Western

Legal alcohol sales began in Bethel last week. It’s the first time alcohol has been sold in the city in more than 40 years.

One restaurant is already selling beer and wine. Two package liquor stores are set to open in the future. But some community leaders are concerned about how Bethel’s alcohol sales may affect dry villages in the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta region.

Susan Murphy has lived in Bethel for her whole life. She remembers what the city was like when it was wet.

“How awful it was, back in the early 70s and late 60s,” she said. “There’d be people drunk and passing out. The winter times were especially bad because people would be freezing to death.”

Bethel wasn’t the only city that struggled, either. Murphy said communities around the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta — like Napaskiak, Aniak and Marshall — had to contend with alcohol that was brought in from Bethel, most often illegally.

As a tribal judge on the Orutsararmiut Native Council and school board chair for the Lower Kuskokwim School District, Murphy said she has seen alcohol lead to abuse, neglect, and other problems for families in dry communities.

“And I’m afraid that’s just going to triple and quadruple with the availability of alcohol in Bethel,” she said.

Father Chuck Peterson is the pastor at the Immaculate Conception Catholic Church in Bethel. Like Murphy, he said Bethel’s new alcohol sales may be a bigger concern for visitors coming from the villages.

“People come from downriver and upriver to Bethel to do their shopping,” he said. “Sometimes they stop by the liquor store, and they don’t get their shopping done. They are the ones who are most vulnerable because nobody in the town wants to take them in when they’re drunk.”

And if they’re not stranded in the city, Peterson and Murphy said drunk driving could become a bigger issue as people travel to Bethel by boat and snow machine. As alcohol sales expand, they predict social services and law enforcement will be overwhelmed as well. But others aren’t so sure.

Richard Alstrom is the former City Manager of St. Mary’s, north of Bethel on the Yukon River. He held the job when the community went damp 10 years ago, and he said the village’s status — whether it’s dry or damp — hasn’t made much difference. Either way, he said alcohol gets into the village.

“Alcohol came to St. Mary’s when it was dry, and alcohol is coming to St. Mary’s when it’s damp,” he said. “So it’s hard to say if there has been any change at all.”

Upriver from St. Mary’s, the village of Emmonak has been dry since 1991. The community is 120 miles northwest of Bethel near the mouth of the Yukon River, and the people there travel in and out of Bethel frequently.

Martin Moore is Emmonak’s City Manager. He said he hasn’t seen much impact yet from new alcohol sales in Bethel. As is the case in St. Mary’s, he said alcohol arrives in Emmonak regardless of what’s happening in surrounding communities.

“It’s an issue, it has been an issue, and it’ll continue to be an issue,” he said.

If Emmonak is going to cut down on illegal alcohol, Moore said that will be up to locals. For years, the community has looked into establishing a tribal government and court, but it’s unclear when that may happen. Until then, Moore said leadership from elders is key.

“It’s up to the people of Emmonak and the elder people to start working together to deal with the younger group and help them plan their lives,” he said. “It’s not going to happen overnight. It’s going to take some time.”

But Murphy said the more available alcohol is, the bigger the challenge will be for communities that have voted themselves dry.

“What will happen is people will come into Bethel, buy a bottle, get drunk and become Bethel’s problem,” she said. “Or they’ll buy a bottle and drink in the boat or on the snow machine on the way back to the village. They’ll be the state troopers’ problem, then.”

According to spokesperson Megan Peters with the Alaska State Troopers, the state has no plans to develop or adopt new procedures in response to Bethel’s legal alcohol sales.

Breakup has begun in Elim. Village officials are warning residents to stay off the sea ice as they travel around the Eastern Norton Sound and the southern coast of the Seward Peninsula.

“We have to travel inland now if you want to go the Golovin way,” said Robert Keith of the Elim tribal office. “And you’d have to be pretty daring to go travel toward Koyuk on the ice from Elim.”

Keith said ice conditions deteriorated over the weekend with high winds and warmer temperatures.

“We’ve got a lot of loose ice that broke up,” he said. “It’s melting really bad and really quick over here.”

While ice is still solid near Moses Point, a spit located east of Elim, Keith said most shorefast ice is already starting to break away — something that usually happens in May.

“I think it’s probably three weeks or maybe four weeks early,” he said.

For safety, village officials are urging snowmachiners to use overland trails when traveling to and from Elim.

One snowmachiner has already gone missing while traveling between Elim and Koyuk. Local residents are still searching for Roger Hannon of Koyuk, who went missing two weeks ago in blizzard conditions. Searchers found his snowmachine in open water on the edge of the sea ice east of Elim.

On Wednesday, Emmonak City Manager Martin Moore asked the Alaska Legislature for emergency funding after a fire destroyed five commercial fishing buildings last month and prompted the City of Emmonak to declare a disaster.

If Emmonak is granted or loaned the requested $750,000, Moore said the city will rebuild critical infrastructure before the upcoming fishing season.

As commercial fishing is the primary source of income and employment in the Kusilvak Census District, Moore said Emmonak needs to rebuild soon — before people around the Yukon Delta miss out on their main economic opportunity.

“It’s a big region. It has over 9,000 people, it has over 2,000 family units, and they depend on this fishery to move on forward. We don’t want to lose the market,” he said. “The people in this area have no hope. The hope is built by people looking forward to getting something in the next fishing season.”

Beyond rebuilding the burned structures, owned by the Yukon Delta Fisheries Development Association, Moore said the emergency aid would help the City of Emmonak purchase a new, 1,000-gallon fire truck and build a water line booster station.

The truck would replace the city’s current, used vehicle, which was too small to fight last month’s fire. Meanwhile, the booster station would house heat and circulation pumps to prevent water lines from freezing. Moore said the lines were frozen during the fire, so first responders could not access enough water.

“The lines that are 800 feet long are destined to freeze, and they freeze every year,” he said.

With lawmakers working to balance the state budget, Moore said he knows it’s a tough time to request funding. While he hopes the state can provide some aid, he said the City of Emmonak has also asked Alaska’s Division of Homeland Security and Emergency Management to help the community pursue federal assistance. The city itself is donating $150,000 to the CDQ fishery in free or low-cost land, water and equipment.

A whaling crew from Savoonga landed its second bowhead of the season recently. The St. Lawrence Island community has been working nonstop to haul the whale out of the icy waters, harvest its meat, and distribute it around the village.

For the past few weeks, whaling crews have been camped out on the southwest side of St. Lawrence Island. Elvin Noongwook was on the crew that landed Savoonga’s first whale in 1972.

Sitting around his kitchen table, the elder said they’ve been going to the same spot ever since.

“We call the whaling camp ‘Powooliak.’” Noongwook explained. “That’s where we’re doing whaling now in (the) springtime.”

On March 27 of this year, Carl Pelowook, Jr., landed the first whale of the season and the earliest in Savoonga’s whaling history. Warmer ocean temperatures and stronger winds from the north make it easier for whalers to start their hunts earlier.

On April 5, Pelowook and his crew, which includes Michael Kralik and Nathaniel O’Connor, harpooned their second bowhead. With the help of eight other boats, they hauled the whale up to shore and got to work.

Elvin Noongwook says nothing goes to waste.

“We take everything from the head to the flukes, baleen and the meat.”

The work is nonstop. A steady stream of snowmachiners travel back and forth between camp for days, delivering processed whale and swapping out tired workers with well-rested ones.

Brianne Gologergen is a health aide at Savoonga’s clinic. She made the trip out to camp to watch it all unfold.

Gologergen said along with the days it takes to harvest a whale, it’s also pretty costly for the community to travel the 38 miles to camp.

“There’s the fuel for the boat, grub for camp for a couple of weeks, (and) fuel for your snow machine,” Gologergen explained.

But, she said, the taste of the fresh whale makes it all worth it.

“It was so yummy,” Gologergen said.

Even after the meat makes it into people’s mouths, the work doesn’t let up. George Noongwook is Elvin Noongwook’s cousin. He was also on Savoonga’s first whaling crew and now acts as the community’s commissioner on the Alaska Eskimo Whaling Commission.

He says prep for the whaling season starts thousands of miles from home.

“In order for us to go whaling, we first need to go to Washington, D.C.,” Noongwook explained.

Noongwook said there’s a lot of politicking needed to make sure Alaska’s 11 whaling communities can feed themselves throughout the year.

“It takes a lot of coordination,” he said, adding “it takes a lot of people to work together to achieve that goal… it’s a lot of work, a lot of legwork.”

The Alaska Eskimo Whaling Commission meets four times each year. Their work helps inform the International Whaling Commission, or IWC, which meets every six years to set worldwide whaling quotas.

Noongwook said it’s a complicated process and not without its problems.

“Oftentimes, our quota is used as a political football for whaling nations and non-whaling nations,” Noongwook explained.

That’s exactly what happened in 1978 when the IWC failed to pass a whaling quota. Noongwook says those were dark days for Savoonga.

So after the IWC re-established the quota, he said he makes sure the community follows all IWC protocols and fills out all the right paperwork.

“We just have to keep plugging away if we want to survive,” Noongwook said.

Like the whale harvest itself, Noongwook said his work as a commissioner it’s tiring and time-consuming, but he said he’ll keep at it to keep the tradition alive.

From Teller and Kaktovik to Shungnak and Tuluksak, Iñupiaq photographer Brian Adams has traveled all over rural Alaska for “I Am Inuit.” The project aims to document Alaska Inuit culture and share it with the world through portraits and stories of local people.

Brian Adams is a photographer. He grew up in Girdwood, outside of Anchorage, and he traveled to his dad’s hometown of Kivalina as a kid on family vacations. But he really fell in love with the village as an adult.

“I went to Kivalina in 2005 for my grandma’s funeral,” said Adams. “I brought a couple of cameras and really got into the community. Making photos was just so much fun there. After that trip, I was like, ‘This is what I want to do. I want to keep coming to the villages. I want to make a body of work of this.’ It was a changing point for me.”

Now, with “I Am Inuit,” Adams does just that. He documents the life and people of villages across Alaska.

“Most people, especially in Inuit culture, I’m finding — they’re not used to talking about themselves,” he said. “So getting people to warm up and feel free to talk about themselves can be semi-challenging at times. But once you get them going, they’re pretty excited. You can tell a lot of people are very proud of their livelihood and where they live.”

Today, Adams is in White Mountain. He only has three or four days in each community he visits, so he gets to work fast, walking around town and trying to meet as many people as he can.

“I try not to be pushy at all. I want people to be as comfortable as possible with me, especially while taking photos,” he said. “I really feel like they’re giving me something whenever I get a portrait. So if they say no, I’m usually kind of bummed. But at the same time, I totally understand. If I was living my day-to-day life and somebody stopped me with all their camera equipment and asked to take a portrait, I’d be like, ‘Ehhh.’”

Adams does strike out when he asks to interview the cashier at the White Mountain Native Store. Eventually, though, he has better luck when he bumps into Karl Ashenfelter, a customer who’s there to buy coffee.

Ashenfelter, an elder, grew up in White Mountain. This morning, he’s in no rush, so he gives Adams a few minutes for an interview and a photo.

“So you’d be Iñupiaq?” asked Adams.

“I’m three-quarters Eskimo and a quarter German,” said Ashenfelter.

Right there in the store, as employees stock shelves and price goods, Ashenfelter tells Adams about his life — how he’s seen the climate change, how much his grandchildren mean to him, even how he defines wisdom. He shares a lot with Adams, but not everything.

“Tell me more about your art,” said Adams. “You said you’re a painter?”

“I can carve. I can paint. I can do just about anything, really,” said Ashenfelter. “But I don’t do it anymore. There’s a long story behind that.”

“Do you want to talk a little bit about that?” asked Adams.

“No,” Ashenfelter laughed.

As the interview wraps up, they head outside to do photos in the natural light. Adams has Ashenfelter stand for two portraits: one in front of the Native Store and another along the roadside, as snow machines buzz by.

“On three — One, two and three! Thank you, sir,” said Adams. “Nice to meet you.”

Coffee in hand, Ashenfelter says goodbye and leaves to go about his day. Meanwhile, Adams takes a coffee break himself before getting back to work: Walking around White Mountain, meeting the people who live there, and asking them to share their stories.

The photos and interviews from Adams’ trip to White Mountain are now up on the “I Am Inuit” website. Adams posts a new picture to the website every day, and he’ll do so until the anniversary of the project Oct. 26. After that, he plans to publish a book of photos from the project. He also hopes to expand the effort to include Inuit people in Canada and Greenland.

In the past few years, the issue of sexual assault has been a major focus for universities around the nation. The University of Alaska Fairbanks is no exception.

University officials recently visited UAF’s Northwest Campus in Nome to discuss the issue, but campus dynamics and the communitywide struggle with sexual assault and domestic violence made it hard to draw connections between efforts in Fairbanks and actions in Nome.

To spark discussion on the issue of sexual assault, UAF’s Northwest Campus recently screened the documentary “The Hunting Ground.” The film opens with a rolling orchestral soundtrack that calls to mind university quads and collegiate culture.

In the opening sequence, home videos show students react to hearing they’ve been accepted to their top choice schools. Most of the students are young women and most schools are big-name universities like Notre Dame or Harvard.

It’s inspiring, but not at all familiar. In Nome, university culture couldn’t be more different. UAF’s Northwest Campus is a community college that mainly serves nontraditional students. It offers mostly one-credit courses like kuspuk sewing and caribou hide tanning. And those courses aren’t just offered in Nome.

“We have a sled-building class in Shaktoolik.” explained Bob Metcalf, the Director of UAF’s Northwest Campus.

Metcalf says every campus employee is trained in Title IX, a federal law that guarantees gender equity in all federally funded schools. Sexual assault is considered a form of discrimination since it creates a hostile environment for the victim and prevents him or her from benefiting from the school’s education program.

UAF’s interim Chancellor Mike Powers made the trip from Fairbanks to screen the film. After the closing credits, he opened the room up for public discussion.

“What we can do to help support the community, the Northwest Campus, on prevention?” Powers asked. He asked the room for suggestions on what UAF should be aware of regarding sexual assault.

But the room remained silent. The issue of sexual assault is huge in Alaska.

Thirty-seven percent of women in Alaska have been sexually assaulted in their lifetime. That’s according to the Alaska Victimization Survey conducted by UAA’s Justice Center. In the Nome census area, from Shishmaref over to Savoonga and down to Stebbins, 31 percent of women are victims of sexual assault.

Mae Marsh, UAF’s Title IX Coordinator, said the University can encourage a stronger stance against sexual assault.

“If the university can’t do something to change this mindset, who can?” Marsh asked.

“If you come to the university and there’s a standard that says ‘This is not acceptable behavior, and if you demonstrate this type of behavior, you will be expelled from our community, or you will be suspended,’ it sets a new standard,” Marsh said.

But the push for the University to lead the way doesn’t quite translate at UAF’s Northwest Campus in Nome. The campus’s transient and nontraditional student body makes sweeping changes harder to carry out.

Instead, Bob Metcalf said the campus is following in the footsteps of the community.

“They’re ahead of the campus with Green Dot, and equity and social justice. We see our role as supporting [the community],” said Metcalf.

Green Dot is just one of the ways the community is confronting sexual assault. The statewide initiative encourages people to speak out against violence. It’s already been introduced at Nome Public Schools. Local parent Dana Handeland has two children in college. She says talking about sexual assault before students leave for college is a good thing.

“Most children grow up with all the children they go to school with,” Handeland explained. “They’re almost siblings by the time they graduate.”

Despite having both children out of the house, Handeland was at the screening of “The Hunting Ground,” to educate herself. She said for children who grow up in bush communities, the transition to college can be traumatic.

“Rural communities need to start this much sooner than just, ‘OK, let’s make sure you watch this as orientation in college,’ ” Handeland urged. “They’re already bombarded with ‘How am I going to find my class,’ [and] ‘where’s this building?’”

UAF’s interim Chancellor Mike Powers and Title IX Coordinator Mae Marsh offered updates and answered questions for locals in the audience like Handeland. But there was a clear disconnect.

The differences between battles being fought on campus in Fairbanks and throughout the community in Nome highlighted their different priorities. Without an action plan in place, UAF officials boarded a plane out of Nome that same evening, leaving the community to continue its uphill battle against sexual assault.