By Rachel A. Qitsualik and Sean A. Tinsley

PART 1 (Published in October 2007)

One can never look forward to arguing that different cultures think in different ways, that language does not necessarily bear concepts universal from one people to the next. There is an assumption by too many individuals (many of whom, tragically, are policy makers) that the concepts held by their own culture automatically exist in others. A great number of people, for example, have requested the Inuktitut term for "traditional law." When it has been explained to them that there was no such term, in fact no such concept in old Inuit culture (that the contemporary word piqujaq misleadingly means “command”), they typically respond with a blank stare. Even worse are scientific terms, such as “bacteria,” to which Inuktitut can only offer variations on qupiruq (“worm”).

It works in reverse, as well. There are a great number of Inuktitut concepts that refuse to lend themselves to translation into foreign mind-sets. A beautiful example is the concept of ilira. In the simplest English translations, ilira has been labelled “fear.” In the most complex translations, ilira has been described as “fear of authority” or “fear of ill will.” Differing cultural lenses are at work here.

In truth, ilira owns elements of all such translations, yet its nature is characterized by a depth impossible to comprehend unless absorbed through actual life within Inuit culture. In order to understand it, you have to be able to feel it. Now, there are those readers out there who are shaking their heads at this, perhaps muttering, “Impossible. One human is the same as the next. All human beings experience the same thoughts, emotions, experiences. They simply use different words…”

Untrue. While many thoughts and feelings overlap to an extent that they can be commonly recognized, it is just as arguable as ever (given how little we know about the mind) that every human experience is unique. Especially where experience is concerned, each thinking creature is a separate Universe unto itself, unable to be perfectly understood by any other. Just as the immeasurable combinations of wind, pressure, temperature, and density ensure that every crystal of ice is unalike to another, so the infinitude of life events ensure that no soul – no thought or experience – is exactly alike to another.

Imagine, then, the greater gulfs existent from culture to culture, as spawned by environments of lethal extremes, such as the Arctic evolution that has crafted Inuit mind and body since ages when glaciers caressed the world’s equator.

The true world of the Inuit ancestors – the realm of safety, joy, warmth – was the family. There was no variety of experiences in the Inuit world to compare to the intricacies of fellow human minds. Consequently, the Inuit identification of the range of human feelings exceeds even that of modern psychology, so that Inuktitut today contains dozens of unique terms for emotions not immediately recognized by other cultures.

One such emotion is that of ilira, a feeling that is not quite fear, and yet may cause traditional Inuit to seem as though they are yielding to authority. Ilira is an emotion that only features in interpersonal conflicts, when there is the potential for argumentation – occurring only when opinions collide, and only in the one who “backs down” from confrontation. And this is where Inuit culture becomes important, for since traditional Inuit find conflict loathsome, an Inuk may come to feel ilirasuktuq: a state in which they are distinctly unsatisfied (perhaps even angry), yet will give in for the simple sake of dissipating the conflict.

Again, Inuit culture becomes a key factor here, for one who is ilirasuktuq does not give in from a sense of duty, nor a fear of punishment. Interestingly, the reaction stems from the fundamental principle of Inuit wisdom best estranged from this age.

Pragmatism.

Imagine two tourists, husband and wife, nervous grins, rosy noses, heaving lungs unaccustomed to clean air. They sport bright magenta, puffy parkas, like giant plastic body pillows — bought at a trendy urbanite store located in a shopping mall — shockingly brittle in the extreme sub-zero temperature and wind chill.

Like a cherry topping some hideous cake are their mock-Indian style of mitts, stiff with newness, complete with “dummy” strings to prevent their loss. They wield their camera like a weapon.

At their mercy is a lone Inuk, whom they have caught untangling some

dog-sled traces. Earlier, the traces became a bit wet and, whilst routinely tangled from use, froze together into a semi-cylindrical clump.

The tourists stand nearby, watching the Inuk, amazed at the sight of him untangling the icy traces with his bare hands. They periodically turn toward each other, commenting excitedly.

The Inuk tries to ignore them as they snap a few pictures.

Eventually, because the Inuk hasn’t reacted negatively, the tourists decide to get some better shots. Soon, they are leaning in close to him, asking him to position the traces at this angle and that; to pose, to redo some shots they were not happy with.

The Inuk obliges them. He does everything they ask of him, thus wasting about an hour, so that he has to work harder to finish the traces. But he doesn’t say a word the entire time. The tourists eventually move on. The photography has cheered them and made them hungry, so they are off to the inn to get an outrageously expensive hamburger. On their way, they discuss how nice the locals (the ‘In-oo-its’) are, how shy and kindly, just like in the movies.

Another tourist has witnessed the whole thing. He watches the couple on their way to hamburgers, placing his hands on his hips and snorting with derision. He is disgusted at how rudely they treated that poor In-oo-it, at how they bullied him into posing for their insipid snapshots, at how they have no respect for the traditional culture.

He shakes his head in disgust, resolving to step in next time, to fend away the tourists from these gentle people who are inherently shy, quiet, and ready to do anything to please strangers. Poor, passive In-oo-it.

But everyone in this scenario is mistaken. 

PART 2 - Published in November 2007

The first person who is mistaken, believe it or not, is the Inuk. He is following a cultural cue best reserved for other Inuit who understand it. He is obliging the tourists because they have made him ilirasuktuq: feeling ilira. He needs to remember that they are not of his culture, that in order to help himself and others, he must communicate with them in their own way – by telling them to jump into the nearest lake.

The second mistake is made by the tourist couple, not simply in their rudeness, but in their belief that the Inuk harbours no ill feelings toward them. They are mistaken in thinking that he obliged them out of kindness, for he was really experiencing ilira, the need to obey in order to avoid a messy confrontation. He may, in fact, hate their guts (though let us hope not).

The last mistaken one is the lone tourist who felt indignation, believing that the Inuk indulged the tourist couple out of passivity, an inability or unwillingness to defend himself. He doesn’t realize that the Inuk not only experienced ilira, but actually “practised” it – losing an hour rather than risking hostile confrontation, an efficient and very old cultural method of dealing with strangers.

Old Inuit culture reduces waste, even of emotional energy.

Traditional Inuit held silence and respect as twin virtues. The value of silence is obvious, since a hunting society isn’t going to catch anything if its members are noisy by nature. The ability to keep silent was considered a skill, so that even many Inuit games – such as aaqsiiq, wherein the first to make noise is the loser – are based upon silence. Because of this culturally ingrained value, Inuit are typically soft-spoken to this day, so that strangers of a comparatively “louder” culture seem aggressive.

Respect for the isuma – personal thoughts and feelings – of others was also fundamental, so that Inuit were reticent to question or make demands of others. Inuit relied upon the assumption that each individual would willingly carry out his duties to every other (e.g., sharing food, sharing shelter, doing the tasks expected of them, behaving in an appropriate way). Conversely, most European-descended cultures are combative in their approach to isuma. A feeling is not considered valid until proven against others. When two European-descended people meet, they subtly (or sometimes overtly) fence with their opinions, weighing and measuring them against each other. This is the very essence of debate, which has existed in only the most tenuous and abstract forms in traditional Inuit culture (the “song-duel” being the best example of such). At the very least, European-descended people often feel the need to voice some sort of opinion when meeting others (“Quite the weather, eh?”), submitting it for acceptance or rejection. To this day, many Inuit (the oldest, in particular) still cannot fathom the need for idle chatter. Traditionally, one’s opinion belongs to one’s self only. Vehemently asserting one’s opinion, or excessively discussing that of others, is perceived as aggression – sometimes, as madness.

Behaviour that seems aggressive to Inuit is traditionally met with ilira, a sullen silence and compliance, such as that exhibited by the Inuk in the story. It is the old Inuit way of dealing with aggressors, especially strangers. When met with loudness or argumentation, the Inuk responds with ilira, feeling that it is better to yield temporarily, to defuse a conflict by refusing to fight. Violence was not merely immoral in traditional culture, but wasteful. Inuit preferred conflict resolution over combat. Ilira, therefore, worked well in traditional society, wherein ideas and opinions in themselves were not considered worth fighting over. Times have changed, however, forcing Inuit to address the problems that arise when trying to reconcile the opinions of many people living in a single community. No longer can Inuit afford to allow everyone their own way, for Inuit – like Qallunat, or European-descended peoples – now rely upon projects wherein separate opinions conflict; wherein singular visions are valued. The unfortunate side-effect of this approach is that it forces society to become an arena, its members duelling over the ideas that will prevail. In a project-driven society, ideas are power for which authoritarians may actually kill.

So, if anything, it is his inability to understand that he lives in a new world that is our story-Inuk’s “failing.” While there was a time when his ilira would have worked to avoid conflict, his compliance means only one thing to the culture that now occupies his Land: that he is passive, perhaps even cowardly, like a servant or a slave. For his indulgence of the tourists will never resolve the matter. As long as he says nothing, their demands know no limit. Within the culture of the tourists, silence means agreement; if the Inuk wishes them to go away, it is assumed that he will tell them.

Not that the tourists are entirely to blame for their assumptions: Theirs is, after all, a culture wherein most people over the age of twenty-five first learned of Inuit (thankfully, Eskimos no longer) as a race of happy and blissfully ignorant snow-people; rotund, nose-kissing, fur-bound, and forever chuckling as they build their “igloos” (which, let’s face it, to Qallunat is reminiscent of the winter play of their children). Many grew up under a hail of assumptions and myths concerning the nature of Inuit – such as the idea that Inuit say “chimo” in greeting, “mush” when driving sled-dogs; that they eat whale fat (they don’t; they eat skin), or that they freely “swap” wives. To this very day, the most insipid pseudo-Inuit imagery still comes to southerners from the commercial sector; from industries that have long used nose-kissing Eskimos (today, most often Chinese actors dressed like a polyester shag carpet) to draw the consumer eye to their products.

But the reason the eye is drawn to such imagery is not, at its core, an evil one: Inaccuracies aside, Inuit are basically a symbol, to the rest of the world, of what is clean, simple, and unspoiled. Inuit are therefore deemed worthy of condescension, but also envy.

PART 2 - Published in December 2007

So our tourist couple is labouring under the assumption that what their culture has taught them is correct. Because their cultural authorities have taught them that Inuit are hospitable and kindly by nature, they assume that when an Inuk obliges their every whim, it is because he is pleased to do so. Yes, that may be so. But it cannot occur to them that he may instead be obliging them only out of ilira, the need to speedily do as they ask only to avoid confrontation. The process may have even angered the Inuk, but he will never say so, because – like confrontation itself – displays of anger are not Inuktitut (i.e., the way of Inuit).

But what about the third party in our story of ilira? What about the non-Inuit witness who watched, disgusted, at the way the tourists treated the Inuk? What about the sympathizer?

Unfortunately, Inuit must be included in that long list of Aboriginal peoples torn between two opposing, non-Aboriginal camps:

A) Pirates; those who change the Aboriginal culture and environment, perhaps eliminate it altogether, merely for personal gain. Although no single non-Inuit faction, commercial, religious, or political, has been an entirely exploitative force, all have and still do hold members to whom Inuit and the Land represent little other than a feeding trough. And, as with an infection, it only takes a few such individuals to do a lot of damage.

B) Preservationists; those convinced that any non-Aboriginal influence can be nothing less than harmful; that Aboriginal peoples are best left isolated; that all industrialized cultures are inherently exploitative. Such individuals treasure archaeological trivia and archaic customs/language as “traditional knowledge,” lamenting the loss of even an ancient word from the modern vocabulary, reviling the adaptation of Aboriginal peoples to foreign conventions. In this outlook, Aboriginal peoples are viewed as the proverbial babies, who must be protected from the equally proverbial candy-snatchers.

But any extreme is a hideous thing.

The “sympathizer” belongs to the second camp, for his belief is that Inuit are too sheepish to resist the sophisticated, selfish tourists. This sympathizer has granted himself special status, believing that while he belongs to the same culture as the tourist couple, he is superior by virtue of his ability to observe both cultures from a distance, thereby remaining above them. He has decided that he has a special understanding of Inuit culture, an understanding of greater depth than most others (especially Mr. and Mrs. Tourist) could ever fathom.

The potentially uncomfortable fact that the sympathizer evades is that his protective outlook serves only a single ego: his own. He has not, after all, bothered to approach the Inuk, asking, “Is everything all right?” Instead, he has resorted to assumptions, entertaining himself with the internal flattery of belief that his fellow tourists are boorish and offensive; that only he is intelligent or informed enough to understand that the Inuk has been victimized. The sympathizer is very impressed with himself.

Yet anyone who truly understood Inuit culture would realize, in a glance, that the Inuk could handle himself – that he indulged the tourists only out of ilira, thus getting rid of them without bothering to fight back. It saved time. There might have been mistakes made here, but there was never any victim.

Too often, those who would protect traditional culture on behalf of Inuit, rather than alongside of Inuit, truly fight only shadows. If, as the saying goes, “the road to hell is paved with good intentions,” then those who would sympathize with Inuit problems need to remind themselves that Inuit are not a culture of children. They are intelligent and cognizant of the happenings around them. Their adaptation to modern conveniences and conventions has been almost entirely intentional – and although Inuit do occasionally wonder what it must have been like to hunt bears with flint spears alone, the majority prefer a world of satellite TV and internet access. Technology and beliefs, languages and ideas: These are like suits of clothing that, while they may modify the wearer to outward appearances, cannot change one’s essential nature.

Sometimes, a set of social interactions, like a single word, deserves a closer look. Deeds are born of thoughts which are born of beliefs. We overlook the deeper meanings of what we believe, and therefore what we do, only to our peril.

Pijariiqpunga.

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