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Iqaluit says goodbye to dedicated activist

Gordon Barnes leaves Iqaluit after helping community’s homeless

Gordon Barnes says crime has driven him and his young family out of Iqaluit. Vandals recently smashed the family's front window.

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(PHOTOS BY KIRSTEN MURPHY)

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KIRSTEN MURPHY

Outspoken and dedicated anti-poverty activist Gordon Barnes left town last week, disheartened by the increase in crime in Iqaluit.

Friends gathered on Sept. 5 at the Oqota emergency shelter, where Barnes served as executive director, to say goodbye. He left three days later with his two young children to start a new life on Canada’s east coast.

"It’s getting hard to survive here if you don’t fight – and I don’t like to fight," he said in an interview before leaving. "When you’re in my line of work, you see a lot of negative things like alcoholism, drug addiction and family violence. I’m burned out."

CLICK PHOTO TO ENLARGE
The outspoken anti-poverty activist was the executive director of Iqaluit's Oqota emergency shelter. He said goodbye to friends on Sept. 5.

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His wife Tracy Kulluarlik will join the family at Christmas. In the meantime, she will help operate the 14-bed shelter with Joamie Kilabuk.

When Barnes arrived in Iqaluit in 1979, he cleaned floors and drove a cab for a living. He describes the community back then as a friendly place governed by an Inuit code of conduct based on generosity and trust.

Two months ago, Davidee Nowdlak was beaten into a coma just a few metres from Barnes’ front door. Nowdlak died on Aug. 6 from the injuries he sustained. The fatal beating was the final straw in a long line of concerns, Barnes said.

"I don’t want my kids to see things like that," he said.

Compounding his fears, vandals smashed his living room window a couple of weeks ago.

Hard times

Although never homeless himself, Barnes had his share of hard times.

"I came close [to being homeless] but I always got by. Even if it meant sleeping on people’s couches. I’m very resourceful," he said.

The oldest of 11 children growing up in Halifax, he was raised by poor but honest parents, he said. His father’s family hailed from France. His mother was of Scottish and aboriginal decent – the latter of which fueled his appreciation for Inuit culture.

A shy child, Barnes learned to read burying himself in Spiderman comic books. He was the first person in his family to attend school. Barnes went as far as Grade 9 but dropped out at the age of 14 because his grandparents, with whom he lived at the time in Grand Le Pierre, Newfoundland, couldn’t afford school supplies.

Barnes earned his general equivalency diploma (GED) as an adult.

He has worked as a deep-sea fisherman, cleaner, bartender, car detailer and telemarketer. But he’s most proud of his work as a family counsellor, intervention worker and shelter director.

He worked odd jobs in Iqaluit from 1979 to 1985, then left for Ottawa and later Winnipeg. He returned 10 years later in 1995 when his wife was offered a job with Nunavut Tunngavik Inc.

The hardest aspect about leaving now, he said, is knowing he’ll never return – at least not while his children are young.

"The community has changed. It’s hard to see the elders dying and the Inuit yuppies, the ones with office jobs, who don’t go hunting or do traditional things," he said.

"There has to be a happy medium between progress and the past because the past is what we learn from."

Barnes said elders such as Simonie and Inga Alainga had a significant impact on his life.

"They taught me to respect human nature, take one day at a time and don’t take things personally. They reinforced what my grandfather taught me," Barnes said.

"Street-wise, dedicated"

Bill Riddell met Barnes 20 years ago. The two men worked closely together after the Illitiit Society asked Barnes to run the Oqota shelter in December 1998. As chair of the society, Riddell received almost daily calls from Barnes, sometimes in middle of the night.

"I’ll miss his energy," Riddell said. "He was street-wise, dedicated and tapped into the community. The kind of person you need for that kind of job."

Glenn Thompson, Baffin Regional director of the territorial health department, said Barnes provided a valuable link between the government and people with no fixed address.

"He’s certainly been our rescuer, especially in the middle of the night when there are homeless people with mental disorders and no one else wants to help," Thompson said. "He’s made a terrific contribution to us and to clients."

Although soft-spoken by nature, Barnes is known for his strong opinions.

He was one of the first people to publicize the plight of Iqaluit families sleeping in shifts in overcrowded houses.

In 2000, he was openly critical of the Nunavut Housing Corporation’s failure to provide affordable housing in Iqaluit.

He was Nunavut’s first representative on the executive board of the National Anti-Poverty Organization, a position he resigned shortly before his departure.

He said what he’ll miss most about Iqaluit are the people.

"The Inuit have such a generous nature. You’ll never hear of people freezing to death because of homelessness. Someone always takes you in," he said.

Although unsure what he’ll do for work, Barnes said he’ll spend the next two months in Prince Edward Island doing manual labour on his father’s property.

He’s looking forward to holding his first grandson – a special gift from his 27-year-old daughter from his first marriage.

Barnes’ legacy of good will inevitably last long after he’s gone.

"If you can help someone and not question why you’re doing it," he said, "your heart opens up, you feel good.

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