The first time ever I saw this place

By NUNATSIAQ NEWS

JIM SHIRLEY

As an Afro-American, who spent most of his early life on the streets of New York, I have always been aware of the sense of connection that binds one person to one another, and to the totality of the environment they live in. I first read about the Keewatin through the works of Farley Mowat. I found his fiction fascinating; the idea of people who had lived for thousands of years in an area without trees, a place in which the snow and the cold predominated. Living in Brooklyn at the time, I recall thinking that my chances of ever visiting such a place were close to zero. But this was one dream that came true.

In the spring of 1979, I stepped out of a Transair DC-3 and made my way across a stretch of hardened earth to a crude but functional quonset hut that served as the airport terminal back then. I had just been hired by the Government of the Northwest Territories as an arts and crafts development officer. It was my good fortune to arrive at a time many consider to be the most creative and prolific in the history of Inuit arts and artists in the Kivalliq.

Rankin was one of the most exciting places I had ever seen. There was elegance and music in the way people went about their daily lives. I loved the sound of the language and the smiles on the faces of the people I passed in the streets. The oral nature of the culture was still strong back then, a reminder of my early days in the South Bronx. Here in the Kivalliq, I could see a beautiful and endless land in the faces and voices of the people. And I could see it in their art.

It wasn’t long before I was taken by ATV over to the Diane River where lots of folks were fishing. What a sight — a rushing, frothing, blue-clean river, with people along the shore catching the largest and most beautiful fish I had ever seen. A natural, organic kind of politics seemed to be part of the way that people interacted with one another. There was sharing, and a mutual trust and respect — all of it anchored in an ancient balance between people and their natural environment.

After 24 years, my mind often goes back to that time. Profound changes have taken place as far as the connection between people and nature, and the sources of their self-sufficiency are concerned. Increasingly, we’re living in a man-made, materialistic world in the North. The harmony and balance between people and resources is becoming secondary to a more “southern” view of reality — one based on the needs of the individual rather than the needs of the community. I know about this view of reality. As an Afro-American, I was born in it — I am a product of it.

Years ago, when Nunavut was first on the horizon, I wondered about the ways a traditional communally-based, nomadic economy would make the shift to a modern one. I was intrigued with the idea of a modern economy driven by Inuit principles. This romantic version of a modern economy isn’t easy to achieve.

We live in a wage-labor economy, consuming things that we import from other wage-labor economies. I am as much part of this puzzle as anybody, and we’ve all paid a price for it. There is an emptiness, a loss of purpose that has led to all kinds of serious social problems. We have some hard choices to make about our way of life.

I know that there are lots of folks trying to figure out a way to create a society that builds on its formidable strengths, rather than trying to react to outside influences. I support them now more than ever. A modern culture and economy based on Inuit traditional principles? Maybe some of our leaders and politicians will take another look at this possibility. It’s something that we should all continue to work for and keep as a political objective.

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