Creating Nunavut: Reflections from an Inuk
By Robert Comeau | January 11, 2021
© Mark Edward Harris
By Robert Comeau | January 11, 2021
© Mark Edward Harris
My name is Robert, and I am an Inuk. I was born in Frobisher Bay in the Northwest Territories.
In 1999, my family and I were living in beautiful British Columbia. That’s the year my mom, Udloriak Hanson, travelled home to what is now called Iqaluit—the capital of Nunavut.
In the early nineties, a referendum was held, and Nunavut Agreement was signed in 1993, one year after I was born. On April 1, 1999, Nunavut became a territory. During this exciting time, my mom was coming into her adulthood. She was excited to return to her home and wanted to bring us back with her—but as a university student, she could not afford to travel across the country with a family of four for this celebration.
My mom and I on a hunt up the Sylvia Grinnell River, near Iqaluit, Nunavut.
What she did bring back to us in British Columbia was an unmistakable pride in our home territory of Nunavut. After she earned her first university degree, my mom went on to work for public governments and Inuit organizations, always using her privilege to advocate for and better the position of Inuit. This is something that has stuck with me as I follow in her footsteps with my own advocacy.
In the now more than twenty years since the creation of Nunavut, Inuit have continued to claim our space within Canada—not only through politics, but also through practicing, protecting, and sharing our unique culture.
Until I entered university myself, neither the Nunavut Agreement nor Nunavut as a territory had much of an impact on my life. Looking back now, however, I can see the immense importance it held for my mom and the rest of my community. We created our own territory as an Indigenous group; this accomplishment cannot be overstated.
In the 1970s, while many Inuit were still living on the land and sustaining themselves by harvesting, there were other Inuit using their residential school educations to become lawyers. They would go on to create the means for protecting our unique lifestyle—including overseeing the creation of the Nunavut Agreement and our own territory.
For me, these protections mean safeguarding our language and our harvesting rights. Inuit society depends on our connection to each other and our environment. These connections come from knowledge produced since time immemorial. Inuit Qaujimajatuqangit (Inuit traditional knowledge) is what Inuit know to be true—our own form of science, you could say.
© Michelle Valberg
Practicing traditional drum dance is one of the ways I work to preserve my culture.
This knowledge system is what guides our language and harvesting. When we harvest animals that sustain us—like fish, caribou, seal, or whales—our respect for the animals is front of mind. We are taught to use every part of the harvest, from the meat to the bones. Our elders teach us which parts to share with who and why.
Each season, I give my first catch to my Auntie Kathy because she is my arnaqutik. This means that she was there during my birth. This is one of the special relationships that I carry with me and is but one example of complex family support systems that comprise our unique worldview.
Building traditional qajait allows me to express my creative side and is a huge source of personal pride.
So, what do Nunavut and the Nunavut Agreement mean to me? It is the living process of Inuit planning and doing what is needed in order to protect our way of life. Inuit express this way of life in myriad ways.
To this day, we create amazing music, we perform tremendous athletic feats, and we produce gorgeous clothing and works of art. We revere the knowledgeable hunters supporting their families. We respect our change-makers who work to incorporate Inuit Qaujimajatuqangit into the everyday functioning of our territory.
Inuit in Nunavut have always worked and fought for the betterment of our own people. If it wasn’t for the hard work of Inuit who fought for equal recognition of our Inuktitut language, we would not be where we are today—with Inuktitut joining English and French together on territorial documentation and policy. If it weren’t for those Inuit who fought for education rights, we would not be where we are today—with our right to determine our own scholarly destiny.
© Dennis Minty
I'm proud to share my history and heritage, guiding trips in the North as a cultural educator and expedition team member.
Now that I am able to understand the history of colonization in Canada and the impact it has had on my family, I need to make the conscious choice to use my privilege. How can I work to make things better for Inuit?
One answer that I’ve been working on simply talking with other Canadians about it. The more we can raise awareness about our challenges and achievements as Inuit in Nunavut, the better the chance that when Inuit speak, southerners will listen.
So, this is where I challenge you to go beyond just celebrating Inuit success stories such as the creation of our territory of Nunavut. No Canadians should ignore the great achievements made by Inuit—and no Canadians should ignore the immense challenges we face. For a country that prides itself on a northern identity, there has been little effort to learn about the peoples of the North.
This process is not a comfortable one. It means deconstructing your preconceptions about us. It means taking an active listening role instead of deigning to tell us how we should fix the problems we face.
With the Truth and Reconciliation Commission’s Ninety-Four Calls to Action, or the Report of the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples' recommendations, there are ample resources for all Canadians to have a direct impact on how we move forward together.
Shown here, Nunavut is placed within its larger context of Indigenous treaty lands in Canada.
One of the other ways you can support this work is by finding out whose traditional territories you live upon. Is there a treaty? What is the expectation of you as a treaty person? If there is no treaty, what do you feel are your obligations as someone living on unceded lands?
The history of Nunavut marks the continuation of a tradition of resilient self-learning that has defined our culture for thousands of years—and will continue to do so for thousands more. When we pause to acknowledge these achievements, it also marks how far we still have to come as a country.