Connect with us

Alaska

Alaska Native vision for the future: Self determination • Alaska Beacon

Published

on

Alaska Native vision for the future: Self determination • Alaska Beacon


ANCHORAGE, Alaska — Indigenous leaders want a seat at the table and to be seen and heard. “Nothing about us without us.”

That’s the message Indigenous leaders shared at an Arctic symposium that organizers say brought in participants from 30 countries. Six Inupiaq, Tlingit and Athabascan leaders kicked off “Arctic Encounter 2024” with a plenary session entitled “Northern Indigenous Leadership: Our Future, Our Vision for Success.” Organizers say the three-day symposium drew about a thousand leaders in diplomacy, research, science, the military and business to the Dena’ina Convention Center in Anchorage. 

Dr. Pearl Kiyawn Nageak Brower, Inupiaq, is CEO of Ukpeagvik Inupiat Corporation and Affiliate Research Professor at the International Arctic Research Center, and at right is Kasannaaluk Marie Green, Inupiaq, speaking at the Arctic Encounter Symposium on April 10, 2024, Anchorage, Alaska (Photo by Joaqlin Estus/ICT)

Kasannaaluk Marie Greene, Inupiaq, is president of the Inuit Circumpolar Council, which is made up of members from Greenland, Canada, Russia and the United States. She told an audience of about 150 people her goal is to continue to fulfill the vision of the council’s founder, Eben Hopson, Inupiaq: “to have our Inupiat people at the international level come together to strengthen our unity, to work together in harmony as we come together and address our concerns, our common concerns, our challenges, and what we need to be doing going forward as we continue to build that unity.” 

Greene said Hopson expressed at the founding meeting of ICC in 1977 “the need to … to be promoting our language, our culture, our customers, who we are as Inuit and to promote and work with our governments, to ensure that we have the policies, long-term policies in place and to also address our interests at the international level.”

Advertisement

She added that Hopson challenged “us to do what we can to protect our homeland, to protect the Arctic and that’s a privilege being in this role that I have.”

She said communications need to be honest and respectful toward governments, but “we have got to be expressing our concerns about the change of the climate that we’re now experiencing in the Arctic.”

Apagzuk Roy Agloinga, Inupiaq, is president and CEO of the First Alaskans Institute, an Alaska Native policy and advocacy nonprofit. “(Our) people have always lived in this land,” he said. “We have a passionate and deep connection to every place. And the fact that we are able to make decisions about education, about the economy, about any kind of policy that impacts us, is really critical.”

At left, Apagzuk Roy Agloinga, Inupiat, is president and CEO of the First Alaskans Institute, an Alaska Native policy and advocacy nonprofit with at right, Morrie Lemen, Jr., Tlingit, is executive director of the federally recognized tribe, the Inupiat Community of the Arctic Slope. They spoke at the Arctic Encounter Symposium on April 10, 2024, in Anchorage. (Photo by Joaqlin Estus/ICT)
At left, Apagzuk Roy Agloinga, Inupiat, is president and CEO of the First Alaskans Institute, an Alaska Native policy and advocacy nonprofit with at right, Morrie Lemen, Jr., Tlingit, is executive director of the federally recognized tribe, the Inupiat Community of the Arctic Slope. They spoke at the Arctic Encounter Symposium on April 10, 2024, in Anchorage. (Photo by Joaqlin Estus/ICT)

Agloinga said the institute plans to build on the training and education previous First Alaskans leaders have provided on the importance of subsistence, an effort he said that helped lead to the appointment of three subsistence users to the federal Subsistence Board. “One of the things that we’ve done, of course, is a lot of advocacy around protecting our ways of life and have such an amazing working group with about 200 people who are from across the state.” That work was brought to the forefront, he said, “so that we can really work closely with our communities to identify ways so that they can continue protecting subsistence… that will always continue to be a major priority for us, and we want to make sure that our community understands what the issues are and how to move forward.”

Agloinga said youth leadership is also a key area for the Institute. “Our youth are pretty amazing and the youth that participated in (our) Elders and Youth conference really already show tremendous leadership in their region. We want to make sure that those young people are able to get as much support as they can, as much education as they can, as much knowledge as they can about the issues that are so important to us as Native people in Alaska so that they can continue the fight for self-determination and really understand what that means.”

Advertisement

Aaron Schutt, Koyukon Athabascan, is CEO of the Alaska Native regional corporation Doyon Limited. He told the audience the Doyon region is about the size of the country of France, and home to about 40 communities, and 25 village corporations. Doyon has about 20,500 shareholders.

Aaron Schutt, Koyukon Athabascan, is CEO of the Alaska Native regional corporation Doyon Limited. He spoke at the Arctic Encounter Symposium on April 10, 2024. (Photo by Joaqlin Estus/ICT).
Aaron Schutt, Koyukon Athabascan, is CEO of the Alaska Native regional corporation Doyon Limited. He spoke at the Arctic Encounter Symposium on April 10, 2024. (Photo by Joaqlin Estus/ICT).

“We were able to select and retain about 12.2 million acres within our very large homeland,” Schutt said. “We share about 4 million of those acres with our village corporations where they own the surface and we own the subsurface and we have about 8.2 million acres that we own outright like all the other Native companies. Our job is to make money, train and employ our shareholders, and then, most importantly, steward our land base. 

“We have our land. We have our people. We have to have economic success in order for our people to thrive, in order for us to steward the land. The federal government doesn’t give us any money…We have trespass, fire, gravel, wildlife, all these issues that are very important to our people, that we have economic success in order to take on all of those issues.” He quoted a former chief who would often say, “We’re doing well; we can do better.”

Dr. Pearl Kiyawn Nageak Brower, Inupiaq, is president/CEO of the Ukpeagvik Inupiat Corporation, and Affiliate Research Professor at the International Arctic Research Center. She said like the other village, urban and regional corporations created under the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act of 1971, Ukpeagvik Inupiat Corp represents a distinct Alaska Native community village tribe. ”But each has an important land base and each has had to learn how to traverse the for-profit environment.” 

The Ukpeagvik corporation has about 3,800 shareholders and stewards about 229,000 acres of ancestral lands. “We employ about 4,700 people and about a quarter of those are here in Alaska,” Brower said. “We are the ninth largest company by revenue in the state and we’re hoping to be the eighth after the end of this year. So our mission is really we bring our Inupiaq values to the services and products that we provide to enhance the lives of our shareholders.”

Advertisement

She said of shareholders, “They’re us. They’re our aunts and our uncles, they’re our grandparents, they’re our parents, they’re our children, our grandchildren, and what that looks like into the future. I think we also have challenges in the market and in policy. Nothing about us without us is just how we have to move forward.”

Brower added, “I think as Indigenous people, right, we are the best ecologists. We are the best scientists for our region. We are tethered to our place. We care about our land. We want it to be there for future generations…listen to the people, listen to those who have lived off this land and learned the stories and heard the stories and been taught about this place for generations.

Morrie Lemen, Jr., Tlingit, is executive director of the federally recognized tribe, the Inupiat Community of the Arctic Slope. He said the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act was a dramatically different approach to federal Indian policy. “It created a fragmented system of the Alaska Native representation and delivery of services that required a coordinated approach to effectively serve Alaska Native people. It also resulted in landless groups, which ICAS is one of.”

Speaking of his vision of success, he said “The first thing that comes to my mind is self-determination. We determine our future by building our own, growing our own leaders based on millennia of tradition. Listen to us. I challenge the audience every time you think about the Arctic, think about the people first. What we have identified as our needs, not what you think we need. The North Slope approach to leadership is centered at the local level. There’s a trust that the residents of our villages know what is best for their village and we support them, not supplant them. At ICAS, we work to uplift, empower, and grow the tribes and our tribal citizens within our region.” 

Tara Katuk Mac Lean Sweeney, Inupiaq, is vice president for external affairs, at ConocoPhillips Alaska, an oil company that has had a presence in Alaska she said for 50 years, “and we continue in our commitment to the state.”

Advertisement

Tara Katuk Mac Lean Sweeney, Inupiaq, vice president for external affairs at ConocoPhillips Alaska, spoke at the Arctic Encounter Symposium on April 10, 2024, in Anchorage. (Photo by Joaqlin Estus/ICT)
Tara Katuk Mac Lean Sweeney, Inupiaq, vice president for external affairs at ConocoPhillips Alaska, spoke at the Arctic Encounter Symposium on April 10, 2024, in Anchorage. (Photo by Joaqlin Estus/ICT)

She said life has changed in Alaska over the years. “I grew up on the cusp of development and was 16 when we finally had the infrastructure to have a flush toilet in our home. And there are many communities throughout Alaska that still don’t have the infrastructure to afford that luxury, and it’s important to remember. But what development has provided to Indigenous communities across the North Slope is opportunity, opportunity for education, opportunity to live in thriving communities that have police and fire protection, opportunities for work and career, career advancement. 

“So our goal and our focus at ConocoPhillips really is to develop Alaska resources safely and responsibly and responsibly really means a number of things: Effective stakeholder engagement. It also means transparency and respect in the process. But effective stakeholder engagement means that local voices have a seat at the table, that they help guide the process, the projects through the conception phase all the way to the production phase. And so for me, when you ask me what success looks like, that would be my answer.”

The three-day conference continued with sessions ranging from energy, governance, and wildfire management, to oil spill response, security, and waste management, as well as media, leadership, thawing permafrost, food security, science, education, health, shipping, and geopolitics.

CT originally published this article. ICT is an an independent, nonprofit, multimedia news enterprise. ICT covers Indigenous peoples.



Source link

Advertisement
Continue Reading
Click to comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Alaska

Black bear breaks into Alaskan mall, eats a peach and relieves itself on floor before leaving: video

Published

on

Black bear breaks into Alaskan mall, eats a peach and relieves itself on floor before leaving: video


Can bearly believe it!

A black bear was caught on camera seemingly running errands at a local shopping mall in Anchorage, Alaska over the weekend.

A black bear in Alaska strolled through the automatic doors of the commissary mall on the military base on Sunday. Kory Godbout

The bear entered the commissary mall at Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson around 9 a.m. Sunday, KTUU reported, citing a JBER spokesperson. 

Wild footage shows the young cub strolling through the commissary’s automatic doors and exploring all that the mall had to offer.

Advertisement
Barber shop employee, Kory Godbout, saw the black bear approach his store and ran to the break room. Joint Base Elmendorf Exchange

The hungry bear stole and ate a piece of fruit before emptying its bowels on the hallway floor on its way out of the building.

Kory Godbout, who works at the barber shop on the military base, was waiting for his first customer of the day when he spotted the furry intruder traveling through the automatic doors.

“My coworker, who is cutting hair in front of me, she yelled, ‘Bear!’” Godbout recalled. 

The grizzly bear decided to “use the restroom in the hallway” of the shopping mall. Kory Godbout

“And I looked up from my phone and the bear was walking into the barber shop right in front of me,” the barber said. “And we all ran into the break room and shut the door behind us.”

After a few minutes, Godbout and his coworkers emerged from the break room and followed the out-of-place bear into the commissary, where it took a peach from the grocery store and ate it. 

Advertisement

The barber recalled that a few onlookers were “going big to try and scare” the bear out of the grocery store.

The bear cub stole a peach and ate it while exploring all that the commissary had to offer. Joint Base Elmendorf Exchange

But all of a sudden, the black bear returned to the barber shop.

“By that time, we were able to run back to the shop and then lock the door,” Godbout said. 

The bear cleared its bowels on the floor before leaving the shopping mall. Facebook

“And then we were watching him from the window and then that’s when he decided to, you know, use the restroom in the hallway.”

Officers from Conservation Law Enforcement attended the peculiar grizzly scene and were able to direct the wild animal towards a river and into the woods, according to the JBER spokesperson.

Advertisement

JBER’s wildlife program manager Colette Brandt said in a press release that the bear had triggered the automatic doors and that Sunday’s events were entirely incidental, KTUU reported.

While there has been a decline in bear-related calls since the military base installed bear-resistant dumpsters, seven bears have been put down at JBER for public safety over the past year.



Source link

Advertisement
Continue Reading

Alaska

Fatal crash closes Glenn Highway southbound lanes near Eagle River

Published

on

Fatal crash closes Glenn Highway southbound lanes near Eagle River


ANCHORAGE, Alaska (KTUU) – The southbound lanes of the Glenn Highway were closed Thursday morning near the S-curves due to a fatal crash, according to the Anchorage Police Department.

Police confirmed shortly after 11 a.m. that at least one person was dead. As of 12:45 p.m., one southbound lane is now open to traffic.

The southbound lanes of the Glenn Highway were closed July 9, 2026 near the S-curves due to a fatal crash, according to the Anchorage Police Department.(Alaska’s News Source)

An Alaska’s News Source reporter on the scene said the crash took place near the Eagle River Loop Road. Video from the scene shows multiple vehicles took damage in the incident.

This is a developing story. It has been updated with new information.

Advertisement

See a spelling or grammar error? Report it to web@ktuu.com

Copyright 2026 KTUU. All rights reserved.



Source link

Continue Reading

Alaska

Did I Find a Cure for Male Loneliness? No, But I Found a Way to Embrace Solitude in the Wild.

Published

on

Did I Find a Cure for Male Loneliness? No, But I Found a Way to Embrace Solitude in the Wild.


Published July 9, 2026 03:00AM

On the longest solo trip of my life, I stepped off a two-seat float plane onto the rocky shore of Upper Twin Lake in Alaska’s Lake Clark National Park.

I had taken four flights from New Jersey to Alaska to write about the iconic cabin handbuilt by Richard “Dick” Proenneke, the self-taught naturalist whose 30-year solo life in the wilderness was captured in the beloved PBS documentary Alone in the Wilderness. Proenneke never married, never had children, and spent nearly three decades completely alone, save for the birds he fed by hand and bears that occasionally clawed at his logs.

“He must have been lonely out here,” a fellow traveler said during the park ranger’s tour of the cabin.

Advertisement

On that chilly June morning last year, I found myself wondering the same thing. I was just coming to a different conclusion.

Park officials told me the cabin has seen a recent uptick in visitors, which they attribute to Proenneke’s newfound popularity on social media, and to a direct flight to the property by an outback flying service. I visited the cabin as a member of a tour group led by two guides. My group included a doctor, a retired attorney, a veterinarian, and a handful of National Parks superfans. Still, I stuck mostly to myself, spending the trip deep in my own thoughts. In Alaska, I wound up pondering a life like Proenneke’s, sans the means or skills to make it happen.

The Richard”Dick” Proenneke Site is located on the southeast shoreline of Upper Twin Lake in Lake Clark National Park and Preserve, Alaska. (Photo: National Park Service)

According to podcasters, writers, polls, therapists, influencers, and anyone else with a mouth or keyboard, there’s a male loneliness epidemic eroding the dated fabric of masculinity, like the snake of patriarchy eating its own tail.

Remedies for this epidemic are everywhere in the media, with new ones popping up weekly. The New York Times wondered if pickleball held the answers; others have suggested buying a personal watercraft, joining a mosh pit, or taking off your shirt at a college football game, or watching a horror-comedy starring Paul Rudd. In recent months, brunch, AI-powered companion dolls, and Jack Black have been mentioned as cures.

Outside wondered whether “outdoor friendships,” volunteering, or getting a pet could work.

Advertisement

These cures may seem unrelated and even, perhaps, a little silly. However, the common theme between them seems to be social interaction, choosing community over individualism, a bowling league or running club over your PlayStation.

Some entrepreneurs have even launched businesses to combat male loneliness. A deep-dive earlier this year in the New Yorker revealed how fathers are paying men to turn their sons into “alphas,” while others are joining men-only retreats to be screamed at. Men are taking reams of peptides, smashing their cheekbones with hammers, and getting chin implants in an effort to chase some warped standard of masculinity.

Most of these solutions seem alien to the introverts of society, myself included. I’m not sure I’ve ever been lonely, per se, or even bored, unless I’m stuck in small talk. I’ve never loved team sports or double dates either. In school, hearing a teacher say “let’s break into groups” made me groan.

Richard
Richard “Dick” Proenneke’s iconic cabin in Lake Clark National Park and Preserve, Alaska. (Photo: National Park Service)

During my trip to Alaska, I realized that Proenneke enjoyed solitude but not loneliness. The former feels intentional and rewarding, as opposed to the latter, which causes anxiety and depression. He wasn’t a misanthrope. He welcomed visitors and was thoughtful enough to whittle a variety of walking sticks to match their height.

Monroe Robinson, author of The Handcrafted Life of Dick Proenneke, spent nearly 20 years living at the cabin and maintaining it for the National Park Service. Robinson knew Proenneke, who died in 2003, at the age of 86. “He liked when people came to visit,” Robinson told me later in a call, “and he also liked when they left.”

I can relate.

Advertisement

My aversions to crowds and clubs have been a source of personal confusion over the years. I’m not a misanthrope, either. As a reporter, I crave deeply personal interactions with others and get invested in the people I write about to a fault. Part of me always thought loneliness was a good way to avoid heartbreak. I’ve loved deeply anyhow, and lost people in my life to suicide and divorce.

In June of 2024, I learned my then-wife was deeply unhappy in our marriage. I had a real breakdown. The ensuing algorithms of online divorce content can be toxic for men, a slippery slope greased by manosphere grifters. Well-intentioned friends and family will often just take your side during a breakup, too, and there’s not much growth in that. So I tried to avoid that noise, choosing to walk inside myself, to find a “vast inner solitude” as the poet Rainer Marie Rilke advised.

f Richard L. Proenneke, a legendary writer, wildlife photographer, and conservationist lived alone in this cabin he built by hand.
The Richard L. Proenneke Site is located on the southeast shoreline of Upper Twin Lake in Lake Clark National Park and Preserve, Alaska. (Photo: National Park Service)

I wanted to confront my own bullshit.

I spent a few dozen nights sleeping in tents for the rest of that year, mostly in the Northeast. Sometimes I slept in single-digit temperatures. I’d reserved a tent site for my wedding anniversary, a campground where I’d wanted to renew my vows. But after my marriage began to crumble, I took my young daughter, instead of canceling. I put her in a hiking backpack to slog my way up a few summits. I kept on punishing myself too, on trail runs and difficult hikes, hoping exhaustion would tamp down the urge to beg my ex and anyone who knew her for answers. Bad cell service helped with that.

(I also found a great therapist, thankfully.)

On a long-planned family vacation to Southwest Colorado in August of 2024 that I couldn’t afford and couldn’t cancel, the San Juan Mountains loomed everywhere I went. I saw them from the window of my cabin, the dirt roads I drove along with my kids, and the hammock where I finished The Snow Leopard, in which author Peter Matthiessen joins an expedition to find the mythic beast in Nepal after the death of his wife.

Advertisement

The mountains felt timeless and unavoidable there, and they spoke to me, a perfect epilogue to the book’s zen message.

“Accept what’s happening” they said.

And so I accepted that my marriage was over.

In May of 2025, the divorce was finalized. A few weeks later, I was in Alaska as a freelancer, pinching myself as my plane touched down on the icy, blue lake.

Robinson, when I asked, said “feeling lonely was not a thing” for Proenneke. He was too active, too busy trying to survive. Proenneke left society, yes, but he didn’t withdraw from life. In the long winters, when no sun hit Proenneke’s sod roof, when no planes landed on the frozen lake, he would spend months penning thoughtful letters to close friends, family, and his growing legion of fans.

Advertisement
Inside Richard Proenneke's cabin
The author sits at the desk of Richard “Dick” Proenneke in his cabin he built by hand. (Photo: Courtesy of Jason Nark)

Proenneke cared about his cabin’s appearance too, about beauty, and that matters. He built a stone fireplace, an extra bunk for guests, and hand-carved a much-beloved Dutch door. Windows would be an inconvenient luxury in a trapper’s cabin in Alaska, but Prokenneke fashioned one that offered a grand view of the lake anyway.

While I was contemplating Proenneke’s contentment in Alaska, I was also watching contentment in action with the two young guides in charge of us there. For a moment or two, I envied both of them, the same way I envied Proenneke. Guide Dom Gawel, who is in his mid-20s,  was the quieter of the two, and he led a few of us on some longer hikes while others stayed behind at camp. Later, I asked Dom about loneliness. He thought young men feel lost today “because they are comparing themselves to others in a negative way through social media” and “disconnected from nature.”

Luckily, there’s nothing close to a signal at Lake Clark National Park, no texts you feel compelled to answer, no influencers to interact with. That’s not easy to do in the United States.

I also found kinship with Dr. Adam Bolour, my kayak partner at Twin Lakes and roommate at Port Alsworth, a tiny Alaskan village on Lake Clark where we slept on our final night. We talked about fatherhood, relationships, and nature. He was traveling solo too, from California, and while he was upbeat and talkative with everyone, I watched him steal away to read some Ralph Waldo Emerson’s Self-Reliance by the lakeshore. I did the same with Proenekke’s book there.

I emailed to ask about male loneliness, when I got back to New Jersey.

“I cherish solo trips, whether I’m married, feeling alone, feeling super connected with someone or a big group,” he wrote. “It’s just great to get away and convene with silence and space.”

Advertisement
Lake Clark National Park and Preserve.
Arriving by float plane to Lake Clark National Park and Preserve. (Photo: Getty)

My revelations in Colorado and, later, at Proenneke’s cabin, helped me realize I must connect deeply with myself in the outdoors from time to time. Nature can’t just be an emergency room for me, either. It’s long-term maintenance for my physical and mental health, whether it’s trail running, floating in a swimming hole, or staring at mountains. It’s more than a hobby. The version of me who returns from those trips is a better father and, hopefully, a better partner someday.

Unlike Matthiessen, who spent months away from his young, grieving son in search of a snow leopard, or Proenneke, who spent 30 years away from almost everyone, I couldn’t and wouldn’t want to pull myself away from my children and responsibilities to that extreme. I have been guilty of that in the past. I’ll make do with a vow to see mountains like the San Juans as much as possible, even if it’s just a few days to convene with solitude, as Adam does. And if I can’t get to the Sawtooths or Switzerland, I’ll cut myself a break and keep exploring Pennsylvania or the Catskills.

A few months after I got back from Alaska, I tackled Pennsylvania’s Black Forest Trail. It’s the state’s most difficult hike, a 43-mile loop with a mind-boggling 8,500 feet of elevation gain. I was craving solitude, again, and found the trail emptier than the Alaskan backcountry. I saw as many rattlesnakes as people on that trip.

On my final night of the hike, after pushing hard for about 18 miles, I took off my boots and socks and stretched out on a shady vista as the sun began to sink.  Two hikers came in, a father and son, after their own long day. They hoped to camp there too and asked if I minded. I said it was fine and then, a few minutes later, reached for my socks and boots.

I shouldered my heavy pack, wished them a deep sleep, and pushed on to find solitude, that little bit of loneliness all the world says is a problem.


Jason Nark is a reporter who covers the outdoors for the Philadelphia Inquirer and and a freelance writer whose work has appeared in The New York Times, Outside, The Alpinist, Adventure Journal, National Geographic, Dwell, and other outlets.

Advertisement



Source link

Continue Reading
Advertisement

Trending