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Editorial

August 2, 2002 - Is there a cure for municipal fiasco syndrome?
August 9, 2002 - Does the ICC matter?
August 16, 2002 - Blondin-Andrew's behaviour disgraceful
August 23, 2002 - ICC shouldn’t give up on language work
August 30, 2002 - Solid oral research needed on dog slaughter issue

August 2, 2002

Is there a cure for municipal fiasco syndrome?

Municipal fiasco syndrome. It’s not a new disease — but Iqaluit’s got it bad.

The symptoms are easy to spot. Typical patients suffer from the extensive leakage of other people’s money, followed by uncontrollable outbreaks of lying, excuse-making and generalized whining.

The disease also leaves lasting scars on the bodies of its victims, Iqaluit’s botched-up sewage treatment plant being a prime example.

Work on it began in 1998, under the supervision of a British Columbia company called Hill Murray, which has since gone belly-up. Four years and millions of dollars later, the building is sitting, unused, on the shores of Koojesse Inlet. It may yet become a permanent monument to the Iqaluit council’s comic history of pratfalls and blunders.

As is well known, the project cost the City of Iqaluit more than $7 million. Most of which was the territorial government’s money, handed out to Iqaluit in the form of capital grants, and paid to Hill Murray.

In addition, there’s the $500,000 or so they’ve received from a bonding company that was supposed to provide financial backup for the project. That money’s been spent on reinforcing concrete retaining walls that weren’t made properly. Iqaluit administrators were aware of this problem in the fall of 1999, but issued a $2.8-million cheque to Hill Murray anyway.

That was supposed to be the only problem with the project. At various times throughout 2000 and 2001, Iqaluit officials predicted that the plant would be operating as soon as those walls were fixed.

Meanwhile, Iqaluit was charged in 2001 for discharges of raw effluent from the outdated sewage lagoon that the new plant was supposed to replace. This week, after Iqaluit pleaded guilty, the court ordered the city to pay $100,000 in fines and other payments.

More than two years too late, Iqaluit city councillors — and the public — know the full extent of the fiasco. A consultant’s report issued to Iqaluit councillors last week shows the new plant is in much worse shape than anyone thought.

The report says that the building’s floor is sagging, and that its electrical equipment is in violation of building codes. The consultant estimates the city will have to spend additional funds to make the plant work, and that even then it may not be capable of processing the growing amounts of sewage the people of Iqaluit are expected to produce in the future.

City council has yet to make a formal decision on what it will do with this advice, and there’s no information about where it will find the nearly $4 million required for the repairs. "I think the reality is that we’ll be using the sewage lagoon for another season," Iqaluit Mayor John Matthews told Nunatsiaq News this week. No kidding.

On CBC radio earlier this week, Matthews said that he prefers not to "blame" anyone for the sewage plant fiasco. Heaven forbid that someone might actually be held accountable.

Instead, he said, the experience ought to be used as a learning exercise. We wholeheartedly agree. So here’s our list of lessons that we think could be learned, a preventative regimen aimed at blocking future outbreaks of municipal fiasco syndrome:

• Lesson One: The community of Iqaluit and its council have so far proven incapable of handling the basic responsibilities of being Nunavut’s capital city. The government of Nunavut should play a stronger role in overseeing Iqaluit’s municipal government, especially water and sewer infrastructure development, municipal planning, and financial management. If Iqaluit continues to blunder, then the GN should take those responsibilities back and do the work itself.

• Lesson Two: The next time the municipal engineer’s job is vacated, don’t hire someone who’s under criminal investigation or facing criminal charges.

We’re referring, of course, to Denis Bedard, the Iqaluit municipal engineer who managed the botched project. Even after Bedard was charged in the spring of 1999 with seven crimes of dishonesty related to his past employment with the GNWT (three counts of fraud, three counts of theft over $5,000 and one count of breach of trust), Iqaluit’s municipal councillors were more than happy to trust him with the management of their public works department. "The town’s not going to judge him. The town’s already evaluated his work and it’s more than up to par. The town’s happy with his work," one happy-go-lucky Iqaluit councillor told Nunatsiaq News in 1999.

• Lesson Three: Don’t write cheques to contractors for building projects that don’t work.

In the fall of 1999, the aforementioned Denis Bedard, and the acting SAO at the time, Paul Fraser, cut a $2.9-million cheque to pay Hill Murray for its work on the sewage plant. They already had an independent engineer’s report in their hands that said the plant would not work. That report was not shown to municipal councillors. Iqaluit’s auditor later said this put the municipality at "significant financial risk."

• Lesson Four: Don’t sign contracts that place gag orders on councillors.

The contract to build the new sewage plant contained a provision that said councillors were not allowed to discuss Hill Murray’s "performance" in public. Even those few councillors who had the mental capacity to understand the seriousness of the situation couldn’t provide effective oversight. That meant there was no public scrutiny of the project, and partly explains why the full extent of the fiasco has been unknown until now.

• Lesson Five: If an administrator fails to share vital information with city council, fire him.

• Lesson Six: Don’t eat the clams.

JB

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August 9, 2002

Does the ICC matter?

Does the Inuit Circumpolar Conference matter anymore?

When 700 members of the circumpolar elite gather in Kuujjuaq next week, we hope that at least some of them find the time to think about this serious question.

To help focus their minds, they might wish to consider this: Just last week, an 18-year-old Kuujjuaq man was charged with first degree murder after another young man, aged 27, was shot in the head with a rifle. When this happened, the 18-year-old already faced an assault with a weapon charge laid in connection with a violent incident earlier this year. In that one, a man was wounded in the stomach 10 times with a 12-gauge shotgun.

This kind of incident — violent death by homicide, suicide or accident — is one of many reasons explaining why the life-expectancy of people in the Nunavik region is 64 years, in a nation where the average life expectancy is 79.

In Nunavut the life expectancy is a little higher — about 71 years. But the rate of violent crime in Nunavut is the highest in the country, and it's rising rapidly. The rate of violence against the self — suicide — shows no signs of abatement. Neither does the rate of substance abuse and other forms of self-destructive behaviour.

So as they engage in the obligatory rituals of self-congratulation that will mark the ICC's 25th anniversary, the circumpolar world's political establishment might be well-advised to take a look at the world of misery that lies all around them. From Chukotka to Greenland, social deterioration is visible across the part of the circumpolar world that's inhabited by Inuit.

But the agenda for next week's ICC gathering contains no evidence that the circumpolar world's political establishment is even aware of the basic social and economic problems that plague Inuit communities in the Arctic.

Issues like global warming, human rights, circumpolar trade, and the development of a common writing system for the Inuit language are all important, of course. But in the course of its work, the ICC has rarely been able to capture the imaginations of ordinary people living in the communities they purport to represent - mainly because they have rarely been effective in handling the issues that matter most to them.

Another difficulty is that their much-vaunted idea of circumpolar unity often breaks down when faced with the parochialism of its constituent members.

For example, the organization has been promoting the idea of a common writing system for the Inuit language since 1989. It's a well-intentioned idea, based on the hope that one day, Inuit in Canada and Greenland will read each other's books, magazines and newspapers.

But in Nunavut and Nunavik, the idea has gone nowhere. Most Canadian Inuit who use syllabics have no interest in switching to Roman orthography, even though Roman orthography materials are cheaper, easier to produce, and would be accessible to Greenlanders. In Nunavik, the Avataq institute has gone back to the old "ai-pai-tai" syllabic system, turning their backs on the modern dual orthography system developed in the 1970s.

It's no wonder then, that the ICC language commission will be talking next week about whether the body should even continue to exist. If that happens, the ICC will have lost a chance to make a difference in the lives of ordinary people.

The ICC has been less than effective on circumpolar trade issues, for similar reasons. At the 1998 ICC gathering in Nuuk, Greenland, Canada raised the idea of lobbying the U.S. government to amend the Marine Mammals Protection Act, so that sealskin products from Canada and Greenland may be legally exported to the vast U.S. market.

But Alaskan delegates opposed the idea, because for them, the MMPA is a guarantor of those few aboriginal rights they have left. Since subsistence aboriginal hunting rights are constantly under attack in Alaska, this is not an unreasonable position for them to take — but it doesn't do much for the cause of circumpolar unity.

Another example is last year's cancellation of a longstanding Canada-Greenland airline service by Nunavik's Inuit-owned airline, First Air. Even though this happened on the eve of the Nuuk-Iqaluit Arctic Winter Games, political leaders in Nunavut and Nunavik hardly seemed to care.

Maybe that's why ICC leaders don't want to discuss the Arctic's appalling social conditions. Having demonstrated their impotence in handling a range of less difficult issues, perhaps they're reluctant to set themselves up for even more failure.

It may also be that such a discussion would force Inuit leaders to take a hard look at their most precious beliefs — beliefs that many are apparently unwilling to surrender. The strongest of these is that self-government and self-determination will, all by themselves, eradicate crime, poverty, addiction, suicide, mental illness, and all the other evils that have been attributed to colonialism.

We know now that various forms of aboriginal self-government, although right and necessary, do not by themselves guarantee that the lives of aboriginal people will get better.

In May of 1998, Aqqaluk Petersen, a Greenlandic researcher, presented a paper to the Congress of the International Association for Arctic Social Sciences that showed how Greenland's social problems have intensified since the creation of its home rule government in 1979.

Petersen found that after home rule, Greenland's suicide rate jumped from an average of seven deaths a year to an average of 49 a year.

"I have witnessed my own generation of Greenlanders either kill themselves, commit suicide or succumb to deep alcohol abuse," Petersen told his fellow researchers.

Petersen's own conclusion is fairly simple — that the real cause is not colonialism, but modernization. Although European colonizers stimulated the modernization of the Arctic, the pace of modernization tends to move even faster in the post-colonial period. The creation of Nunavut and the settlement of the Nunavut land claim agreement are good examples of this. Just look at the turbulent urbanization of Iqaluit, and the tide of social problems that have arisen in its wake.

Petersen said, however, that Greenland's political elites are ignoring these realities: "The Greenlandic political establishment now has to wake up to the fact that these social problems are our own making — although there is still a powerful movement in the Greenlandic society for more independence from Denmark, implying that in the process, our social problems will be solved," he said.

These words could be applied just as readily to Nunavut, or to any of the other regions that the ICC claims to represent. If the ICC wants to make a difference, its leaders must adjust their thinking. It's not 1977 any more.

JB

TOP

August 16, 2002

Blondin-Andrew's behaviour disgraceful

In northern Canada, it's hardly a secret that those who bully and intimidate crime victims into silence are a painful thorn in the side of the justice system.

Without credible witnesses, the justice system can't do its job, criminal offenders can't be made accountable for their actions, and victims of crime can't receive vindication. When all that happens, the justice system's reputation suffers badly.

Just last month, a Nunavut-based Crown prosecutor, in an interview with Nunatsiaq News, said witness intimidation is one of the most difficult challenges created by northern Canada's high rate of violent crime.

The issue emerged also at a conference of federal, provincial and territorial justice ministers in September 2000, when federal Crown prosecutors working in Nunavut said more or less the same thing to the National Post.

Even now, communities often rally around accused persons and shun their accusers — especially when the perpetrator is a prominent person.

It's within this context, then, that recent allegations concerning Ethel Blondin-Andrew's conduct must be judged. Given that she is representing the government of Canada at the Inuit Circumpolar Youth gathering in Kuujjuaq this week, in her capacity as Secretary of State for Children and Youth, it's essential that her recent conduct be analyzed and judged. The last thing that the youth of the circumpolar world need right now is more official hypocrisy.

We're referring, of course to recent allegations that Blondin-Andrew attempted to pressure the mother of a 18-year-old sexual assault victim into not pursuing charges against Michel Chrétien, the 33-year-old son of Prime Minister Jean Chrétien. The charges were laid against the younger Chrétien in Yellowknife late last month.

In news stories published in The Yellowknifer and The Globe and Mail, the mother alleged that Blondin-Andrew, after returning a message left at her constituency office, attempted to pressure the woman and her child into not pursuing the charges.

The most serious allegation, perhaps, is that Blondin-Andrew told the woman that she had been speaking to the prime minister and that he intended to stand by his son and help him fight the case. The woman also alleged that Blondin-Andrew told her that if she and her daughter pursued the case, the media would "smear" the family's reputation.

Without independent corroboration, we have no way of knowing whether these allegations are true, partly true, or totally false. If they are true, however, they demonstrate that Blondin-Andrew has no respect for the rule of law: the idea that everyone is equal under the law and that no one is above the law. In any society, those who can't understand that principle are unfit to hold public office.

For her part, Blondin-Andrew said, in a short statement issued from her office, that she did not say the things she is alleged to have said. But she didn't deny phoning the woman.
Peter MacKay, the Progressive Conservative party's justice critic and a former Crown prosecutor said he believes Blondin-Andrew should be investigated for obstruction of justice. MacKay also said that it was inappropriate for Blondin-Andrew even to have made the phone call.

He's right. Blondin-Andrew is a cabinet minister, a member of parliament, and, though she may be an insignificant voice in Ottawa, is still perceived in northern Canada as a powerful figure. She is also reported to be a backer of Jean Chrétien's continued leadership of the Liberal party.

Given the paralyzing fear that inhibits many crime victims in northern Canada, simply making the phone call, which Blondin-Andrew admits doing, ought to be grounds for dismissal from cabinet.

As prime minister, and as a parent of an adult child, Jean Chrétien cannot be held responsible for the actions of his son. But he is responsible for the actions of his cabinet ministers. To ensure there is no perception of political interference in the prosecution of the case against his son, Chrétien should have disciplined Blondin-Andrew by removing her from cabinet.

Unfortunately, that has not come to pass. Instead, Blondin-Andrew was allowed to attend a major aboriginal youth gathering this week in Kuujjuaq, no doubt to pass herself off as a friend to youth. One wonders what the 18-year-old girl Michel Chrétien is alleged to have sexually assaulted would have to say about that. Pass the Gravol please.

JB

TOP

August 23, 2002

ICC shouldn’t give up on language work

In Nunavut, the syllabic writing system is one of the most treasured legacies of the colonial period.

Invented by Anglican missionaries as an easy way to teach Inuit how to read the Bible, it spread rapidly across what is now Nunavik, Baffin and Kivalliq. Canadian Inuit consider the syllabic system to be theirs, and most are still opposed to the idea of giving it up.

This poses a big problem, to say the least, for the Inuit Circumpolar Conference’s language commission, which for the past decade has been studying the idea of a common circumpolar writing system for the Inuit language.

The development of such a writing system wouldn’t necessarily mean that a Roman writing system would replace syllabics. It’s possible that two parallel systems could co-exist.

But in Nunavut, the idea is perceived as a threat. That perception may not be entirely rational, but it’s a perception that matters.

Before the start of last week’s ICC gathering in Kuujjuaq, Nunavut’s minister of culture, language, elders and youth, Jack Anawak, spoke to ICC’s outgoing president, Aqqaluk Lynge, and told him that the Nunavut government has serious concerns with the ICC’s proposals for a common writing system.

Those concerns are numerous, and mostly based on various forms of fear. They include the fear that orthographic standardization might destroy local dialects, the fear that Nunavut’s education department won’t have the money to pay for a transition from syllabics to Roman, and the fear that non-school-attenders would have no chance to learn a new writing system.

There are other reasons, but you get the idea: in Nunavut, language standardization is a non-starter.

Many Nunavut leaders already know this. In 1989, when the ICC began to talk about language standardization, the idea was supported by at least some Canadian Inuit leaders. At the community level, however, the idea went nowhere.

In its two Footprints reports, the Nunavut Implementation Commission tried to figure out how to make the Inuit language an official language of the Nunavut government. As part of that work, they had to look at the idea of translating all of Nunavut’s statutes into the Inuit language. But what writing system and what dialect would be used?

Given that people in the western Kitikmeot use a type of Roman orthography, not syllabics, that’s a difficult question, and the NIC never answered it. But they did recommend that one writing system eventually be adopted for the translation of the Nunavut government’s laws.

In 1997, the NIC sponsored a large and, no doubt, expensive, language conference in Iqaluit. Delegates representing every community in Nunavut, as well as most of the organizations concerned with culture and language, packed Iqaluit’s cadet hall for a week. The pile of written submissions presented by various individuals and organizations stands nearly two feet high.

Although delegates talked about the designation of one writing system for all of Nunavut, they didn’t really reach consensus on it.

But they did make a recommendation that could point the way toward a compromise position that might make it possible for Nunavut to one day support the work of the ICC language commission.

That recommendation is that syllabics and Roman orthography be taught simultaneously throughout the Nunavut school system — that Nunavut school children learn both ways of writing at the same time. When circumpolar leaders are ready to reach consensus on a common, circumpolar writing system, this could be a way of convincing Nunavut residents that language standardization does not mean the death of syllabics.

So the ICC’s language commission should not give up on the idea of a common writing system. As Aqqaluk Lynge said on CBC radio last week, it’s probably the only way to guarantee the long-term survival of the Inuit language.

JB

TOP

August 30, 2002

Solid oral research needed on dog slaughter issue

For nearly five years Inuit organizations in Nunavut and Nunavik have been making an issue out of the infamous "dog slaughters" that took place in many Nunavut and Nunavik communities in the 1950s and 1960s.

The central allegation is that federal government officials ordered the systematic slaughter of Inuit dogteams to prevent Inuit from leaving the new communities that the government was creating all over the Arctic at that time. Qikiqtani Inuit Association and Makivik Corporation are suggesting that dogteams were destroyed as a means of destroying the nomadic Inuit way of life - remove the means of transportation, and you remove the ability to hunt.

The two organizations have been talking about this issue for a fairly short period of time. But Inuit have been talking to each other about it for many years. The memories are bitter, and the resentment is deep, especially as the dog slaughter stories are passed from one generation to the next.

QIA and Makivik are asking for an apology and compensation.

However, some government officials say the dogs were slaughtered for health and safety reasons - to protect people from rabies and canine distemper during a period when disease epidemics were still sweeping through the population.

What really happened?

Some superficial information about the dog slaughter is likely stored in a variety of public archives and other collections of old government documents.

But the first-hand evidence produced by collecting the oral recollections of Inuit could be crucial in resolving the issue and painting a clear picture of what happened.

That's how the protracted struggle for compensation of the High Arctic exiles was finally resolved. The Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples appointed Shelagh Grant, a historian at Trent University, to research the issue in a way that combined the oral recollections of Inuit with information found in government documents.

After giving due weight to the oral evidence provided by Inuit informants, Grant found that the High Arctic exiles had been telling the truth, basically. This was instrumental in pressuring the federal government into offering a $10-million compensation fund to the exiles and their descendants.

If it worked once, why not do it again? The two Inuit organizations, and, with any luck, the federal government, should each contribute to the cost of a thorough, well-organized research project that combines Inuit oral recollections with government documents.

In an essay published last year in a book called Northern Visions, Grant said that few Canadian historians are doing research in Inuit history, and even fewer are doing oral history projects.

Perhaps now might be a time to create an opportunity for someone to do just such project.

JB

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