April
29, 2005
"Arnaasiaq"
and "angutaasiaq" people deserve love and tolerance
KARLA JESSEN WILLIAMSON
This is in response to
recent headlines in Nunatsiaq News about Nancy Karetak-Lindell, the member of
Parliament for Nunavut, deciding to vote for Bill C-38, the legislation on same-sex
civil marriage.
This really rings a bell
for me since I have not sensed that Inuit cultural teachings taught us to be
intolerant.
When I was growing up as
a little girl in Kalaallit Nunaat, or Greenland, my maternal grandmother lived
in a smaller community - Kangaamiut - north of where I was growing up in Maniitsoq.
She was the person from whom I was introduced to Inuit silarsuangat, the Inuit
world view.
My grandmother was a typical
Inuk woman, small and petite in stature and never asserting an authoritarian
voice. She taught me to look at my own values in relation to others around me
rather than judging other people. Aanaga was a widow - she lost her husband
while she was expecting another child.
Her best friend was Aada,
a male, and even though he was broad and hefty, his movements were always effeminate.
He and my grandmother could talk for hours when they met and much of it full
of good laughter. At one time my grandmother told me that Aada was "arnaasiaq"
- a man who should have been a woman.
There was no drama involved
in this statement, no rejection, no condemnation - just a fact. I loved him
as he provided much love and assurance to my grandmother when she needed good
company. Now, Aada in his state of "arnaasiaq" would, in the present-day
context, be considered a homosexual, a person who, according to the present
day social unrest, is to be hated and condemned.
I am so very happy that
he never had to experience this kind of hostility, as he also passed away. Have
we really become so intolerant as Inuit?
To me, this is against
the grain of Inuit thinking. Arnaasiaq and for that matter angutaasiaq (women
who should have been men) talk about their roles in Inuit society with no reference
to sexual behaviour. Aada indeed worked as a woman, and was very good at cleaning
houses, dishes, clothes, floors and what not. These activities are something
that women really took seriously and prided themselves as being the best things
to do in society.
He was well appreciated
for his niftiness, tidiness, thoughtfulness and his kind heart. He laughed at
his own mistakes, and was well-respected in the small community - at that time
no more than 200 people.
The intolerance that I
have noticed now is most likely in reference to the categorization of sexual
behaviour. I must say that sexuality is one of the strongest drives in all creation.
Humans are not the only was who are active in that regard. Tuktuit do it, the
arviit do it and big whales and small insects do it. Human sexuality is no big
deal from that point of view, but social values change and one of the biggest
changes that happened to Inuit in that regard is in reference to Christianity.
Inuit across the Arctic
have been very good at adopting various kinds of Christianity. In Greenland
where I grew up, the Lutheran religion has held the Inuit imagination since
the 1720s. In Canada, Inuit are either Catholics or Anglicans. In Alaska and
Russia, our Inuit cousins have adopted different kinds of Russian religions.
The "arnaasiaq"
Aada was a very good Lutheran. He was baptized, and went to all important church
services and embraced the Lutheran church activities. He was also buried in
a regular churchyard, like the rest of his congregation.
Despite that, I have never
swayed from my belief in our collective Inuit belief system. In fact, I am a
strong believer in our Inuit culture.
Our new lives teach us
to be judgmental and to reject certain people - but our true Inuktitut teaching
teaches us differently. Directives on terms such as "homosexual" and
"arnaasiaq/angutaasiaq" are very clear on that, and some times it
is hard to make sense of changes since Inuit cultures have evolved so rapidly.
It is in the context of
the above that I greatly appreciate Nancy Karetak-Lindell's decision to vote
for Bill C-38. I congratulate her on her brave decision and ask the Inuit of
Canada to join her in this mark of tolerance and acceptance. I know that many
"arnaasiat" and "angutaasiat" embrace hope for life through
their church denominations and they, like any other human being are capable
of love, to receive and give.
Karla Jessen Williamson
lives in Ottawa.
April 22, 2005
Tax returns mean benefits
Between 1994 and 1995, the federal government made a decision that affected
thousands of low-income families in Nunavut.
They stopped producing mother's allowance, or "baby bonus" cheques,
a federal social benefit that was started in the 1950s to help parents buy food
and other necessities for their children. It's a scheme that put badly needed
cash into the hands of Inuit families for many years.
In its place, the federal government created a new program called the Child
Tax Credit.
But for many low-income people, especially those who have difficulty filling
out forms and understanding government documents written in English or French,
there is one big hitch: to get the Child Tax Credit, you have to fill out an
income tax return and send back to the government. The same goes for the GST
Tax Credit, which is aimed at lower income people.
No one knows how many Inuit in Nunavut, because of an inability to complete
tax returns, are missing out on benefits they're entitled to receive from the
federal government.
But anecdotal evidence suggests that there are far too many. This past March,
Peter Kattuk, the MLA who represents Sanikiluaq, told the legislative assembly
that within his community, there is no help available for people who are unable
to fill out their own income tax returns.
Until about 25 years ago, Nunavummiut could find this kind of help at their
local adult education centre, especially when adult education centres were run
by the federal government.
But when responsibility for vocational and post-secondary education was devolved
from Ottawa to the Government of the Northwest Territories, the adult education
centres were appropriated by Arctic College. Income tax assistance and some
other useful community services were lost.
In recent years, Revenue Canada, in response to complaints from Nunavummiut
relayed through the office of Nunavut MP Nancy Karetak-Lindell, have sent workers
to Nunavut every spring to help educate people about the importance of doing
income returns, and to train volunteer helpers. This year, they're hiring and
training four Inuktitut-speaking people to help people in Nunavut.
These are worthy efforts, but they may not be enough. The Government of Nunavut
has a legitimate role to play too, though until now they've been shirking it.
But the adult learning centres, now run by the GN through Nunavut Arctic College,
are still the logical places for providing this kind of service to the people
of Nunavut.
It's a literacy issue. Ordinary wage-earners and social assistance recipients
aren't supposed to need the help of an accountant to fill out a basic income
tax return. Believe it or not, the forms are designed so that ordinary people
can do them on their own.
So the obvious long-term solution is to help people gain the basic language
and number skills they need to do their own tax returns. When you learn how
to do something for yourself instead of having someone from the government do
it for you, you gain a little more power over your life. And those simple skills
are useful in other areas of life - such as a job.
That is the purpose of adult education. Unfortunately, not nearly enough of
it is being done in Nunavut.
A recent review done by a consultant showed, to no one's surprise, that Nunavut's
provider of adult education, Nunavut Arctic College, is in a dysfunctional state,
and is only now emerging from a protracted period of administrative and financial
chaos.
This will no doubt lead to much furrow-browed complaining by MLAs, who will
demand that Arctic College do more of this, and do more of that.
While they're at it, they might also think about pressing the college for things
that might actually help their constituents. Help and education in doing one's
own income tax return is a good place to start. JB
April
15 2005
When vital help is
privatized
For nearly five years,
the Government of Nunavut has touted the Ilisaqsivik Society of Clyde River
as a splendid example of how community-based do-it-yourself style health and
social programs ought to work, holding it up as a model for other communities
to follow.
That's understandable.
Since its start-up more than 10 years ago, the society is now close to being
the biggest employer in the community, offering full- and part-time jobs and
training to about 60 people.
And it offers a long list
of valuable services to a long list of people who need them. On average, about
100 people a day come into the centre. What they get can be as simple as a cup
of tea and a friendly conversation, or as vital and life-giving as counselling,
literacy programs, and advice on basic nutrition for mothers and children. The
centre, obviously a focal point for commmunity life, acts as host to a variety
of groups representing elders, youth, women, and men.
It also gives the Government
of Nunavut an opportunity to brag that it's created what bureaucrats call a
"one-stop-shopping" approach to social and public health services
in the community. That simply means clients can find everything they need in
one place, rather than in widely scattered offices whose staff don't talk to
each other or co-ordinate their work.
To pay for all those programs
and services, Ilisaqsivik relies on a patchwork quilt of short-term grants from
a variety of federal and territorial handout programs. To survive, they've become
experts, apparently, at the art of grantsmanship: knowing how to sniff out pots
of money, then hunt them down and bring them home.
So what's wrong with this
picture?
For starters, it's a way
for governments to provide essential public health and social services on the
cheap, by exploiting the unpaid, or low-paid, labour of volunteers and idealistic
community activists without having to make long-term financial or political
commitments.
In short, it's a way of
outsourcing, or privatizing, community services.
Given the GN's tight financial
situation, its hard to blame territorial officials for adopting this approach,
which gets them, as the bureaucratic buzz-term goes, more "bang for the
buck." And it's appropriate that some services, especially those related
to recreation or culture, be handled by volunteers. It's equally important for
government to encourage voluntarism and mutual aid within communities.
Some services, such as
those aimed at suicide prevention, nutrition education, and family counseling,
are vital. Given Nunavut's well-known realities, they're services that ought
to become permanent programs of government, whether they're delivered by third
parties or by government employees.
But they're not. Essential
though its programs may be, the Ilisaqsivik Society's fate hinges on the fate
of a large number of here-today-gone-tomorrow funding programs that could be
reduced or eliminated at any time. The Ilisaqsivik Society's workers spend large
amounts of time writing proposals and letters to keep the money flowing, instead
of running programs. They operate under the fear that at the end of every fiscal
year, they may have to shut down. And because of that uncertainty, it's difficult
for them to plan.
As many Nunavummiut know,
this problem plagues numerous community groups, and some have collapsed under
the strain, such as Iqaluit's Illitiit Society.
It's no wonder, then, that
for more than a year now the Ilisaqsivik Society has begged the GN for "core
funding." ("Core funding" is bureaucratic jargon for a guaranteed
amount of money every year to pay for basic administration costs and permanent
programs.) That, they say, would compensate their workers for time spent hunting
down grants, and provide them enough security to plan for the future.
The territorial and federal
governments deserve praise for encouraging the growth of groups like Ilisaqsivik.
But in nurturing that growth, they've created a new set of problems. Sooner
or later, the GN will be forced to consider whether such groups should be made
permanent and that will cost money. JB
April 1, 2005
The wackos are back
The once-mighty animal
rights movement is trying to bring back its glory days.
In an attempt to revive
the influence it once wielded in the 1970s and 1980s, a coalition of animal
rights extremists, led by the Humane Society of the U.S., launched a vitriolic
campaign against the Newfoundland seal hunt last month with a series of demonstrations
in cities around the world and a threatened boycott of Canadian fish products.
As always, they say they're
not targeting the eastern Arctic seal hunt. But as the Inuit of the eastern
Arctic know well, when Newfoundland seal hunters are attacked, Inuit seal hunters
get hurt too.
In the late 1970s and early
1980s, a small but useful renewable-resource economy based on the sale of adult
seal pelts was ruined by a European ban on the importation of sealskin products.
Because of this arbitrary restriction on trade in a legitimate commodity, the
price of seal pelts plummeted, and many hunting families in Nunavut lost a vital
source of cash income.
The primary purpose of
seal hunting in Nunavut and Nunavik is, of course, the production of nutritious
and much-desired food.
But it also has a commercial
side: the sale of pelts, which helps hunters get the money they need to pay
the ever-rising costs of hunting equipment and supplies. When hunters lose the
cash they need to buy things like gasoline, naptha, ammunition, and so on, the
entire hunting culture suffers. As numerous eastern Arctic political leaders
have pointed out, this is the real threat posed by the animal rights movement.
It's no wonder, then, that these organizations are so thoroughly detested, and
feared, in northern Canada.
But should the people of
the eastern Arctic be worried by this latest eruption of nonsense from the anti-sealing
lobby?
For the moment, no. Last
month's anti-sealing demonstrations failed to attract much participation. In
Ottawa, a demonstration of anti-sealing fanatics was upstaged by a group of
students from Nunavut Sivuniksavut, who showed up to remind people about the
central role that seal hunting plays in most Inuit cultures.
At the same time, the market
for adult seal pelts is now healthy. They've been fetching record prices recently
at the fur exchange in North Bay, Ontario, ranging up to about $90 a pelt. Every
year, more than 1,200 hunters in Nunavut are selling about 10,000 pelts into
this market, and it's putting real cash into the pockets of hunters. Fur products
are fashionable again, while the animal rights movement is not.
But the animal rights movement
also has a powerful reason for continuing its anti-sealing campaign: fundraising.
In the 1970s and 1980s, groups like Greenpeace and the International Fund for
Animal Welfare used their hysterical manipulation of the Newfoundland seal hunt
to extract many millions of dollars from the pockets of gullible donors. Anti-sealing
NGOs and their employees also have a vital economic interest in the seal hunt.
Their movement is also an industry.
This time around, however,
the Inuit of the eastern Arctic are in a better position to counter their propaganda,
and to persuade would-be animal rights supporters in the South to keep their
money in their pockets. JB
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