Never Alone
Reflections from a Circumpolar North Indigenous Youth Leadership Workshop
By David Clark
I stepped out onto the deck of the large houseboat that we had all settled into mere hours earlier, and took a deep breath of crisp, southern Norwegian air. The harbor in Arendal, Norway, was ornamented with houses that reflected the golden morning sunlight under ribbons of muted baby blue sky and wispy clouds. After soaking in the sight, I stumbled back into the boat for coffee and a light breakfast with my roommate, whom I had met only hours before.
The day prior, Indigenous youth had all traveled to Arendal from across the circumpolar North to participate in a weeklong intensive leadership training, designed to empower young Indigenous people with the leadership skills and connections necessary to become the next generation of climate action leaders for their communities. All of us – from Alaska, Canada, Greenland, Sweden, Finland, and Norway – woke up blurry-eyed, parched and exhausted from the multiple borders and timezones we crossed to reach our destination. Slowly, as we sipped our coffee and ate our breakfasts, we began conversations that would spark lifelong connections with one another.
I sat down with my roommate, who is Sámi, at the breakfast table. Our conversation started out light; laughter was shared as we exchanged stories of our lives back home and how we had met the night before in a state of dazed exhaustion. I got to learn a little bit about how Sámi families manage their reindeer herds. I got to share about the time I ate freshly-caught seal on Nuchek Island, how it tasted like the salt water I was learning to be in relationship with, and what it was like visiting Prince William Sound.
The more commonalities we drew in that initial conversation eventually led us to more in-depth topics, not all of them happy ones. I learned about fornorskning – the official policy of the Norwegian government that targeted Sámi and Kven peoples in northern Norway for total assimilation. I learned that Sámi children were also forcibly removed from their communities and forced into boarding schools; oftentimes, they would not return home, feeling a deep sense of shame and believing that they were honestly better off having become Norwegian. I shared how that same colonial strategy at the hands of the U.S. government is something that Alaska Native peoples continue to grapple with, as well; how some of us (like myself) have grown up disconnected from those roots as a result of that policy, and how so many of us yearn to return but can’t, because it’s not that simple.
It was clear from that initial conversation that we both experience intergenerational trauma in the same ways, and that the hurt we experience in ourselves and our families is just the same, and that those experiences aren’t isolated. As the week wore on, almost all of the students in our international cohort would share personal stories and anecdotes to the same effect.
Naming the harmful effects of western colonialism and how it affects us was an important bonding experience that made our worlds much smaller and brought us a sense of healing and community. It would also set the tone for the week ahead, as we’d learn conflict negotiation and crisis management skills when dealing with imminent threats to socio-ecological welfare.
Norway is a world leader in development of renewable energy, or the “green shift” - which is ironic, seeing how petroleum accounts for around 40% of their annual exports and over 10% of their GDP. What most may not consider, though, is that producing renewable energy often involves extraction of critical minerals to produce machinery such as windmills, solar panels, and rechargeable batteries. Mining for these minerals, which already disrupts local ecosystems, also produces tailings – which are powdered byproducts that are extremely toxic to the environment, and are often disposed of by simply dumping them into open landfills or adjacent bodies of water.
Because of the severe public health risks that mining presents, mining projects in Norway are rarely slated close to populated cities and towns, but rather, sparsely populated areas that constitute the birthing grounds of reindeer herds – thus, the heart of Sápmi—Sámi homelands across Norway, Sweden, Finland, and Russia. (Sound familiar?...)
Norway has a long history, dating back to as early as 1974, of violating Sapmi’s inherent sovereignty in favor of extracting resources and minerals with little in reparation to the Sámi people. This means that, over the last few decades, reindeer herds have shrunk dramatically, there is much less access to wild salmon fishing, and the government has a vested interest in allowing development to continue.
As Norway continues with its “green transition,” threats to Sámi communities and lifeways persist. Their fight continues today with some success; within the past decade alone, the Norwegian Supreme Court sided with the Sámi Parliament to halt operations of two wind farms in the Fuson region central Norway, citing violation of international conventions on Indigenous cultural rights, as well as provide Sámi in the Fosen region USD $10 million in damages caused to local reindeer herds as a result of windfarms. Other fights are more unclear; as of today, the Nussir Mine case in Kvalsund has been halted indefinitely, thanks to the large turnout in 2021 of Sámi and environmental activists across the country to stop mining. However, permitting for the project – which proposes marine disposal of copper tailings directly into the fjord – has not been rescinded, and the project continues to be the subject of ongoing litigation.
Had it not been for that initial conversation that I had with my roommate over breakfast on the first day, then it surely was learning about threats to Sámi sovereignty and life ways that cemented my understanding of commonalities in colonialism and state violence against Indigenous peoples, not only in Alaska but across the circumpolar North.
I found myself reflecting on controversial projects like Pebble Mine and drilling in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. I thought about how contentious it is to come up with equitable solutions, yet so easy under western capitalism to bypass that process. I lamented on how money speaks more to power, rather than deep, intimate knowledge and relationship to the land. I found myself thinking about how deeply ironic it is that the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act – which granted corporations (not tribes) title to around 10% of Alaska’s total land area as settlement for future land claims. ANCSA robbed Alaska Native tribes of the right to exercise land-based sovereignty, and created deep divisions between Alaska Native tribes and Alaska Native corporations. I found myself seething yet again at how we live under a system where money overrides morality, and where decisions are often made by the moneyed elite, with a shortsighted gain in mind rather than the future wellness of the collective. I found myself hurt that the same western colonialism, that spurred the intergenerational trauma I’ve experienced within my own family, is continuing to harm our planet.
Our last hope lies within a Just Transition, whose central principle is that a “healthy economy and healthy environment can and should coexist” through recognizing that “Indigenous Peoples have an inherent right to clean air, water, land, and food in their workplaces, homes and environment.” In the development of fair, just and equitable policies, it is necessary that frontline communities that stand to be most affected by pollution, ecological damage and economic restructuring play a critical role where negotiations are held and decisions are made (For more about Just Transition concepts, visit jtalliance.org).
In Alaska, this would call for accountability on the part of Alaska Native corporations and the state of Alaska to look beyond short-sighted economic gains from oil and gas development, and more toward positively impacting environmental sustainability and the communities in which they serve. It would require them to eschew values of western capitalism that have allowed them to grow to be very successful, at the expense of the Indigenous Peoples they purportedly serve, and start considering projects and decisions with long-term sustainability and community health in mind. It would require the U.S. government to not only treat Alaska Native communities as equal decision makers in terms of climate and energy policy and environmental remediation, but seeking radical and affirmative consent. It would require the government to also radically reconsider what they value in building out the economic and environmental future of the U.S., and whether or not status quo corporate liberalism—where decisions are made among corporate and governmental elitists—is worth sacrificing sustainable communities, habitable climates, and the 500 Indigenous tribes to which they have a trust responsibility, within Alaska and across the country.
Those demands are not unique to Alaska alone. As I’ve learned through my own research and spending time with Indigenous youth from the circumpolar North, we ALL need a Just Transition. Just as we’ve all suffered intergenerationally at the hands of state-sponsored colonial terrorism, we all continue to suffer from an Arctic that is warming four times faster than the global average rate, and governmental administrations that continue to charge forth with policymaking, with little-to-no inclusion of the first stewards of those lands.
A Just Transition is undoubtedly going to take time, as it is unrealistic to expect Alaska Native corporations alone to radically change the way they engage in economic development and still remain among the top economic performers in our state, in an economic climate that rewards extraction.
Together, we must imagine and work towards a future that considers the seven generations ahead, and the world we leave for them. Creating such a world must begin at the grassroots level—aligning ourselves, our families and kinship groups, and our communities with our traditional values, and creating communities and lifestyles that reflect those values. As we continue as a community to grow and unite under Just Transition values, we continue to build the power base necessary to expand the Just Transition movement to more structural levels.
In our off-time in Norway, you could find our cohort spending quality time together. Our afternoons and evenings were filled with laughter as we ate Sámi food together, explored the small but beautiful town of Arendal, sang karaoke and shared stories of “back home.” These moments throughout the week reminded me of an important lesson that I’m learning through my work in community organizing and movement-building: no matter how urgent the fight may be, we are still inherently worthy of laughter, joy, and rest.
Perhaps this is another important component of Just Transition that again applies all across the circumpolar North; if we seek long-term environmental sustainability and healthy communities for our kids to enjoy, should we not reach out and claim for ourselves some of the joy and continuity that we seek to build for the next seven generations?
This week, Native Movement and Always Indigenous Media brings you The Trickster Times online . You can pick-up a print version at the Elders & Youth and Alaska Federation of Natives conventions. Some stories are more newsy, some are more commentary, and all are written from the heart and for our community. We welcome you to join us as we build people power, rooted in an Indigenized worldview, toward healthy, sustainable, & just communities for ALL.
