you saying Kabloona, or even Kodlunarn. Don't be shocked to hear their children calling you a Hello-raaluk, which means A Big Hello. Be thankful it's not a Big Goodbye!"
"You will be badged with an Inuktitut nickname, based on a physical characteristic or habit, which identifies you in their sight. Getting assigned a nickname is not at all scientific, so yours will likely come in an odd way. Ones assigned in the past include Qiuniujaq (One Who Is Forever Cold), and Patinnaaki (Small Buttocked One, or, in today's lingo, Weeny Buns)."
John Ningark would write, "Your ancestors came to Canada by sailing ship, some from England and some from France. You have been here for only 400 years, a very short time. On a time-line in history, you are recent arrivals. So don't carry on too much like you've always owned the place. The Inuit don't appreciate being treated like tenants in their ancient homelands."
"When you talk about distances with Inuit, do so in miles or kilometres, not in "sleeps". Train your tongue to pronounce the now Inuitized place names: The former Broughton Island is now Qikiq-TARQ-juaq, not Kikiktakjuak. Imagine a double H when you say IHHALUIT, thereby avoiding eKAA-lo-WHIT for Nunavut's capital city."
As co-authors of antidotes to Terminal Paternalism, John Ningark and I have to be truthfully insightful and reasonably accurate in reflecting and exposing some essences of the Qallunaat. They are the dominant society, and have identified themselves as "founders" of Canada. There is even a collectivity of old settlers in Quebec who proclaim themselves a "Distinct Society"!
For Inuit, this is sometimes difficult to reconcile. Against formidable odds, we still speak the language our ancestors spoke in 1534, when Jacques Cartier landed on the shores of the St. Lawrence River. We are the dominant majority in our immense Arctic homelands, but we have had to adjust to living within political structures where others are the bosses of how we live our lives.
John Ningark would write, "Inuit knowledge maintenance was based on oral traditions faithfully transmitted throughout the generations. As a Qallunaaq steeped in literary traditions, do not be too dismissive of Inuit contributions to English language dictionaries. In them, you can look up words like igloo, umiak, ulu, kayak, komatik, and muktuk; all Inuktitut words."
I would write, "Always eat your food, mostly devoid of all blood and freshness, sitting in a proper upright posture, with a fork and a dull knife known by the Inuit as nuvuittuq (without point). Store your left-over food in secure containers in refrigeration and eat them in following days until they are gone. Never waste your food."
"If you are a guest at Uncle Milton's house, draw on your natural encyclopedic sources of small talk, and be animated while discussing the weather, Aunt Myrtle's hairdo, and the latest fads of the young people."
John Ningark would write, "Never say None-of-it for Nunavut. Give yourself some lead time to practice saying KINNG-ait for Cape Dorset, Ik-PIAR-juk for Arctic Bay, and Kangiq-SLI-niq for Rankin Inlet. Don't be shy to engage the help of an Inuk to pronounce such names properly. Take heart from the tribulations of Inuit having to say Medicine Hat, Moose Jaw, and Come By Chance properly."
In conclusion, "If you are given a nickname by the Inuit, wear it like the badge of honor it very likely is."
August - 2005Guided by books of wisdom and knowledge
Nasivvik
Zebedee Nungak, Windspeaker Columnist
In the annals of Arctic literature, there exist some writings unequalled for sheer colonial boldness, which deserve some quality attention. Frozen in time and the written word, such writings are capsules of a mind-set worthy of closer examination. In them, great wallops of gratuitous advice were dished out to Inuit, who were instructed, step by detailed step, on how to be better Eskimos than they already were.
One of these, The Eskimo Book of Knowledge by George Binney, is a classic published by the Hudson's Bay Company in 1931.
Binney describes Inuit then: "...They are hunters, trappers and seafarers for the most part -- happy-go-lucky, sporting folk, affectionate to their families, friendly and generous to all members of their community and on the best of terms with the White Men and Women who live among them. Through the enterprise of missionaries many of them have learned to read and write...They have, however, only one book in their language - the Bible...Upon these merry people, wholly ignorant of the Why and Wherefore of the World, the shadow of Civilization is now falling...
Thus it has come about that His Majesty's most cheerful subjects, the Eskimo, have two books in their language where before they had one - a book for Sundays to which is now added this book for weekdays."
As if to get on the bandwagon, Canada's Department of Mines and Resources produced The Book of Wisdom for Eskimo in 1947. Its table of contents exposes an attitude of graphic paternalism.
Starting with "Where Sickness Comes From," and "How Sickness Spreads." It goes on to "The Clean Camp," "Clean Pots and Dishes," to "Clean Food." Another section includes "Family Allowances," "Care of Rifles," "Conservation of Game," and "Planning for Periods of Scarcity."
Then there is A Letter From the Government to the Eskimo People, written by O.S. Finnie in 1931. This one is a gem of extreme colonial supervision-ism: a keeper, which belongs in a frame, to hang on the boardroom wall of every Inuit organization.
Mr. Finnie writes: "You must have food. You must have clothing. You must have dog-food. You cannot do without food, you cannot do without winter clothing, nor can you do without dog-food. Your food, your winter clothing, your dog-food all come from your country; either from the sea or from the land. There is no other way to get them.
"...Always 'cache' the meat. Do not throw it away, but dry it. Dried meat is better than canned meat: as for sea-shore Eskimos, seal meat is better than canned food...When you trade fox skins for white man's food, do not buy flour only, but also rolled oats and rice. These are better. It is not good to use baking powder all the time, nor to put too much of it in the flour.....Do not let the children drink strong tea, and give only milk to the smaller children."
The authors practically invade the homes of their subjects to give them hands-on training on how to be civilized Eskimos! It's amazing to behold what saturated the thinking of people who were then in the best position to help Inuit. It's also somehow difficult to be bitter about it.
In the mind-set of the authors, Inuit are primitive, uncivilized, dirty, louse-infested, un-hygienic and un-educated; fit to be transformed into something else by right-minded Qallunaat (white men). They don't know how to preserve their food, have never heard about conservation of wildlife, and are utterly ignorant about how to use government-issued family allowances.
In short, Inuit are characterized as not having a clue about how to live life, and have to be trained-on-the-job to be proper, regimented Eskimos. Mr. Binnie writes: "This book - the Book of Knowledge - is the light of the sun: it will show you the path through the difficult places of life: it will provide you with further knowledge of the White Man: it will show you by what means you can make yourselves and your children more happy and prosperous.
Read then this book - the Book of Knowledge - for in it you will find a great store of truth - a cache such as you make of your meat when you have it in plenty after the walrus hunt. It will fill you with understanding, which will strengthen you on the journey of life. Let those of you who read it, recite the book to those who cannot read. In your camps discuss the book; talk of it in your igloos at night time when your pipes are lit. Teach it to your children; this book will help them."
One hates to intrude on these trains of thought, so well expressed! I'm left wanting to read every last word of this stuff!
July - 2005Addressing the threshold of elder-hood
Nasivvik
Zebedee Nungak, Windspeaker Columnist
Aging, nature's great irreversible wonder, doesn't require any help to move it along. In the aging timeline, some milestones are notable for being perceived by the aging person. At the age of 54, my journey into elder-hood marches quickly forward, and some recent events confirm thresholds I've crossed toward the inevitable.
Last March, two of my sons announced their intention to cross the Nunavik Peninsula by snowmobile from Kangirsuk to Puvirnituq, a journey of 532 kilometres. Having done this before following others, they now wanted to do it themselves.
As a parent, my natural reflex was to lecture them about why just the two of them shouldn't do this. But, in confronting my self-appointed indispensability, I concluded that somehow, sometime, I'd have to resign my job as Micro-Supervisor of my sons' lives. Here was one such opportunity.
For once, I decided to be a help and not a hindrance toward my sons' desire to do unique things on their own. I full-heartedly gave them my blessing, and became nothing but helpful as they prepared for the trip. Everything changed for all of us; we had each crossed a threshold. For me, it was feeling the joy of letting go of my sons to a future of being their own men. For them, it was a transformation of their countenance from somewhat anxious uncertainty to vivid self-confidence.
Fifty miles inland from Kangirsuk, I parted with my sons at 7 a.m. Back in town by mid-afternoon, I expected some news at day's end about where they were camped and how they were. To my great surprise, one of my brothers in Puvirnituq called me at five in the afternoon to tell me that his nephews had already arrived. I couldn't quite believe they were there already. This journey usually takes 24 hours, in two 12-hour segments.
On this day, the weather had been ideal and the trail had been smoother than usual. They had not even stopped for tea in 10 straight hours of traveling. Having made this journey several times, I too know the head-clearing exhilaration of covering kilometre after endless kilometre of great tundra wilderness where even stopping for tea can be an unwanted distraction. They had covered this distance without their father interfering, and it was a fine trip.
Last summer, I crossed more thresholds toward elder-hood during a walrus hunt. Nothing was out of the ordinary as I departed for the hunt with two young men, who were eager to prove themselves capable as hunters of the aiviq (walrus). As eldest of the three, I was responsible for the conduct of the trip, but did not think of myself at all as an "Elder."
As we approached the hunting grounds, we were all alert and prepared for an encounter with our prey at any time. We were on the edge of a sharpened sense of being really alive. Our firearms, harpoon lines and floats were ready for use at any instant. Early on the second morning, the magic words were exclaimed, "Walrus, ho!" and, as we swung into action, we were all really alive!
At the height of the drama, I never thought of getting one of the young men to take the helm so I could take part in the shooting and harpooning. My two crew members did everything right, and I hardly had to bark out any orders. I simply steered and controlled the boat as if I'd never done anything but that during the high commotion of a walrus hunt. When it was all over, we had several carcasses to butcher, and we were very contented hunters.
It dawned on me only later that I had not fired a single shot, nor harpooned a single animal. In previous times, I couldn't have been prevented from doing these really exciting things. My consolation came at low tide when I retrieved by hook two walrus carcasses that had sunk after being killed. The excitement factor of doing this was several notches below the high intensity of the chase of the hunt. The amazing thing was, I didn't mind this at all! Yet, I did not ask myself, 'Is this a sign that I am now an elder?'
After the meat was butchered and prepared into units fit for fermentation, I told my two companions, "Pajugiitsaqutilli," a certification and benediction that means, "You have attained the ability to deliver food to others in every possible way!" Many years earlier, a superior hunter had said the same thing to me. I remembered how my state of being had soared upon being told this.
This was the equivalent of earning one's walrus certificate papers!
Now, without consciously perceiving it, I had bestowed this honor upon two young men, and in the process inched irreversibly closer to elder-hood.
June - 2005Wit and substance absent from the House
Nasivvik
Zebedee Nungak, Windspeaker Columnist
The creative minds who churn out television series should not ignore the wealth of material unfolding daily on the subject of Parliament as entertainment.
In fact, not much creativity is required to launch a series that might be called All My Parliamentarians, or maybe, As Parliament Hill Turns. There's plot, intrigue, back-room dealings, and enough political cloak-and-dagger to shove aside any need for fiction to get in the way of reality as a good show.
The Honorable Minister of Righteous Indignation used to be a Conservative, but is now a Liberal. He expresses his ministry's specialty in reply to loaded questions lobbed by former colleagues from across the aisle. The minister might for once be creative, and reply "That question is so loaded that it keeps flipping over from its own weight; therefore, I can't answer it!" An antidote to hydraulically impossible questions just might be discovered here!
The assault of pointed, especially honed questions are quite a spectacle. "In light of blah, blah, blah, ...will the Prime Minister dismiss So-and-So from the cabinet? Having done blah, blah, blah, ...will the minister now resign? Did the minister do X, Y or Z? Yes or No? Shame on the honorable member!"
Now, voters are supposed to be impressed with these questions, and how they're used as weapons in the cut and thrust of the parliamentary arena. We're supposed to think, "She's got him now!
How can anybody wiggle out of that one? My! Those questions are ingeniously sharp!" But, watching this for even a short time, the questions become "Who elected these intellectual juveniles to office? Why aren't there rules in parliamentary procedure preventing the use of such non-starter questions?"
It's not that we're impressed with the answers given to these questions, either. Several honorable members are highly skilled experts at Artful Deflection, which should have us admiring them for their talent. All we get is tired very quickly at listening to questions and answers dipped in sarcasm and dripping with partisan one-upmanship. Anyone watching and listening to this regularly might become afflicted with Parliamentary Sarcasm Syndrome (PSS).
The main opposition party is the product of what used to be two distinct entities, whose political marriage of convenience suffers from the honeymoon they didn't have time to have. Not everything in their relationship is dysfunctional. All political parties have "wings", but this one has "lumps" which might cause an observer to question where real conservatism resides these days. Where is True Blue? Your guess is as good as mine.
The Honorable Minister of Getting There and Back Again used to be a Liberal, then a Blocquist, and is a Liberal again. He helps defend his re-adopted party from the cacophony of damning outrage from honorable members opposite whose party has never committed any sin of scandal. "Let him without sin cast the first stone," would be a perfect statement for this setting. Which of the parties are sinless?
The Honorable Member from Attempted Reason tries to remind his colleagues in the House that "Canadians want this Parliament to work!" Whether out of principle or high ideals, some parliamentarians actually try to articulate common sense, even in the midst of this weird carnival of the politically absurd. But it's like trying to be the Lone Ranger without Tonto and without the horse, Silver. The surrounding environment simply robs such efforts of all spring and bounce.
Today's political parties must have secret Departments of Political Defections. I'm also convinced that each of these has branches called Opportunism Directorates. If only these essential parts of the democratic process could operate out in the open it would be easier for political junkies to keep track of the crossings and re-crossings of the floor of the House of Commons. It's no longer too much to say that one needs a guide to keep track of such traffic.
There is the Honorable Member from Original Independence, not to be confused with the Honorable Member from Recent Independence, or the Honorable Member from Forced Independence. In a minority government over-burdened with the weight of scandal, members from Independence carry an importance absurdly beyond their numbers. Members from Independence are courted passionately, whatever their wish lists may be. In other times, such courtships were discreet. In these times, they are almost totally public.
On top of all this, some honorable members talk menacingly about Parliament Hill being over-run with people wearing orange scarves, or about "There'll be Hell to pay!" if the minority government does not keel over when and where the opposition dictates it to. Honorable members from every party have been heard to say, "The electorate will teach you a lesson!" to any and all of their political opponents.
That's a very appropriate invitation.
May - 2005Two times the tragedy that taxes are
Nasivvik
Zebedee Nungak, Windspeaker Columnist
"We are the most taxed people in Canada!"
This complaint has passed the lips of most of the 10,000-plus people who live in the Nunavik Territory. If some people have not actually said this, they have certainly heard it being said by others. This statement has been asserted to an assortment of government ministers and commissions in a wide variety of meetings and hearings. It is not a frivolous or whining statement, because it happens to be true.
The taxes paid to two levels of government by the people of Nunavik have often been calculated as being $10 million a year. In return, the Nunavik Territory, its people and its institutions are recipients of combined federal and provincial transfers of around $270 million annually. For all the taxes we complain about paying, these are phenomenal returns, when figured on a per capita basis.
Anybody who is required to pay taxes will state with some authority that taxes hurt. But, the truth attached to this is, taxes also help. This is dramatically true in the remote Arctic communities of Nunavik. The taxes we pay result in provision of housing, medical care, education, welfare, employment insurance, family allowances, old age pensions, police services, community infrastructure, day care programs and a host of other benefits.
We never consider thanking our governments for these, because we are entitled to them as tax-paying citizens. Some of these also result from land claims agreements, and would not exist without governments being pushed and prodded to provide them, seemingly against their will.
Government generosity, on the whole, has a lot to be desired. The more or less permanent housing crisis in all areas of Canada's Arctic regions continues to be the most widespread evidence of this lack.
Occasionally, news reports point out another major transfer of money from Nunavik, to the "outside", besides taxes paid out to governments. It has been estimated that $20 million annually is spent on illegal drugs and bootleg alcohol. Now, here is expenditure of money truly worth groaning and grumbling about! It is double the pain of the taxes we complain about paying. The main difference here is that this is money literally thrown away, for no return benefit whatsoever.
The $20 million our territory exports for illegal drugs and bootleg alcohol causes poverty, child neglect and hunger, distressed families, broken lives, and far too many untimely deaths. The only "benefits" of this trade, if it can be called that, are the lining of pockets of criminals, who prey upon the addictions of people in all levels of society in Nunavik. No life is left untouched by all this.
The consequences of this import of substances and export of money also feed a sizable criminal justice industry to overflowing. Courts, which used to fly in and out of communities in a few hours, now spend days in session, without making much of a dent in the caseload. This will surely cause the establishment of a permanent, resident criminal court system in the territory.
Sadly, occupations of the future with the brightest prospect of guaranteed employment are those related to the criminal justice system.
What's tragic about this is that people who can recall a totally different life from what is going on now, are not yet old men and women. A mere 40 years ago, there was no need for police, the courts, or the criminal justice system with all its trappings and expense. Some of the very first judges who presided over cases used to give stern lectures to accused offenders, naming abuse of alcohol as the primary culprit for Inuit having to stand before a judge.
"Without alcohol, you are a peaceful and peaceable people," the judge would exhort. This is true enough. But individual freedoms, and the lack of any way for institutions and authorities on the ground to regulate or deny such substances to people, continue to contribute to the widespread availability of the items that cause such grief. A present-day judge could well say, "With alcohol and illegal drugs so readily available, we are also here to stay!"
The further tragedy of all of this is that the "trade" will flourish as long as the appetite for drugs and booze exists. Police have made several large drug busts without making much of a dent in this major drain on the fragile, underdeveloped Nunavik economy. This great open hemorrhage of money out of Nunavik is beyond shocking. Somebody is getting very rich out of all this misery!
The thought to ponder here is this: If the taxes we pay to governments are painful, the money we lose to illegal drugs and other intoxicants hurts us at least twice as much.
April - 2005Time long past to dub Inuit out of APTN
Zebedee Nungak, Windspeaker Columnist
The APTN has announced a new policy that would require future film productions shot in Inuktitut to have versions dubbed in English and/or French, as well as one or more other Aboriginal language. As a result, APTN has been subjected to a chorus of strong criticism from many influential Inuit, among them Atanarjuat producer Zacharias Kunuk, Nunavut Minister of Culture, Language, Elders and Youth Louis Tapardjuk, and Inuit Tapiriit Kanatami President Jose Kusugak.
As a long-time critic of Inuit being in APTN at all, I say, "Congratulations, APTN! You have presented one more reason out of many to demonstrate why Inuit should get out of your structure altogether. Thank you for revealing your position on the Inuktitut language. Your dubbing policy may serve a very useful purpose by sparking discussions among Inuit about where they want Inuktitut programs to be embedded. This may just launch a search for alternatives to APTN."
APTN language priorities were further exposed by its CEO, Jean LaRose, who is quoted as saying, "Let's face it, there are many Aboriginal people in Canada who have lost their language and need to hear the story in English or French." To which, I say, "Let APTN be the network to bottle-feed English and French to those Aboriginal people who have lost their language, and who are not in much of a position to reclaim it."
Inuit, who are determined to preserve their language, should refuse to be any part of this. They should get busy fast-tracking into existence a new, independent network devoted exclusively to Inuit. Despite its apparent health, the Inuktitut language already has diverse pressures bearing down upon it. We don't need an additional one from APTN, from which we should have expected enhancement, and not dilution, in efforts to maintain Inuktitut as a vibrant, living language.
The conditions of APTN's license from the CRTC give a clear indication of what rules its policy for languages. Sixty per cent of its programming is to be in English, 15 per cent in French, and 25 per cent in Aboriginal languages. In this framework, Canada's official languages, which are in no danger of extinction, hog the lion's share of the language equation in a network supposedly devoted to Aboriginal people! Aboriginal languages here are pre-disposed to being crowded out.
At APTN, Inuktitut is a square peg trying to fit in a round hole. There may well be a fundamental chasm in understanding between APTN as an organization operating within a pre-set formula for language allocations on one hand, and Inuit with a vision of utilizing the medium of television to help maintain the health and viability of the Inuktitut language.
Inuit desire ownership of Inuktitut language television programming primarily to keep the language and culture alive for its sake; not necessarily to showcase this to others. Inuit communications societies have not defined their primary mission as that of exposing Inuit culture to larger society. My take of Inuit attitudes on this is, "If our fellow countrymen in Canada are curious about who we are, and why we hold our identity, that is very good. But it is for us and our children that Inuit television productions should be working hardest."
This is where APTN's latest policy statement diverges from the interests of Inuit who want television and film to be tools useful primarily to the Inuit people, and the Inuit world. Inuit want these mediums to be working for them, to help keep Inuit-ness alive. Dubbing Inuktitut productions into other languages is not useful to Inuit at all. It does nothing to enhance the preservation of Inuktitut. It is for the benefit of non-Inuit who cannot understand the Inuktitut language.
Inuktitut programming is scarce enough without having to share versions of itself in other languages, in a framework where Aboriginal languages are already far too junior in the general equation. APTN appears totally indifferent to what practical problems this policy might cause. There will be, say, four versions of the same program being aired at various times. Who will vacate their previous space in the schedule to make this possible?
Many Inuit hold a desire to see a broadcasting network devoted solely to Inuit and the Arctic. They believe that, with several dialects of Inuktitut to maintain, preserve, and develop, Inuktitut merits accommodation in its own exclusive space. Far from any movement in this direction, Inuit have instead been dealt a blow that will dilute, and not enhance, their presence in the broadcasting world.
Inuit leaders should not be merely denouncing a dubbing policy; they should start the process for Inuit to dub out from an entity that is indifferent, if not hostile, to Inuit needs and realities. Inuit communications organizations should immediately consult their grassroots and get a bearing on what their people think about all this.
March - 2005
Some ideas that will make products Arctic-friendlyNASIVVIK
Zebedee Nungak, Windspeaker ColumnistIn just four decades, life in the Arctic has evolved to great dependence on machinery and accessories manufactured in the "outside." In light of this, here are some ideas that might be useful, and essential, to everyday life in the Arctic, which makes me wonder why we haven't thought of these before.
Snowmobile manufacturers are in the business of making so-called "recreation" vehicles. But in the Arctic, snowmobiles are not used for mere "recreation." It's about time for Inuit to insist that manufacturers establish "Arctic workhorse" sections to their companies. Such entities would be able to plug into practical Arctic knowledge to make products better for Inuit. Ideally, these "Arctic workhorse" sections would be composed of Inuit hunters.
>From this arrangement, manufacturers would get advice on features considered essential for machines destined for the Arctic climate, and to Inuit who use them. They would learn, for instance, that models made for Arctic use should come with a ready-made, sturdy hitch. All machines sold in the Arctic are used to pull something. Present "recreational" models overlook this completely, which forces users to devise home-made hitches.
"Arctic workhorse" sections would ensure that Arctic-bound snowmobiles are equipped with windshields designed for functional, rather than ornamental, purposes. All machines would be equipped with fuel primer pumps, and not just warm-up levers. This user/maker relationship would most certainly produce other innovations, and even inventions, making products more user-friendly, and better suited to Arctic use.
Presently, snowmobile producers make all manner of accessories, which are appropriate for the "recreational" market in the sub-Arctic climate. On the instigation of their "Arctic workhorse" sections, they would start making accessories suited for Arctic use, such as removable caribou skin mats for the seat, and portable heaters designed for the contours of the engine, carburetors, and carburetor housing. (Hair dryer companies might scramble for this one!)
Post "Arctic workhorse" snowmobiles will have fuel pumps positioned in closer proximity to engine heat, or at least positioned where thawing with heat or hot water would be easier.
Suspension axles will be constructed of sturdier, longer lasting material. Tool containers will be made of rigid plastic and easy to open and close. Today's pliable synthetic sheeting tool-cases congeal to the shape of the items they enclose, and crack and split when frozen.
The first major company to establish an "Arctic workhorse" section will immediately reap the benefits of operating such an entity. Soon, its products will be the talk of towns across the Arctic. Other companies will notice, and will scramble to set up their own such sections.
Other products that would benefit from such an approach are camp stoves and lanterns. Inuit advisors would point out the necessity of using freeze-proof material for these items' pump flaps. Now, the pump flaps are made of a synthetic material which renders the pumps useless when they freeze. Fuel tank caps would also be placed in more exposed positions, and not in indentations.
Finally, a rigid, enclosed case would be designed to protect the accessory from the rough-and-tumble of Arctic trails.
Camp lanterns would be given a thorough once-over for design improvements. A sturdier mantle would probably be invented. Some way to re-inforce the generator would be brainstormed, to make it more "trail-proof." Products with improvements based on Arctic know-how would be designed to last for years, and not just months, as today's flimsy models are. Built-in obsolescence would be radically reduced.
On seeing motorcycle manufacturers on TV turn sheet metal into fenders by torch heating it and shaping it with a hydraulic press, I thought: "What an ideal way to make ice scoops!" A natural extension of this would be getting a company that makes hockey stick shafts to produce handles of different lengths and sturdiness to fit these fender-cum-ice scoops. (Hockey stick shafts also make ideal handles for sealing hooks and winter fishing lines, but here, I'm digressing into "Eskimo Ingenuity".)
"Arctic workshop" sections of ice auger manufacturers would vividly encourage producers to design a good "trail-proof" case to protect the motor and make it last longer.
Another ice auger accessory designed through Arctic know-how would be a contoured casing for the auger bit, to make it easier to lash down, without damaging other items loaded on the sled.
If companies don't jump on this bandwagon soon, enterprising Inuit should get busy setting up all-purpose Arctic workhorse consulting firms. The result will be a wide range of manufactured products, which are more Arctic friendly, and of greater use to Inuit who depend on them for subsistence, and for making a living off the land and sea.
This is an Arctic products revolution waiting to be triggered. Inuit development corporations would do well to massage such ideas, then plant them with major companies with extensive product sales in the Arctic.
February - 2005
Willing to take the time to develop film
NASIVVIK
Zebedee Nungak, Windspeaker ColumnistI've never been a High Tech Eskimo.
Back in time, it took me about a decade to start using a cassette tape recorder after everybody else had switched to them. To me, the reel-to-reel system was perfectly OK, and I simply couldn't abandon it. The more compact size of cassettes just didn't register in my technologically challenged mind as being better than the reels in any way.
In the CD revolution, vinyl Long Playing record albums (LP's) became obsolete overnight. It took only five years to catch on to that development, which, for me, was real progress. As a child, I had caught the tail end of the use of wind-up gramophones, which could be rotated manually if the mainspring was broken. The records were 78 rpm, and would shatter if dropped or hit against a hard surface.
I grew up under the revolutions of the battery-powered, then the electrical record players, with 33-and-a-third, 45 and 78 rpm speeds. Eventually, seemingly every Inuit home became equipped with plug-in electrical sound systems, in which an automated record player was only one feature among many doodads. Today, "entertainment systems" manipulated by remote control would make wind-up gramophones look distinctly pre-historic.
I made my first satellite telephone call while on a walrus hunt in 1992 on a unit belonging to another community's hunting party. The phone set looked like a small briefcase and had to be positioned absolutely still for the call to be made. The whole experience was amazing, but didn't sell me on the idea of getting one of my own. At the time, the price of such equipment was about $5,000 per unit.
Even when satellite telephones became available in less costly hand-held units, I remained resolutely opposed to the idea of owning one. My driving thought was: "Whenever I have opportunity to go out on the land, I want to leave all-and-sundry tribulations of the community behind. I don't need such burdens following me around to the hunting grounds!"
My confession here is, I've caught up much earlier to this technological revolution, and now I have a satellite telephone. On this one, I am now a High Tech Eskimo, equipped to call home from any location, and already wondering how I existed before without it.
One of the defining features of modern technology is the dizzying rate at which newfangled gadgets expand into new models. Obsolescence is an unavoidable by-product of new technological innovations. Technology's advancement hurtles at warp speed toward frontiers where no gadgets had gone before. Much of this has touched life in the Arctic in many profound ways. We've become High Tech Eskimos, whether we're into technology or not.
When GPS's first came out, it was a thrill to determine one's exact location by satellite doodad. The early model GPS's displayed geographic co-ordinates in a jumble of numbers indicating latitude and longitude, which had to be verified on a vectored map. The latest models feature high-resolution maps on their screens, which can be zoomed in on areas of interest: a very useful aid in marginal weather.
The computer, called qaritaujaq (likeness of a brain) in Inuktitut, is constantly galloping toward more wondrous capacity. Computers come with their own terminology, which is almost a language of its own. As a certified computer dummy, I have no idea what a gigabyte is. Whenever somebody who is computer literate starts talking techno-speak to me, I simply gawk at him, rightly looking like he and I are on different planets.
My lack of computer savvy limits my use of it to that of a glorified typewriter, filing system and e-mailer. There are all sorts of functions on it, which I will never use. They are indiscernible to me. But there is one thing I found out, quite by accident: If you want to play with a computer, never mind its impressive menu of video games! Make it do spell checks of Inuktitut words.
In a note I sent to a friend in Greenland in Inuktitut orthography, the word, kisiani, meaning "but" has the computer suggesting it as "kissing". For uvanga, which means "me", it suggests "avenge" and "avenger". The word for "maybe", immaqaa, is suggested as "Imam". So, the vain suggestions of the "likeness of a brain" has the words "kissing", "avenger" and a Muslim cleric, appearing together in one sentence.
This is something other than "educated guessing". It might be called "wild cyber shots-in-the-dark". It's easy to make your own fun with a computer's illiteracy in Inuktitut.
In another area of technology, we are well in the midst of the digital camera revolution, but I haven't entered that track yet. I'm still thoroughly on the panoramic camera track, and utterly content to wait the week or so it takes to get its film developed.
January - 2005
A survey of today's new political correctnessNASIVVIK
Zebedee Nungak, Windspeaker ColumnistCanada's Constitution recognizes three collectivities of Aboriginal people by name-Indian, Inuit, and Métis. Each of these names has a history, a fractured regard by others, and a present-day political correctness. Political correctness is not always respected and sometimes even deliberately assaulted, so it seems worthwhile to look at the integrity of these identifications.
Back in time, when outsiders knew Inuit only as Eskimos, many variations of the spelling of this word existed, a common one being Esquimaux. This spelling appeared exotic, but did not credit the origin of the name, a Cree word pronounced Es-CHEE-mau. Many of the first Qullunaat (white men) who came to the Arctic also called Eskimos, Huskies, like the word for the dog breed.
When the term Inuit started being widely used, Qullunaat took a long time to spell it right. It often appeared as Innuit. It's taking even longer for them to straighten out their plurals, the tendency being to simply add an 's', calling us Inuits. This lesson for Qallunaat cannot be given often enough: one Inuk, two Inuuk, three or more Inuit.
The all-time bonehead mistake is calling the Inuit, Innu. Three years ago, the Montreal Gazette featured a full-page article where a reporter spent time in one of the Inuit communities in Nunavik, and wrote about having a great time amongst the Innu. The Innu are Naskapi-Montagnais Indians, or, politically correctly, First Nations, who, I'm sure don't appreciate being called Inuit by mistake.
Politically speaking, Inuit are normally not called the Inuit Nation. The exception is in Quebec, whose government passed legislation in 1985 recognizing the existence of 11 Aboriginal "nations" within its boundaries.
The 9,530 Inuit in Nunavik rate as the eleventh of these. What's notable about this is that a fraction of the 45,000-plus Inuit in Canada have been formally recognized by provincial legislation as a "nation".
This label, created by a separatist government in Quebec to make itself feel better about its treatment of its Indigenous people, is often trotted out as evidence of Quebec's generosity toward its "autochtones". It has no value beyond some vague symbolism. Inuit in Nunavik have nothing to brag about in how this recognition has been of any benefit.
We've bounced from Esquimaux to Eskimo to Husky to Innuit to Inuits to Innu, all the while having our relations with the federal government managed by a department of Indian Affairs! The ultimate in political correctness here would be the formation of a federal department of Inuit and Arctic Affairs!
In a recent TV program, a First Nation Elder said, "I've been an Indian all my life! When we were kids, we played cowboys and Indians, not cowboys and First Nations!" With that, he poked gentle fun at the politically correct term, First Nation, which is now the widely accepted substitute for Indian.
If even some Indians are tentative in transferring their own terminology, the rest of us can be forgiven for being a little wobbly about sliding right into today's politically correct language. If political correctness now has revised this to "ranch hands and First Nations" we wouldn't want to be the only ones using out-of-date terminology out of ignorance about what is current.
In this frame of political correctness, quite a few well-known terms would have to be revised, which raises some questions. Will Indian summer now be First Nation summer? Will non-status Indians now be non-status First Nations? These are not frivolous questions for anybody who recalls the existence of the National Indian Brotherhood, forerunner of today's Assembly of First Nations.
The other constitutionally recognized Aboriginal people, the Métis, were called Half-Breed by many. I discovered that the word Métis could be said in many different ways. The word looks like Meh-TISS, but is pronounced May-TEE, pronounced by some as MAY-tiss. Former justice minister John Crosbie always said May-Tay, perhaps because of his Newfoundland accent.
When the Métis people started sharing national profiles along with the Indians and Inuit, Inuit called them Allangajuit, which means those with partial Indian blood. Many call themselves Michif, and even Michiss. This illustrates that what others call you, and what you call yourselves, is often not the same thing!
Many First Nation people are sentimentally attached to the name Indian. Many Inuit, myself included, are sentimentally attached to the name Eskimo. Some, but not all Métis people, have no problem with Half-Breed. So political correctness is not so sacred after all, even among the people so labeled by it!