(Iqaluit) Cutting fish, lighting a fire or building an igloo: in Nunavut, a hunter tries to reconnect young Inuit to their culture, to allow them to keep their heads above water.
Posted at 11:25 a.m.
They are a dozen teenagers and young adults gathered around the solid build of Alex Flaherty. They don’t want to miss any of their instructor’s precise gestures as he carves the fish, or lights the fire.
“Change is so rapid today that we are losing our culture, it is disappearing”, and the youngest are losing their footing, says the 30-something, khaki green cap pulled down on his head.
In three years, he took hundreds of teenagers hiking, camping and hunting in the vastness of the tundra.
At the heart of the camps, funded by the Government of Nunavut, are “Inuit culture, adaptation to climate change” and “the question of mental health”.
The participants are usually between 12 and 20 years old, because “that’s when they need help, when they are teenagers”, adds the head of the organization Polar Outfitting.
One of the keys is to be outside: in the summer, they walk the rocky hills that surround Iqaluit, the capital of 7,000 inhabitants, mainly indigenous people, accessible only by plane.
But they also learn to make a fishing net, to catch arctic char, to navigate, to survive in the extreme conditions of this territory where there are only a few hours of sunshine in winter.
In winter, they ice fish and build igloos, among other traditional activities.
“Talking about it to heal”
Mid-length, black hair separated by a parting in the middle, Annie Kootoo, 22, the oldest of the group, is pleased to feel “excitement, happiness” after these ten days.
I was outside, I did many activities that I don’t usually do, it was very beneficial for my morale.
Annie Kootoo, 22 years old and mother of two children
Same feeling of well-being for Chris Laisa, 14 years old. “It was funny, I learned how to remove the skin from a fish, to prepare it, that’s what I wanted,” says the teenager, neon orange glasses on his eyes and a shy smile on his lips.
“It’s not just about fishing. It allows you to clear your mind, to be outdoors, to share with others,” says Alex Flaherty.
In Nunavut, where the average age of the population is 28, young people face significant social problems — sexual abuse, violence, alcoholism — partly linked to the intergenerational traumas of colonialism.
Like many Aboriginal communities, the Inuit are haunted by the memory of the residential schools they were forced to attend, sometimes until the 1990s. Ottawa has recognized them as instruments of “cultural genocide”.
The scars of this legacy are most pronounced in this region where many of the survivors of these residential schools live, according to a report.
And the suicide rate is much higher for Inuit in Nunavut (76.6 per 100,000 population in 2020) than the average elsewhere in Canada (10.1), according to Statistics Canada.
Faced with this scourge, Camilla Sehti, responsible for mental health and addiction in the Government of Nunavut, also relies on initiatives aimed at “reconnecting people to their culture”.
“Colonization had a huge impact on this territory and on people’s ability to feel connected to themselves,” she explains.
After losing her best friend two years ago, Minnie Akeeagok, 18, multiplies prevention messages on social networks.
“I know at least five people with depression problems or who have committed suicide…”, says the young girl with the traditional Inuit tattoo on her arm.
“We need more resources, more access to care in Nunavut,” denounces the one who now wants to get involved in this field with the isolated communities of the region.
Because as she reminds us, outside the cities, the situation is even more problematic.