Next year, after two decades of negotiations, a new, semi-autonomous territory will be carved from Canada's Northwest Territories. When that happens, Nunavut (the Inuktitut word for "our land"), where almost 80 percent of the population is Inuit, will be the first territory in the Western Hemisphere with an enfranchised indigenous majority.
It will start with a remarkable system for managing its resources--one that combines satellite data with centuries-old indigenous understanding of how caribou migrate. "We're a small people," Inuit politician John Amagoalik has said, "but we have big ambitions."
Recently, two studies in the region showed how indigenous and scientific understanding can come together to safeguard environmental health. In managing their environment, many communities of the far North face higher stakes than their counterparts farther from the poles. A 1997 report by the international Arctic Monitoring and Assessment Program noted the vulnerability of delicate Arctic environments and said that their peoples "are among the most exposed populations in the world to certain environmental contaminants." These include heavy metals, especially near mine sites.
In the town of Kugluktuk (formerly Coppermine), you can find clear dividing lines that Nunavut will face. The mining industry has employed many residents, yet many in Kugluktuk also realize that mining threatens the health of caribou, an Inuit staple and a cultural icon.
The barren-lands caribou of northern Canada live on the tundra's lichens and have provided indigenous groups along their migration route with food, clothing and shelter-and cultural identity as well--for thousands of years. The average caribou yields about 45 kg (roughly 100 pounds) of meat that is lean and a little sweeter than beef. Indigenous communities here generally harvest a sustainably small portion of caribou herds (around 2 percent) for subsistence and cash. So if mine sites threaten caribou health, they may also threaten human health.
Mining has had a contentious history in the area since 1771, when an Englishman named Samuel Hearne and his Chipewyan guides came in search of Inuit copper and a Northwest Passage to the Pacific. Hearne's expedition brought disaster when his guides slaughtered a camp of sleeping Inuit about 15 kilometers south of Kugluktuk, at a spot named Bloody Falls. Lupin Mine, southeast of Kugluktuk, began yielding gold in 1982 and, until operations were suspended recently for market reasons, it employed many Kugluktuk residents.
Traditional wisdom about how to survive in the North is woven into nonlinear oral histories. These often frustrate researchers trained in Western scientific thinking. For decades, Western science has wrestled with how to glean applicable information from these stories. In September 1995, the Dogrib communities south and southeast of Kugluktuk, including the area near the Lupin mine, made caribou a priority for study. The Dogrib proposed a study with the West Kitikmeot/Slave Study Society (WKSSS), a consortium of communities and government agencies for managing caribou in the region of West Kitikmeot, extending southwest to the Great Slave Lake. With funding from WKSSS, the Dogrib Renewable Resources Committee began a four-year look at Dogrib knowledge of caribou, led by Allice Legat, a research associate with the Dene Cultural Institute and the Arctic Institute of North America.
At the same time, Anne Gunn, a wildlife scientist with the Northwest Territories' Wildlife Department, was conducting a WKSSS study on caribou migration using satellite collars to track herd movements. One aim was to see how to keep caribou from congregating at mine tailings, where they might be exposed to toxic residues. Gunn's study confirmed that caribou are attracted to mine sites mainly because the mines' open spaces and breezes offer relief from mosquitoes. But dust from the mine sites may expose caribou that browse there to lead, zinc, nickel, copper, arsenic and cyanide.
Gunn and her team tested ways of discouraging caribou from the Lupin mine. In that test, they took a page from the findings of the parallel study led by Legat.
"We tried a small-scale test," Gunn said, "using what the Dogrib call notsia"- fencing with flutters that catch the caribou's eye. Gunn set up temporary fencing with red nylon flutters strung between posts. They worked, diverting the caribou without startling them. Gunn noted that the Dogrib practice echoes one found in Poland for diverting wolves--parallel discoveries made by cultures half a world apart.
Meanwhile, the Dogrib have seen value in Gunn's use of satellite collars. Although at first skeptical because of concern that the collars posed an indignity for caribou, the Dogrib later invited Gunn to continue her studies.
The people of the far North are charting a new path. As indigenous groups gain a voice in the management of natural resources, they are exploring how to combine their traditional knowledge with Western science in ways that respect both.
Copyright 1998 The Earth Times All rights reserved.
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