The Qargizine Fall 2017 #8

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KUH DEE GEE ZEEN

the case for the qasgiq

qatnut 2017 photos

kikminaq sauce recipe (low-bush cranberry)

from kotz-am to the rivr

excerpts from old publications: john w. schaeffer, jr. paul green

Artist highlight: sara guinn, bethel ak

FALL 2017

#8

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From the Editor

As I've grown older and worked on different projects through different opportunities, the main thing I've learned is that simply having the vision and desire to make a change isn't going to be enough.

Sometimes speaking to other people about the potential in your ideas isn't going to be enough. Sometimes it won't be enough to post and discuss online. Following resources just to educate yourself can't be enough.

It takes dedicated collaboration and stategic planning to find success. And sometimes, even that won't be enough.

There are times when you'll lose faith and understanding in your vision. There are times you'll lose the desire to overcome the challenges you meet on a regular basis. There are times you'll want to convince yourself that you've done enough.

When you're absolutely sure of what your purpose is and how you must contribute to the world, there are times when you feel defeated and burnt out because the work doesn't end. Sometimes it's so scary to wake up knowing exactly what you want and how to get it, that it's easier to reason yourself into going through the scripted daily motions rather than devoting yourself to the blind trust of chasing your dreams.

So sometimes, you should step back from the details and pull yourself out of the depths of it all. Take a moment to hide from it all but with the intention of returning even stronger.

M. Jacqui Lambert

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Contributors

tim argetsinger edna maclean james dommek, jr. warren jones sara guinn inuuraq evans peri sanders will anderson john w. schaeffer, jr. paul green jackie qatalina schaeffer crystal worl mary essaaq sherbick stephen d. bolen tiffany scott stacey R. lucason dierdre creed maija lukin Angela gonzalez ben anderson-agimuk

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On The Cover : photo by Will Anderson The qargi (kuh-dee-gee) was traditionally the community gathering place for Inuit. The Qargizine is a new way for rural and Alaska Natives to gather and share their artwork, photography and stories.

Mission: to instill the knowledge and pride of the rural and Alaska Native cultures in today's generation through multi-media productions.

subscribe to hard copies at: www. esquimedia.com

Contents The Case for the Qasgiq Warren Jones Page 12 About the Artist: Sara Guinn Page 14 Excerpt from NUNA, 1981 John W. Schaeffer, Jr. Page 19 Who We Were, Who We Are and Who We Will Become M. Jacqui Lambert Page 21 Qatnut 2017 Photos Will Anderson Page 26 From KOTZ-AM to The RIVR James Dommek, Jr. Page 32 Excerpt from I Am Eskimo, 1959 Paul Green Page 36 My Museum Life Jackie Qatalina Schaeffer Page 39 Response on Northern Philosophy Stacey R. Lucason Page 41 Concept of Design for Fashion Crystal Worl Page 42 From A to B: Alaska to Belize Mary Essaaq Sherbick Page 46 Writers Never Really Retire Dierdre Creed Page 50

photo by tiffany scott

Kikminaq Sauce Recipe Maija Lukin Page 51

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~ Comparing Inuit dialects from Alaska, Canada, and Kalaallit Nunaat (Greenland)

b y T i m Aq u kk a s u k Arget s i nger * Taikuullapiaq to Monica Ittusarjuat and Kathleen Tagoona for editting the Inuktitut phrases and Vivi Sørensen for editing the Kalaallisut phrases.

Iñuit live in northern Alaska (Iñupiat), Canada, and Kalaallit Nunaat (Greenland) and we share a common language and culture. The word Iñuit means ‘the People’ in Iñupiatun, Inuktitut, and Kalaallisut. Iñuit migrated from Alaska eastward to Canada and Greenland thousands of years ago where the dialects evolved differently in each region and community. As a result, Iñupiatun is to Inuktitut and Kalaallisut what Old English is to modern day English: similar or the same in many ways but very different in others. The table below compares common phrases in Iñupiatun, Inuktitut, and Kalaallisut.

The majority of the 60,000 Iñuit in Canada speak Inuktut (the word used to encompass all Iñuit dialects in Canada, including Inuktitut) as a first language. Iñuit in Canada live in the Inuvialuit Settlement Region (Northwest Territories), Nunavut, Nunavik (Northern Quebec), and Nunatsiavut (Northern Labrador).

There are approximately 60,000 Iñuit in Kalaallit Nunaat (Greenland), a self-governing country within the Kingdom of Denmark. Kalaallisut is the only official language in Kalaallit Nunaat and is spoken as a first language by virtually the entire population at all sectors of society. Kalaallit Nunaat is the only majority Iñuit jurisdiction in the circumpolar Arctic where it is possible to receive a K-12 and university education in the Iñuit language.

Note on pronunciation: In Inuktitut ‘r’ is pronounced the way you would pronounce an Iñupiatun ‘ġ’ sound as in the word ‘atiġa’ (my name). The Inuktitut ‘j’ sound, unless paired with ‘rj’ or ‘jj’ is pronounced like an Iñupiatun ‘y’ sound. The ‘r’ sound in Iñupiatun is unique to our dialect and is pronounced similar to the rolled ‘r’ in the Spanish word ‘gracias’. In Kalaallisut, ‘r’ is pronounced similar to Iñupiatun ‘ġ’ but is much softer. Kalaallisut ‘ll’ is pronounced the way you would pronounce an ‘ł’ sound in Iñupiatun, as in the word ‘atikłuk.’ Iñupiatun ‘ŋ’ is written as ‘ng’ in all other Iñuit dialects and is pronounced the same as ‘ng’ in the English word ‘thing’.

~ Inñupiatun

Inuktitut (North Baffin)

Kalaallisut (West Greenlandic)

English

Piviksraqaqpit?

Piviqaqpit?

Piffissaqarpit?

Do you have time?

Isiġin!

Isirit!

Iserit!

Come in!

Isiġitchi!

Isiritti!

Iseritsi!

You all come in!

Suttuġukpit?

Kisuturumavit?

Sutturusuppit?

What do you want to eat/drink?

Aanan ikayuġuŋ

Anaanattiat ikajuruk

Aaanaat ikioruk

Help your grandmother

Kaaktuŋa

Kaaktunga

Kaattunga/Kaappunga

I’m hungry

Kuuŋmi iqaluqaqpa?

Kuungmi iqaluqaqpa?

Kuummi eqaloqarpa?

Are there fish in the river?

Niġiñiaġitchi!

Niriliritti!

Neriniaritsi!

You all go ahead and eat!

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"Taamna savaaġiyumiñaġikput piyummatiqaġupta qapiŋaiġluta."

-Paniattaaq

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"We can do it if we have the commitment and the desire to do so."

-Edna Ahgeak MacLean

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SAMPLE

playlist GET UP

Drezus

STILL HERE

Red Eagle

SISTERS

A Tribe Called Red

BOWS AND ARROWS

Carson Grey

VICTORY SONG

Frank Waln

PULLING VERSION B

Pamyua

AANAN AATAN-LLU

I Sing You Dance

INDOMITABLE DJ Shub

LIFE KEEPS ON SPINNING Indian Agent

AJAAJA

Tanya Tagaq

YOU CAME TO ME Ghosthands

FEEL IT STILL

Portugal. the Man

RADIOACTIVE ESKIMO Peter La Farge

Read more about The RIVR on Page 32

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#AKTHRUINSTA

@hannah.atki

@finnskimo

@hannah.atki

@hannah.atki

@little_tail

@hannah.atki

@bigfeelings.jpg

@finnskimo

@hollywouldif_shecould

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alaska through instagram

use this hashtag to have your photo featured in the next issue! Only public photos will work.

@little_tail

@hannah.atki

@finnskimoi

@hollywouldif_shecould

@little_tail

@hollywouldif_shecould

@Inkstitcher

@finnskimo

@bigfeelings.jpg

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The Case for

the Qasgiq words by Warren Jones

Qasgi-gguq una nunauguq ciuliamteni.

Qasgiilkuneng nunanek apaamangaunateng.

During our ancestors' time, they said that the qasgi was the foundation of a community.

A place without a qasgi wasn't recognized as a community.

--Frank Andrew, Kwigillingok (Yupikscience.org, Qasgimi, In the Qasgi)

Imagine a community where men have a place specifically for men. Where they have a purpose, a place they can go to every single day. In this place they build things, they repair things. They identify problems in the community, and without waiting for anyone else, they go and fix them. In this place, men learn to be men. Boys work and learn the lessons every boy should learn from their uncles, grandfathers and fathers.

They steam every night, they dance every night.

The qasgiq or “men’s house” could be considered the defining aspect of a Yupik community. The qasgiq was gone by the time I was born in 1977. The qasgiq was not even on my radar until much later in life when I was doing research on traditional governance. This task was not easy, I had in my head preconceived notions about what governance looks like.

I went to school for political science and for me, governance meant constitutions, bicameral legislatures, presidents, senators

and judges. In order for me to understand traditional governance structures I first had to abandon these notions and take a much broader view of governance. I thank my elders, family, and community, specifically Oscar Kawagley and Harold Napoleon’s books for my development in this area.

The thing that first struck me was our environment. When I read and heard the stories of our Ancestors, one thing became clear: that life was hard. It always bugged me from a strictly anthropological perspective to say that we have been here since time immemorial. The evidence seems to indicate that we all share common ancestors in Africa. However, we were not the Yupik people until we got to this place, it was in this place that the Yupik people were born. The crucible in which our culture was formed. We came into existence here and never existed anywhere else.

In this environment, we fish, hunt,

and gather when the weather and seasons permit. We ate the foods available to us, and used the tools the land provided to us.

The environment in which we made our home governed much.

The other part was harder to winnow out.

The general narrative is that we had no governance structure, we lived in small family groups and loosely affiliated clans with no leadership. In some ways this was correct, we did not have any governance structures that were easily recognizable to a Westerner. Yuuyaraq was the way in which a human being conducted him or herself.

Yuuyaraq was the way in which a human being conducted him or herself.

These rules dictated how you interacted with one another and the environment.

These rules dictated how you interacted with one another and the environment.

Our governance structure was yuuyaraq itself. Yuuyaraq was the governance structure, but it was also more than simply governance. Yuuyaraq was the ongoing process of developing yourself as a human being. With a governance structure such as this, one did not need to have centralized structures. A large part of yuuyaraq was governing oneself, and failing that to hold one another accountable.

It was within this context that the qasgiq existed. This was an institution within the larger institution of yuuyaraq. It is a bit of a misnomer to call it just the men’s house.

Yes it was a place for men, and from what I have heard and read women mostly stayed away from the qasgiq but the role that the qasgiq played in the community meant that women were very often there. The qasgiq was the social, political, economic and spiritual center of the community.

The last qasgi fell in the mid-50’s, my mom and most of my aunts and uncles on that side remember it. They remember this as the place where my great grandfather Joe Seton spent all his time. My mother once told me that she never once heard him raise his voice in her entire life. Even when he was clearly angry about something, he never raised his voice but when he was mad she said it was as though he was thundering down on her. My aunt Sue told me a story of being tasked to deliver something to the qasgiq, and being terrified to even enter this place. Harold Napoleon remembers sneaking off to this place to be close to these same men, and when he speaks of them you can hear the reverence in his voice. I never recorded any of the conversations I’ve had with various people about the qasgiq but it nevertheless left a lasting impression on me. This was a place of power.

The qasgiq was the social center of the community. This was the place where the community received visitors, and the place for many ceremonies. If anything needed to be discussed, or decisions needed to be made they took place in the qasgiq. This was the place where the men worked, they built and repaired the various

implements used in all aspects of life. This was also the place where they danced, and dance was prayer.

When the qasgiq went away it was because

Yuuyaraq was the governance structure, but it was also more than simply governance.

Yuuyaraq was the ongoing process of developing yourself as a human being.

the missionaries who came saw it as a threat to conversion. In many ways it was, but in my heart I believe that we would have converted anyhow. I hold no resentment in my heart for those people.

When they tore down the last qasgiq, they took with it many important institutions within the community that were not replaced. The cultures clashed and in the aftermath nothing was left. There is a vacuum left where yuuyaraq once ruled, and a vacuum where the qasgiq once stood.

Our people were not savages, we were in fact astonishingly civilized. Perhaps now, more than any other time in our history, have we become savages.

The statistics are there for anyone who is interested, I don’t like looking at statistics because to me this is my family.

My brothers and sisters, my parents and uncles, my grandparents. I didn’t need those statistics to tell me what we already know about the state of many of our communities.

The truth is we can trace most of our problems to colonialism, we didn’t do this to ourselves. The people responsible for what happened are dead and gone, and some of their ancestors want to help but they can’t. They don’t even know how, decades of Western intervention has done little to alleviate our dysfunction. We are the only ones who can bring ourselves out of this. Our ancestors would not want us

to point fingers and wait for someone else 13 to come and clean up the mess.

The pareto principle, also known as the 80/20 principle states that, for many events, roughly eighty percent of the effects come from twenty percent of the causes.

This manifests in many ways, eighty percent of accidents are caused by twenty percent of the hazards. Eighty percent of the berries can be found in twenty percent of the patches. You can very often use this principle to solve eighty percent of a problem: by finding the right twenty percent to focus on.

When we look at the problems our communities face it is clear that men account for much of the dysfunction and young men in particular. Even when we look at some of the biggest problems our women face, they are related to men. Sexual violence, domestic violence, homicide, broken families. These are also related to dysfunctional men. I believe that if we focus our efforts on men, we will solve much of the problem we face. The qasgiq is the vehicle for this change. This is not my idea, I did not make this up.

Nor am I even the first to advocate for its return.

If we want to return the institution of the men’s house we need to ensure it serves the same purposes that the men’s house once did. The men’s house was in some respects just a sod and mud hut. Qasgiq have been built in some attempt to reclaim what it used to be, but the institution is so much more than the materials used to build it. I have used my research to envision a men’s house that functions the same as the men’s house of the past. This place will be a community center, it will be the center of dance and celebrations. The men’s house will be an economic engine, a place for men to work, and to provide for their communities in the way they used to. It will be the place where men teach men how to act, and hold each other accountable for their actions, the return of yuuyaraq. The men’s house will be the catalyst for men to reclaim their rightful place in our society and to do our part in returning our communities to balance. I have seen it.

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About the Artist Sara Guinn

Sara Guinn is Yup'ik and is from Bethel, Alaska. Collaging began for her as a way to pass time in middle school and has since evolved into a way for her to explore, expand and empower herself. She challenges herself to use new styles and colors, to use less and use more in order to convey the right feeling.

Regardless of whether or not the art is “good,� she feels there is something magic and inherently worthwhile in being able to put her mind and emotions onto piece of paper.

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, 18

To Our Native Men

You deserve so much more than Synthetic happiness Toxic masculinity And Isolating, damaging relationships You deserve Oceans and rivers of love Abundance around every bend 1,000 pounds of pride and gratitude That will fill your stomachs You deserve Ancestral wisdom from the land, your elders Timeless solitude And heart-pounding Connection

You deserve Centuries of Softness and safety Galaxies of Grace and gentleness Miles of meaning and Purposeful passion Deep and withstanding You deserve all these things and more Because our Native women and children Deserve it too

Poem by Inuuraq Evans

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INUPIAT ILITQUSIAT Yesterday, Today & Tomorrow Special Edition of NUNA

John W. Schaeffer, Jr. 1981 One of our problems we’ve had is we can’t get our young people through college anymore. They aren’t going after the education they’ll need to run our business, not only our business but training to take other jobs; doctors, teachers; that kind of thing.

We started looking at some statistics because the (NANA) board wants to spend NANA’s money for scholarships so our own shareholders, our young people, can get the kind of training they’ll need to take some of these jobs.

Gues what the statistics tell us. This problem is getting worse, not better. Out of all the kids we send to college only 11% finish the first year. That’s not very good and it gets worse, less than 2% that’s two students out of every 100 we send to college, ever graduate. Think about it. Only 2% of our young people finish college.

It costs money to send kids to college. We haven’t had to worry about that much up to now because it always used to be that BIA or someone would put up the money, but they’ve cut those funds back and they’ll cut them back more before they’re through.

So who’s going to send these kids to college? NANA, NANA’s going to have to pick up some of the tab because I know not many of you have $5,000 a year for every kid of yours that decides they want to go to college. So NANA’s going to spend money on this.

Well I look at this like any other investment. We’re going to invest NANA’s money in our people because we need these people. If they’re trained and they come back to work for us we’re going to get our money back because we need trained people.

Let’s take a look at how many college graduates we need. We need about 100 right now. Not just for NANA but 100 jobs around the region at Maniilaq, teachers for the school district and other places like that. Just to start off we need 100 trained people.

When you start to figure out how much that would cost at the rate our students drop our there’s no way we can afford to do it. If 98 out of 100 kids drop out before they graduate it’s going to turn out to be a pretty poor investment. If I spent NANA’s money on that kind of investment you should fire me. With the kind of drop out rate we’ve got we’re never going to make it anyway. We’d have to send 5,000 students to college to get the 100 graduates we need. We don’t have that many kids.

This is one of the areas where we have a problem.

We started looking at this. Our kids get just as much of a chance to go. The schools are telling us they might be a little bit shy in some areas like English or math, depending on how good of an education they got in high school. But they’re saying they’re not that far behind. Besides that they have special programs for our kids to help them catch up. They have extra courses to help our kids get up to the level everybody else is at. So what’s the matter? They’re not dumb. They’re not any dumber than anyone else and everyone else seems to be going through. There’s

"If 98 out of 100 kids drop out before they graduate it’s going to turn out to be a pretty poor investment. If I spent NANA’s money on that kind of investment you should fire me."

"That might take care of us for a while but our people are growing.

In five years we’ll need twice as many jobs." something else wrong with that but I’ll stop here for now.

We can’t get graduates, so what does that mean?

That leads me into the next area. Every place I need someone with a degree I’m going to have to hire some nalaugmuit because there won’t be any Inupiaq for that job. Well maybe a few Inupiaq but not enough for all the jobs we have.

Now before I move ahead with jobs the other thing wrong with this is, that when we do get some graduates with degrees we can’t trust them to run

our company for you becuase they don’t think right.

They don’t think like an Inupiaq. They don’t look at things like an Inupiaq. When the few of them that do get through college come back we have to train them over again because they just think like nalaugmuit and we won’t give a nalaugmuit a chance to run this company because we’ve got things too important to us to sell. And basically in a business that’s what they do. They sell whatever they’ve got.

Everything’s for sale.

Well in our coproration our land is not for sale!

We can’t have people who think they can sell our land running our company. So our people who go through college, get done and come back thinking like nalaugmuit, they’re no good to us. They’re wasted.

Now let’s talk about jobs. Right now NANA has maybe 500 jobs. About one third, or 150 are held by shareholders. Maybe not by shareholders but by the husband or wife of a shareholder and we count them because they’re taking care of a shareholder.

That’s what we’re really concerned about, if our jobs are providing for our shareholders and their families.

But most of these 150 jobs are held by Inupiaq. Now the other two thirds of our jobs are held by other people, mostly nalaugmuit. We don’t even count the few blacks or Puerto Ricans who work for us. As far as we’re concerned they’re nalaugmuit, because were concerned about jobs for our people.

Why aren’t more of our shareholders holding these jobs? Why?

"Well in our coproration our land is not for sale! We can’t have people who think they can sell our land running our company."

There are a lot of excuses for it like getting our shareholders into the right unions or because a lot of these jobs are far away and it’s hard to get our shareholders there. But a lot of it has to do with high turn-over because our people won’t stay on the job.

Sometimes they want to go hunting and fishing and maybe that’s all right. I think a lot of our people get that first pay check, head for the nearest bar or liquor store and never make it back to the job. That’s not all right.

Our people, a lot of the time, just up and quit. They don’t give notice. Our nalaugmuit managers have a job to do. They need dependable, reliable people, someone they can count on to show up and stay on the job so they hire a nalaugmuit to replace an Inupiaq. Pretty soon we haven’t got too many of our people working for us.

One of the things you told us to do was to get jobs for you. Okay, let’s say we need 500 jobs. In order to get 500 jobs for our shareholders I’ve got to create 2,000 jobs. Because of the way things are going 1,500 of those jobs are going to nalaugmuit in order

"I’m going to have to hire some nalaugmuit because there won’t be any Inupiaq for that job. Well maybe a few Inupiaq but not enough for all the jobs we have."

to get enough jobs for our shareholders. I’ve got to make our company big enough to have four times as many employees. That’s the way it looks on paper.

That might take care of us for a while but our people are growing. In five years we’ll need twice as many jobs. We’ll have to come up with 1,000 jobs if that’s what you want me to do. We’ve got to have 3,000 more jobs for nalaugmuit in order to get 1,000 more jobs for you. That doesn’t make sense does it? But that’s the way things are going with NANA. When you look at it this way we’re not doing a very good job. Something’s wrong.

So we started looking. What’s the matter? I can make you profits but I can’t get your people trained and get them jobs, not enough of them anyway.

Something’s wrong?

We can’t afford to put those kids through college, not if that many are going to drop out.

This is an excerpt of a speech given by John Schaeffer in 1981. It was typed up and put into context in a publication by John David Christensen, called NUNA. This was a special edition dedicated specifically to what John Schaeffer had to say.

This was saved and provided to me by my taata (grandpa) Peter Schaeffer, John's brother. It is now scanned into a PDF. It's a long speech that touches on a lot of perspectives beyond this excerpt. For a copy, please email mjacquilambert@gmail.com

Photos pulled from 1989 NUNA publication.

If you have old Native publications you'd like to share please email mjacquilambert@gmail.com

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who we were, who we are and who we will become The story of composing my first Eskimo dance and getting my first hand-poked tattoo | words by M. Jacqui Lambert

“The tune came out the way I sometimes hear my aanas or aunties nuniaq their loved ones, and how I often speak to my little neices and nephews.”

In the very beginning and into the middle of this summer, I was able to feel my life change into something I worked years for. My life started to take shape in a way I had always known would happen but never knew how, or when it would. In the midst of it, sleep was minimal but I always had this natural energy to clock in to my overall vision almost all hours of the day. It was both exciting but exhausting; thrilling and terrifying all at the same time.

I like to believe it was this shift in my life that caused my first Eskimo dance song to randomly come to me one night.

At the time, I tried to act on every idea that I had in some way. Out of random curiosity one day, I asked a friend how to properly use the Inupiaq word “pivik” which is used to describe a girl who’s dressed up and looking pretty. A girl who flaunts. I was laying on my couch one day when his reply came through.

“Piviksaqtuaq: the one who is dressing up to look pretty.” The notification beamed

across my iPhone. I read it to myself a couple times and felt discouraged when pronouncing it but remembered my aana (grandma) Agnik Schaeffer mentioning it’s easier to learn Inupiaq words in sections.

So: pi-vik-saq-tuaq. She also told me it helps to learn the language through songs, when there is a tune that can be memorized.

“Piviksaqtuaq! Piviksaqtuaq!”

I sang out loud to myself in my studio apartment, then kind of giggled. “Aninga!

Aninga!”

The tune came out the way I sometimes hear my aanas or aunties nuniaq their loved ones, and how I often speak to my little neices and nephews.

Nuniaq was defined by Edna Maclean as a way “to express affection to her/him/it child or animal.” My friend has redescribed it as “words, sounds, names and phrases of endearment spoken to small children.”

I sang the words with a nuniaqing tune. I thought of my niece, my brother’s

3 year old daughter, whose presence makes me automatically nuniaq her. I speak to her in a tone of voice that’s meant to make her uunga, or smile to where she can’t hide it. I went through a couple different ways to end the verse to make a little nuniaq-ing song.

“She could pivik! Should could pivik!” I laughed again, this time even harder.

I immediately sent a voice message to my auntie Greta, giggling through it all. I knew it would make her giggle, too. When thinking more about how I could continue developing the song, I remembered a time when we discovered the word “piri” on the Inupiat dictionary iPhone app in the Noth Slope dialect.

It was defined as one who does the task; the professional. So I recreated the first verse with “piri” and “aarigaa” this time. It became a song about a girl who dresses up to look pretty, and then gets the job done.

Starting as a fun song that made

me laugh, I took it a little more seriously the next day when I couldn’t seem to get it out of my head. I decided to create some dance moves to go along with the song. I put a lot of thought into the story I was trying to tell, that went beyond the direct translation. There was a lot more depth to what I was trying to share with this song, just like the rest of our traditional songs.

The first motion is a reference to my great-grandmother Pauline Schuerch of Kiana, from the stories my auntie Greta tells about her putting on blush, even at camp. I never knew her but I’ve heard many stories of her strength and capabilities as an Inupiaq woman; how she once spotted a moose crossing the river and quickly finished pulling salmon from her net to take the boat out to shoot the moose. While those are some shoes hard to fill, as her great-granddaughter, I often think of her when I apply blush and smile knowing that story.

The next motion is putting lipstick on, or showing a big smile for those who don’t prefer to wear lipstick. It’s followed by a proud shoulder shrug, inspired by my sassy little niece(s). Then, there’s the pageant wave between verses before the Beyonce walk, the one that she often does in music videos, for the part about getting the job done. Then a reference to Jay-Z’s 2003 hit song “Dirt Off Your Shoulder” followed by an ending with a flip of the hair while twirling around to end the dance. Right before the hair flip, there is a quick move that comes from an old cheer routine from the time when I was a cheerleader in high school with my auntie Tiffany as the coach.

The song also reminded me of a story she told me about her mom, my aana Lydia (Wells) Scott, from Noorvik, who was a part of the first generation that was sent to boarding school. So by default, when she returned in the spring time, she was one of the first to come in with modern clothing and as the story goes, she came in wearing high heels. Apparently the boat she came in on had to be parked across the river from the community because of the flowing ice. My aana, as a teenager, was ice hopping in her kikmiks, her high heels.

“P-V-I-C-K!” A guy would later shout to her because of her shoes.

Though the term pivik is often

“The first motion is a reference to my great-grandmother Pauline Schuerch of Kiana, from the stories my auntie Greta tells about her putting on blush, even at camp. I never knew her but I’ve heard many stories of her strength and capabilities as an Inupiaq woman; how she once spotted a moose crossing the river and quickly finished pulling salmon from her net to take the boat out to shoot the moose.”

“The song also reminded me of a story my auntie Tiffany told me about her mom, my aana Lydia (Wells) Scott, from Noorvik, who was a part of the first generation that was sent to boarding school. So by default, when she returned in the spring time, she was one of the first to come in with modern clothing and as the story goes, she came in wearing high heels."

Photos provided by family.

Top Left and Right: My great-grandma Pauline Garbin Schuerch of Kiana.

Bottom: My aana (grandma) Lydia (Wells) Scott of Noorvik.

used as a teasing remark today, I’ve found that my personality makes a lot of sense when I think about these pivik stories about the women in my family who came before me, my aana Lydia and my great-grandma Pauline. I feel a sense of connection with them that I wouldn’t have otherwise if I hadn’t heard these stories.

The basic moves were choreographed the day after the song came to me and were further developed and improved when I had the chance to collaborate with the people who I grew up dancing with.

When it first became a dance, I first reached out to my auntie Tiffany.

Her influence is one of the reasons that I began dancing when I was young. It was important to me that I have her involvement, especially because as far as we know, our direct maternal line did not have the freedom to do something like this, express themselves through traditional songs and dances.

The older generations in our family weren’t allowed to dance and she’s a big part of how it came back to us, along with my uncle Wally and brother Radar.

Her daughter, my little cousin Taylor, is now growing up as the third generation to help awaken this sleeping tradition.

I told my auntie Tiffany about the song and dance but expressed some apprehension about actually sharing it with the public. Coming from a community that doesn’t compose songs today, we talked about how we might approach this kind of thing. As always, she offered the help and encouragement I needed while I navigated the idea once I was in Kotzebue for Qatnut, a bi-annual trade fair and dance festival.

Shawn and Amil Burns are now Noatak-based drummers I danced with at the old museum in Kotzebue, and were completely on board when I asked their help after running into them in town. They, too, offered the kind of

encouragement I needed and it helped that their passion for dancing reflected mine as well. They adjusted the song and helped with the beat I was only able to hear in my head up until they drummed for me. They even suggested ways to add some motions to flow better.

I also invited Becka Brown to help out because she was my first and

main dance teacher while growing up.

Although she’s just a few years older than me, I always knew she carried a lot more knowledge so I had the same respect for her as an Elder when I was learning from her as a little girl. I didn’t have the opportunity to spend a lot of time with Elders who danced, but I had many peers who knew how to dance and who were eager to teach me. Plus, Becka really could pivik while she danced and it was a style I’ve always tried to mimic.

To keep the goal of reviving the importance of traditional song and dance in my family, I involved my sister Qutan in the process along with our niece, our brother Radar’s daughter, Luica. It wasn’t until later that we learned my sister also just started to grow a baby within her,

“I told my auntie Tiffany about the song and dance but expressed some apprehension about actually sharing it with the public.

Coming from a community that doesn’t compose songs today, we talked about how we might approach this kind of thing.”

Left Photo: Performing the pivik dance in front of the crowd for the first time.

Middle Left Photo: Polishing the dance with my auntie Tiffany, niece Luica, sister Qutan and my childhood friend/dance teacher, Becka.

Middle Right Photo: visiting with my aunties Greta Schuerch and Tiffany Scott.

Bottom Photo: Sharing it with all the drummers in the circle the night before it was shown in a performance with Tiffany and Becka.

making this entire experience even more special to me without any of us realizing it in the moment. My future niece/nephew was a part of this process, too.

There are two well-known traditional stories I am reminded of when I think of this modern story. The first is the story about the Eagle Mother and the way she came down to Earth and shared with Inupiaq people the qargi (traditional gathering place for ceremonies, dances, storytelling, making decisions, etc.) and the drum. She gifted the Inupiat with traditional dances as a way to celebrate and honor the land, animals and spirit.

The second story I am reminded of is the story of Sedna, an Inuit sea goddess.

The story is about her transforming from a human into a mermaid after drowning.

There was a terrible situation where her father had thrown her out of the qayaq and then cut her fingers off as she tried to climb back in. Her fingers became the sea animals and her transformation was seen as a sacrifce to provide these animals for us.

She’s believed to be at the bottom of the sea, still today, and it is said that we must sing to her if we want her to share the fish, seals and whales with us.

As a lifelong Eskimo dancer, I feel a sense of responsiblity, like I play a role in the communication with Sedna.

Whether or not we learn to connect the gift of traditional dancing/singing with the sacrifice of Sedna, this relationship with her has always been a valuable one Inupiat believed in for thousands of years. It’s one I was lucky enough to nurture as long as I

can remember.

In a more traditional sense, the tattoos that I have on my fingers reflect the respect for Sedna as a sea goddess. From my perspective, the tattoos are a way to celebrate my dedication to continuing the communication with her by composing my first song and dance. The design of two lines, was borrowed from my greatgrandma Pauline’s atikluk that I wore when I shared the dance for the first time with the public, is a reminder of the women who’ve come before me. My grandma and my mom also owned this atikluk at some point in their lifetime, making it even more special.

I believe that this is the reawakening of a tradition that was instilled in the women of my family way back before any of us can remember.

These traditional tattoos, hand poked by Holly Nordlum of Kotzebue, are an act of reclaiming that part of our identity as Inupiaq women. The design can possibly be be carried forth by the women who will come after me too, always representing our family, our genetic lineage. If not by my own daughters someday, then my nieces and little cousins.

And maybe someday my greatgranddaughter will dance this song. Maybe she’ll have the same design on her fingers or her atikluk while she dances. Or maybe she’ll have her own. There is no way of knowing what will happen, but there is a lot of value in creating that connection, that story for future generations to learn and eventually carry on themselves long after my time on Earth is over.

I think that many Inupiaq people had this kind of mindset and they made choices with their great-grandkids in mind, too. Which legacy tradition will you awaken? Continue? Create? There are many ways within our culture to keep our families’ identity instilled throughout each generation.

The day that I had my traditional tattoo done, a poem randomly came to me while I was eating lunch and reading a story about the relocation of Tikigaq, or Point Hope. I dropped everything and immediately started writing it down. It’s important to me to learn how to harness these kinds of epiphanies that seem to come from nowhere. Maybe they come from somewhere our Ancestors are now.

“And maybe someday my great-granddaughter will dance this song. Maybe she’ll have the same design on her fingers or her atikluk while she dances. Or maybe she’ll have her own. There is no way of knowing what will happen, but there is a lot of value in creating that connection, that story for future generations to learn and eventually carry on themselves long after my time on Earth is over.”

If I hadn’t jumped up to both the song and the poem coming to me, I guarantee they wouldn’t have reached their full potential.

The story I was reading was about two elderly women who were best friends.

They were in the new part of the land they were to eventually relocate to and the community just prayed for the future transition. The women were preparing themselves to adjust from sod houses to wooden ones, from a traditional lifestyle to a more modern one.

It made me think of the expansion of who we were, who we are and who we will become as a people, as Inupiat. It made me think holistically about our culture, our land, our dances, our songs, our stories, everything that makes us who we are. So this poem came out as a result of that thought. Again, like all the stories and songs we share, there’s a lot more depth within the translation, the meaning behind it.

Dear Sedna

(ruler of the monsters of the deep) For my past, present, future And nothing more Or no one else I battle the war within Of dysfunctional beauty and Hopeful wounds The things people have told me The things I’ve hidden inside of me I cry out loud Praying for a break in the cycle I laugh out loud Praying for forgiveness

Each day I carry with me The burden of my direct maternal line The pride of the women’s lives before mine Each night I set free The resentment for my upbringing The gratitude for my forward singing And I reach back I stretch ahead I pull from within As I announce my shame dead

Maqi words by Peri Sanders

I don’t think I’ve ever achieved meditation as I’ve heard it described by others. But kneeling in the heat, forehead pressed to my knees, listening to the water spray and dissolve as soon as it hits the rocks; I’m being baptized in a church built by my father’s calloused hands. My mind quiets and I’m allowed to listen to my body. It tells me where it’s hurt, it tells me what I’ve been neglecting. My skin opens to be cleansed and to let go of ailments locked inside. My veins burn through and I smile because I can finally see my roots.

photo by Ben Anderson Agimuk

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cente

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erfold Northern Lights Dancers Qatnut 2017 Kotzebue, Alaska Photo by Will Anderson

Photos by Will Anderson

Qatnut 2017

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Photos by Will Anderson, who is Sugpiaq from Kodiak. he spent three years in kotzebue working for the Kikiktagruk Inupiat Corporation as the President/CEO

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from KOTZ-am to THE RIVR

A new online radio station that blends modern and traditional Native cultures through music and podcasts. words by M. Jacqui Lambert This fall, James Dommek Jr. originally from Kotzebue launched an internet based radio station called the RIVR (prounounced river), an acronym for Rising Indigenous Voices Radio (www.therivr.net). Backed by Koahnic Broadcast Corp, this unique platform is made to discover modern Alaska Native, American Indian and First Nations music, as well as podcasts, current Top 40, Hop Hop/ R&B and Electronic Dance Music.

“This station is more rhythmic,” James said in an interview at his studio in Anchorage.

“If I’m gonna go from Katy Perry to Drake to Kendrick Lamar, the next artist I want to have a little more rhythm to kind of just keep that flow going.”

Spending his youth between Kotzebue and his family’s camp on the Noatak river, James never really saw himself building an online radio station based out of Anchorage. He first grew an appreciation for music through the local radio station,

KOTZ. He explained memories of spending his summers at camp where his family stayed in a tent. The only things connecting them to the outside world was the CB radio and KOTZ radio.

“They had to play everything for everybody so it would go from like, Johnny Cash to New Kids on the Block, to CCR to something that was on MTV at the time or whatever it was—all over the place cause it had to be kind of everything for everybody.” James said. “Radio in Alaska in general is still very vital because of how expansive and rural a lot of the people are.”

His appreciation for and experience with music then grew through playing the drums. He first started learning at the Kotzebue Middle School in Mr. Unruh’s class. Except, Mr. Unruh didn’t know how to play the drums so he had a guy come in to teach James the drums.

“But he didn’t know how to read music so

he’d be like, ‘here’s the beats to Suzie Q’ and I’d go ok and have to remember Creedence Clearwater’s Suzie Q or he’d say ‘this is how you play Satisfaction by The Stones...’” James said of his earliest experience with a musical instrument. He moved to Anchorage in 1996 as a teenager and started learning more at Bartlett High School and the church he attended with his family. As an adult, he started out in coffee shops and at open mics, then played professionally with the Whipsaws, Pamyua and Medium Build.

When asked about his exposure to the traditional Eskimo drums, the conversation shifted into a less positive experience with music and turned into a reflection on our musical history.

The RIVR finds a balance that fits within the tastes and identities within modern Natives. Beyond providing this blend of music through an approachable platform for today’s generation, this project opens a

“They had to play everything for everybody so it would go from like, Johnny Cash to New Kids on the Block, to CCR to something that was on MTV at the time or whatever it was— all over the place cause it had to be kind of everything for everybody.”

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"Music is very powerful in general.

Every culture in the world has a form of their own music, instrument, songs.

It’s just a part of being a human being. I think that music for this generation, this younger generation coming up, I think reclaiming traditional sounds is big."

and how we got twenty drums in a row and we got everybody singing together and there’s choregraphed dances—it’s a beautiful, unqiue experience and I think it made these missionaries freak out because it made them feel something. I think that’s something that maybe they supressed—these primal urges, just that primal part of human nature, I think was deeply supressed by Westerners early on, especially missionaries.

Jacqui: So what kinds of tribes do you play, is it just Alaska Native or is it across the nation?

James: The station is called The RIVR, it stands for Rising Indigenous Voices Radio, and I try to play modern Alaska Native, American Indian and First Nations artists who are connected to their indigeneity and bring it to their musical front, to their medium.

Jacqui: What kinds of bands and artists do you play?

conversation about music across cultures.

The RIVR is currently online and will soon become a music streaming app, comparable with Pandora and Spotify. It is a strategic response to understanding the listening trends of younger Natives, specifically between the ages of 18 and 35.

James considered the accessibility to music throughout the decades and mentioned that because music is now more readily available to the public, there needs to be a host to good music that reflects our identity.

James generally plays music on The RIVR but schedules a podcast, Toasted Sister around noon on Saturdays. It is about Native American food culture - what it is, where it comes from, where it’s headed and how it’s going to connect the people with culture. He says he is open to adding more podcasts that are relevant to and produced

by Native people and communities.

Listen to The RIVR at

www.therivr.net

Interview Excerpt: October 2017

Jacqui: Did you ever play with Eskimo drums very much?

James: When I was a kid, it was still considered like the devil. It was still evil. The sounds I was super intrigued by but I was raised in a kind of religous household so they still considered it evil.

Jacqui: It’s still kind of like that. I have a classmate that feels weird about it but I thought that was done.

James: I know, I thought it was. I still can’t believe people feel that way.

There are people who are in my family who, if I played an Inupiaq song right now they would ask me to stop. There’s still this stigma in our region about associating traditional singing and dancing with something evil. And that’s just completely wrong and that’s something that, through this project, through this online radio station, I hope to not see it that way and have a platform where people can play our sounds.

What we brought to the table, to humanity in general as Inupiaq people, our sounds, our songs, our drums were so unique compared to every other place in the world. The way our drum is built, how thin it is and how we hit it from behind, you know,

James: When people ask what I play on the station I tell them that A Tribe Called Red is a good example of mixing traditional with new. Tanya Tagaq. I don’t know, there’s just some really good rappers and really good DJs out there that people don’t really know about.

Jacqui: How do you go about finding them and discovering these artists out there that not a lot of people hear about?

James: Well, I have help. There’s a producer who makes a show called Earth Songs, her name is Alexis Sallee, and she brought her entire library over. I’d just go through it and shift through her entire library and find the kind of stuff that fit with the vision of this station a little more.

For the most part I find the artists on YouTube, Sound Cloud, word of mouth. Some of these people you just gotta know how to get ahold of them, you know, some of them record on the rez in Canada in a cabin. They’re not tryna like, go for the golden goose and make a million dollars. They just wanna rap cause they feel like rapping, so they’re passionate about it. There’s people like that and I find them in

Continued on Page34

different ways. Some people send me recommendations.

village that’s just how it is.. So, I think those two go together pretty well.

Jacqui: What’s your favorite one that you’ve discovered so far?

Jacqui: To bring it back a few more decades, within the older generation within our communities, they have more of a country vibe to them like the Friends Church groups and stuff like that. How do you think that was… I mean, I don’t know, what’s your theory on it because our generation adopted music too?

James: That’s a tough one. That’s a really tough one.

One of the discoveries from this project has been some of these rappers that I found you can’t really find anywhere else, like the Choctaw rapper in Red Eagle, he’s really good. He’s just good. He produces his stuff well and he’s a talented rapper.

It’s a tough question. Digging and finding this music, I can usually gleam something that I like from anything that I listen to like I can usually find a piece or part that I’m like “Ok, that’s kind of cool or sort of interesting.”

Jacqui: When I was parking, I was blasting Ja Rule and J. Lo and I saw a couple Native ladies outside and I can tell they were kinda feeling it too and it made me start thinking about the way Native people have kind of adopted like, black culture within the music. What do you think of that because you’re mentioning Native rappers?

James: I’ve definitely had this conversation before and it’s almost like an ethnomusicology conversation because how different are we, as an Inupiaq person from Kotzebue and an African-American person from a major US city, how opposite are we?

Completely opposite.

I think where we intersect is basketball culture for one, and another one is I think that we as indigenous people.. I can only speak for myself but I think that our people where we’re from adopted this hip hop culture because we felt like maybe what they were saying spoke to us more than what other people were saying. Maybe the rhythm felt more familiar. I don’t know but I think hip hop culture and basketball culture definitely walk hand in hand and as you know, basketball culture rules in the

James: As a musician, my position on it isn’t very popular. I was raised on that Friends Church music and I don’t think that’s us.

I think that’s gonna upset a lot of people who I know but I really believe that was something that was forced on us and I just can’t listen to it. I have a hard time listening to it. There’s nothing wrong with it. The Friends Church does a lot of good in the region but I think it’s time, as a people, to stop looking to organized religion for everything and maybe start opening up the covnersation about mental health issues and not have that stigmatized as much. The Friends Church has provided a lot in our region but when I hear these pepole playing outta tune guitars and singing out of tune, and a lot of it is southern gospel… it’s its own thing and if that’s what they’re into that’s what they’re into, but that’s not what made us unique as Inupiaq people. When you make a copy of a copy of a copy it’s usually not as crisp as the first.

I’ve definitely had some conversations with some elders in the village, who I won’t name, but we’ve definitely talked about it where he was like, “That’s not us. That sound isn’t us.” That’s something that was forced on us and we’re trying to do, but it doesn’t sit right with me.

Jacqui: Whereas with the hip hop culture that’s something that we, by choice, picked up.

James: It was a choice Jacqui: It wasn’t like someone coming in saying like, “You’re gonna start rapping. You’re gonna rap in

church.”

James: There weren’t people saying that you have to do that. I think that’s the difference.

The hip hop culture and the way that the younger generation… it’s just the sound of the youth right now. I think with that generation before us, that was their sounds. I’m sure there were people at the time trying to express themselves through music but you never hear about them.

Jacqui: What do you think the role of music plays within our current generation as modern Natives with a conflict of lifestyles? I think there’s a lot of reclaiming going on right now so what do you think music plays within that and how do you think it will shift into the future?

James: Music is just very powerful, in general. Every culture in the world has their music, has a form of their own music, has their own instrument, has their own songs. Every culture. It’s just a part of being a human being.

And I think that music for this generation, this younger generation coming up, I think like you said, reclaiming traditional sounds is big and having a sense of idenity in the media, in the radio and just hearing sounds, hearing words, hearing languages, drums, flutes, raddles, just hearing them is powerful to Native people. I think that the role of music for this generation is a powerful medium for artists to get their opinons across and their ideas and music can influence a lot of people. It gets everybody on the same page pretty quick.

You get songs stuck in your head all the time and I think that’s what we have to do, as Native people, for getting our culture back. It has to get stuck in your head like a song and that’s when you know it’s working. That’s when you know there’s something there that’s gonna stick.

“What we brought to the table, to humanity in general as Inupiaq people, our sounds, our songs, our drums were so unique compared to every other place in the world. The way our drum is built, how thin it is and how we hit it from behind, you know.

And how we got twenty drums in a row and we got everybody singing together and there’s choreographed dances—it’s a beautiful, unique experience. I think it made these missionaries freak out because it made them feel something and I think that’s something they suppressed— these primal urges, just that primal part of human nature, I think was deeply supressed by Westerners early on, especially missionaries.”

www.therivr.net

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The RIVR Launch Party Photos provided by Angela Gonzalez Alaska Native Media Group

Top Right Photo: Holly Nordlum, Sarah Whalen and Stacey Lucason Middle Left Photo: Aaron Tolen, Rinnah Andrew and Piiyuk Shields Bottom Left Photo: James Dommek Jr. and Jaclyn Sallee Bottom Right Photo: DJ Haunted Surfer (Sam Sease) and Dave Curtis

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Eskimo True Story,

Nice Good Looking Lady

words by Paul Green, 1959

This story was shared by Paul Green in a book he published in 1959, titled "I am Eskimo, Aknik My Name." He received help from Abbe Abbott and the illustrator was George Aden Ahgupuk. It was originally published by Alaska Northwest Books and can be found on Amazon.

Once upon a time there were family had a daughter at Point Hope. Their daughter become nice looking lady. When their daughter became lady, nice looking young men from Point Hope or different village visit this nice looking lady, and ask her to become wife but this lady always refuse them. Not really refuse them, but she always told them if they were better Eskimo dancer than her, she will become wife to best Eskimo dancer.

One time one of the young men come over to see her. He had needle case with him made out of ivory. This nice young good looking lady had her own home by that time then, and the young man come into her home. When young man come in lady saw needle case. Gee, it look good to her.

She said to young man, “What you got there with you? I want to see it.”

Young man give it to her. Lady got hold of it, look it over — the needle case.

She said, “Gee, this look good to me. I like it, suppose we get together and become wife and husband and went out whaling this spring and caught whale and put up big feast. After big feast and Na-lee-katuk (blanket toss game) we have dance. I wonder how we look like when we dance together.

They both start dancing and after they get through dancing lady turn around to this young man and she said, “I’m not going to

become your wife because you not much of Eskimo dancer.”

And the lady took the needle case — let the young man go.

Few days after another young man had lady knife (oo-loo — that the name for woman knife). When young man came in lady saw lady knife; and lady ask young man just like she did not know what the man got. Young man gave it to her. Lady got hold of it, she was surprise to see lady knife.

The lady say, “I was hoping long time to have lady knife made, so I got it now.

Suppose we get together, become wife and husband and went out whaling this spring and caught whale, and after whaling we put up big feast for all people at Point Hope. After feast we had Na-lee-ka-tuk, and dance. I wonder how we look like when we do Eskimo dance together.”

So they started Eskimo dance. After they

dance lady turn around and face young man and said to him, “I’m sorry. I not going to become your wife becuase you don’t know how to Eskimo dance.”

So the lady took the knife and let the young man go.

Third young man was a poor boy, he got no parents, just grandpa. So this poor boy take a visit to this nice looking young lady.

But he was poor boy, nothing to take with him, so he took sinew with him. When he came into this lady home he hide them sinew. When poor boy came in lady saw him and she ask him what he got with him. Poor boy did not tell her. But the lady keep asking him, so the poor boy told her what he brought her, Lady was very please for them sinew. She have them in her hand for long while.

Eskimo lady say to poor boy, “After whaling is over I make you fancy mukluk also for myself — I will use these sinew.

Then we will have big feast for all people

at Point Hope. After we caught whale at spring time, and we have Na-lee-ka-tuk and Eskimo dance. I was just wonder how pair of us look like when we dance together.”

So they start Eskimo dance. After they through with first dance she said to poor boy, “let us do it again.”

So they start dance again. After they get through with last Eskimo dance she turn around to this poor boy.

She said, “You nearly got me this time but you didn’t make it.”

And the poor b oy turn to her, “I am going to tell my grandpa!” he say, and run out.

After poor boy went out nice looking young lady sit down on top of deer skin on the floor and start sewing. While she was sewing she heard something. It get closer every time when finally she hear it clearly.

It was poor boys grandpa.

Old man was saying, “It was me, poor boys grandpa. You was refusing them nice looking young men and good hunter for these years. So I am going to have you for myself.”

And the nice good looking lady got mad, tried to get up, but she can’t move. She was paralyzed. Finally old man show up — coming up to nice looking lady—walking on hand and knee, he got too old, can’t stand on his feet. But the nice looking lady becomes his wife. None of the young men like her anymore.

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my english is broken. on purpose. you have to try harder to understand me. breaking this language you so love is my pleasure. in your arrogance you presume that i want your skinny language. that my mouth is building a room for it in the back of my throat. it is not.

--i have seven different words for love. you have only one. that makes a lot of sense

Nayyirah Waheed Salt

f o u n d 1. i began listing the love i yearned from you and one by one began gifting them to myself 2. character cartographer mapping my soul using the boundaries the land has shaped over the years forgivingly, understanding they have not stopped shifting

Poem by Inuuraq Evans

My Museum Life

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words and photos provided by Jackie Qatalina Schaeffer

"Then we danced in our traditional clothes - sharing the most intimate part of who we are with strangers."

As a young girl growing up in the rural Alaskan community of Kotzebue, I witnessed much change. My early days consisted of many months spent at camp (ours called Ivik) enjoying the wilderness and learning the traditional Inupiaq ways of life from my grandparents - Aana Annie and Tata John Schaeffer Sr. My parents were busy working to advocate for our people, our lands and our way of life.

So, this “escape” gave me an outlet to explore and open my mind to creativity.

I was a curious kid who loved to draw, read, write and create. My cousins will contest to gathering sticks, rocks, shells, leaves and such to assist my building of small “villages” for each to own. Yes, our imagination was endless. We lived without running water, without television, without piped sanitation and flush toilets, but we knew no different. The local radio station kept us informed of what we thought was the “outside” world – the rest of America.

Story time with Prairie Home Companion was a regular staple in our little cabin.

In the 1970’s things began to change in our world. The Indian Health Service brought piped water and sewer to our little town. The school began local sports and travel to other rural communities.

High school kids no longer “had” to go to boarding schools – that became a choice.

During this time our people also struggled to transition into a world lead by Westerners – who wanted us to be more like them than like our Ancestors. This was no longer called “colonialism”, but a social choice to raise us kids up to fit into a Western world that had damned our parents and their parents. New things were on the horizon. Better education. Better access to health care. Better transportation and access to the outside world. Better housing. Better everything – or so we

thought. But, we knew no different. We simply evolved and adapted through this transition.

Old identities were forgotten, new identities created. As kids, we simply lived.

We played and sang our traditional dances and songs – not fully knowing what we were singing – not fully understanding why some churches forbid it.

During this era, our regional corporation was led by my father, John W. Schaeffer Jr. His perspective was to continue to embrace our traditions and to fight to protect the lands that fed and sheltered us. During his leadership role as first President of NANA Regional Corporation, he and the Board of Directors sought to bridge the gap between the two worlds – Inupiaq and Western.

The opening of the NANA Museum in 1978 was the beginning of a sharing of our Inupiaq ways with Western tourists. This

began my Life at the Museum.

Everything about the museum was fascinating. It housed a diorama that showed our people gathering, hunting and interacting with the land we live on. It housed many animals – which transformed when sent to a “taxidermist” – into a full-mounted, life-like rendition. Some were frightening to me. Some as cute as I remember in the wild. Nonetheless, all of it was new and exciting.

Our grandpa Paul Green was the current Inupiaq dance leader and had taught us many dances. He was also a great story teller. So, we all became “employees” of this new business attraction for NANA. It was an honor and a privilege to share our life with the outside world. I also was blessed to showcase our traditional attire –

This was no longer called "colonialism",

atikluks, mukluks and parky’s - as a model – a new, exciting and very scary thing for me.

I remember meeting the tourists and welcoming them, then guiding them into the auditorium to watch the diorama.

Once it was done, our story tellers shared our history, then we began the fashion show. The story teller introduced us and described the clothing we wore – some very detailed, like Aana Helen Sivik’s parky.

To me, it was like playing an Inupiaq princess in fancy clothes. Ha! Then we danced in our traditional clothes – sharing the most in intimate part of who we are with strangers. This became very intriguing to many outside entities. Soon, we traveled to Canada, Greenland, Hawaii, Kentucky and Seattle sharing our dances, stories and

but a social choice to raise us kids up to fit into a Western world that had damned our parents and their parents.

New things were on the horizon. Better education.

Better access to health care. Better transportation and access to the outside world. Better housing. Better everything - or so we thought.

But, we knew no different.

history. Our dance group was filled with my aunties and uncles, friends, sisters, and most of all – our elders. Little did I know that one day we’d dance without them.

And little did I know that this Life at the Museum would lead me to travel across the world to London, England to study fashion and architecture.

The experiences at the museum will forever be treasured in my heart. They would carry on once I left my little hometown.

But, they would dance the last song in 2003 and we’d only be left with the memories of those beautiful things. The parky’s would be passed onto family, some stories shared, some faded away, yet, the drums continue today, as do the dances and always the memories of My Museum Life.

“So, we all became ‘employees’ of this new business attraction for NANA. It was an honor and a privilege to share our life with the outside world. I also was blessed to showcase our traditional attire - atikluks, mukluks and parky’s - as a model - a new, exciting and very scary thing for me.”

The North may be harsh, but its children are warm, resilient, and still here This piece is another take on Northern Philosophy: in reply to Warren Jones’ “The Philosophy of the Circumpolar North” published in the Summer 2017 Qargizine.

Words by Stacey R. Lucason While respect is owed to our own living Indigenous Philosopher, elements of the emerging Northern Philosophy discussion are missing from his initial article. Yes, the land has shaped us into who we are.

Yes, to live up here demanded a level of excellence rarely seen today. Yes, our Ancestors had a fully functional society with ethics and explanations for the natural world. However, what should one do with this information? Just because there was a Northern Philosophy, is it applicable anymore in a world that has seen more than 100 years of assimilation practices?

To reiterate what stood out the most from Jones’ Philosophy is an articulation of the ethics within Yuuyaraq: Reason, Self-Control, and Awareness.

These are central components of a fully functional being in Northern Philosophy. A person needs to be able to see what is happening around them and understand how to fit into the environment; he must be able to figure out what to do in response to this world, and have the discipline to act rightly or he would perish.

The severity of the North ensured that only those successful at integrating these ethics into their every action survived, shaping the Yup’ik worldview and culture. Our Ancestors were successful though- they thrived here.

Similar environments across the North also shaped their peoples to live well, or die trying, and so we recognize similar ethics among Indigenous peoples from Russia to Greenland.

However, this account of our shared Northern Philosophy does not mention the deep respect and love of our people for each other. If I had a sister, her children would be my children. On the one hand, this was a necessity in a world where a parent may fall to a harsh reality at any time. On the other, this quirk in our family structures illustrates how close our families were. Western peoples may care for their cousins, but do not call them brothers or think of them as close to their own hearts.

This depth of love is not unique to Yugtun speakers, or even to Alaska Native peoples, but as a concept is translatable to Native and non-Native people living here today. Given the need in many of our communities, loving deeply is a good place to start if we’d like to see Alaska thriving again.

I don’t mean to suggest a generic or light love is still necessary to surviving here; that is not

enough. What I’m talking about is taking in your sisters’ children so they might live as your own.

Feeding your elderly neighbor like he was your own grandfather. Reducing the artificial barriers of Western constructs that limit deep love to “immediate” family instead of recognizing the bonds of one’s whole community. This too is part of a full Northern Philosophy because we cannot be human without each other.

Our Ancestors understood the difficulty of the world and met those demands by working hard in the face of adversity. This trait lives on in the resilience of our Native people. We have survived

In addition to reason, selfcontrol, and awareness, we need to add love and purpose to the characteristics one needs to practice in applying Northern Philosophy in everyday life.

Western colonization and are working to revitalize traditions that have slumbered for the past hundred years. Many of us recognize the limits to Western education, Western policies, and every day are doing the work to integrate our Ancestor’s knowledge into this imperfect system we now share with people from around the world.

In addition to reason, self-control, and awareness, we need to add love and purpose to the characteristics one needs to practice in applying Northern Philosophy in everyday life. We cannot thrive without love and we cannot move forward without purpose. This part is where I’d like to start to answer what to do with this information.

Anchorage is proud to be home to more than 100 languages, yet is still immature in its approach to building a community. Many other towns and villages in Alaska have Indigenous, English, and immigrant members of their nascent communities,

and even people in rural places fortunate to be grounded in their own cultures can find value in discussing a shared Northern Philosophy to use when travelling or visited by outsiders.

To move forward, we all need a framework that works. It begins with recognizing that this place is still hard. For example, the village of Tununak doesn’t have a runway right now because the warming planet has pulled the ice from beneath their pavement. That means no mail, no imported veggies, and a chilly four-wheeler run across the tundra to fly out. The people living in Alaska must remember that our modern conveniences may not always be here.

Our Ancestors learned how to live and thrive here; these practices must be actually practiced if we are to share them with our children and live well.

We build purpose into our daily practices by understanding the origins of our values, do not waste because tomorrow there may not be enough, and by sharing this understanding with those who share our lands. Alaska, and almost everywhere else in the circumpolar North, is now home to both Indigenous and non-Native peoples. This philosophical framework can serve as a point of connection between those who are fortunate enough to live here.

Living with purpose takes substantive effort. It may not be politically easy to push our school districts to honor our local languages and be willing to teach them alongside colonial languages.

It may not be convenient to remember harvesting practices beyond dipnetting, but is crucial to keeping this knowledge alive.

We must still be aware of the world that is before us and alert to its hardness. We must reason and understand our place in it, and have the self-control to act rightly. But we must also love each other and recognize the importance of what our Ancestors learned here by teaching it to our children and others who are here now. This is living well in a Northern Philosophy.

Written by Stacey R. Lucason; daughter of Richard and Sandra Lucason, born in Fairbanks but with family ties to Bristol Bay. She has a Bachelor’s degree from the University of Alaska Anchorage in Philosophy with minors in Biology and Alaska Native Studies. While currently working for a Native non-profit in Anchorage, she is looking at graduate schools and learning Yugtun.

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Crystal is co-owner of Trickster Company.

Shop online :

www.trickstercompany.com

Facebook: Trickster Company IG: @trickstercompany

Crystal Worl is Tlingit Athabascan from Raven moiety, Sockeye Clan, from Juneau Alaska.

Her work explores the relationships and bonds between her people, the land, and the animals. In her clothing line Crystal explores the relationships of time and place in Alaska. The relationships shared between humans, the animals, and the land are captured in a series of paintings and graphic designs by Crystal. Salmon spawning, midnight summer sunsets, the harvest of berries and flowers, and surviving as an integral part of the land are all relative to time and place in Alaska.

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concept of design for

fashion

Photos by: Donavan Johnson

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FROM A TO B: ALASKA TO BELIZE Words by Mary Essaaq Sherbick

Coming off the plane from Miami the air was humid and smelled of the Caribbean Sea. The sky was yellow and grey. It was my first time stepping foot in Central America. Belize, this is home for the next few years I thought to myself. As I patiently waited with my cohort for the Peace Corps bus to pick us up it started to rain on and off. It was the rainy season after all but I didn’t expect it to feel so warm.

While riding on the way to Belmopan, the Capital of Belize, I saw real parts of the country. There was graffiti at bus stops, people at small grocery shops, and feral dogs walking along the roads. Deep down, I felt as if this place were familiar, but in a way I could not explain.

none of them compare to losing my mother my senior year of high school. February 13th, 2009 was the day I found out about my mother’s death and since that day I have never perceived life the same way. From that moment on I started to seriously question life, particularly its purpose, specifically my purpose. My coping methods involved anything that aided me to avoid the grief, whatever necessary to numb the inescapable pain. I worked two jobs, I did all my homework and the extra credit, and I partied, a lot. Because I constantly fled from my sorrow at an unsustainable rate, it ultimately caught up with me.

Waqaa, Hola, Hello, I am a Yup’ik Alaskan Native currently living in Belize. My name is Mary (also known as Maria) Essaaq Sherbick. My mother is Carrie Sherbick from Twin Hills, AK and my father is Leon Sherbick from Trenton, NJ. I grew up primarily within the city of Anchorage but I’ve lived in various places in Alaska. I attended Mount Edgecume boarding school in Sitka, I’ve worked in the Arctic at Prudhoe Bay/Dead Horse area as a community hire, “stick picker”, for BP and Nana, and finished a Public Policy Fellowship with the First Alaskans Institute in the State Capitol of Juneau. I have not been to every community within Alaska, but I know it is a vastly diverse place. My persistent pursuit of education created the by-product of opportunities to travel, not only within Alaska but other parts of the world.

My methods of coping were self-destructive. I attempted suicide, I was kicked out of the dorms, and my relationships with others were unhealthy, especially the relationship with myself. Once I actually allowed myself to feel the heartache I was able to begin the healing process. It is a process that continues to develop as I am consistently learning more about myself. It is a never ending progression. I am constantly testing the limits of my characteristics. Especially now, living in a foreign country, learning a different language, and being aware of the local customs. I believe all my life struggles before this has prepared me for becoming a better person. This is my moment to give back and serve a community in need of human capacity.

When I was a teenager in high school I aspired of being the first in my family to obtain a college degree, to be a world traveler, and to become a Peace Corps Volunteer. The sole reason I am living in Belize is to serve as a Peace Corps community health educator. I am here to be the person I have dreamt of being since I was 16 years old. There have been several failures in between my high school days to today. Simply knowing what I wanted to do was not enough. Tremendous effort, discipline, and struggle were essential to getting to where I am today. I am living out my dreams, but it has not been a linear success story.

I’ve experienced a lot of trouble and turmoil but

That all being said, preparing for this monumental milestone has been no easy task. It has taken much time from filling out the application, to the two hour initial interview, and enduring all the necessary medical appointments. It was not difficult doing all those errands but saying good-bye has never been my strong suit. Alaska is where I was born and raised. I caught my first silver salmon, learned how to sew a qaspeq, and hiked magnificent mountains in Alaska. It was difficult parting from my family and friends. I was in tears at the airport, leaving behind a community that provided me with so much support and love throughout my growing pains. It was heartbreaking to go but every fiber of my being knew that I had to embark to Belize. It was my time to be brave and go into the unknown.

"Simply knowing what I wanted to do was not enough. Tremendous effort, discipline, and struggle were essential to getting to where I am today."

Living in Belize taught me we all share universal values, such as love, family, and traditions. Being accepted by my host family and community melts my heart and kept me humble. These kind strangers opened not only their homes to me, but their hearts.

I kept trying to compare living with my host family to living in a rural Alaskan village but it is a different experience entirely. Although there are shared values, it is a place where handmade tortillas are a norm, picking fruit from the tree is always a possibility, and birthday parties always feel like a holiday. If you are into vexillology, the study of flags, Belize is the only country to have humans on their flag. This young country is unique with its jungle rainforest environment to its islands with white sandy beaches.

It is filled with a diverse population bring its influence of mixed cultures such as, Mestizo, Kriol, and Mayan. It has been a worldly adventure living in another country but the Peace Corps training really offered me a well-rounded, holistic perspective.

After three month of Pre-Service Training I have sworn in as an Official Peace Corps Volunteer to serve the country of Belize. I was also recently sent back to my home of record to Alaska for medevac reasons. I underestimated the difficulty of learning a new language in a totally different geographical climate, and the amount of technical information a volunteer has to know in order to serve their community. To say the least I was overwhelmed in a way I had never experienced. I was diagnosed with adjustment disorder with mild anxiety and slight depression. When I first arrived back here, I was completely resistant, ashamed, and even

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Left Photo: My cohort and myself during the swear-in ceremony, transitioning from trainee to volunteer Right Photo: My host family and myself in Valley of Peace, Belize September 2017 embarrassed. I did not want anyone to know the reason I was back here. I hated myself for what I was feeling. After weeks of being back in Anchorage I have come to accept my predicament. I am here to heal and practice health ways to cope. I hope to be able to return to Belize at the end of October 2017 but if not I am adaptable and will find other means to serve the global community.

My history is part of who I am but it does not define me. I hold no regrets to my past. I am trying hard to live in the present moment. I love and respect myself but practicing that on a daily basis is still a struggle for me. This entire experience has taught me a few lessons, I can make plans for the future but I should always know they might unfold differently than I anticipated. Most of what happens in my life is out of my control but how I react to life is entirely up to me. I chose gratitude for the opportunities I have been given and for living a life I am proud to call my own.

Quyana for reading my personal thoughts and feelings of my Peace Corps Volunteer experience.

Left Photo: Me at San Ignacio Resort Hotel for a Counter-Part workshop Right Photo: Corozal Town and the Caribbean Sea, August 2017

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It’s Time You Call Me In

By Stephen D. Bolen

Living from the shores in suspense It’s time you call me in I’ve been lost in the swells During the sun’s shine and the dark Unable to find your light It’s time you call me in.

The passengers I’ve taken aboard They’re good company and they tend to cut time Slowing it–speeding it up, taking the throttle When this grip of mine wrenches so exhausted Steeped in the unforgivable rocking and ocean spray I’m taking in the water, too busy dreaming– I begin to bail, and bail to save it all– The other patches shall hold.

It’s time you call me in.

J m m

K

m

The Eye 49

in the Sky words by Nicholas Arnatsiaq

This is a story pulled from the 1989 Inuktitut Magazine, owned by the Inuit Tapirisat of Canada. It was originally published in the Spring 1973 edition.

The editors at the time were Martha Falherty and John Bennett.

producers. Our young people must learn to operate the technical equipment needed for both sending and receiving. I was pleased to learn that Telesat Canada are looking for students to begin training this summer.

Anik, the satellite is a wonder. It is a big eye in the sky overlooking every Canadian. I realized how it has brought us closer together when I phoned home to Igloolik the other day. Here I was sitting in my room in Ottawa and talking to my parents. No wires between us, no poles. Just our voices bouncing off the sky and coming in loud and clear.

The eye in the sky will soon be beaming its message right into our houses. We have to give it at least part of the message.

Who ever would have thought of television in the small communities of the north? The Anik era has made it possible. If it affects the Inuit the same way it has southern Canadians we had better get ready for it. It will be impossible to remain isolated from events around the world. We will be exposed to other cultures and values right in our own homes.

Who will be responsible for putting Inuit content into television broadcasting? Who else but us!

Inuit content can be meaningful and beautiful.

We must develop our writing talents. The script is the basis of all programs; some of us must become photographers, singers, actors, playwrights, and

A note from the editor Martha Falherty: "This issue is a landmark for Inuktitut, as it is the first one to be produced since the magazine’s transfer from Indian and Northern Affair Canada to the Inuit Tapirisat of Canada.

In the late fifties and early sixties the government was inducing Inuit to move into communities and give up the traditional life and the freedom and responsibilities that went with it. Now, Inuit in turn are working to persuade the government that in order to solve the problems created during those years of upheaval they need the authority to run their own affairs. It is fitting that the longest running and most distinguished periodical in Inuktitut should now become the property of all Canadian Inuit."

Who will be responsible for putting Inuit content into television broadcasting?

Who else but us!

Inuit content can be meaningful and beautiful.

M

Mama and Papa 50

Writers Never Really Retire

By Deirdre Creed

One of the first classes I ever took in college was from my parents. Because it was a memoir writing class, not a prerequisite or requirement for a degree, everyone there was there because they wanted to be. I believe this was part because these students wanted to share their story, but I also had an itching sense that it was because student’s wanted to take any class they could offered by either Professor John Creed or Professor Susan Andrews, not to mention one they taught together. The first day of class went really well. Professors and students were engaged, contributing to the conversation, and even creating inside jokes. Everything about this class was exciting and fun, but there is nothing I remember more than the end of the class. My father, (or Professor Creed), decided to close the class by acknowledging that his two daughters were students in the class but there wouldn’t be any nepotism: however, he would

now like to take a moment to embarrass them.

He then began singing the Barney Song, “I Love You, You Love Me.” Despite his straying from the material, everyone came back each week excited for the next three hours. I may be a little biased in saying that my parents are two of the best teachers I have ever had, but I have some evidence to back it up by former students who excitedly and willingly gave me quotes about Professor Creed and Professor Andrews.

“John Creed and Susan Andrews really helped me find the voice I was looking for. They helped me express

“They played a vital role in how students prepared for college in our region

myself in ways that I didn’t think was possible by giving me a safe space to do so.

They continue to inspire me to keep on writing and I hope one day to see more of their amazing work. Thank you, John and Susan for always believing in me when I couldn’t always do that myself and also for helping me tell my story.”

-Jacqui Lambert

“Professor Creed helped me get a sense of what college writing entails.

Kotzebue High School English classes weren’t the best when I was in school and taking the dual credit courses with him really did help prepare me for writing, especially since I got a better idea of what being an English major would take.”

-Thomas Baker

In their time at Chukchi College in Kotzebue, Alaska, they taught students face to face, over the phone, and online. They directed and edited two books of their students’ writing, Authentic Alaska (1998) and Purely Alaska (2010) that further gave a voice to the people of the North. These books won awards including a bronze medal in Foreword Magazine’s 2011 Book of the Year competition,

and now we see students succeeding in many different ways, and in large part due to their first college experience your parents gave those students. Your parents are really going to be missed by students all over the region and I feel for those students who will never have the experience of having them as professors! I’m so glad I had the opportunity to learn from them!”

-Elizabeth Ferguson

“John helped me find my voice and avoid the awful ‘Be verb’ in

my college application essay. I felt so lucky to have him as a teacher. Even though we had to sprint across the frigid school parking lot in the middle of winter, it was worth it for the interesting stories and discussion! Thank you John!”

-Donald Neal

a second-place award in the nonfiction anthology category of the Independent Book Publishers Association’s Benjamin Franklin Book Awards and an honorable mention in the Eric Hoffer Awards for Short Prose & Independent Books’ culture category. John and Susan have been published in the Arctic Sounder, Anchorage Daily News (now Alaska Dispatch News), Fairbanks Daily Newsminer, and the Washington Post. Their collective project, Chukchi News & Information Service, has garnered numerous accolades and more importantly, brought attention to student writers of all ages across the state.

Susan Andrews is a former news director and evening news co-anchor at KTVF-Channel 11 in Fairbanks, John Creed a former reporter for the Fairbanks Daily News-Miner.

“Mr. Creed, I’m so glad to have had you as a teacher for all the semesters that I did. I hated anything to do with writing papers, but with your support and encouragement I made it through those two years.

Specifically, you taught me how to put my thoughts down on paper, how to blend it all together, and most importantly, to keep it simple.

Because of your constructive classes, I was able to successfully start a ministry when I was 16 years old by writing devotionals that reached Alaska, the Lower 48, and became international. That ministry is now known worldwide, but unfortunately, people forgot about the true meaning behind it. I still meet random people in the Lower 48 who have read and recognized my writing. I also would not be able to successfully come so far in accomplishing my dreams of being a nurse-midwife without your courses. You have taught four people in my family, within three generations, and we will be forever grateful for you. Thank you for all the effort you put towards people and their future.”

-Savannah Kramer Jones

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• 4 C lowbush cranberries (I get mine from near Kutvak's place in Sisualik, any lingonberries will work.)

• 1 1/2 C sugar • 2 cinnamon sticks

KIKMINAQ SAUCE RECIPE Lowbush (lingonberry) Cranberry Sauce

(or 2 tsp cinnamon) • 1 tsp ground cloves • 1 C golden raisins • 1 Naval orange, zest and juice • 1 TBS fruit pectin Add all ingredients to a pot and cook for about 25 min, stirring constantly. Cranberries will pop, but you can use a potato masher to help them among. Cook on med-low until thickened. Add to pint sized jars and store in refrigerator for up to 2 months.

MAKES TWO PINTS

Perfect for your thanksgiving dinner, or a great accompaniment to roast goose, crane or swan.

Super good on turkey sandwiches.

-maija lukin

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