MERTARVIK — Growing up along the banks of the Ninglick River in Southwest Alaska, Ashley Tom would look out of her window after strong storms from the Bering Sea hit her village and notice something unsettling: the riverbank was creeping ever closer.

It was in that home, in the village of Newtok, where Tom’s great-grandmother had taught her to sew and crochet on the sofa, skills she used at school when students crafted headdresses, mittens and baby booties using seal or otter fur. It’s also where her grandmother taught her the intricate art of grass basket weaving and how to speak the Yupik language.

Today, erosion and melting permafrost have just about destroyed Newtok, eating about 70 feet of land every year. All that’s left are some dilapidated and largely abandoned gray homes scraped bare of paint by salt darting in on the winds of storms.

“Living with my great-grandmother was all I could remember from Newtok, and it was one of the first houses to be demolished,” said Tom.

In the next few weeks, the last 71 residents will load their possessions onto boats to move to Mertarvik, rejoining 230 residents who began moving away in 2019. They will become one of the first Alaska Native villages to complete a large-scale relocation because of climate change.

Newtok village leaders began searching for a new townsite more than two decades ago, ultimately swapping land with the federal government for a place 9 miles away on the stable volcanic underpinnings of Nelson Island in the Bering Strait.

But the move has been slow, leaving Newtok a split village. Even after most residents shifted to Mertarvik, the grocery store and school remained in Newtok, leaving some teachers and students separated from their families for the school year.

Calvin Tom, the tribal administrator and Ashley’s uncle, called Newtok “not a place to live anymore.” Erosion has tilted power poles precariously, and a single good storm this fall will knock out power for good, he said.

For now, the rush is on to get 18 temporary homes that arrived in Mertarvik on a barge set up before winter sets in.

Alaska is warming two to three times faster than the global average. Some villages dotting the usually frigid North Slope, Alaska’s prodigious oil field, had their warmest temperatures on record in August, prompting some of Ashley Tom’s friends living there to don bikinis and head to Arctic Ocean beaches.

It’s the same story across the Arctic, with permafrost degradation damaging roads, railroad tracks, pipes and buildings for 4 million people across the top of the world, according to the Washington, D.C.-based Arctic Institute. In the Russian Arctic, Indigenous people are being moved to cities instead of having their eroding villages relocated and across Scandinavia, reindeer herders are finding the land constantly shifting and new bodies of water appearing, the institute said.

About 85% of Alaska’s land lies atop permafrost, so named because it’s supposed to be permanently frozen ground. It holds a lot of water, and when it thaws or when warmer coastal water hits it, its melting causes further erosion. Another issue with warming: less sea ice to act as natural barriers that protect coastal communities from the dangerous waves of ocean storms.

The Yupik have a word for the catastrophic threats of erosion, flooding and thawing permafrost: “usteq,” which means “surface caves in.” The changes are usually slow — until all of a sudden they aren’t, as when a riverbank sloughs off or a huge hole opens up, said Rick Thoman, a climate specialist with the International Arctic Research Center at the University of Alaska Fairbanks.

There are 114 Alaska Native communities that face some degree of infrastructure damage from erosion, flooding or permafrost melt, according to a report in January from the Alaska Native Tribal Health Consortium. Six of them — Kivalina, Koyukuk, Newtok, Shaktoolik, Shishmaref and Unalakleet — were deemed imminently threatened in a Government Accountability Office report more than two decades ago.

Communities have three options based on the severity of their situations: Securing protection to stay where they are; staging a managed retreat, moving back from erosion threats; or a complete relocation.

Moving is hard, starting with finding a place to go. Communities typically need to swap with the federal government, which owns about 60% of Alaska’s land. But Congress has to approve swaps, and that’s only after negotiations that can drag on: Newtok, for example, began pursuing the Nelson Island land in 1996 and didn’t wrap up until late 2003.

“That’s way too long,” said Jackie Qatalina Schaeffer, the director of planning initiatives at the Alaska Native Travel Health Consortium.

“If we look back a decade at what’s happened as far as climate change in Alaska, we’re out of time,” she said. “We need to find a better way to help communities secure land for relocation.”

Kivalina last year completed a master plan for relocation and is negotiating with an Alaska Native regional corporation for the land, a process that could take three to five years, Schaeffer said.

Another big hurdle is cost. Newtok has spent decades and about $160 million in today’s dollars on its move. Estimates to relocate Kivalina vary from $100 million to $400 million and rising, and there’s currently no federal funding for relocation. The Federal Emergency Management Agency has disaster funding and programs, Schaeffer said, but that comes only after a disaster declaration.

In 2018, a resource for Alaska communities identified 60 federal funding sources for relocation, but according to the Unmet Needs report, only a few have been successfully used to address environmental threats. But an infusion of funding into these existing programs by the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law and the Inflation Reduction Act could provide benefits to threatened Alaska communities, the report said.

About $4.3 billion in 2020 dollars will be needed to mitigate infrastructure damage over the next 50 years, the health consortium report says. It called for Congress to close an $80 million annual gap by providing a single committed source to assist communities.

“Alaska Native economic, social, and cultural ways of being, which have served so well for millennia, are now under extreme threat due to accelerated environmental change,” the report said. “In jeopardy are not just buildings, but the sustainability of entire communities and cultures.”

After five years of separation and split lives, the residents of Newtok and Mertarvik will be one again. The school in Newtok closed and classes started in August for the first time in a temporary location in Mertarvik. A new school building should be ready in 2026. The Newtok grocery recently moved to Mertarvik, and there’s plans for a second grocery and a church, Calvin Tom said.

The new village site has huge benefits, including better health, Tom said. For now, most of the people of Mertarvik are still using a “honey bucket” system rather than toilets. But that method of manually dumping plastic buckets of waste should be replaced by piped water and sewer within the next few years. The new homes in Mertarvik are also free of black mold that crept into some Newtok homes on moisture brought by the remnants of Typhoon Merbok two years ago.

Tom said there’s talk of someday renaming the relocated town Newtok. Whatever the name, the relocation offers assurance that culture and traditions from the old place will continue. An Indigenous drum and dance group is practicing at the temporary school, and subsistence hunting opportunities — moose, musk ox, black bear, brown bear — abound.

A pod of belugas that comes by every fall should arrive soon, and that hunt will help residents fill their freezers for the harsh winter ahead.

Ashley Tom is excited by the arrival of the last Newtok residents in Mertarvik. Although their home will be different from what they’ve known for most of their lives, she’s confident they will come to appreciate it as she has.

“I really love this this new area, and I just feel whole here,” she said.

___

Thiessen reported from Anchorage.

Energy costs across the U.S. “would probably go down substantially” if the U.S. sharply increased mining and production of Alaska’s natural resources, according to Adam Crum, commissioner for the Alaska Department of Revenue. 

Geographically, Alaska is by far the largest U.S. state at more than 663,000 square miles. It is also among the most natural resource-dense states in the nation. 

Alaska became a state in 1959, and under its Statehood Act, it is “mandated that the mineral resources and the subsurface rights were collectivized by the state so that the state could actually collect the royalties and production taxes off of that to fund the government,” Crum explains on “The Daily Signal Podcast.”

While other states, such as Texas and North Dakota, can have “individual farmers who actually have mineral rights, nobody has that in Alaska,” he said, explaining that his state was “set up to be a resource-development state since inception.” 

One of the world’s largest zinc and lead mines can be found in northwest Alaska and has now “been producing for over 40 years and has provided very extensive jobs,” according to Crum. 

The mine has allowed the local indigenous population in northern Alaska to “not only have an economy to stay there, but you have this town now, it’s about 4,000, 5,000 people of primarily Inupiat Eskimos living up there. They get to benefit from this, and they can still get to live a subsistence lifestyle,” Crum explains. 

Asked about the environmental effects of mining and drilling in Alaska, the revenue commissioner said life expectancy has increased in native communities where natural resources are being extracted as industry has strengthened local economies and increased the quality of life. 

Crum joins “The Daily Signal Podcast” to discuss the vast natural resources Alaska has to offer. 

Alaska House of Representatives Speaker Cathy Tilton joins the show after the conversation with Crum to discuss the greatest challenges facing America’s most northern state, and to share some of Alaska’s best-kept secrets. 

Listen to both conversation on the podcast below: 

This is part of Alaska Authors, an occasional series about authors and other literary figures with ties to the 49th state.

For some time, Anchorage author Lynn Lovegreen watched the growing movement across the country to remove books from library shelves, especially in schools, with a growing sense of alarm.

“As a retired secondary teacher, I have seen how important books are to teens,” Lovegreen said. “And as an author, I have been aware of what’s happening with book challenges and book bans throughout the country, including here in Alaska. I want to stand up for the freedom to read.”

Lovegreen, who pens young adult historical romance books, said she had been looking to add her voice to those resisting this trend. Then one day early this year, she saw a social media post from Authors Against Book Bans and was intrigued. “I clicked on the link and looked at their website and wanted to support their cause. So I joined and I’m in the process of helping the Alaska chapter get involved in different activities.”

Before she knew it, Lovegreen had become the Alaska chapter leader of an organization that has quickly built a nationwide presence.

Authors Against Book Bans, or AABB, was established in January of this year to join the growing pushback by parents, educators, librarians and various organizations seeking to prevent what members feel is a dangerous drift toward reducing the number and diversity of books available on library shelves.

Sarah MacLean, a nationally known author who also writes young adult romance fiction, was present at the organization’s founding and serves on its board of directors. She said that while the group’s name singles out authors, members come from a wide range of those involved in creating and publishing books for both children and adults.

“It’s authors and illustrators and audiobook narrators and translators, anthology editors. It’s just too long for the URL to put them all in,” MacLean said. “I think most authors understand the importance of standing against book bans.”

So far, MacLean said, much of the resistance to book banning has been a case of what she called “whack-a-mole,” opposing individual bans when they happen instead of being proactive. With an increasing number of organizations getting involved, however, Authors Against Book Bans seeks to work in tandem with such allies as the ACLU, PEN America and the American Library Association, as well as regional and state-level library associations, local and school libraries, and more.

The group was founded on the idea that all of these entities, from national organizations to schools on the front lines, have unique roles to play, and that by coming together as a united front, they can be more effective in their efforts than each would be by acting alone. Authors Against Book Bans, MacLean said, offers an important perspective. “We were built as the author wing of the fight against book bans.”

To that end, Lovegreen said, Authors Against Book Bans works on requests from schools and other institutions. “Rather than spend a lot of time doing things that may not be helpful, we ask what is helpful, and we try to act accordingly.”

Cordova author Cathy Pegau said that when she learned of the group, she immediately wanted to be part of it. While her science fiction romance, paranormal romance, and cozy historical mystery books are aimed at adults, she feels it’s only a matter of time until attention is shifted to work like hers.

“I have queer characters. That seems to be a thing that folks who are banning books are looking at. Not even the fact that they’re having any kind of physical sexual relationship, just the fact that there are queer characters in a book is getting folks all up in arms,” she said. “I’m looking at the writing on the wall.”

When Lovegreen launched the Alaska chapter of Authors Against Book Bans, she sent emails to authors throughout the state urging them to join. Receiving one of those emails brought Pegau on board. “I know that it’s not a matter of if something is going to go on here in the state, it’s when,” she said, noting it’s already happening with the ongoing library books dispute in the Matanuska-Susitna Borough School District.

[It’s Banned Books Week. LGBTQ+ content tops the most-challenged list.]

Lovegreen pointed out that many of the book challenges target specific minorities in America whose voices have long been underrepresented in both children’s and adult literature.

“Nowadays we live in a very diverse world with more books written by LGBTQ+ and BIPOC authors who write stories they wish they had had when they were younger,” she said. “And kids want to see themselves reflected in books. So when we ban a book based on a particular identity, then we’re telling those people that their life and their stories are not worthy of discussions. And that’s not fair.”

Pegau echoed this statement, emphasizing that efforts to remove books from shelves are too frequently directed at works by Americans from minority communities, and that just because certain books make some people uncomfortable doesn’t mean they should be banned.

“I cannot see how this is a good thing,” she said. “You don’t want your grandchildren or children to read those books? Fine. But my kid or other kids, if they get a chance to see that there are books about and for them, let them have that moment of, ‘Hey, it’s not just me. I can be seen.’”

Lovegreen, who shares this belief, said that “kids should have the right to see themselves reflected in books and read books that are interesting to them.”

Authors Against Book Bans focuses on supporting the rights of young people to read, and others who are impacted by book bans, including teachers and librarians, Lovegreen said. The work the Alaska chapter plans on doing includes speaking at public meetings, writing opinion pieces and supporting children caught in the middle.

Reflecting on recent actions taken in Mat-Su, and the likelihood that such activity will soon spread to other districts, Pegau said that the Alaska chapter will be speaking up. “When challenges are put out there, I’d like to see us put out some kind of statement, put up some kind of pushback about why this is wrong. Whatever the book is that’s being banned and wherever it’s being challenged,” she said. She added that the group might also engage by “showing up at a library or wherever somebody is being harassed about books.”

MacLean suggests that even non-writers can join the resistance to book bans by calling federal representatives, state legislators, local assembly persons and school board members. Attend school board meetings, she said, or consider running for a school board seat. And most importantly, talk with and support librarians and educators. “Saying thank you goes a long way,” she said.

Discussing the Alaska chapter’s objectives, Lovegreen concluded, “My vision is for people to know about Authors Against Book Bans in Alaska, and for us to partner with people who would like extra support or would like to hear what authors feel about the issue. And hopefully, while we’re doing that, we’ll be able to provide a framework for organizing and supporting freedom to read around the state. The right to read is an important part of American democracy, and books should be accessible to people who want to read them.”