Northern Communities Working Together: The Social Economy of Canada's North 9781442664340

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NORTHERN COMMUNITIES WORKING TOGETHER The Social Economy of Canada’s North Edited by Chris Southcott

The unique historical, economic, and social features of the Canadian North pose special challenges for the social economy – a sector that includes non-profits, cooperatives, social enterprises, and community economic development organizations. Northern Communities Working Together highlights the innovative ways in which Northerners are using the social economy to meet their economic, social, and cultural challenges while increasing local control and capabilities. The contributors focus on the special challenges of the North and their impact on the scope of the social economy, including analyses of land claim organizations, hunter support programs, and Indigenous conceptions of the social economy. A welcome resource for scholars and policymakers studying any aspect of the Canadian North, Northern Communities Working Together is a major contribution to the literature on the social economy in Canada. chris southcott is a professor in the Department of Sociology at Lakehead University. He was the chair and research director of the Social Economy Research Network of Northern Canada from 2006 to 2012.

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Northern Communities Working Together The Social Economy of Canada’s North

EDITED BY CHRIS SOUTHCOTT

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO PRESS Toronto Buffalo London

© University of Toronto Press 2015 Toronto Buffalo London www.utppublishing.com Printed in the U.S.A ISBN 978-1-4426-4606-3 (cloth) ISBN 978-1-4426-1418-5 (paper)

Printed on acid-free, 100% post-consumer recycled paper with vegetablebased inks.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Northern communities working together : the social economy of Canada’s North / edited by Chris Southcott. Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 978-1-4426-4606-3 (bound). ISBN 978-1-4426-1418-5 (pbk.) 1. Canada, Northern – Economic conditions. 2. Canada, Northern – Social conditions. 3. Cooperation – Canada, Northern. 4. Native peoples – Canada, Northern – Economic conditions – 21st century. 5. Native peoples – Canada, Northern – Social conditions – 21st century. I. Southcott, Chris, author, editor HC117.N48N67 2015

338.9719

C2014-907708-4

University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial assistance to its publishing program of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council, an agency of the Government of Ontario.

University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for its publishing activities.

Contents

1 Northern Communities Working Together: The Social Economy of Canada’s North 3 chris southcott 2 A Portrait of the Social Economy of Northern Canada chris southcott and valoree walker

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3 The Social Economy and Resource Development in Northern Canada 52 brenda parlee 4 State Institutions and the Social Economy in Northern Canada 74 frances abele 5 Land Claim Organizations and the Social Economy in Nunavut and Nunavik 97 thierry rodon 6 Understanding the Contributions of Volunteering to the Social Economy in Whitehorse, Yukon, through the Views of Outdoor Recreation Volunteers 116 carrie mcclelland and margaret johnston 7 Beyond Their Most Obvious Face: The Reach of Cooperatives in the Canadian North 139 ian macpherson

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8 Cooperatives and the Social Economy of the Yukon doug lionais and kim hardy

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9 Hunter Support Programs and the Northern Social Economy 183 david natcher, damian castro, and lawrence felt 10 Historical Perspectives on Mining and the Aboriginal Social Economy 198 jean-sébast ien boutet, arn keelin g, and john sandlos 11 Conservation-cum-Social and Economic Development: The Emergence of an Eco-social Economy in the Canadian North 228 nathan bennett and harvey lemelin 12 Gúlú Agot’ı T’á Kǝ Gotsúhɂa Gha (Learning about Changes): Rethinking Indigenous Social Economy in Délı̨ nę Northwest Territories 253 deborah simmons, walter bayha, ingeborg fink, sarah gordon, keren rice, and doris taneton 13 Some Observations on the Social Economy in Northern Canada 275 chris southcott Contributors

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NORTHERN COMMUNITIES WORKING TOGETHER The Social Economy of Canada’s North

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1 Northern Communities Working Together: The Social Economy of Canada’s North CHRIS SOUTHCOTT

The communities of northern Canada1 are facing a long list of challenges. The Indigenous2 communities are attempting to deal with a period of rapid social change that has seen them transform from a society largely dependent on traditional hunting and gathering to that of an urban society facing a wide range of development issues. Non-Indigenous communities, meanwhile, continue to face the uncertainties brought about by an overdependence on natural resource exploitation and the cycle of boom and bust that generally accompanies such economic activity. Federal governments of the past thirty years have attempted to deal with these challenges by slowly devolving responsibilities to these communities, but the change from a colonial relationship to regional empowerment has not come easily. Issues of capacity and responsibility loom large and are causing difficulties for those attempting to improve the social, economic, and cultural situation in these communities. While governments and industry pursue activities and policies to assist communities to deal with the issues they face, social economy groups are increasingly active in this task. The people of the region have long used community-based voluntary, non-profit, and cooperative organizations to help build stronger communities. In the past, these

1 The definition of northern Canada in this book is the Yukon, the Northwest Territories, Nunavut, Nunavik, and Labrador (including the Nunatsiavut region), but much of the research it contains can be applied equally to the northern parts of many provinces. 2 The terms Indigenous and Aboriginal are used interchangeably in this volume; Aboriginal is often used to refer to formal definitions of First Nations people in Canada’s Constitution.

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associations have been given little credit for the work they do, but the region is now at a point in its development that the value of these groups is becoming increasingly apparent. At a time when northern communities need to mobilize around actions to deal with social problems, these organizations are building the social capital necessary to do this. At a time when northern communities are asking for more of a say in the direction their region is taking, these organizations are providing a vehicle for this type of empowerment. As the North requires increased capacity, these groups are providing it. As flexibility increasingly is required to respond to quickly changing situations, these associations are seen as extremely innovative and adaptable. This book is about these community organizations and about the forces that affect them. Its contributors have been studying these organizations since the creation in 2006 of the Social Economy Research Network of Northern Canada (SERNNoCa), following the awarding of a grant from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC). SERNNoCa brought together researchers and community partners around the idea of examining the work of voluntary, nonprofit, and cooperative organizations in helping their communities to cope with the challenges they face. We wanted to find out more about the importance of these groups, how they help communities, and what issues they face. This book is an attempt to summarize some of the main findings of this work. Given the conditions that exist in Canada’s North, we knew this would be a complex task. The dependent nature of resource-based communities and the central place of Indigenous communities posed clear problems for looking at these issues from established perspectives. Accordingly, we chose to mobilize a series of projects to look at the social economy from a multiplicity of perspectives. We needed first to gather together a base of knowledge that would allow us to look at more concrete suggestions. This decision posed obvious problems when it came to developing a clear linear argument that could connect and integrate the findings of the various projects – presented as the separate chapters in this volume. Readers who are expecting a volume that deals with the northern social economy from a uniform perspective with a logically progressing argument thus will be somewhat disappointed. Partners knew at the beginning of the project that an overly constraining pre-established plan would not enable us to gather the knowledge that would allow us to understand the diversity, complexity, and innovative nature of the northern social economy.

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Much of the material in this volume therefore is designed to provide a diverse knowledge base that then can be used to develop more concrete ideas about the potential of the social economy to help northern communities deal with the challenges they face. At the same time, given the common purpose of the participants, it is not surprising that the various chapters in this volume are linked by more than a common terminology and geography. Contributors shared a common desire to discover the potential of having “communities working together.” We wanted to find out to what extent the social economy offers hope for local and regional answers to local and regional questions. As the conclusion points out, despite starting from different places, the contributors did manage to produce some key shared themes that are significant for future work. They find, for example, that social economy organizations are already playing an important role in helping northern communities deal with problems. The unique socio-historic and economic conditions of these communities mean that the northern social economy is being shaped by several key forces that differ from the social economy of other regions of Canada. One of the most important of these is the sharing relationships that characterize the social economy of Indigenous communities in the North. The research in this volume shows how these factors are influencing and shaping the contemporary formation of “third sector” social economy organizations in the region. The Social Economy As has been pointed out elsewhere (Southcott 2009), the term “social economy” is not widely used in northern Canada, but the ideas and relationships that are the foundation of the social economy are prevalent throughout the North. As the researchers in this book point out, at least two distinct but often interwoven discourses concerning the social economy exist in northern Canada. The first is that of the “third sector” (Quarter 1992), one common to all regions of Canada, although in varying degrees.3 According to this tradition, the contemporary social economy emerged in Western societies during the nineteenth century in reaction to the Industrial Revolution (Moulaert and Ailenei 2005). Building on earlier associational relations, it rejected both profit-based

3 The term “third sector” is often used in this volume to describe this type of social economy.

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capitalist relations and state-based bureaucratic relations. In North America this took the form of a variety of mutual self-help groups and other types of associations. During the first half of the twentieth century in both English Canada and Quebec, the cooperative movement, along with a range of other similar community-based organizations, arose to meet a range of needs facing emerging communities. In the 1960s the term “community economic development” started to be used in English Canada (Chouinard and Fairbain 2002), and implied the use of a variety of organizations based on participatory principles to overcome emerging economic, social, and environmental problems. In pre–Second World War Quebec, the cooperative movement and similar organizations followed patterns much like those found in English Canada. In the post-war era however, these types of organizations became much more institutionalized in the “Quebec model of development” (Lévesque, Malo, and Girard 1999). The legitimization of the concept of the social economy as an economic and social alternative occurred in Quebec in 1996. Following an economic summit organized by the provincial government that year, the Chantier de l’économie sociale was formed to promote the value of using non-profit and voluntary solidarity-based organizations to “create thousands of jobs, while meeting the social, environmental, and cultural needs of Quebec” (Mendell and Neamtan 2010). The success of the Chantier in Quebec, supplemented by the success of social economy–like organizations in other areas of Canada, influenced the federal government to announce funding for social economy initiatives in 2004. Funding was allocated to SSHRC to promote research in the area. As discussed below, this led to the formation of a series of regional social economy research networks, including SERNNoCa. Although there is a common understanding of what is meant by “the social economy,” there is considerable discussion of precise definitions (Mook, Quarter, and Ryan 2010). Outside Quebec the social economy is often referred to as “community economic development.” The central notion of both these terms is that they include economic activities that are neither state driven nor profit driven. Social economy organizations do not aim to obtain a return on capital. They are, by nature, part of a stakeholder economy, whose enterprises are created by and for those with common needs and accountable to those they are meant to serve. They generally are managed in accordance with the principle of “one member, one vote.” They are flexible and innovative, and most are based on voluntary participation, membership, and commitment (Bouchard,

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Ferraton, and Michaud 2006). According to this particular discourse, then, the social economy is primarily made up of organizations in the not-for-profit sector that focus on enhancing the social, economic, and environmental conditions of communities, although they often use the tools and some of the methods of business to provide social, cultural, economic, health, and other services to communities. The second academic discourse concerning “the social economy” has been used more extensively in the Canadian North than the first to refer to the traditional and cooperative relationships that exist within Indigenous communities and the social relations that characterize their subsistence economies. Natcher (2009, 84) notes the work of anthropologist Kalervo Oberg in 1931, which drew attention to the fact that “the economies of Aboriginal peoples not only entail highly specialized modes of resource production, but also involve the transmission of social values.” Oberg used “social economy” to describe the non-utilitarian relationships that were the basis of collective relationships in these communities. This interpretation of the social economy continues to exist in northern research (Harder and Wenzel 2012; Wenzel, Hovelsrud-Brosa, and Kishigami 2000). As the conclusion to this volume points out, a better understanding of the Indigenous social economy of Canada’s North is one of the most significant contributions of this research to the social economy discourse. The Social Economy and the Canadian North SERNNoCa researchers generally have attempted to combine the past anthropological discussions of the social economy with contemporary discussions of social economy organizations. Although they tend to highlight different aspects of northern communities, both discourses stress the cooperative collective relationships that exist there. A consensus exists that the “third sector” definition is useful for primarily non-Indigenous communities, but some researchers believe it does not adequately express the situation in Indigenous communities (Natcher 2009). SERNNoCa researchers tend to differentiate these two discourses by referring to the first as dealing with the formal aspects of the social economy, while the more anthropological discourse deals with the informal aspects. Formal aspects of the northern social economy are found in the established organizations listed in the census undertaken by SERNNoCa (Southcott and Walker 2009). At the same time, the informal aspects of the social economy exist in the relationships that

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characterize the traditional or “mixed” economy of the region’s contemporary Indigenous communities (Abele, and Simmons et al., both in this volume). The research carried out by SERNNoCa notes that the role and use of social economy organizations is unique in the North. This uniqueness is based on the region’s particular conditions. Unlike other areas of Canada, the North historically has been characterized by two distinct types of communities: resource-dependent communities dominated by nonIndigenous migrants, and Indigenous communities characterized by a mixed economy (Southcott 2003).4 Research on the impact of resource development in northern communities has shown that a fundamental contradiction exists between the organizational principles of large-scale resource exploitation enterprises and “the local social economy” of these communities (House 1981). The impact of megaprojects on northern Indigenous communities has been an important issue in recent research (Bone 2003). These projects are typically industrial in nature and affect the communities in varying ways. Research has indicated that the rapid introduction of industrialism and consumption patterns is conflicting with the hunting and gathering economy and traditions, leading to serious social instability and myriad related social problems (Chabot 2004; Niezen 1993; Stabler 1990). Although these issues underlie recent social research on communities in Canada’s North, three characteristics in particular are having an important impact on the social economy sector in these communities. The first is the existence of a mixed economy in Indigenous communities that rely not only on wages from labour but also on the continued existence of subsistence hunting and fishing activities. The second characteristic is the continued importance of the state in Canada’s North. A colonial culture, combined with an economy dominated by industrial logic and the recent implementation of paternalistic welfare state policies, has meant a strong role for the state in the northern economy. Finally, the dependence on large-scale resource exploitation in so many northern communities also has an important impact on the formation of the social economy of the region. These unique aspects were highlighted in the research undertaken by SERNNoCa. As part of a national effort, it was felt that the northern

4 Recently, a third type of community has gained in importance: the services sector community (see Southcott and Walker, in this volume).

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“node” of the “social economy suite” could contribute most effectively to research on Canada’s social economy by focusing on characteristics that make the North distinct.

The mixed economy Researchers have noted that most Indigenous communities in Canada’s North can be characterized as having a mixed economy (Abele 1997; Stabler and Howe 1990). In this kind of economy, income in-kind from the land through traditional economic activities and cash income from wages and social transfers is shared among community members. The unique aspect of the northern mixed economy is the relative importance of subsistence activities. Abele makes the case that this mixed economy can be maintained only through state policy measures to regulate land use and the provision of social transfers. In the current post-Fordist climate, the ability of the state to provide these measures is increasingly questioned, thus threatening the mixed economies of these communities. Over twenty years ago, Stabler and Howe (1990) pointed to an eventual crisis in the Northwest Territories due to the fiscal austerity of governments and the reduction of social transfers. The mixed economy is also threatened by other things, such as accelerating resource wage opportunities, the destruction of habitat and wildlife patterns, and the influence on youth of increased exposure to new cultural ideas. Television, videos, and the school system are challenging the ability of the mixed economy to adapt, while a desire to engage in other types of activities is challenging subsistence activities. These changes make it harder to keep production from the land an important part of northern Indigenous economies. Despite these challenges, the traditional subsistence hunting and fishing economy continues to exist. It is viewed as an important source of food when economic changes turn booms to busts, and it continues to be an important part of the cultural identity and values of these communities. Values such as group cooperation and sharing continue to serve as a source of encouragement for social economic sector development. In Indigenous communities, notions of utilitarian self-interest that characterize the private sector do not totally dominate the economic logic. As such, social economy organizations can be seen as having a greater degree of legitimacy in Indigenous communities than in other types of communities, while the continued presence of a mixed economy opens up opportunities for social economy development.

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The mixed economy is not the social economy, and the differences between them are key to research on the North. Notions of formal nonprofit activities or voter-based democratic decision making that are central to the social economy are not central concepts in the mixed economy. The cooperative alternative democratic institutional discourse that characterizes social economy organizations elsewhere in Canada is a largely foreign voice in northern Indigenous communities. As such, the mixed economy also might impose constraints on the development of social economic institutions. Many of the activities that dominate the mixed economy can be integrated easily into the social economic paradigm because both go beyond simple utilitarian economic notions. Sahlins (1972) argued that the traditional economy of Indigenous societies can be considered part of the social economy in that much of its pre-capitalist values still play an important role and act in contradiction to the profit-seeking values of contemporary “affluent” society. Other aspects of the mixed economy that do not fall under a strict capitalistic or state-based economic paradigm are more easily integrated into a social economy paradigm.

The state and the social economy of the North Canada’s North has always been a colony to southern interests, a fact that has profoundly marked its historical development (see Coates 1985). Despite current trends towards increased self-government, the territorial North is still heavily dependent on the federal government for the provision of services and decision making. Given this history, it is not surprising that all of the people who live in the territorial North rely upon publicly funded education, health care, and social welfare. This historic role of the state, first as a colonial power, then as the provider of common welfare state and modern services, means that the northern social economy has been affected by different forces than have other regions of Canada. In particular, the state has been more directly involved in the development of services that usually are developed by social economy organizations. The most illustrative example of this is the role of the federal government in the development of consumer and producer cooperatives in the region (MacPherson 2000). Paternalistic state policies, no matter how well intentioned, have had an impact, sometimes positive but often negative, on the development of social economy organizations in the North.

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Resource dependence and the social economy Historically speaking, communities in the North exist primarily for two reasons: to provide dwelling places for the Indigenous peoples of the region and to facilitate the exploitation of a natural resource by non-Indigenous outside powers. Although whaling and fur harvesting were the initial economic activities exploited by these outside interests, permanent communities of non-Indigenous peoples were largely the creation of twentieth-century industrial needs. The Yukon gold rush at the end of the nineteenth century has tended to create the image of northern communities created by individual adventurers using their entrepreneurial frontier spirit to exploit the wilderness. The historical reality of the development of non-Indigenous communities in the North, however, is of the planning and construction of resourcedependent communities designed by outside corporations in partnership with the federal government. These communities were based primarily on mining. The dominance of one main industry means that there exists a high degree of “dependency” in these communities and, because of the cyclical nature of commodity production, they have a high degree of instability. The specific economic characteristics are: one dominant employer, usually a large industrial corporation based outside the region; industry that is capital and technology intensive; jobs that are primarily unskilled or semi-skilled “blue-collar” occupations; relatively high wages; few employment opportunities for women; and small retail and services sectors. Demographically these communities are characterized by a highly mobile population; a high degree of youth out-migration; a young population with fewer older people; more males than females; larger families; and considerable ethnic diversity. The culture of these communities tends to be dominated by a high degree of dependency, a “wage-earner” culture (as opposed to a “stakeholder” culture), a maledominated blue collar culture, low levels of formal education, and a negative environment for women. Sociologists such as Lucas and Himelfarb have shown these communities to differ from agricultural- and fishing-based communities (Himelfarb 1982). According to Lucas, fishing, agricultural, and tourist towns, while they might be resource dependent, are not single-industry communities, but are made up of “small capitalists [and] entrepreneurs” who have a lifestyle that “differentiates them from the population of a community with a single industry base” (Lucas 1971, 14).

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These particular socio-economic conditions lead to a social economy that differs from that in other types of communities. The absence of a stakeholder culture and the lack of economic empowerment engender a lack of commitment to the community and a culture of dependence that negatively affect the development of social economy organizations. Other than recreationally oriented organizations, there are few non-profit or voluntary organizations in northern resource communities (Himelfarb 1982). SERNNoCa As noted, SERNNoCa was created as a result of a grant from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council in 2006. In 2005 SSHRC issued a call for proposals to establish a series of regionally based research “nodes” to study the potential for the development of Canada’s social economy. Canada was divided into six regions, with one being the North, defined as Yukon, the Northwest Territories, Nunavut, Nunavik (northern Quebec), and Labrador. Developing a proposal proved to be difficult. No universities are based in the region designated as the Canadian North, and none of the three territorial colleges has a history of developing proposals for the so-called Tri-Council funding agencies – the Canadian Institutes of Health Research, the Natural Sciences and Engineering Research Council of Canada, and SSHRC. Using connections established through the University of the Arctic, an international network of northern universities and colleges, universitybased researchers were brought together with the territorial colleges to develop a proposal, which was accepted for funding in 2006. The node was to be based at Yukon College, with regional offices at Aurora College in the Northwest Territories and Nunavut Arctic College in Nunavut. Following the certification of Yukon College as an institution capable of receiving SSHRC funding, research was allowed to start in early 2007. The main objective was to create a network of university and collegebased researchers and representatives of community-based organizations, operating as partners, to conduct research relevant to the social economy of Canada’s North. In addition, the program was to • support research and help mobilize new knowledge that will help develop social economy capacity in northern communities; • contribute to defining policies by evaluating government policies and programs applicable to the social economy; improve the

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performance of organizations and enterprises in areas that are important to the social economy of Canada’s North; • demonstrate through, for example, inventories, statistics, and comparative analyses the actual and potential contribution of the social economy to the various sectors of the economy of Canada’s North; • contribute to a northern perspective on debates relating to sustainable development; develop Northern Canada’s international contribution to, and visibility in, areas relevant to the social economy; and • ensure the development of research capacity and the training of northern students in the social economy through their participation in research projects and through the development of curricula. Research Findings The research undertaken by SERNNoCa from 2007 to 2012 was organized around four themes. The first theme was the conceptualizing, cataloguing, and evaluating of the northern social economy. The other three themes were related to the specific characteristics underlying the social economy of the North, as discussed above. In addition to research relating to these themes, researchers investigated other aspects of the social economy of the region. In all, SERNNoCa facilitated the undertaking of twenty-eight separate research projects, twenty of which linked to the four main themes and eight of which were “independent” projects.5 The chapters in this book represent a summary of the findings of most of these projects. Given the lack of a predetermined perspective for the organization of the research, the chapters in this volume could have been ordered in a number of ways, but I chose to order them into groups of chapters based on the content of each. The first four chapters deal with the North as a whole, and provide knowledge on core research and ideas that form the backdrop to later chapters dealing with case-like research on specific aspects of the northern social economy. The next three chapters look at the social economy from a more traditional perspective – one shared with other regions of Canada – that stresses the importance of volunteers and cooperatives. The last four chapters deal more specifically with the social economy of Indigenous communities in Canada’s North. 5 See the SERNNoCa website at http://yukonresearch.yukoncollege.yk.ca/sern/ aboutsernnoca/.

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In Chapter 2 in the first group of chapters, Valoree Walker and I summarize SERNNoCa’s portraiture work, intended to establish an initial categorization and inventory of existing social economy organizations in the North. A “census” of existing social economy organizations in the three territories, Nunavik, and Labrador attempted to determine the number, location, and activities of these groups. We used the list created from the census as a sampling frame for two surveys that further investigate the characteristics of these organizations and the challenges they face. We were able to determine that the social economy is very much present, active, and important in Canada’s northern communities. Social economy organizations are more numerous in the North than in Canada as a whole, and their revenues represent an important part of the region’s gross domestic product; moreover, they employ roughly 20 per cent of all workers in the region. As well, the importance of the social economy is growing in the region, as a high percentage of groups indicate that their users and members are increasing. Despite this apparent growth and increase in need for their services, these groups are facing a number of important challenges, including funding, the search for volunteers, and the hiring and retention of staff. Within the region, groups in Nunavut appear to face different conditions than do social economy organizations in other areas. In Chapter 3, Brenda Parlee summarizes the major findings of research on resource regimes and the social economy of the North. She notes the general perception that resource development generally has had a negative impact on communities in the region and, as such, there appears to be an oppositional relationship between the interests of resource development and those of social economy organizations. She points out, however, that there is a complex relationship between development and the social economy. Social economy organizations play an important role in helping northern communities deal with the problems created by resource development. Using social capital theory, Parlee shows how social economy organizations play an important role in attracting and sustaining resource development by ensuring local input into development, social stability, social connectedness, increased skills, and the provision of services. Through the mobilization of Traditional Knowledge, social economy organizations play an important role in community monitoring. In addition, most of the mitigation of the negative impacts of resource development is being achieved through the work of social economy

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organizations. This means that future mining and oil and gas developments in northern Canada will depend heavily on the existence of a strong social economy in the affected communities. It also means that governments at all levels must ensure that social economy organizations are able to help communities maximize resource benefits and minimize resource costs. The state plays a distinct role in Canada’s North, which affects the nature, activities, and structures of the region’s social economy. In Chapter 4, Frances Abele describes the development of state structures in the North and their relationship to social economy organizations. She notes the value of using the social economy as a “lens” to understand the complex relationship between the state and communities. Abele describes the enormous effects that state initiatives and resource development had on northern societies during the 1950s and 1960s and how communities adapted through the developments of mixed economies. Social economy institutions played an important role in mobilizing political action as a response to external pressures. They helped societies create a response to colonial relations that resulted in the region’s current movement towards self-government. Contemporary social economy organizations in many ways reflect these struggles and are marked by them. In the North these organizations continue to be a bridge between past and present patterns of mutual aid and to play an important role in democratic development in the region. As Abele notes, the social economy of northern Canada is influenced by a variety of important actors that are unique to the region. Land claim treaties signed over the past forty years have resulted in the creation of Beneficiary Organizations, or Land Claim Organizations (LCOs) – institutions designed to supervise the implementation of aspects of treaties on behalf of Indigenous beneficiaries. These organizations have become important supports of social economy development across the North. In Chapter 5, Thierry Rodon examines the role of these organizations, particularly in Nunavut and Nunavik. He notes the existence of two separate economies in these regions – the modern economy and the Inuit economy – and looks at the role LCOs have played in bridging the gap between them. His examination of two LCO-created companies, Nunavik Creations in Nunavik and Pangnirtung Fisheries Limited in Nunavut, shows how aspects of the traditional Inuit subsistence economy can be adapted, in differing ways, to the modern economy through the social economy.

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The next group of chapters looks at key aspects of more traditional views of the social economy. Volunteers are a foundation of the social economy in all regions of Canada. Through the use of volunteers, social economy organizations can provide services to communities that they normally would not have the capacity to offer. This is especially the case in the North, where communities tend to be small and physically isolated. In Chapter 6, Carrie McClelland and Margaret Johnston study volunteerism and the social economy in Whitehorse, Yukon, the North’s largest population centre. Volunteerism is more prevalent in Whitehorse than in Canadian communities, and the authors examine the relationship of this commitment to volunteerism to the social economy framework. Through an analysis of groups engaged in outdoor recreation activities, McClelland and Johnston show the importance of altruistic feelings in the provision of meaningful contributions to the community. In this way, when capacity exists, the social economy can mobilize people in a way that government and the private sector cannot. The importance of cooperatives is another important sign of the special role of the social economy of the North. In Chapter 7, Ian MacPherson describes the development of cooperatives in the region. Starting in the late 1950s, the federal government, in partnership with others, promoted the creation of cooperatives in the new Indigenous settlements that were being established. Cooperatives were deemed a more appropriate form of organizational structure for these communities and one that would promote the capacity considered important by southern political forces. Despite these southern influences, northern co-ops have managed to succeed largely by responding to the needs of the Indigenous peoples who make up most of their membership. In the early stages of development, northern co-ops were able to adapt the southern co-op model to the needs of the developing mixed economy. Later, leaders displayed a great degree of social entrepreneurship as they helped provide employment and new economic opportunities in their communities, and co-ops helped many of these communities develop new bonds of association. Although the future of these co-ops is uncertain, as climate change and increased resource development are likely to produce new social challenges, they have shown that they can be effective instruments in ensuring locally based solutions to these types of issues. The history of cooperatives in the Yukon is somewhat different from that of cooperatives in the rest of the North. As Doug Lionais and Kim Hardy point out in Chapter 8, cooperatives are quite rare in the Yukon.

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In discussing the reasons for this, they note the historical differences between the Yukon and other regions of the North in terms of the effects of the Klondike gold rush and the building of the Alaska Highway, which meant there were few incentives to turn to a cooperative model of institutional development. The historical particularity of the Yukon has led to a political imagination based largely on close connections between government and the private sector. According to Lionais and Hardy, there is little support for locally based cooperative alternatives in the territory’s political structure. Although the social economy of the Yukon is strong, it is primarily engaged in providing welfare – in servicing needs unmet by the market or the state. Unlike that in other areas of the North, the Yukon’s social economy is not strongly engaged in wealth creation. The last group of chapters highlights the social economy of Indigenous communities and the unique importance of the traditional subsistence economy in these communities. David Natcher coordinated research on the subsistence economy and its impact on the social economy of the region. In Chapter 9, he, Damian Castro, and Lawrence Felt illustrate the relationship between the social economy and the subsistence economy through an examination of Hunter Support Programs. They note the emergence of these programs in response to the failures of the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act. In the North, communities are well aware of the importance of subsistence activities for a range of cultural, social, and economic needs. Hunter Support Programs were established under new treaties as a way of ensuring the continued existence of a unique northern social economy – one based on both cultural and economic needs. Many researchers have pointed out the negative effects of resource developments on northern Indigenous communities and their social economy. In Chapter 10, Jean-Sébastien Boutet, Arn Keeling, and John Sandlos point out that the relationship between mining, in particular, and the Indigenous social economy is a complex one. In an analysis of the effects of mining in the communities of Rankin Inlet, Schefferville, and Pine Point, they note that mining did not destroy the traditional subsistence economy – rather, there was often a complementary aspect to wage labour from mining and the land-based economy, where mining has been a critical form of diversification from fur-trapping activities. Their research indicates that the social economy of Indigenous communities is much more robust than had been thought.

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The subsistence economy has also had a role in the emergence of new types of social economy organizations centred on environmental concerns. In Chapter 11, Nathan Bennett and Harvey Lemelin look at the experience of Lutsel K’e, in the Northwest Territories, and the experience of the Lutsel K’e Dene First Nation with the creation of environmentally protected areas in their traditional lands. They note the importance of traditional values and practices linked to subsistence activities in the community’s response to conservation initiatives. New eco-social economy initiatives have emerged as the best tools to ensure the implementation of traditional Indigenous perspectives. These new eco-social economy organizations, working in concert with traditional social economy organizations, are likely the best means of achieving community development goals related to the creation of a protected area. Finally, while other researchers note the link between what has been conceptualized as the social economy and the traditional subsistence economy of northern Indigenous communities, in Chapter 12 Simmons et al. attempt to unpack this concept to better understand the relationship of an Indigenous social economy to the experiences and stories of the community. In their case study of the Sahtúot’ı̨nę community of Délı̨nę, in the Northwest Territories, the authors draw attention to the weaknesses of our understanding of concepts such as the social economy in a local context. Through the Délı̨nę Knowledge Project, they introduce important new notions that serve as a framework for strategic thinking about the Sahtúot’ı̨nę social economy. Recent economic transformations have created many challenges for communities in Canada’s North, and climate change and increased resource development likely will only exacerbate these challenges. The social economy is one instrument that northern communities could use to face these challenges. The research in this volume represents a first attempt to understand the nature of the social economy of the North and how it can be mobilized to meet the needs of these communities. The social economy is a major contributor to the well-being of northern communities. Social economy organizations increasingly are called upon to provide services that the market and the state cannot, or will not, provide. These organizations are enhancing both the vitality and the social and educational capital of northern communities by being more directly controlled by the communities themselves. The unique characteristics of the region’s economy offer both constraints and opportunities. The traditional mixed economy of Indigenous

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communities, the role of the state, and the impact of resource development have all had a profound impact on social economic development in the region. These unique factors do not seem to affect social economy formation negatively, however; indeed, they seem to be the source of increased social economic activity. Although there are important constraints to the northern social economy, research conducted by SERNNoCa indicates that these types of organizations increasingly are seen as desirable providers of community services and as a valuable form of development. REFERENCES Abele, F. 1997. “Understanding What Happened Here: The Political Economy of Indigenous Peoples.” In Understanding Canada: Building on the New Canadian Political Economy, ed. W. Clement, 118–40. Montreal; Kingston, ON: McGillQueen’s University Press. Bone, R. 2003. The Geography of the Canadian North: Issues and Challenges, 2nd ed. Don Mills, ON: Oxford University Press. Bouchard, M.-J., C. Ferraton, and V. Michaud. 2006. “Database on Social Economy Organizations: The Qualification Criteria.” Working Papers of the Canada Research Chair on the Social Economy, Research Series R-2006–03. June. Chabot, M. 2004. “Consumption and Standards of Living of the Quebec Inuit: Cultural Permanence and Discontinuities.” Canadian Review of Sociology and Anthropology 41 (2): 147–70. http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1755-618X.2004 .tb02174.x Chouinard, O., and B. Fairbain. 2002. “L’économie sociale au Canada hors Québec: la tradition coopérative et le développement économique communautaire.” Revue du CIRIEC-Canada 33 (1): 51–6. Coates, K. 1985. Canada’s Colonies: A History of the Yukon and Northwest Territories. Toronto: James Lorimer. Harder, M.T., and G.W. Wenzel. 2012. “Inuit Subsistence, Social Economy and Food Security in Clyde River, Nunavut.” Arctic 65 (3): 305–18. http:// dx.doi.org/10.14430/arctic4218 Himelfarb, A. 1982. “The Social Characteristics of One-Industry Towns in Canada.” In Little Communities and Big Industries, ed. R. Bowles, 16–43. Toronto: Butterworths. House, J.D. 1981. “Big Oil and Small Communities in Coastal Labrador: The Local Dynamics of Dependency.” Canadian Review of Sociology and Anthropology 18 (4): 433–52. http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1755-618X.1981 .tb00065.x

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Lévesque, B.,M.-C. Malo, and J.-P. Girard. 1999. “L’ancienne et la nouvelle économie sociale.” In L’économie sociale au Nord et au Sud, ed. J. Defourny, P. Develtere, and B. Fonteneau, 195–216. Paris: De Boeck & Larcier. Lucas, R. 1971. Minetown, Milltown, Railtown: Life in Canada’s Communities of Single Industry. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. MacPherson, I. 2000. “Across Cultures and Geography: Managing Co-operatives in Northern Canada.” In Aspects of Arctic and Sub-Arctic history, ed. I. Sigurdsson and J. Skaptason, 550–62. Reykjavik: University of Iceland Press. Mendell, M., and N. Neamtan. 2010. “The Social Economy in Quebec: Towards a New Political Economy.” In Researching the Social Economy, ed. L. Mook, J. Quarter, and S. Ryan, 63–83. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Mook, L., J. Quarter, and S. Ryan, eds. 2010. Researching the Social Economy. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Moulaert, F., and. O. Ailenei. 2005. “Social Economy, Third Sector and Solidarity Relations: A Conceptual Synthesis from History to Present.” Urban Studies 42 (11): 2037–54. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/ 00420980500279794 Natcher, D. 2009. “Subsistence and the Social Economy of Canada’s Aboriginal North.” Northern Review 30 (Spring): 69–84. Niezen, R. 1993. “Power and Dignity: The Social Consequences of Hydroelectric Development for the James Bay Cree.” Canadian Review of Sociology and Anthropology 30 (4): 510–29. http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1755-618X.1993.tb00652.x Quarter, J. 1992. Canada’s Social Economy. Toronto: James Lorimer. Sahlins, M. 1972. Stone Age Economics. Chicago: Aldine and Atherton. Southcott, C. 2003. “Spacially-based Social Differentiation in Canada’s Future: Trends in Urban/Non-urban Differences in the Next Decade.” In Social Differentiation: Patterns and Processes, ed. D. Juteau, 205–52. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Southcott, C. 2009. “Introduction: The Social Economy and Economic Development in Northern Canada.” Northern Review 30 (Spring): 3–11. Southcott, C., and V. Walker. 2009. “A Portrait of the Social Economy in Northern Canada.” Northern Review 30 (Spring): 13–36. Stabler, J. 1990. “A Utility Analysis of Activity Patterns of Native Males in the Northwest Territories.” Economic Development and Cultural Change 39 (1): 47–60. http://dx.doi.org/10.1086/451852 Stabler, J., and E. Howe. 1990. “Native Participation in Northern Development: The Impending Crisis in the NWT” Canadian Public Policy 16 (3): 262–83. http://dx.doi.org/10.2307/3551082 Wenzel, G., G. Hovelsrud-Brosa, and N. Kishigami, eds. 2000. The Social Economy of Sharing: Resource Allocation and Modern Hunter-Gatherers. Senri Ethnological Series 53. Osaka: National Museum of Ethnology.

2 A Portrait of the Social Economy of Northern Canada C H R I S S O U T H C O T T A N D VA L O R E E W A L K E R

One of the main research goals of the Social Economy Research Network of Northern Canada (SERNNoCa) was to understand the general situation of the social economy as it exists in the Canadian North. A common theme of the social economy research conducted across Canada was to provide a “portrait” of the various non-profit, voluntary, and cooperative sectors of each region. The objective of this portrait was to identify the number of these organizations, their relative importance for the region, their main activities, whether there are significant regional differences, whether these groups are growing, and whether they are facing important challenges. In the case of northern Canada, this was done through several surveys of these organizations. This process was accomplished in a number of steps. Initially researchers reviewed the regional data from a national survey of non-profit and voluntary organizations. Following this, a list of identified social economy organizations was developed that would serve as both the basis for partnership work for SERNNoCa and a sampling frame for questionnaire surveys. Two separate surveys were conducted during the initial period of SERNNoCa from 2007 to 2010. The first was a lengthy detailed questionnaire that had a relatively low response rate. The second survey, which achieved a higher response rate, was a much shorter questionnaire modelled on one used to survey social economy organizations in Quebec. The research identified that social economy organizations represent an important part of communities in Canada’s North. During the initial phases of the research, close to 1,900 organizations were identified in the Yukon, the Northwest Territories, Nunavut, Nunavik, and Labrador (including the Nunatsiavut region), and this despite the fact that

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the combined regions have less than 140,000 people. Research also showed that these organizations are active in all sectors of the regional economy and contribute a significant percentage of regional revenues and employment. Moreover, the importance of these organizations is increasing, with most seeing a growth in membership and levels of activities. In terms of challenges, funding is the most serious issue that all groups identified. They also identified finding volunteers and training as important issues, but with regional differences in the degree of these problems. Although Canada’s North tends to be thought of as a homogenous entity, the portraiture research shows important differences among northern regions; the social economy of Nunavut seems especially different from that of other regions, particularly the Yukon. The Social Economy and Development of the Canadian North A proper understanding of the social economy of the Canadian North should start with a discussion of the region’s historical development. Hunting and gathering was the region’s first economic system, and it is still practised to varying degrees in almost all northern communities; as Abele points out in this volume, hunting and gathering remains at the heart of the region’s “mixed” economy. It is the economic system that, in most cases, is portrayed as giving Indigenous communities the greatest autonomy from outside human interference, an autonomy that is often compromised by a heavy dependence on environmental conditions. In his portrayal of hunting and gathering society, which he called “the original affluent society,” Marshall Sahlins tried to show that such communities did not suffer constantly suffer from starvation, but were quite enriched by the social economy (Sahlins 1972). He noted how primitive exchange in these societies was based on values of sharing that are fundamentally different from the profit-oriented values of contemporary capitalism. The creation of a demand for furs in a market largely controlled by Europeans had a profound impact on northern communities. The fur trade introduced a new system of relations to the region that can best be called pre-industrial colonialism (Southcott 2010). Under this system, the Indigenous peoples of the Canadian North came to be much more influenced by outside forces that were shaped primarily by the economic demands of European peoples. The unique aspect of this particular system was that it introduced European domination while

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maintaining some aspects of traditional activities. Pre-industrial colonialism did not put an end to the traditional hunting and gathering economy; rather, it transformed that system to meet the needs of European and other consumers. Pre-industrial colonialism began to affect communities in Canada’s North soon after the establishment of Europeans on the continent. Aboriginal peoples such as the Ottawas and the Hurons started trading with the French as early as 1550, bringing furs from the northern interior to the rendezvous at Tadoussac, at the confluence of the Saguenay and St Lawrence rivers. From the 1670s to the 1820s, the trade was characterized by competition between a French – and later the Northwest Company – system based on inland trade routes stretching from the Great Lakes to the Mackenzie River valley in the Northwest Territories, and a Hudson’s Bay Company system based on posts established at the mouths of rivers flowing into Hudson Bay and James Bay. Competition between the two companies eventually led to their forced merger in 1821. Following the merger, the new Hudson’s Bay Company expanded operations into the Yukon and the Mackenzie Delta to deal with competition from the Russian American Fur Company based in Russian-occupied Alaska. No matter which company dominated trade in the Canadian North, they used similar tactics to ensure that furs were harvested. The most important of these was the creation of a dependence on European goods, and later European foods, for the survival of Indigenous peoples (Innis 1961). Particularly in Canada’s Northwest, Indigenous peoples spent progressively more and more of their time harvesting furs to meet the demands of international markets. This meant they could devote a smaller proportion of their time following the traditional subsistence activities upon which they had depended for their survival in the past. Although the Inuit escaped the earlier period of the Canadian fur trade relatively unscathed due to the markets’ preference for furs from animals of the boreal forest, they too became exposed to pre-industrial colonialism when the Arctic fox became a fashionable fur in the first decade of the twentieth century (Damas 2002). Pre-industrial colonialism was not based only on the harvest of furs: whaling also became an important economic activity in the region starting in the seventeenth century, when world markets began to develop an increased demand for whale products. Production started in the 1700s in the Davis Strait, between Baffin Island and Greenland, but by the 1840s it was centred on Cumberland Sound, at the southern end of

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Baffin Island, and by the 1860s American whalers had expanded into Hudson Bay. Whaling never focused on any area for a long period, as whale stocks quickly became depleted and new areas had to be found. Initially, contact was only sporadic with the Inuit, who saw little need for the goods the whalers tried to trade. As time went on, however, they started to learn how to use these products and to develop a desire for them (Eber 1989, 11). In the western Arctic, American whalers first arrived in the Bering Strait in 1848, and by the 1890s they had moved into the waters north of the Mackenzie Delta and established a base at Herschel Island. In the western part of the Canadian Arctic, an extensive and relatively constant cooperative relationship was established with the Inuit, although the exploitive nature of the whaling industry meant that, as one area was depleted, the Inuit had to abandon traditional areas and move with the whalers in order to continue these exchanges. As well, because of the intensity of contact, exchanges were sometimes more destructive to the Inuit in the west than was the situation in the eastern Arctic (Inuvialuit Regional Corporation 2011). By 1907 whaling in the North American Arctic had collapsed. The impact on the Inuit was considerable, although it would have been worse had not an Arctic fur trade emerged at this time. Pre-industrial colonialism transformed communities in the Canadian North, shifting them from a subsistence-based economy to one that combined subsistence with a dependence on servicing the economic needs of primarily European populations. The activities that made up these services, however, were not foreign to Indigenous peoples. Trapping for the fur trade, whaling, and associated activities such as clothes production were all extensions of activities that were part of a traditional hunter-gatherer society. The lifestyles of Indigenous peoples did change as dependence increased, but traditional activities did not become devalued as they were with the introduction of industrialization. The industrialization of the Canadian North differed fundamentally from the individualistic entrepreneurial capitalism often associated with the frontier development described by American historian Frederick Jackson Turner (1921). In Canada, historians have pointed out how rational planning and close government-industry cooperation ensured that both government and industry would maximize benefits (Nelles 2005; Zaslow 1971). Mining in the North started when international markets opened up for the raw materials found there and when foreign

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capital became available to develop such operations. Senior levels of government played a major role in coordinating these developments. When gold was discovered in the Dawson area of the Yukon in the 1896, it brought a rush of at least 30,000 non-Indigenous people into the region in a space of a few years. The rush resulted in short-term mining development based on individually owned stakes, but after a few years the initial “American frontier” situation changed considerably (Zaslow 1989). The need for new technology to rationalize the production process meant that government had to work closely with international investors who had the capital to purchase and use this technology. This meant granting a “virtual monopoly” of mineral production to these investors (Coates and Morrison 2005, 158). Less than ten years after the initial discovery of gold in the Yukon, industrial activity in the North was dominated by a new logic based on close cooperation and planning between the federal government and international capital. This was the logic followed in later industrial developments in the North, such as silver and lead mining in the Mayo-Keno region of the Yukon starting in 1906, radium mining in the Great Bear Lake area of the Northwest Territories in the 1930s, and gold mining in the Yellowknife area, also starting in the 1930s. This logic became even more prevalent during and after the Second World War, when the US government, with some help from Canada, built new transportation systems in the North such as the Alaska Highway and a series of landing strips and airbases. The success of these projects legitimized in the eyes of many the superior nature of industrial development planned by both government and industrial interests. Following the war, industrial activity in the territorial North became almost entirely controlled by the federal government, with the region becoming “the bureaucrat’s north” (Coates 1985, 191). The 1950s and early 1960s saw an increased pace of highway construction, a railway to Great Slave Lake, and the opening up of a new lead and zinc mine at Pine Point, among other mining developments. In the 1960s, when it became apparent that large oil and gas deposits existed in the Mackenzie Delta region, the federal government ensured that any development would be largely controlled from Ottawa. In the Canadian North, industrialization initially did not have a direct effect on Indigenous communities, as most industrial developments resulted in separate, single-industry resource towns constructed specifically to serve the needs of particular projects. Indeed, Indigenous communities often were completely isolated from these developments, as the fur trade industry and the federal government thought that

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continued dependence on traditional activities was best for the Indigenous population (Damas 2002). During the 1950s, Ottawa reversed its policy, deciding that the Indigenous peoples of the North had a right to basic services such as education, health, and social services, which could best be provided by establishing permanent settlements for them. This resulted in the arrival in the North of a new type of non-Indigenous migrant – one who would provide the necessary services to this newly settled northern society. It was recognized from the beginning of this movement into permanent settlements that the North would not be simply an extension of southern Canada, and that the communal and sharing culture that was the basis of Indigenous communities should be maintained by special approaches to development. As McPherson points out in this volume, cooperatives and community economic development initiatives were highlighted (see also Lotz 1982; Pell 1990). With the assistance of the federal government, Indigenous people established cooperatives as the main vehicles for economic development in their communities. By using community-based initiatives, the people of the region tried to ensure that traditional ways and values became part of their communities’ economic development. With the negotiation and signing of new treaties, these alternative approaches became institutionalized as Indigenous peoples created structures to maintain traditional activities and traditional values. Indeed, the new comprehensive treaties that Indigenous peoples of the region have signed since 1976 generally have been portrayed as significantly empowering them (Saku 2002). The history of the region helps to understand the development of relations between Indigenous and non-Indigenous people in the North. Originally a relationship of non-Indigenous dependence on Indigenous peoples, the fur trade and whaling industry ensured that Indigenous peoples slowly became more dependent on the newcomers. The initial experiences of industrialization served to devalue the economic importance of Indigenous peoples and largely to exclude them from production processes. At the same time, as noted, the extension of social, educational, and health services into the region created a non-Indigenous population whose primary purpose was to service the needs of the existing local population. The political mobilization of Canada’s Aboriginal peoples starting in the 1960s led to the political empowerment of Indigenous populations in the North as well. Since then, new comprehensive treaties have allowed Indigenous communities to become increasingly active in the economic and social aspects of the region.

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A Socio-economic Profile of the Canadian North The unique history of the Canadian North has resulted in a society with many socio-economic characteristics that differ from the Canadian norm. Figure 2.1 shows the population history of the territories. Although their population has increased fairly regularly since 1911, from 1941 to 1991 this increase was due primarily to an increase in the non-Indigenous population.1 Building on the transportation infrastructure established during the Second World War, resource developments resulted in an inflow of people from the south. This was combined with the expansion of government services in the 1960s and 1970s. After 1991 the non-Indigenous population declined as rationalization of resource sector employment and government budgetary reductions results in fewer employment opportunities. At the same time, high birth rates have meant the continual growth of the Indigenous population. Changes in the 2011 census make it more difficult to be certain of the current size of the Indigenous population, but it is likely that the commodities boom of the past ten years has resulted in an increase in the non-Indigenous population (Yukon 2011). As pointed out in the introduction to this volume, five main jurisdictions make up the area of northern Canada dealt with by SERNNoCa: the Yukon, Northwest Territories, Nunavut, the Nunavik region of Quebec, and Labrador. As Table 2.1 shows, each region is different, but Figure 2.1. Population of the Canadian Territories, 1911–2011

* Figures for the Aboriginal and non-Indigenous population in 2011 are from the National Household Survey and are less reliable than census figures. It is likely that the Aboriginal population is underrepresented. Source: Census of Canada, 1911 to 2011. 1 Although Canadian census data for Aboriginal people have been shown to be problematic for a number of reasons (see Saku 1999; Southcott 2006), they are still relatively useful for discerning demographic trends.

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Table 2.1. Socio-economic Characteristics of the Canadian North

Canada

Yukon Northwest Territory Territories Nunavut Nunavik Labrador

Population, 2011

33,476,688

33,897

41,462

31,906

12,090

26,728

Population, 2006

31,612,897

30,372

41,464

29,474

10,802

26,364

Percentage change, 2006–11

5.9

11.6

0.0

8.3

11.9

1.4

Proportion of males to females, 2006

0.96

1.05

1.05

1.01

1.03

1.03

Percentage of the population age 14 and under, 2006

17.7

18.8

23.9

33.9

36.4

20.6

Percentage of the population age 65 and over, 2006

13.7

7.5

4.8

2.8

3.1

6.3

Aboriginal identity population as a percentage of total population, 2006

3.8

25.1

50.3

85.0

89.4

38.0

Average number of people per private household, 2006

2.5

2.4

2.9

3.7

4.1

2.8

Migrants over the previous five years as a percentage of the population, 2006

18.9

19.9

24.0

16.5

9.7

16.6

Unemployment rate, 2006 (%)

6.6

9.4

10.4

15.6

18.1

18.5

Percentage of population ages 25 to 64 with no certificate, diploma, or degree, 2006

15.4

15.3

23.0

45.9

49.8

25.1

Percentage of population ages 25 to 64 with university certificate or degree, 2006

22.9

22.2

20.0

12.8

9.7

10.3

$35,498

$38,687

$44,422

Average income for individuals with income, 2005

Source: Census of Canada, 2006 and 2011.

$34,182 $30,392

$34,434

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Table 2.2. The Economic Structure of the Territorial North: Major Industrial Employment Categories as a Percentage of Total Employment Canada Industrial Employment Categories

Territories (%)

11 Agriculture, forestry, fishing and hunting

3.1

1.0

21 Mining and oil and gas extraction

1.4

4.5

31–33 Manufacturing

11.9

1.7

41 Wholesale trade

4.4

1.5

44–45 Retail trade

11.4

10.2

48–49 Transportation and warehousing

4.9

6.4

52 Finance and insurance

4.1

1.4

54 Professional, scientific, and technical services

6.7

3.8

56 Administrative and support, waste management, and remediation services

4.3

3.1

61 Educational services 62 Health care and social assistance

6.8

8.3

10.2

9.1

72 Accommodation and food services

6.7

6.8

81 Other services (except public administration)

4.9

3.8

91 Public administration

5.8

23.7

Source: Census of Canada, 2006.

all have certain traits in common. As is often the case in areas dependent on resource production, males generally outnumber females (Southcott 2006). The North also has a higher percentage of youth and a lower percentage of elderly, largely because of recent high birth rates among the Indigenous population, the employment structure of resource industries and higher death rates among the Indigenous population. Indigenous peoples are a large percentage of the population in all regions of the North, ranging from 25.1 per cent in the Yukon to 89.4 per cent in Nunavik (the average for all of Canada is 3.8 per cent). With the exception of the Yukon, housing is more crowded in the North and unemployment rates are higher than in Canada as a whole. Other than in the Yukon, the percentage of people who have not finished high school is higher in the North, and much fewer people have a university degree. Incomes in both the Yukon and the Northwest Territories are higher than for Canada as a whole. Table 2.2 shows the economic characteristics of the region by comparing employment categories for Canada as a whole with those of the

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territories. The two most important differences concern mining and oil and gas extraction, where employment is more than twice as important in the territories than in Canada as a whole, and in public administration, where employment is more than three times as important in the territories. Generally speaking, each of the five regions has three main types of communities (Southcott 2003). Most of the population lives in the largest centres – Whitehorse (23,274, according to the 2011 census), Yellowknife (19,234), Happy Valley-Goose Bay (7,522), and Iqaluit (6,699) – whose economies are focused on the provision of services to the surrounding area. These centres tend to have the highest percentages of nonIndigenous residents and the highest levels of education. Indigenous communities, in contrast, tend to be more isolated and have very small non-Indigenous populations; they also have the most overcrowded housing, the highest rates of unemployment, and the lowest levels of formal education. It is also in these communities that one finds high rates of “social pathologies” (Bjerregaard and Young 1998). The third type of community is those dependent on resources. In the past these were company towns whose employment was based on a particular resource-extraction industry. They were almost entirely non-Indigenous, and had a male-oriented and highly mobile population (Lucas 1971). These communities are in decline in the Canadian North as governments, in partnership with industry, prefer to use flyin/fly-out work camps rather than establish and maintain new communities. As well, the political and social cost of shutting down these communities has become too great (Storey 2001). Existing resourcedependent communities are changing, as they gradually converge with Indigenous communities (Southcott 2006). As Parlee points out in this volume, however, the resource sector remains important in the North and the social economy plays an important part in helping communities adapt to issues these industries create. The State of the Social Economy in the North: The National Survey of Non-profit and Voluntary Organizations Indigenous traditions linked to the mixed economy, the role of the state, and dependence on natural resource exploitation can be expected to have an impact on the type, form, operation, and development of social economy organizations in the Canadian North. Each of these factors impacts the social economy in different ways. It is not a simple matter

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of saying that this factor will have a positive impact or that factor will have a negative impact. The reality is much more complex. Indeed, we can discover initial clues to this complexity in the findings of one of the most important attempts to describe the social economy of Canada: the 2003 National Survey of Non-profit and Voluntary Organizations. Although these data do not allow in-depth investigations into social economy organizations in the North, a 2005 report based on this survey does list some relevant statistics regarding the situation of nonprofit and voluntary organizations in the three northern territories (Statistics Canada 2005). We should note, however, that these data do not include all social economy organizations and practices; in particular, cooperatives, an important part of many communities in parts of the North, were not included in the survey, which also did not account for the Indigenous traditional economy. The survey counted 851 social economy organizations in the territories, a significantly higher proportion of such organizations per population (825 per 100,000 population) than the Canadian average (508 per 100,000 population) (Statistics Canada 2005, 19). Only 37 per cent of these organizations were registered charities, the lowest proportion of any region in the country and significantly less than the national average of 56 per cent. As well, not surprisingly, the territories had the highest proportion of non-profit or voluntary organizations serving Aboriginal communities (Statistics Canada 2005, 20). The survey also lists some interesting financial characteristics of social economy organizations in the North. For example, such organizations had average revenues of $1.4 million, higher than the average for organizations in all other regions of the country (Statistics Canada 2005, 30). Compared with those in the provinces, social economy organizations in the territories had the highest percentage of income from “earned income” – fees for goods and services – at 57 per cent. The survey shows that social economy organizations in the North vary from those in the provinces by primary activity, with the territories having the highest percentage involved in law, advocacy, and politics (Statistics Canada 2005, 19), as well as higher-than-average percentages involved in arts and culture, sports and recreation, education and research, the environment, and business and professional associations and unions. The region had relatively lower percentages of organizations involved in health, social services, development and housing, grant-making, fundraising, and voluntarism promotion, and religion.

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The survey also shows that social economy organizations in the territories were most likely to report problems related to organizational capacity (Statistics Canada 2005, 53). Interestingly, the one capacity area where they did not have a problem was in the difficulty of obtaining board members. Northern organizations were also far more likely to find it difficult to provide training to board members (52 per cent in the territories versus 34 per cent in Canada as a whole), to provide staff training and development (45 per cent versus 27 percent), and to obtain the necessary paid staff (44 per cent versus 28 per cent). A Census of Social Economy Organizations in Northern Canada One of SERNNoCa’s first projects was to undertake an initial inventory of the social economy of the Yukon, Northwest Territories, Nunavut, Nunavik, and Labrador. This attempt involved three stages. The first stage, following approval based on the ethics approval process of the TriCouncil funding agencies – the Canadian Institutes of Health Research, the Natural Sciences and Engineering Research Council of Canada, and the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council – and after obtaining research licences in each territory, was to conduct a census of all social economy organizations in the Canadian North, including their main activity and location. The second stage was an initial questionnaire survey intended to uncover some of the basic characteristics of these organizations compared with those in other regions of Canada. In the third stage, another survey was conducted to further refine initial findings. It should be noted that much of the social economy activity of the North is not undertaken by the formal organizations with which this portraiture work deals. Especially in smaller Indigenous communities that rely heavily on the mixed economy, much of this activity is done in a more informal manner that can only be studied using more qualitative techniques. Other SERNNoCa research projects address this aspect of the social economy of the North (see the chapters by Abele; Natcher, Castro, and Felt; and Simmons et al. in this volume). Thus, the research discussed here deals only with the formal aspects of the regional social economy – with organizations that have prescribed structures that allow them to obtain resources they can use to achieve their particular goals. Our concern was to determine the extent and type of their activities, whether the organizations are growing or

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declining in importance, what kinds of challenges they face, and if they differ by region. Before a list of formal social economy organizations in the North could be assembled, researchers had to decide what constitutes such an organization. The broad definition that was agreed upon is an organization that serves the community rather than generating profits, with a focus on economic activities that are not primarily state driven or profit driven and that include the traditional social economies of Indigenous populations (Natcher 2009). A literature review of definitions was conducted, but the project leaned most heavily on the definitions contained in Bouchard, Ferraton, and Michaud (2006). Each of SERNNoCa’s three northern offices was responsible for compiling a list of social economy organizations in its respective region. This involved searching the Internet, phoning and e-mailing key contacts, and reviewing existing documents and resources, as well as materials at legal registry offices. Researchers found that many organizations had to be examined in more depth before deciding whether or not to include them in the list, which is continually being updated. This was particularly the case with many Aboriginal organizations that undertake activities similar to those of social economy organizations but that are the products of treaties giving sovereign power to these communities. As at least one respondent pointed out, to classify these groups as social economy organizations would be to deny the legitimacy of these selfgovernment initiatives. In most instances, if the organization carries out activities similar to that of a government or state organization, it was excluded from the list. Provisional lists of social economy organizations were established in 2006 and 2007 to serve as the sample frame for the initial questionnaire survey and to guide partnership work undertaken by SERNNoCa. These first lists included all potential social economy organizations, with the expectation that the final census list would be smaller. Information packages were distributed to as many potential groups as possible, describing the social economy, the research network in the North, and the upcoming questionnaire, and requesting their input and guidance. These mailings were also a means to highlight ways these groups might benefit from the research program and to ensure that their listing as a social economy organization was appropriate. Information packages were also sent to organizations and government departments that provide support to social economy organizations

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Chris Southcott and Valoree Walker

in the hope that they would be able to help ensure that all relevant groups were identified. The construction of the list also gave researchers information about northern social economy organizations that could not be gleaned from the questionnaire – for example, an extensive amount of information was gathered indirectly from sources such as the Internet. By May 2008, 1,190 social economy organizations had been identified (Southcott and Walker 2009) – 516 in the Yukon, 379 in the Northwest Territories, and 295 in Nunavut (the initial sampling frame was limited to the three territories2) – and it was this list that served as the sampling frame for the initial survey. Further work identifying social economy organizations led to larger lists for both the Yukon and the Northwest Territories, but this initial list was sufficiently representative to allow us to ensure an adequate sample.

The activities of social economy organizations in the North Internet-based and other unobtrusive research done on groups listed in the 2008 SERNNoCa census allowed researchers to identify the main activities of all but twenty-eight organizations. As Table 2.3, shows, apart from manufacturing, processing, and/or construction, significant numbers of social economy organizations are involved in all the main economic activities of the region. At the same time, there are several important differences in the types of social economy organizations in each of the territories. Nunavut, for example, has a much higher percentage of such organizations engaged in trade, finance, and/or insurance than do the other two territories, due primarily to the importance of cooperatives in Nunavut’s retail trade sector. Nunavut also has a relative absence of organizations engaged in law, advocacy, and politics, partly because many of the national advocacy groups have not yet established branches in that territory. As well, Nunavut has more business associations, professional associations, and unions than the average for all three territories, mainly because each community in Nunavut has a hunter and trapper organization. Finally, Nunavut has relatively more arts and culture associations than do the other territories.

2 The lack of a coordinating office for Nunavik and Labrador made it harder to validate the lists for these regions at this early stage.

Table 2.3. Social Economy Organizations in the Territorial North, by Main Activity Nunavut Activity Manufacturing, processing, and/or construction Trade, finance, and/or insurance

Number % of Total

Northwest Territories Number

Yukon Territory

All Territories

% of Total Number % of Total Number % of Total

1

0.3

0

0.0

2

0.4

3

0.3

29

9.8

8

2.1

3

0.6

40

3.4

Development and housing

30

10.2

19

5.0

25

4.8

74

6.2

Sports and recreation, tourism

39

13.2

32

8.4

128

24.8

199

16.7

Arts and culture

44

14.9

33

8.7

82

15.9

159

13.4

Education and research

7

2.4

12

3.2

13

2.5

32

2.7

Health

11

3.7

19

5.0

15

2.9

45

3.8

Social services

45

15.3

49

12.9

80

15.5

174

14.6

7

2.4

21

5.5

27

5.2

55

4.6

14

4.7

70

18.5

49

9.5

133

11.2

3

1.0

7

1.8

8

1.6

18

1.5

Environment Law, advocacy, and politics Grant-making, fundraising, and voluntarism promotion Religion

15

5.1

49

12.9

43

8.3

107

9.0

Business association, professional association, union

48

16.3

34

9.0

41

7.9

123

10.3

2

0.7

26

6.9

28

2.4

Unknown Total Undetermined Aboriginal

0

0

295

379

516

1,190

0

21

31

52

Source: SERNNoCa 2008 Census of Social Economy Organizations.

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Chris Southcott and Valoree Walker

The first survey The initial census served as the sampling frame for the 2008 questionnaire survey.3 To ensure that comparisons eventually would be possible across Canada, the construction of the first questionnaire was based loosely on a questionnaire designed by the social economy networks in both Atlantic Canada and southern Ontario. Elements were later borrowed from a questionnaire developed by the social economy network in British Columbia and Alberta. Once the initial questionnaire was constructed, a pilot test was conducted with a few non-profit organizations in the North. Based on comments from this pilot test, the questionnaire was modified to produce its final form. Following construction of the questionnaire, attention shifted to how best to deliver it. The dispersed nature of northern communities meant that it would have been prohibitively costly to complete the questionnaires through personal interviews, so it was decided to deliver them using e-mail where possible, and otherwise by mail. A total of 153 questionnaires were returned from respondents identified as social economy organizations, for a response rate of 13 per cent. By territory, the Yukon had a response rate of 14 per cent, Nunavut 13 per cent, and the Northwest Territories 11 per cent. There are several explanations for the relatively low response rates for this initial questionnaire, but one of the most likely is that the project had just started and very few organizations were familiar with the notion of the social economy, let alone SERNNoCa. As well, it is likely that the questionnaire was too long for many respondents. The relatively low response rate means that results from the survey might not be representative of all social economy organizations in the territories. There is, however, at least one indicator that suggests the results could be fairly representative:4 as noted above, we do have statistics on the main activities of social economy organizations in all three territories, and when we compare these to the activities reported by questionnaire respondents, results for the two groups are remarkably similar (Southcott and Walker 2009).5

3 The first survey was sent out in 2008, with a follow-up in 2009. 4 As the survey was not based on random sampling, we could not use probability theory–based indicators of representitiveness. 5 It should be noted that the main activity responses of respondents were recoded according to the criteria used for evaluating main activities in the census of social economy groups.

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Table 2.4. Characteristics of Social Economy Organizations in the Territorial North

Nunavut Type of Organization

Northwest Territories

Yukon Territory

All Territories

(% of respondents)

Non-profit

81

92

96

91

Voluntary organization

52

70

75

68

Cooperative

25

4

2

13

Age of organization (years)

16

21

24

21

Note: Only one cooperative in the Northwest Territories responded. In the Yukon also, only one cooperative responded, while five other organizations mistakenly listed themselves as a cooperative. Source: SERNNoCa 2008 Questionnaire Survey (First Survey).

Despite the low number of responses, these data were useful in obtaining an initial impression of the northern social economy in order to guide future research. Table 2.4 shows the types of organizations that responded to the questionnaire in all three territories. It also shows noticeable differences between Nunavut and the two other territories. Among respondents in Nunavut fewer were non-profits and voluntary organizations and more were cooperatives than was the case for respondents in the other territories. Complicating the picture for Nunavut is that some organizations there, such as hunter and trapper organizations, were unsure whether or not they were non-profit. As well, the relative importance of organizations created in association with the Nunavut Land Claims Agreement (NLCA) is a unique aspect of Nunavut’s social economy. The national survey of non-profit and voluntary organizations conducted in 2003 showed that, in Canada as a whole, the average age of social economy organizations was twenty-nine years. In the North, however, respondent organizations were, on average, twenty-one years old, with those in Nunavut being the newest (averaging sixteen years in age), followed by those in the Northwest Territories (twenty-one years) and the Yukon (twenty-four years). Looking at Nunavut more closely, we see that cooperatives are by far the oldest type of organization, with an average age of thirty-four years. Some hunter and trapper organizations, though reorganized following implementation of the NLCA, also reported that they had existed for thirty years or longer. Almost 40 per

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Chris Southcott and Valoree Walker

cent of Nunavut’s respondent organizations had been in existence for less than ten years, while almost 75 per cent had existed for less than twenty-five years. Generally speaking, social economy organizations are run by small groups of individuals – generally a governing board – who are particularly involved in guiding the activities of these organizations. Given their relative importance for the organizations, information about the activities and composition of such boards can help us better understand the nature of social economy organizations. It is interesting to note that 55 per cent of board members of respondent organizations in Nunavut were Aboriginal, Métis, or Inuit; the corresponding figure for all three territories was 31 per cent, while in the Yukon less than 15 per cent of board members were Aboriginal. These results reflect the differing percentages of Aboriginal people in each territory. It is also interesting to note that most board members were female, except in Nunavut, where only 35.2 per cent were women. The initial survey revealed several other important differences between Nunavut and the other territories. One is that relatively fewer respondent social economy organizations in Nunavut used volunteers for their activities (55.3 per cent versus 84 per cent of those in the Northwest Territories and 88 per cent in the Yukon), perhaps because of the smaller population base in Nunavut communities. In both Nunavut and the other territories, approximately 46 per cent of respondents reported that their organizations had no paid employees and therefore issued no T4 slips. Among the remaining 54 per cent of respondents, those in Nunavut had an average of 12 paid employees per organization, while those in the other territories had an average of 6.5. Respondents were asked if they had human resource problems (see Table 2.5). The most serious problems related to obtaining and retaining paid staff. Just over 30 per cent of respondents in all territories said the issue did not apply to them, but generally this was because they did not have paid staff, while just over 40 per cent stated it was a serious or moderate problem, with just under 30 per cent in Nunavut stating it was a serious problem. Next in importance came training, with just under 38 per cent of Nunavut respondents stating that providing staff training and development was a serious or moderate problem, while 22 per cent said it was not a problem. Obtaining and retaining board members was not reported to be much of a problem; in Nunavut 30 per cent of respondents agreed that it was either a serious or moderate problem, while 38 per cent said it was not a problem. Providing training

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39

Table 2.5. Human Resource Issues in Social Economy Organizations in the Territorial North Moderate Serious Small Does Not Not a Total Problem Problem Problem Apply Problem Respondents Issue

(% of respondents)

(number)

Obtaining and retaining staff

19.0

20.9

11.8

30.1

17.0

151

Providing staff training and development

20.9

13.7

18.3

21.6

23.5

150

Obtaining and retaining board members

20.9

13.7

24.2

8.5

30.7

150

Providing training to board members

20.3

11.8

22.9

12.4

30.7

150

Source: SERNNoCa 2008 Questionnaire Survey (First Survey)

to board members was the least serious problem, with less than 30 per cent of respondents in Nunavut claiming it was a serious or moderate problem, while over 40 per cent said it was not a problem. Organizations were asked if various financial issues identified in previous research were a problem. Of the issues listed, the most serious was reductions in government funding, with 44.8 per cent of respondents in the territories as a whole stating that it was a serious or moderate problem for their organization. The difficulty of obtaining funding from government, foundations, or corporations was second in importance, followed by the reporting requirements of funders. Earning revenues through the sale of goods and services was the least important problem for organizations in all the territories. Organizations were asked if they made a profit in the previous year from the sale of goods and services; 21.1 per cent of respondents in all the territories stated that they did, while the figure for Nunavut was 38.3 per cent. Although not many organizations generated a surplus, respondents were asked what would happen if they were to earn a surplus. The most popular direction of distribution was back into the organization, an option identified by slightly more than half of respondents. The next most popular choice was to hold it in reserve for the community’s benefit or in a community trust (17 per cent of respondents), while only 4.6 per cent of respondents indicated they would distribute the surplus to individual members.

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Table 2.6. General Needs of Social Economy Organizations in the Territorial North Moderate Serious Small Does Not Not a Total Problem Problem Problem Apply Problem Respondents Need

(% of respondents)

(number)

Collaborating with other non-profits, volunteer groups, or cooperatives

11.1

1.3

15.7

12.4

57.5

150

Internal capacity, such as administration, information technology

17.6

13.1

19.0

20.9

27.5

150

Training

22.2

9.8

23.5

11.1

28.1

145

Getting volunteers

26.1

14.4

30.7

10.5

15.7

149

Finding funding

30.7

22.9

22.9

6.5

15.0

150

Source: SERNNoCa 2008 Questionnaire Survey (First Survey).

Respondents were also asked a series of questions about issues related to their general needs. These are listed in Table 2.6. A separate preliminary question asked how much collaboration each organization had with other social economy organizations such as non-profits, voluntary organizations, or cooperatives. Most indicated they had some degree of collaboration, but there was variation across the territories. In the territories as a whole, 31 per cent of organizations collaborated a lot with similar organizations, but in Nunavut only 17.6 per cent did so, perhaps due to the lack of a large regional centre in the territory. Finding funding was clearly the most important overall need of the social economy organizations that responded to the questionnaire, with 55 per cent listing it as either a moderate or a serious problem, and only 15 per cent saying it was not a problem. Getting volunteers was the next most serious problem – 42 per cent of respondents said it was either a serious or moderate problem, and just over 18 per cent said it was not a problem. Once again, the problem might be related to the smaller population base of northern communities. Providing staff training and development was the third most important problem for respondents in all the territories. Internal capacity in areas such as administrative systems, information technology, software, and databases clearly was not as important an issue as the previous three. The least serious issue for most respondents was collaboration with other social economy groups, with only 13 per cent saying it represented a serious or moderate problem.

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41

The second survey Following the 2008 survey, the methods of data collection for the portraiture project were reviewed. Concern was expressed about the low response rate. Post-survey consultation with partners confirmed that many groups did not have the capacity to respond to the e-mailed or mailed questionnaire. Many of the group representatives did not have the time, information, or knowledge to fill in the necessary information. These capacity issues led to the development of a new data collection strategy. The form of the questionnaire was changed to make it much shorter; in this regard, researchers consulted with Quebec social economy researchers and decided to use a questionnaire developed there as a base document for a new questionnaire.6 The methodology used for survey delivery was also reviewed. It was decided that, rather than simply e-mail or mail questionnaires to groups, a range of methods would be used to collect the necessary information. As much as possible, data would be obtained using unobtrusive techniques so as to limit the demands that would be placed on potential respondents. In some cases, much of the information could be obtained through organizations’ Internet websites. Another step would involve telephone calls to representatives of organizations to gather any additional information that could not be obtained from other sources. For organizations whose information could not be obtained using unobtrusive techniques combined with telephone interviews, a questionnaire would be e-mailed or mailed. An online questionnaire would also be made available to organizations in the Northwest Territories.7 The time frame for this second survey was also longer than that of the first survey, with the collection period starting in July 2009 and extending until February 2011. The combination of these techniques resulted in a higher overall response rate than for the first survey,8 with questionnaires filled in for

6 See Bouchard et al. (2009) for a discussion of the development of this questionnaire along with results of the use of this questionnaire in Montreal. 7 As in the first survey, the questionnaire was also made available in French and the dominant Indigenous languages. All forms of the questionnaire, along with cover letters and telephone script, are posted on the SERNNoCa website at http://yukonresearch.yukoncollege.yk.ca/sern/projects/. 8 As the survey was not based on random sampling, probability theory–based indicators of representitiveness could not be used.

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Chris Southcott and Valoree Walker

311 organizations, or 17 per cent of the sampling frame.9 Unlike the first survey, researchers were able to also collect data from groups in Labrador and, to a lesser extent, Nunavik. Response rates still varied considerably across the North. The highest rates were in the Yukon, from which responses were received from 153 organizations, or 21.4 per cent of the sampling frame, and in Labrador, from 46 organizations (also 21.4 per cent of identified social economy groups). Responses were obtained from 58 organizations in Nunavut, or 19.7 per cent of the social economy groups in that territory. From the Northwest Territories came information on 47 organizations, just 9.3 per cent of social economy groups identified there. Responses also came from 7 groups in Nunavik (4.9 per cent of identified groups in that region). Differences in response rates were largely a result of the research capacity in each area. Employee turnover in both the Northwest Territories and Nunavut meant a reduced ability to connect with groups in those territories. As well, the project was unable to identify a researcher in Nunavik, so the survey was conducted from the main coordination office in Whitehorse, Yukon. These varying response rates mean that results from the Yukon, Labrador, and Nunavut are relatively reliable, while those from the Northwest Territories are less so. Results from Nunavik, while helpful in understanding overall trends, are not reliable in terms of providing a portrait of the social economy in that region. At the same time, in Table 2.7 we see that, in terms of the main type of activities practised by the organizations, the sample is fairly representative of the “census” list of social economy organizations in the region as a whole. The average age of organizations that responded to the second survey was just under twenty-seven years. The results from the second survey also indicate that the average age of organizations in the North was younger than the average found for Canada in the 2003 National Survey of Non-profit and Voluntary Organizations. At the same time, we see a large variance in average age by region, with Labrador by far the region with the highest average age. As well, when looking at the standard deviation, Labrador has the most variety in ages, largely due to two religious organizations that have been in the region for several hundred years. When these two organizations are controlled for, the average age of Labrador respondents was twenty-nine years. Nunavut

9 The second survey was structured around a revised census of social economy organizations, with 1,834 organizations listed.

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Table 2.7. Social Economy Organizations in the Territorial North, by Type of Activity: A Comparison of Second Survey Respondents to the Sample Frame All Social Economy Organizations Activity Manufacturing, processing, and/ or construction

Respondents to Second Survey

(percentage point change)

(% of total) 0.3

Variation

0.4

0.1

Trade, finance, and/or insurance

3.4

1.9

–1.5

Development and housing

6.2

5.4

–0.8

Sports and recreation, tourism

16.7

16.3

–0.4

Arts and culture

13.4

15.9

2.5

Education and research

2.7

5.4

2.7

Health

3.8

5.0

1.2

14.6

16.3

1.7

4.6

6.6

2.0

11.2

7.0

–4.2

1.5

2.7

1.2

Social services Environment Law, advocacy, and politics Grant-making, fundraising, and voluntarism promotion Religion Business association, professional association, union Unknown

9.0

5.0

–4.0

10.3

8.5

–1.8

2.4

3.5

1.1

Sources: SERNNoCa 2008 Census of Social Economy Organizations; SERNNoCa 2009 Questionnaire Survey (Second Survey).

had the youngest organizations responding to the questionnaire, along with the smallest variations. In terms of the characteristics of the respondents, 71 per cent stated that they were officially registered as non-profit, while 28.4 per cent were officially registered as a charity. Since 56 per cent of respondents to the National Survey of Non-profit and Voluntary Organizations indicated they were a charitable organization, the second survey confirmed the finding of the first survey – namely, that social economy organizations in the North use charitable status to a lesser extent than elsewhere in the country. On average, respondents had eight people on their board, of whom 55 per cent were women. This percentage was fairly uniform across the

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Chris Southcott and Valoree Walker

Table 2.8. Financial Aspects of Social Economy Organizations, Northern Canada Northwest Yukon Total Labrador Nunavut Territories Territory Average $312,854 $1,151,701 $481,302 $356,064 $840,905 Average annual revenue Percentage of Grant or public annual revenue financial support from: Service contracts

(%) 40.1

51.2

49.7

49.9

48.4

2.2

9.0

3.5

8.9

7.5

Sales of goods and/or services

10.8

20.2

14.6

15.2

15.4

Other

47.0

21.3

31.9

25.9

28.9

Note: Percentages may not add to 100 due to rounding and a respondent error. Source: SERNNoCa 2009 Questionnaire Survey (Second Survey).

regions except in Nunavut, where only 47 per cent were women. As well, 58 per cent of managers, executive directors, or coordinators were women. These figures echo the earlier finding that women are more involved than men in these types of organizations. The Indigenous composition of boards ranged from 74 per cent in Nunavut, to 53 per cent in Labrador, 43 per cent in the Northwest Territories, and 20 per cent in the Yukon. Relative to their percentage of the population, Indigenous peoples were slightly underrepresented on boards in all regions except Labrador. On average, respondent organizations had 228 members, but there was considerable variance among organizations.Table 2.8 lists the financial aspects of organizations that responded to the second survey. Total average revenue for these groups was $840,905, considerably less than the $1.4 million average annual revenues listed for territorial organizations in the 2003 National Survey of Non-profit and Voluntary Organizations. This difference is partially explained by the inclusion of data from Labrador, where organizations in general had lower annual revenues. When we compare the responses to the second survey concerning types of activities to the entire sampling frame, we find that our sample is fairly representative of the entire northern social economy. We thus can use these numbers to extrapolate for all social economy

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45

organizations in the territories.10 Multiplying the averages for each activity category by the numbers listed in the sampling frame, we see that the entire social economy sector in the territories had revenues in excess of $662 million. Based on the figures for 2010, this represented approximately 7.5 per cent of the entire gross domestic product (GDP) for the three territories. There is some regional variation in these numbers, with Nunavut having substantially higher annual revenues than Labrador, the Northwest Territories, and the Yukon. Table 2.8 also lists data regarding sources of revenue. As was the case in the findings of the 2003 National Survey of Non-profit and Voluntary Organizations, most of these organizations’ revenue comes from the provision of service contracts, the sale of goods and services, and other sources, not from grants or public financial support. Social economy organizations in Labrador were the least dependent on public sector funding, while over 20 per cent of the revenue of organizations in Nunavut came from the sale of goods and services. Table 2.9 clearly shows that social economy organizations provide a substantial number of jobs to northern regional economies – on average, 8.4 jobs each. Multiplying the average employment by the number of organizations allows us to estimate the total employment by social economy organizations in the territories at 10,435, or about 20 per cent of all employment in the region (the 2006 census listed total employment in the territories as 49,335). Organizations in trade, finance, and/ or insurance provide the highest average number of jobs at 70 each, which is not surprising considering the substantial employment by cooperatives in the region. At the same time, approximately 30 per cent of respondent organizations had no employees, but were run entirely by volunteers. The second survey contained a series of questions designed to determine whether social economy organizations were growing or in decline. Since the publication of Robert Putnam’s “Bowling Alone: America’s Declining Social Capital” in 1995, it has been assumed that organizations which require a large amount of social capital to survive are declining in importance. As Table 2.10 shows, however, this clearly is not the case with social economy organizations in the Canadian North. When asked if the number of users had increased, decreased, or stayed

10 Here, we are using the data from the 2008 Sampling Frame, which excluded both Nunavik and Labrador.

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Chris Southcott and Valoree Walker

Table 2.9. Employment Aspects of Social Economy Organizations in the Territorial North

Activity Manufacturing, processing, and/or construction

Average Number Number from Estimated Employment per of Survey SERNNoCa Number of Organization Respondents 2006 Census Jobs n.a.

Trade, finance, and/or insurance

70.0

Development and housing

0

3 1

n.a. 40

2,800

18.7

9

74

1,381

Sports and recreation, tourism

1.5

13

199

306

Arts and culture

5.4

11

159

853

Education and research

5.5

4

32

176

Health

8.3

4

45

371 2,170

Social services

12.5

17

174

Environment

4.8

8

55

261

Law, advocacy, and politics

9.0

10

133

1,197

Grant-making, fundraising, and voluntarism promotion

2.0

2

18

36

Religion

1.7

3

107

178

Business association, professional association, union

2.9

9

123

355

Other

12.5

4

28

350

Total

8.4

95

1,190

10,435

n.a. Not available. Source: SERNNoCa 2009 Questionnaire Survey (Second Survey).

the same over the previous three years, 50 per cent of respondents indicated users had increased, while only 7.4 per cent indicated a decline in users. In terms of numbers of members, about 33 per cent of respondents indicated an increase, 50 per cent noted that membership numbers had stayed the same, and less than 11 per cent indicated that numbers had decreased. Organizations in Labrador had the highest percentages of decreases in both users and members, while those in Nunavut and the Yukon had the most growth. Religious-based organizations had the greatest decreases in users and members, while education and researchbased organizations had the greatest increases. Growth also occurred in revenues and funding, but to a lesser degree, with some 36 per cent of respondents listing moderate growth and

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47

Table 2.10. Growth Indicators of Social Economy Organizations in the Canadian North

Decreased Don’t Know Increased Over the past three number years, has the number of users per cent Over the past three number years, has the number of members per cent

14

7.4 24

10.7

10

5.3 13

5.8

How would you Fast describe the change Negative of your organization’s Fast Growth Growth revenues/ funding over number 12 5 the past three years? per cent 4.4 1.8

Stayed about the Same

94

70

50.0

37.2

75

Growth

188

112

33.5

Total

224

50.0 Negative Growth Stable Total

99

33

36.0

12.0

126

275

45.8 100.0

Source: SERNNoCa 2009 Questionnaire Survey (Second Survey).

4 per cent fast growth. Just under 14 per cent listed a rapid or moderate decline in revenues and funding, and 46 per cent said their financial situation was stable.The second survey also included a series of questions relating to the major challenges facing social economy organizations. As Table 2.11 shows, finding funding is clearly the most serious of the listed problems facing these groups, cited as a serious or moderate problem by almost 54 per cent of respondents. Next in importance was finding volunteers, with 43 per cent of respondents saying this was a serious or moderate problem. Training was listed last among potential challenges, with almost a quarter of respondents saying it was not a problem. In terms of regional differences they are slight. For organizations in the Northwest Territories training is more of a problem than the other regions. Finding volunteers is more of a problem in Labrador and the Northwest Territories, less of a problem in the Yukon, and hardly a problem at all in Nunavut where almost 30 per cent of the respondents listed it as not a problem. Finding funding is similar across the region but slightly less so for organizations in Labrador. The second survey also included an open question asking respondents: “What other problems or issues does your organization have?” Roughly

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Chris Southcott and Valoree Walker

Table 2.11. Major Challenges Facing Social Economy Organizations in the Canadian North For your organization, the following challenge is Training

A Moderate A Serious A Small Does Not Not a Problem Problem Problem Apply Problem Total

number

68

31

74

39

73

per cent

21.9

10.0

23.8

12.5

23.5

Getting volunteers number

87

46

75

33

48

per cent

28

14.8

24.1

10.6

15.4

number

90

77

51

22

50

per cent

28.9

24.8

16.4

Finding funding

7.1

16.1

285 91.6 289 92.9 290 93.2

Source: SERNNoCa 2009 Questionnaire Survey (Second Survey).

two-thirds of respondents added comments in response to this question. Most referred to an inability to access adequate funding – of 193 responses, 55 were related to this issue. Next in importance came finding volunteers, with 21 responses related to this issue. Recruitment of staff was a concern listed by 20 respondents. An inability to communicate and or engage with the community was a problem listed by 12 respondents. Finally, at least 9 respondents referred to the transient nature of their community and outmigration as an issue within their organization. Observations SERNNoCa’s portraiture research shows that social economy organizations play an important role in Canada’s northern communities. They are, for example, more numerous in the North than in other regions of the country. The 2003 National Survey of Non-profit and Voluntary Organizations found that the territories hosted an average of 825 of these organizations per 100,000 population compared with a national average of 508. The initial 2008 SERNNoCa survey listed 1,190 social economy organizations in the North, which, using population figures from the 2006 census and excluding cooperatives that were not part of the 2003 survey, amounted to an average of more than 1,100 organizations per 100,000 population. The 2010 SERNNoCa survey, which also covered Nunavik and Labrador, listed 1,834 organizations, amounting to an even higher ratio of 1,250 social economy organizations per 100,000 population, again using population figures from the 2006 census and excluding cooperatives that were not part of the 2003 survey.

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The importance of the social economy in northern Canada is also shown in the financial and employment information gathered from the portraiture research. The results of the second survey, when generalized to the entire social economy population, indicate that the revenues of social economy organizations represented 7.5 per cent of the region’s GDP, while the social economy provided 20 per cent of all employment in the region. Moreover, the importance of social economy organizations in the North is growing. Half of the second survey’s respondents indicated that users of their services had increased over the previous three years, while only 7.4 per cent stated that users had decreased. Likewise, 33.5 per cent of respondents indicated that their membership had increased over the previous three years; only 10.7 per cent indicated that the number of members had decreased. Nevertheless, while social economy organizations are growing in importance, they are facing key challenges, particularly with respect to funding. Getting volunteers to participate in their activities was the next most often noted issue, followed by the difficulty of recruiting and retaining staff. Some organizations found getting volunteers to be an issue, but the recruitment of people to serve on the board or cooperation with other social economy organizations was rarely mentioned to be a problem. The surveys also revealed regional differences among social economy organizations, especially between those in Nunavut and those in other regions of the North, likely a reflection of Nunavut’s unique conditions of a largely homogenous Inuit population combined with the political and economic circumstances of the creation of a new territory. In this chapter, we have attempted to provide a contemporary portrait of social economy organizations in the Canadian North. As such, we were concerned primarily with quantitative descriptions of the current situation that might help to improve our understanding of the unique situation of the northern social economy. Many of the findings, however, raise new questions that require further research and analysis to answer. REFERENCES Bjerregaard, P., and T.K. Young. 1998. The Circumpolar Inuit: Health of a Population in Transition. Copenhagen: Munnksgaard International.

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Bouchard, M.J., C. Ferraton, and V. Michaud. 2006. “Database on Social Economy Organizations: The Qualification Criteria.” Working Papers of the Canada Research Chair on the Social Economy, Research Series R-2006–03. June. Bouchard, M.J., et al. 2009. Portrait statistique de l’économie sociale de la région de Montréal. Montreal: Université du Québec à Montréal, Chaire de recherche du Canada en économie sociale. Coates, K. 1985. Canada’s Colonies: A History of the Yukon and Northwest Territories. Toronto: James Lorimer. Coates, K., and W. Morrison. 2005. Land of the Midnight Sun: A History of the Yukon. Montreal; Kingston, ON: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Damas, D. 2002. Arctic Migrants/Arctic Villagers: The Transformation of Inuit Settlement in the Central Arctic. Montreal; Kingston, ON: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Eber, D. 1989. When the Whalers Were Up North: Inuit Memories from the Eastern Arctic. Montreal; Kingston, ON: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Innis, H. 1961. The Fur Trade in Canada. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Inuvialuit Regional Corporation. 2011. Taimani: At That Time. Inuvik, NU. Lotz, J. 1982. “The Moral and Ethical Basis of Community Development: Reflections on the Canadian Experience.” Community Development Journal: An International Forum 17 (1): 27–31. http://dx.doi.org/10.1093/cdj/17.1.27 Lucas, R. 1971. Minetown, Milltown, Railtown: Life in Canada’s Communities of Single Industry. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Natcher, D. 2009. “Subsistence and the Social Economy of Canada’s Aboriginal North.” Northern Review 30 (Spring): 69–84. Nelles, H.V. 2005. The Politics of Development: Forests, Mines, and Hydro-Electric Power in Ontario, 1849–1941, 2nd ed. Montreal; Kingston, ON: McGillQueen’s University Press. Pell, D. 1990. “Soft Economics: Community Organizations that Can Do Something!” In Community Economic Development in Canada’s North, ed. J. Potvin, 145–67. Ottawa: Canadian Arctic Resources Committee. Putnam, R. 1995. “Bowling Alone: America’s Declining Social Capital.” Journal of Democracy 6 (1): 65–78. Sahlins, M. 1972. Stone Age Economics. Chicago: Aldine and Atherton. Saku, J. 1999. “Aboriginal Census Data in Canada: A Research Note.” Canadian Journal of Native Studies 19 (2): 365–79. Saku, J. 2002. “Modern Land Claim Agreements and Northern Canadian Aboriginal Communities.” World Development 30 (1): 141–51. http://dx.doi .org/10.1016/S0305-750X(01)00095-X Southcott, C. 2003. “Spacially-based Social Differentiation in Canada’s Future: Trends in Urban/Non-urban Differences in the Next Decade.” In

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Social Differentiation Patterns and Processes, ed. D. Juteau, 205–52. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Southcott, C. 2006. The North in Numbers: Socio-economic Change in Northern Ontario. Thunder Bay, ON: Centre for Northern Studies Press. Southcott, C. 2010. “History of Globalization in the Circumpolar World.” In Globalization and the Circumpolar World, ed. L. Heininen and C. Southcott, pp. 23–55. Fairbanks: University of Alaska Press. Southcott, C., and V. Walker. 2009. “A Portrait of the Social Economy in Northern Canada.” Northern Review 30 (Spring): 13–36. Statistics Canada. n.d. “1911 to 2011 Census of Canada (Provinces, Census Divisions, Municipalities).” University of Western Ontario, Research Data Centre; updated 25 February 2008. Statistics Canada. 2005. Cornerstones of Community: Highlights of the National Survey of Nonprofit and Voluntary Organizations. Ottawa: Ministry of Industry. Storey, K. 2001. “Fly-in/Fly-out and Fly-over: Mining and Regional Development in Western Australia.” Australian Geographer 32 (2): 133–48. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/00049180120066616 Turner, Frederick Jackson. 1921. The Frontier in American History. New York: Henry Holt and Company. Yukon. 2011. Population and Dwellings: Census 2011. Whitehorse: Yukon Bureau of Statistics. Zaslow, M. 1971. The Opening of the Canadian North: 1870–1914. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart. Zaslow, M. 1989. “The Yukon: Northern Development in a CanadianAmerican Context.” In Interpreting Canada’s North: Selected Readings, ed. K.S. Coates and W.R. Morrison, 185–98. Toronto: Copp Clark Pitman.

3 The Social Economy and Resource Development in Northern Canada B R E N D A PA R L E E

Exploration and the development of natural resources in the circumpolar North have led to many and diverse changes over the past one hundred years. The cumulative effects of metal, diamond, and uranium mining, oil and gas exploration activity, and hydro projects have largely been antithetical to the well-being of northern communities. Although there are some positive case studies, on the whole most development has not resulted in sustainable benefits (Abele et al. 2009; Duhaime and Caron 2006). Among the threads of socio-economic and cultural change associated with resource development that are little understood in northern communities are those involving the social economy. There is a large body of literature that attributes the lack of sustainable benefits from resource development to structural inequalities in the global political economy. Although such macro-level theories of dependency explain the big picture, the nature and distribution of benefits and detriments of development in northern Canada are more nuanced at the regional and local levels. Building on the insights about the northern social economy discussed elsewhere in this volume, this chapter argues that the capacity of northern communities to realize the opportunities and to cope with and adapt to the negative effects of development also rests on the strength of these communities, including their local and regional social economies. The social economy consists of those organizations that use trade and business principles to accomplish social aims. Although basic information is lacking on many aspects of this sector (Tremblay 2009), the number of such organizations is rapidly growing in many parts of North America and Europe. In northern Canada, social economy organizations perform numerous vital roles (Natcher 2008; Southcott and Walker, in this volume). Much

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of the literature related to resource development would suggest that the social economy of the North is vulnerable to the effects of industrialization. Other sociologists and economists, however, point to strong “community” as a precondition to successful economic development. This chapter also discusses the role the social economy plays in mitigating and managing the socio-economic effects of boom-bust economic environments. As the preceding chapters in this volume show, social economy organizations in the North are diverse – making contributions to health, housing, education, culture, manufacturing, food security, and environmental sustainability. It has been estimated that, worldwide, this sector contributes $1.9 trillion in operating expenditures and 48.4 million full-time jobs, and serves 4.6 per cent of the economically active population (Downing 2012; Salamon, Hems, and Chinnock 2000). Many of these organizations are highly organized, with complex structures, financial requirements, and governance arrangements. But the effectiveness of many also hinges on the softer side – namely, the relationships among individuals who work within and between these organizations (Kay 2005, 168). I conceptualize these relationships and their contributions to social and economic outcomes here through the lens of social capital. The concept of social capital has been in use since the late twentieth century, theorized by Bourdieu (1983) and popularized in the 1990s with the publication of Robert Putnam’s essay, “Bowling Alone: America’s Declining Social Capital” (1995). The latter work, later expanded into book form, chronicles the demise of community in the northeastern United States. Putnam defines social capital as “features of social organization, such as networks, norms, and social trust that facilitate coordination and cooperation for mutual benefit” (2001, 67). Although the concept has its critics, it has gained widespread currency because of its appeal to both the hard and soft sides of the social sciences: “it has a hard nosed economic feel while restating the importance of the social” (Halpern 2005). Social capital in northern Aboriginal communities has been most commonly associated with the subsistence and land-based economy (Natcher 2008; Usher, Duhaime, and Searles 2003). As Duhaime et al. (2004, 313) note, subsistence does not simply involve hunting, fishing, and other food-gathering activities: “Subsistence is more than a mode of production, it is a powerful ideology that extends into other areas of life including raising of children, and the treatment of elders. It also

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contributes to the structure of social relations, community leadership and moral authority.” An alternative view of social capital in First Nations communities is offered through studies on health and well-being. Mignone and O’Neil (2005) suggest that social capital in the First Nations context can be measured by the degree to which resources are socially invested; that it presents a culture of trust, norms of reciprocity, collective action, and participation; and that it possesses inclusive, flexible, and diverse networks. Other attributes of social capital might be visible in research on social indicators or that related to well-being and a community’s capacity for self-government, healing, and cultural preservation (Parlee, O’Neil, and Lutsel K’e Dene First Nation 2007). Social indicators include intergenerational knowledge sharing (elders sharing knowledge with youth), family cohesion (parents supporting youth), volunteerism, civic participation (participation in public meetings), social interaction and communication, demonstration of traditional values (respect for the land), and participation in cultural events such as caribou hunting and spiritual gatherings. Social capital theory provides a lens through which to investigate the role of the social economy in an increasingly industrialized Arctic. Much existing research suggests a fundamental contradiction between large-scale resource development enterprises and the local social economy, in which northern Aboriginal people tend to be positioned as vulnerable (Southcott and Walker 2009). Other research suggests that social economy organizations play a role in attracting and sustaining resource development activity, thus fulfilling critical functions and providing an environment within which economic development is possible and more sustainable. A third function relates to the mitigation or management of the negative effects of development. Women’s shelters, food banks, hunter and trapper organizations, and recreation groups are part of a network of social actors within communities that deal with the stresses and anxieties of those made vulnerable by resource development activity. It is these three functions of the social economy that I discuss in this chapter, with reference to research carried out under the Social Economy Research Network of Northern Canada (SERNNoCa). Although the chapter focuses geographically more on the Northwest Territories, many issues are thought to be generalizable to other northern regions and frontier economies where resource booms have already occurred or are anticipated to occur in the coming years.

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The Setting: Resource Development The effect of the resource sector on economic and social development has long been a topic of concern to Canadian social science. Staples theory, which emerged in the years prior to the Second World War, tried to explain how a country could develop economically based primarily on the production of staples. Although the theory originally stressed the idea that linkages in economic processes associated with resource development would lead to general development, more recent interpretations have stressed the leakages that occur around the production of industrial commodities and the negative effects of these leakages on communities (Drache 1995). This concern for development problems associated with resource extraction industries has been transformed since the 1990s into debates surrounding the existence of a “resource curse” (Auty 1993). The non-renewable resource sector in northern Canada represents a growing percentage of the country’s gross domestic product (GDP), ranking it among the largest of all circumpolar nations (Haley, Klick, Szymoniak, and Crow 2011; McDonald, Glomsrød, and Mäenpää 2006). The Conference Board of Canada expects Arctic GDP will expand by between 3 and 5 per cent in 2014–15. Although, the services sector makes a greater total contribution to total GDP, more attention is being paid to the mining and petroleum sectors due to the economic volatility, social disruption, and environmental risks associated with these sectors and their tendency to be directed by institutions located outside the North (Duhaime and Caron 2006, 18). The nature and extent of resource development, however, varies widely across the Canadian North, as Table 3.1 shows. Nunavut has a history of mining in areas such as Rankin Inlet, but in recent decades the territory has experienced little growth in this industry. Over the next ten years, however, at least three new operating mines are expected. The construction of the Mary River and Meliadine mines were anticipated to be the main drivers of economic activity in 2013–14 (Conference Board of Canada 2001, 2012). Gas reserves are also likely to be a focus in the coming years in both Nunavut and the Northwest Territories. Between 1999 and 2004, the Northwest Territories’ economy grew by 69 per cent, largely as a result of mining and gas exploration, which increased from 28.8 per cent in 1999 to 53.0 per cent in 2004; in 2007 the largest jump in GDP occurred (13.1 per cent) with the opening of a

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Table 3.1. Value of Production of Various Minerals and Fuels, Canada, and Selected Northern Regions, 2011 Yukon Territory

Northwest Territories

Minerals and Fuels

Nunavut

Newfoundland and Labrador

Canada

($ millions)

Total metallic minerals

395.0

64.5

414.0

5,111.6

25,260.0

Copper

194.0

2.0

0.0

610.0

5,012.0

Gold

101.7

0.0

411.9

14.5

4,741.2

0.0

0.0

0.0

2,651.5

5,329.1

Nickel

0.0

0.0

0.0

1,666.1

5,087.4

Silver

75.9

0.0

2.1

13.4

612.2

Uranium

0.0

0.0

0.0

0.0

1,089.2

Zinc

5.9

0.0

0.0

46.2

1,296.0

Total non-metallic minerals

6.8

2,079.6

0.0

78.1

18,037.8

Diamonds

0.0

2,069.6

0.0

0.0

2,523.0

Potash

0.0

0.0

0.0

0.0

7,972.6

Sand and gravel

6.6

2.2

0.0

16.5

1,544.4

Total fuels

4.0

416.0

0.0

10,771.9

128,960.3

Coal

0.0

0.0

0.0

0.0

7,049.9

Crude petroleum

0.0

350.0

0.0

10,771.9

91,110.3

Natural gas

4.0

66.1

0.0

30,800.2

Iron ore

Sources: Statistics Canada, “Summary Tables: Production of Selected Minerals and Fuels by Province and Territory, 2011 (British Columbia, Yukon, Northwest Territories, Nunavut),” available online at http://www.statcan.gc.ca/tables-tableaux/sum-som/l01/ cst01/envi38c-eng.htm; and idem, “Summar y Tables: Production of Selected Minerals and Fuels by Province and Territory, 2011 (Newfoundland and Labrador, Prince Edward Island, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick),” available online at http://www.statcan.gc.ca/ tables-tableaux/sum-som/l01/cst01/envi38a-eng.htm.

third diamond mine (Northwest Territories 2011). Such growth is likely to increase, especially if a pipeline project moves forward linking large oil and gas reserves from the Sahtu and Inuvialuit regions to southern and foreign markets. Declining production in the diamond mining industry, however, was expected to cause a slowdown in GDP growth by 2013–14). Yukon’s GDP was anticipated to grow steadily over the next ten years as a result of several new mining projects (Conference Board of Canada 2012). Growth in the non-renewable resource sector

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in Nunavik and Labrador in the coming few years is expected to be the strongest on record in the region, in large part due to iron ore projects at Schefferville, nickel mining at Voisey’s Bay, and further mineral exploration (Conference Board of Canada 2012; Duhaime 2007). The expansion of the lower Churchill Falls hydroelectric project is also anticipated to contribute to economic growth in Newfoundland and Labrador. Although much of the economic reporting is positive, local communities consistently question whether current and anticipated resource development activity in these regions will result in long-term benefits for northern peoples. The Effects of Resource Development on the Social Economy The effects of resource development on the social economy are felt at many different stages of a project’s lifespan. Effects occur even before a project begins, and they can persist decades after the project’s closure. Initial effects begin during the period of consultation, assessment, and regulatory review (Hipwell et al. 2002). With the hope of influencing decision making and addressing key social, economic, and environmental issues, those involved in the social economy often volunteer or contribute knowledge, time, and resources over many months and sometimes years before a project is even approved for construction. Through reviews of project descriptions, the preparation of written submissions, and attendance and presentations at ongoing public hearings, much time can be diverted away from other projects more in line with core visions of community sustainability. The Status of Women, Alternatives North, the Gwich’in Social and Cultural Institute, hunter and trapper organizations, and Renewable Resource Councils, for example, contributed significantly to environmental assessments of diamond mining and the proposed Mackenzie Valley gas pipeline in the Northwest Territories (MVEIRB 2012). In Labrador, organizations such as Friendship Centres, the Labrador Inuit, and the Innu Nation have made vital contributions to environmental assessments such as that of the Voisey’s Bay nickel mine project (Felt and Natcher 2008). Regulators seem to draw positive correlations between the quantity of interactions between industry and such organizations, looking for evidence of “consultedness”: the greater the amount of time taken to meet and communicate information, the more likely the regulator is to determine the community has been consulted, regardless of the nature of the interactions and the outcomes. This trend might be the result

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of a common, but often erroneous, assumption that, “if some is good then more is better” (Helliwell 2001, 53). Instead, the sheer number of referrals and girth of information packages sent for community review actually limit the extent to which communities are able to interpret and communicate concerns about proposed projects (Natcher 2001; SENES Consultants 2011). A less discussed issue is the negative space created by such consultation and related processes, where all human, financial, and social resources become diverted away from addressing other community needs, including those that focus on the social economy. Much of the social science research on large-scale resource development in northern Canada and elsewhere has focused on effects during projects’ construction and operation phases. Although there are significant benefits for some people, in terms of employment and business, many changes associated with booming development occur too broadly and rapidly to be beneficial or sustainable (Wirth 1938). As Émile Durkheim (1897[1951]) noted, any shifts in the economic circumstances of a community, whether defined as good or bad, tend to lead to a breakdown in social norms and structures. The resulting destabilizing of a community is compounded by rapid changes in its demographics. An influx of transient labour, for example, can lead to diminished levels of trust and social connectedness among residents, measurable by metrics such as “density of acquaintance” (Freudenberg 1986; Krannich, Berry, and Greider 1989). Research on boom towns in the 1980s uncovered evidence that the “density of acquaintance,” or the proportion of individuals in a community who are acquainted, is linked or correlated with effective management of social deviance, socializing youth, and care of vulnerable members of that community (Freudenberg 1986). Maintaining social cohesion can be made more challenging by the ownership structures of resource development industries. As Kusel (2001, 337) notes, “the manner in which these activities are organized and carried out, including who controls the resources, who manages the benefits and determines when and how locals participate in resource management, and the condition of the resources that remain have significant implications for community well-being in the short and long term.” Almost all mines and oil and gas exploration initiatives are controlled by individuals from outside the North (Duhaime and Caron 2006). Hydroelectric projects, roads, and port projects, such as that proposed at Bathurst Inlet, might be an exception, as they have been proposed by regional governments as public infrastructure projects, albeit

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with a purpose of further resource development. The Mackenzie Valley gas pipeline proposal represents a hybrid of local-foreign ownership arrangements, given that part of the project was to be owned and controlled by the Aboriginal Pipeline Group, consisting of representatives of Aboriginal governments in the Northwest Territories. The on-again, off-again nature of this and other kinds of developments driven by fickle global markets creates further problems of social and economic instability. But not all projects lead to the same kinds of social disruptions. The nature of the resource, its value (in terms of commodity prices), whether the construction, operation, or eventual remediation of the project is capital versus labour intensive, and the need for skilled versus unskilled labour all affect the kinds of social changes that occur within communities. The socio-economic history and profile of the community (that is, the degree of its economic diversity), the size of the community relative to that of the project, and access to transportation networks are all considerations. Perhaps the most significant factor affecting a community’s experience of resource development is governance: the extent to which elites hinder or facilitate development within the community, the strength of the regulatory regime (for example, health and safety and environmental regulations), and the presence of institutional arrangements and mechanisms for direct capture of benefits at the local level through Impact and Benefit Agreements are all noted as important in the impact assessment and sociology literature, and are relevant to understanding the effects of resource development on the social economy (Freudenberg 1992; Hitch and Fidler 2007; Krannich and Zollinger 1997). Some research suggests negative effects are felt most acutely at the outset of a boom but tend to dissipate over time. Although there are some short-term problems, the long-term effect is positive by some accounts (Smith, Krannich, and Hunter 2001). Other research, however, including that on the resource curse, indicates there are fundamental and long-term problems (Auty 1993). A skills and brain-drain effect is often created where high wages in the natural resource sector lead to the siphoning away of labour from other parts of the economy. Most social economy organizations cannot compete with the wages offered by mining or petroleum companies, and thus inevitably suffer from shortages of labour and skills or knowledge. As noted in the “resource curse” literature, these shortages can have long-term as well as shortterm effects: as individuals become more dependent upon income from

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a particular resource industry, the pool of labour available to other sectors, including the social economy sectors, becomes shallower. A quick fix is further training and education of the unemployed, but achieving it is a complicated endeavour. Many of the unemployed remain so for numerous reasons, but an important one is the lack of high school completion. High school graduation rates are low in most parts of northern Canada, as a result of which many individuals are not ready for the training and employment opportunities that occur with natural resource development. One theory behind low educational attainment is cultural dislocation or discontinuity: Aboriginal leaders and scholars see a significant disconnect between the informal, traditional education systems of the past and that of the present. Many efforts are being made to build more holistic models of formal education and learning that reflect traditional ways of knowing, as well as skills for survival in a globalized Arctic economy (Battiste 1998) – a key example in the Northwest Territories is the Dene Kede (Northwest Territories 1999). There are many critics of such efforts, however, particularly in light of limited time, human resources, and funding for basic curricula (such as mathematics). The sharing of Traditional Knowledge and skills is more often than not left up to the family, with the formal education system offering basic skills (reading, writing, arithmetic, and science) (Salokangas and Parlee 2009). But some consider these two systems of learning as incongruent, even when delivered in different domains. A study of the Northwest Territories community of Tuktoyaktuk points out the obvious contradictions: “If youth stay in school they spend less time on the land. If youth spend extended periods of time on the land required to learn traditional knowledge and skills, they are unlikely to succeed in the formal school system” (Schlag 2004, 39). Opportunities for learning in both the formal education system and the home are also uneven within communities; diverse family histories often account for some children having many opportunities for learning while others have very few. Families that do not value formal education tend not to see success in the formal education system. Similarly, families that do not value Traditional Knowledge and skills for living on the land do not pass on such knowledge and skills to their children. Conversely, “if a family is strongly anchored in the political, traditional, and wage economies, it will envision more schooling and lucrative options for its young people” (Salokangas and Parlee 2009, 202). Government- and industry-sponsored or -directed training activities have resulted in some improvements to this pattern in the regions

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affected by diamond mining activity in the Northwest Territories. The Aboriginal Human Resources Development Strategy and the Aboriginal Skills and Employment Partnership support skills-training initiatives in the Northwest Territories that are tied to the mining sector. Another example is the Aboriginal development program sponsored by Diavik Diamond Mine: Delivered by [the Southern Alberta Institute of Technology, SAIT] and Diavik, the Aboriginal development program includes ten courses addressing 16 leadership competencies, monthly leadership development activities, a mentoring program by Diavik management, and a guest lecture series, for a total of 188 hours of training. Content is built around SAIT’s applied management certificate program. Over 50 northerners have completed this program. Diavik Diamond Mine currently employs approximately 275 Aboriginal workers, or over 100 more than originally projected during feasibility in the 1990s. (Diavik Diamond Mines Inc. 2010)

Such programs have been successful in deepening the pool of skilled labour in the region. To the extent they have focused on mining, however, such training initiatives might be limiting the diversity of knowledge and skills needed to develop other sectors of the economy in the long term (Cohn and Addison 1998; Gylfason 2001; Sachs and Warner 1995). Hodgkins (2008, 56) describes the problem this way: Relegating education to technical training creates other problems for a society in transition. Reactive, quick-fix solutions to perceived labour shortages disguise low formal education levels, as signing groups become sinecures of megaprojects through preferential hiring practices. While the optics may appear impressive as seen in increased hiring of northern Aboriginals at mine sites, most employees are young men who occupy low-level positions and must leave their community for extended periods of time to fulfill shift work. Meanwhile, the incentive to increase productivity through long-term capacity building is trumped by an elite financially compensated and motivated by the passive collection of rent and resource royalties).

Lack of knowledge or skills to manage money from wage employment is also a worry in some communities. The long hours required away from family – as a result of, for example, biweekly rotations, particularly in the oil and gas sector – can fracture communities. Another

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factor in the successful promoting of wage employment in the resource sector is the value that community members place on other kinds of “work,” including unpaid work in their own communities (Tait 2008). Statistics from Statistics Canada’s Aboriginal Peoples Survey suggest that, although wage employment is limited in northern communities, people do many other kinds of work as part of their familial and community responsibilities and in exchange for non-monetary compensation. Contributions of the Social Economy to Resource Development Northern communities have long been characterized as vulnerable to the economic forces of globalization and industrialization. Such a lens of vulnerability, which is rooted in colonization, is commonplace in many kinds of research and policies, and essentially positions northern peoples as weak and powerless with little agency to affect their own futures in an increasingly global economy (Haalboom and Natcher 2012). Northern communities can also be conceptualized, however, as powerful actors (willing and unwilling) in the success and sustainability of resource development activity. Social capital theorists would assert that the strong social networks that exist in northern communities are an incentive for industry by creating a kind of stability that is attractive to investors and project developers. How does this work? As Casey and Christ (2005, 828) explain, “[t]he implied causal chain starts with membership in civic and social organizations, creating generalized bonds of trust within a community. These in turn serve to lower economic risk and reduce transaction costs (by increasing the ‘social costs’ of malfeasance and free riding), which facilitates the dissemination of organizational and technical knowledge, enhancing both economic and governmental efficiency and, finally, enhancing community prosperity.” There are also direct contributions to the sustainability of specific projects. Although unemployment rates are high in northern communities, their demographics contribute vital services to industry through child care, elder care, subsistence harvesting, and volunteerism in recreation and community programs. Child care is a major contribution, largely due to the lack of formal child care services across the North. Vail and Clinton (2011, 16) suggest how the lack of child care services in Nunavut and economic development are interrelated: “The lack of quality

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child-care services is a frequently identified problem in Nunavut and can affect economic development in two key ways. First, it can serve as a disincentive for those wishing to participate in the wage-based economy, particularly for women or for those who are willing to move to another community to work. On a longer-term basis, the absence of child care and other early childhood development services may hinder the development of young Nunavummiut as they move through school.” A third area in which the social economy contributes to the success and sustainability of the mining and oil and gas sector in the North is Traditional Knowledge. Many communities facing the prospect of a mine or pipeline within their traditional territories contribute knowledge through environmental assessment processes, Traditional Knowledge studies, and community-based monitoring initiatives. Informal tracking of environmental change occurs throughout the North; hunters and trappers, fishers, and other Indigenous land users make significant efforts to watch over their lands and resources. The driver behind such monitoring is not regulatory or technical, but comes from the wish (and need) to ensure sources of country/traditional foods are not contaminated or disrupted during the exploration, construction, and operational phases of mining, oil and gas activity, and other major developments (GeoNorth Ltd. 2003; Kitikemot Inuit Association 2012). Lutsel K’e Dene First Nation hunters involved in the local Ni Hat Ni (watching the land) monitoring initiative speak about changes in the environment caused by human activities such as mining as edo aja, which translates as something has happened to it (Bennett and Lemelin, in this volume; Parlee, Manseau, and Lutsel K’e Dene First Nation 2005; Shaw 2004). Community monitoring has become a featured theme in environmental assessments (Stevenson 1996) and institutionalized in regulatory instruments such as Environmental Agreements. The Environmental Agreement (section 1.2, part g) pertaining to Diavik Diamond Mine is based on the principle of equal consideration of Traditional Knowledge with science in monitoring the effects of this project (Environmental Agreement 2000). Similar arrangements have been developed in the past for the Voisey’s Bay nickel mine (Memorandum of Agreement 2002), and could be developed in response to environmental concerns raised about emerging projects such as the proposed Mary River mine in Nunavut (Qikiqtani Inuit Association 2012).

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The Mitigating Role of the Social Economy on Resource Development Social economy organizations contribute significantly to the sustainability of northern communities dealing with resource development through their service to vulnerable populations. It is well recognized that boom developments are associated with a wide range of social pathologies, including violence, drug and alcohol addiction, and highrisk social behaviours (Goldenberg et al. 2008, 2010; Ruddell 2011; Scott, MacPhail, and Minichiello 2012; Shandro et al. 2011). Additional stresses arise from the rapid in-migration of transient or temporary workers. The sudden increase in demand for limited infrastructure, resources, and services inevitably causes spikes in the cost of living. For those on limited or fixed incomes, such as the elderly and single parents, such increases mean shortages of affordable housing and food insecurity. Indeed, the lack of affordable housing has been highlighted as a problem in every Arctic territory and region, and is seen as a growing crisis for two reasons. First, federal investment in housing, which began in the 1960s, created needs that previously did not exist. Second, the declining condition of housing projects constructed twenty to thirty years ago, limited investment in housing maintenance and new homes, and a growing population have created a gap between the number of houses available and the number of families in need. In Nunavut, it is estimated that half of family homes are “overcrowded,” with consequent statistics of social illness, particularly among children and youth, becoming an issue of national and international attention (Mackrell 2011). Research on homelessness suggests that housing insecurity is likely to be compounded by boom-and-bust cycles of resource development and uneven development across the territories, with vulnerable populations such as the homeless and single mothers facing the greatest difficulties (Christensen 2011; Young and Mollins 1996). Organizations throughout the Yukon, Northwest Territories, Nunavut, Nunavik, and Labrador are playing key roles in addressing these issues, and they could be needed even more as development increases north of 60. The YWCA in the major centres of Whitehorse, Yellowknife, and Iqaluit, for example, manages homeless shelters and abused women/family violence shelters with very limited money from either territorial or the federal governments (Coalition Against Family Violence 2011). Organizations such as the Northwest Territories Status of Women have also developed to meet the needs of women who historically have

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been marginalized and victimized in the resource development industry and in boom towns. Food banks contribute significantly to food security during the ups and downs of resource development, as do informal food-sharing organizations and networks in smaller centres. The World Health Organization defines food security as existing “when all people at all times have access to sufficient, safe, nutritious food to maintain a healthy and active life.” The concept generally considers both physical and economic factors that limit or facilitate access, as well as cultural attributes that determine food preference. In Canada, 21 per cent of Aboriginal households are at risk of being “food insecure,” and the rate is twice as high in some communities in Nunavut (Egeland et al. 2011). Food insecurity is compounded in the North by high levels of unemployment and the higher-than-average cost of food. The cost of a Northern Food Basket1 in the Yukon and Northwest Territories can be between 50 per cent and 200 per cent higher than the corresponding food basket in southern Canadian cities, which some studies suggest often worsens, rather than improves, in the context of development Todd 2010). In Paulatuk, Northwest Territories, for example, the increased emphasis on full-time employment, including fly-in, fly-out employment, means households have less time to procure country/traditional foods but still have insufficient monies to purchase market foods. Social economy organizations also help mediate the effects of resource development through various kinds of community wellness initiatives, including literacy programs, family planning, maternal health activities, school breakfast programs, cultural skills camps, and drug and alcohol counselling services, which can be found in almost every northern community. Although they sometimes receive public sector funding, such initiatives are highly dependent upon the contributions of volunteers. Paradoxically, during boom economic periods, demand for the services of such organizations often rises, while rates of volunteerism and other kinds of support decline. Although no longitudinal study of volunteerism has been carried out in northern Canada that would allow for comparisons during different periods of economic activity, 1 The Northern Food Basket consists of forty-six items used as a measure of the cost of living. Developed as a parallel to Agriculture Canada’s Canadian Food Basket, it is used to monitor the cost of a nutritious diet for a lower-income reference family of four (a girl 7–9 years old, a boy 13–15 years old, and a man and a woman both 25–49 years old).

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some studies of elsewhere in Canada suggest trends of volunteerism in differing economic periods (Vaillancourt 1994). The most compelling insights, however, come from the United States, where, according to an analysis of US labour statistics, those employed in the mining industry are the least likely to volunteer compared to those in every other sector of the economy by a significant margin (Pho 2008). For example, the average number of volunteer hours reported for the 2001–04 period by those in the mining sector averaged 12.2 million per annum, several orders of magnitude lower than every other reporting sector. The second-lowest rate was for those in the leisure and hospitality industry, who reported an average of 231 million hours of volunteer time per annum. Those in the education and health sectors ranked highest, reporting 1,368.2 million hours of volunteering per annum during the period (Pho 2008, 232). Such statistics suggest hypotheses about the role of the mining industry in northern Canada and the potential drain it places on the social capital of other sectors that seemingly make greater contributions to their communities. They also suggest hypotheses about the long-term and cumulative effects of resource development on the ability of communities to care for themselves. Conclusion Social economy organizations in northern Canada are diverse and make significant contributions to health and well-being, education, food security, and environmental sustainability in the region (Southcott and Walker, in this volume). Many organizations in Indigenous communities, such as food-sharing networks, have existed for many generations (Natcher 2008). Others, such as arts and crafts co-ops (for example, Arctic Co-operatives Limited), have developed within the past sixty years with the aim of diversifying local northern economies while meeting the growing needs of northern communities (McPherson, in this volume). Still others have developed as a result of gaps in the provision of health, education, and social services by the federal and territorial governments – a trend common elsewhere in Canada and around the world. As Tremblay (2009, 10) notes, “[g]lobal challenges to socio-economic development and environmental sustainability have prompted increased efforts to find alternative strategies for development.” Will local social economy organizations continue to survive and even thrive in an increasingly global Arctic?

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Much arguably depends on the fuzzier aspects of social relations – the willingness of people to work together for the betterment of their communities, or what has been defined as social capital. Social capital theory suggests that, like other forms of capital, the bonds of trust and reciprocity ultimately are what enable individuals and organizations to take advantage of opportunities and to cope with social and economic stress and uncertainty. There might be a tipping point, however: although some kinds of social and economic stress can stimulate and strengthen community, large-scale and rapid change can also be highly divisive and disruptive. How are social economy organizations in the North likely to fair in the context of changes brought about by mining, oil and gas exploration, and other forms of large-scale resource development? What role might they play in ensuring the sustainability of such development? Can they contribute to the well-being of northern communities, particularly vulnerable populations, through the mitigation and management of adverse effects? A key concern in the literature has been around the vulnerability and fragility of social economy organizations to the threat of resource development. Yet this vulnerability framing belies the contribution many organizations make to the sustainability of the resource development sector and the success of those employed in this sector. Many communities and organizations give significant amounts of time and resources to the regulatory process and during construction and operation phases. Given that strong social networks are indicative of a stable economy, the presence of a strong social economy also might attract industries that seek safe opportunities for investment. Perhaps the most critical role of the social economy is in the mitigation and management of adverse effects on vulnerable populations. Although resource development has brought some benefits to northern communities, on the whole it has led to few sustainable benefits for northerners, and resulted in many kinds of adverse socioeconomic and cultural changes. Social-economy organizations play key roles throughout the North in managing and mitigating these negative effects to ensure the well-being of individuals, families, and communities. Research carried out through SERNNoCa has highlighted some critical issues and contributions, as discussed in the chapters in this volume. More longitudinal research is needed, however, in regions undergoing rapid resource development to better understand the roles and responsibilities of specific organizations in the context of the rapidly changing northern economy.

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REFERENCES Abele, F., T.J. Courchene, F.L. Seidle, and F. St-Hilaire, eds. 2009. Northern Exposure: Peoples, Powers and Prospects in Canada’s North. Montreal: Institute for Research on Public Policy. Auty, R.M. 1993. Sustaining Development in Mineral Economies: The Resource Curse Thesis. New York: Routledge. http://dx.doi.org/10.4324/ 9780203422595. Battiste, M. 1998. “Enabling the Autumn Seed: Toward a Decolonized Approach to Aboriginal Knowledge, Language, and Education.” Canadian Journal of Education 22 (1): 16–27. Bourdieu, P. 1983. “The Forms of Capital.” In Handbook of Theory and Research for the Sociology of Education, ed. J.G. Richardson, 241–58. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Casey, T., and K. Christ. 2005. “Social Capital and Economic Performance in the American States.” Social Science Quarterly 86 (4): 826–45. http://dx.doi.org/ 10.1111/j.0038-4941.2005.00358.x Christensen, J. 2011. “Homeless in a Homeland: Housing (In)security and Homelessness in Inuvik and Yellowknife, Northwest Territories, Canada.” PhD diss., McGill University. Coalition Against Family Violence. 2011. “Recommendations for Addressing Gaps, Shifting Attitudes, and Enhancing Services to Reduce Family Violence and Abuse in the NWT: Final Report, March 31.” Yellowknife, NWT. Cohn, E., and J.T. Addison. 1998. “The Economic Returns to Lifelong Learning.” Education Economics 6 (3): 253–308. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/ 09645299800000021 Conference Board of Canada. 2001. “Nunavut Economic Outlook: An Examination of the Nunavut Economy.” Ottawa: Conference Board of Canada. Conference Board of Canada. 2012. “Territorial Outlook: Economic Forecast and Trends.” Edmonton: Conference Board of Canada Centre for the North. Diavik Diamond Mines Inc. 2010. “Diavik completes sixth Aboriginal development program.” Yellowknife, NWT: Rio Tinto. Available online at http://www.diavik.ca. Downing, R. 2012. Canadian Public Policy and the Social Economy. Victoria, BC: University of Victoria. Drache, D. 1995. Staples, Markets and Cultural Change: The Centenary Edition of Harold Innis’ Collected Essays. Montreal; Kingston, ON: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Duhaime, G. 2007. “Socio-Economic Profile of Nunavik.” Université Laval.

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Duhaime, G., and A. Caron. 2006. “The Economy of the Circumpolar Arctic.” In The Economy of the North, ed. S. Glomsrød and I. Aslaksen, 17–23. Oslo: Statistics Norway. Duhaime, G., E. Searles, P.J. Usher, H. Myers, and P. Frechette. 2004. “Social Cohesion and Living Conditions in the Canadian Arctic: From Theory to Measurement.” Social Indicators Research 66 (3): 295–317. http://dx.doi.org/ 10.1023/B:SOCI.0000003726.35478.fc Durkheim, E. 1897 [1951]. Suicide. New York: Free Press. Egeland, G.M., L. Johnson-Down, Z.R. Cao, N. Sheikh, and H. Weiler. 2011. “Food Insecurity and Nutrition Transition Combine to Affect Nutrient Intakes in Canadian Arctic Communities.” Journal of Nutrition 141 (9): 1746–53. http://dx.doi.org/10.3945/jn.111.139006 Environmental Agreement between Government of Canada, Government of the Northwest Territories, Government of Nunavut, Diavik Diamond Mines Inc., Dogrib Treaty 11 Council, Lutsel K’e Dene Band, Yellowknives Dene, North Slave Metis Alliance and Kitimeot Inuit Association. 2000. Ottawa: Minister of Indian Affairs and Northern Development. Felt, L., and D. Natcher. 2008. “Effective Governance in the Changing Political Landscape of Labrador.” Newfoundland Quarterly 101 (1): 32–42. Freudenberg, W.R. 1986. “The Density of Aquaintanceship: An Overlooked Variable in Community Research?” American Journal of Sociology 92 (1): 27–63. http://dx.doi.org/10.1086/228462 Freudenberg, W.R. 1992. “Addictive Economies: Extractive Industries and Vulnerable Localities in a Changing World Economy.” Rural Sociology 57 (3): 305–32. http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1549-0831.1992.tb00467.x GeoNorth Ltd. 2003. “Traditional Knowledge Monitoring Workshop.” Yellowknife. Goldenberg, S., J. Shoveller, M. Koehoorn, and A. Ostry. 2008. “Barriers to STI Testing among Youth in a Canadian Oil and Gas Community.” Health & Place 14 (4): 718–29. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.healthplace.2007.11.005 Goldenberg, S.M., J.A. Shoveller, M. Koehoorn, and A.S. Ostry. 2010. “And They Call This Progress? Consequences for Young People of Living and Working in Resource-Extraction Communities.” Critical Public Health 20 (2): 157–68. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/09581590902846102 Gylfason, T. 2001. “Natural Resources, Education, and Economic Development.” European Economic Review 45 (4–6): 847–59. http://dx.doi .org/10.1016/S0014-2921(01)00127-1 Haalboom, B., and D. Natcher. 2012. “The Power and Peril of ‘Vulnerability’: Approaching Community Labels with Caution in Climate Change Research.” Arctic 65 (3): 319–27. http://dx.doi.org/10.14430/arctic4219

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Haley, S., M. Klick, N. Szymoniak, and A. Crow. 2011. “Observing Trends and Assessing Data for Arctic Mining.” Polar Geography 34 (1–2): 37–61. http:// dx.doi.org/10.1080/1088937X.2011.584449 Halpern, D. 2005. Social Capital. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press. Helliwell, John F. 2001. “Social Capital, the Economy and Well-Being.” In The Review of Economic Performance and Social Progress, ed. K. Banting, A. Sharpe, and F. St-Hilaire, 43–60. Montreal and Ottawa: Institute for Research on Public Policy and Centre for the Study of Living Standards. Hipwell, W., K. Mamen, V. Weitzner, and G. Whitem. 2002. Aboriginal Peoples and Mining in Canada: Consultation, Participation and Prospects for Change. Ottawa: North-South Institute. Hitch, M., and C. Fidler. 2007. “Impact and Benefit Agreements: A Contentious Issue for Environmental and Aboriginal Justice.” Environments 35 (2): 45–69. Hodgkins, A.P. 2008. “Marketing Adult Education for Megaprojects in the Northwest Territories.” Journal of Contemporary Issues in Education 3 (2): 46–58. Kay, A. 2005. “Social Capital, the Social Economy and Community Development.” Community Development Journal: An International Forum 14 (2): 160–73. Kitikemot Inuit Association. 2012. “The Naonaiyaotit Traditional Knowledge Project (NTKP): An Evolving Traditional Knowledge Database via Dynamic Partnerships with Industry.” Paper presented at the Nunavut Mining Symposium, Iqaluit, NU. Krannich, R.S., H. Berry, and T. Greider. 1989. “Fear of Crime in Rapidly Changing Rural Communities: A Longitudinal Analysis.” Rural Sociology 54 (2): 195–212. Krannich, R.S., and B. Zollinger. 1997. “Pursuing Rural Community Development in Resource-dependent Areas: Obstacles and Opportunities.” Research in Community Sociology 7: 201–22. Kusel, J. 2001. “Assessing Well-being in Forest Dependent Communities.” Journal of Forestry 13 (1–2): 359–84. Mackrell, K. 2011. “UN Official Blasts ‘Dire’ Conditions in Attawapiskat.” Globe and Mail, 20 December. McDonald, H., S. Glomsrød, and I. Mäenpää. 2006. “Arctic Economy within the Arctic Nations.” In The Economy of the North, ed. G. Solveig and J. Aslaksen, 41–63. Oslo, Norway: Statistics Norway. “Memorandum of Agreement Concerning the Voisey’s Bay Project.” 2002. Available online at http://www.laa.gov.nl.ca/laa/land_claims/ MemorandumAgreement.pdf; accessed 29 August 2014. Mignone, J., and J.D. O’Neil. 2005. “Social Capital as a Determinant of Health in First Nations: An Exploratory Study in Three Communities.” Journal of Aboriginal Health 2 (1): 26–33.

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MVEIRB (Mackenzie Valley Environmental Impact Review Board). 2012. Annual Report 2011–2012. Yellowknife, NT. Available online at http:// reviewboard.ca/upload/ref_library/MVEIRB%20Annual%20report%20 2012_13.pdf; accessed 20 September 2014. Natcher, D. 2001. “Land Use Research and the Duty to Consult: A Misrepresentation of the Aboriginal Landscape.” Land Use Policy 18 (2): 113–22. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/S0264-8377(01)00011-4 Natcher, D. 2008. “The Social Economy of Northern Canada.” Paper presented at the conference, Seeking Balance in a Changing North, Anchorage, AK, 24–27 September. Northwest Territories. 1999. Education, Culture and Employment. Dene Kede Education: A Dene Perspective. Yellowknife. Northwest Territories. 2011. “Economy.” In State of the Environment Report, 20–1. Yellowknife: Department of Environment and Natural Resources. Parlee, B., M. Manseau, and Lutsel K’e Dene First Nation. 2005. “Understanding and Communicating about Ecological Change: Denesoline Indicators of Ecosystem Health.” In Breaking Ice: Integrated Ocean Management in the Canadian North, ed. F. Berkes, R. Huebert, H. Fast, M. Manseau, and A. Diduck, 165–82. Calgary: University of Calgary Press. Parlee, B., J.D. O’Neil, and Lutsel K’e Dene First Nation. 2007. “The Dene Way of Life: Perspectives on Health from the Canadian North.” Journal of Canadian Studies 41 (3): 112–33. Pho, Y.H. 2008. “The Value of Volunteer Labor and the Factors Influencing Participation: Evidence for the United States from 2002 through 2005.” Review of Income and Wealth 54 (2): 220–36. http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/ j.1475-4991.2008.00271.x Putnam, R. 1995. “Bowling Alone: America’s Declining Social Capital.” Journal of Democracy 6 (1): 65–78. Putnam, R. 2001. Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community. New York: Simon & Schuster. Qikiqtani Inuit Association. 2012. “QIA Calls for Close Monitoring of Mary River Mine.” Nunatsiaq News Online. Available online at http://www .nunatsiaqonline.ca. Ruddell, R. 2011. “Boomtown Policing: Responding to the Dark Side of Resource Development.” Policing: An International Journal of Police Strategies & Management 5 (4): 328–42. http://dx.doi.org/10.1093/police/ par034 Sachs, J.D., and A.M. Warner. 1995. “Natural Resource Abundance and Economic Growth.” NBER Working Paper 5398. Cambridge, MA: National Bureau of Economic Research.

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Salamon, L.M., L. Hems, and K. Chinnock. 2000. Non-profit Advocacy: What Do We Know? Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University, Center for Civil Society Studies. Salokangas, R., and B. Parlee. 2009. “The Influence of Family History on Learning Opportunities of Inuvialuit Youth.” Inuit Studies 33 (1–2): 191–207. http://dx.doi.org/10.7202/044967ar Schlag, M. 2004. “Engaging Inuvialuit Youth in Oceans Stewardship: A Proposed Strategy.” Master’s thesis, University of Manitoba. Scott, J., C. MacPhail, and V. Minichiello. 2012. “Bang and Bust: Almost Everything You Wanted to Know about Sex and the Mining Boom (but Were Afraid to Ask).” Preview 160: 26–31. SENES Consultants. 2011. 2010 Northwest Territories Environmental Audit. Ottawa: Minister of Indian Affairs and Northern Development. Shandro, J.A., M.M. Veiga, J. Shoveller, M. Scoble, and M. Koehoorn. 2011. “Perspectives on Community Health Issues and the Mining Boom–Bust Cycle.” Resources Policy 36 (2): 178–86. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.resourpol. 2011.01.004 Shaw, T. 2004. “Community-based Monitoring and Traditional Ecological Knowledge in Lutsel K’e, NWT.” Ottawa: Canadian Environmental Assessment Agency. Smith, M.D., R.S. Krannich, and L.M. Hunter. 2001. “Growth, Decline, Stability, and Disruption: A Longitudinal Analysis of Social Well-Being in Four Western Rural Communities.” Rural Sociology 66 (3): 425–50. http:// dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1549-0831.2001.tb00075.x Southcott, C., and V. Walker. 2009. “A Portrait of the Social Economy in Northern Canada.” Northern Review 30 (Spring): 13–36. Stevenson, M. 1996. “Indigenous Knowledge in Environmental Assessment.” Arctic 49 (3): 278–91. http://dx.doi.org/10.14430/arctic1203 Tait, H. 2008. Aboriginal Peoples Survey, 2006: Inuit Health and Social Conditions. Ottawa: Statistics Canada, Social and Aboriginal Statistics Division. Todd, Z. 2010. “The Impact of the Wage Economy on Food Security in Paulatuk.” MSc thesis, University of Alberta. Tremblay, C. 2009. Advancing the Social Economy for Socio-economic Development: International Perspectives. Ottawa: Public Policy Facilitating Committee of the Canadian Social Economy Hub. Usher, P.J., G. Duhaime, and E. Searles. 2003. “The Household as an Economic Unit in Arctic Aboriginal Communities, and Its Measurement by Means of a Comprehensive Survey.” Social Indicators Research 61 (2): 175–202. http:// dx.doi.org/10.1023/A:1021344707027

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4 State Institutions and the Social Economy in Northern Canada FRANCES ABELE1

Enormous global pressures bear on the societies of northern Canada. Some of the pressures are environmental, the consequences of climate change and externally generated pollution. Others are psychological and intellectual, as a mixed bag of global cultural production and commercial imagery streams into homes. Perhaps the most pervasive and relentless pressures are economic. As the previous chapter by Parlee shows, the North’s mineral resources are now the focus of intense international interest, from traditional markets and from the rapidly growing economies of Asia. Between the people of the North and these external forces stand, on the one hand, state institutions and Beneficiary Organizations, and on the other, the familial, local and regional organizations and affiliations that constitute northern community life. The latter have been sufficient to maintain social integrity in many places, even in the face of decades of damaging external interventions and undemocratic governance. Yet there are visible signs of social distress and, certainly, objective externally generated pressures are growing. In this chapter I propose an analytical framework that takes into account the interaction between state institutions and the northern social economy in its various forms, as these have evolved together. By highlighting an aspect of northern development that is often overlooked or underrated, I hope to improve the visibility of the sources and 1 I am grateful to Nick Falvo, Joshua Gladstone, Jack Hicks, Sheena Kennedy Dalseg, Jerry Sabin, and Graham White for their contributions to the analysis in this chapter; to my SERNNoCa colleagues David Natcher, Brenda Parlee, Chris Southcott, and Valoree Walker for their many insights; and to George Kinloch, sine qua non.

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mechanisms of social strength in northern societies, so that these might be supported as major development decisions are made. In the North, state-society relations bear the marks of their undemocratic history of power imbalance. Sustained and sometimes massive federal interventions have affected, for example, how people make their living (wildlife harvesting regulation), their living arrangements (settlement of people in communities), and the organization of child rearing (compulsory education), to name just a few.2 Today’s northern state institutions are complex and multilevelled, incorporating some features not present in other regions of Canada or the circumpolar North. These innovative features are the result of Indigenous people’s political mobilization to shape institutions that could protect their interests more effectively. Northern societies are also complex: a distinctive reflection of evolving, diverse Indigenous societies, waves of migration by settlers and sojourners, and the consequences of the actions of public authorities and institutions animated by national economic purposes and attempts at social engineering. One way to begin to analyse the northern societies so created is through the lens of the concept of social economy. The authors in this volume emphasize different aspects of the term, which has a flexibility which makes it helpful for understanding social processes. All agree that “social economy” refers to the part of the social productive system that lies outside the direct ambit of government programs and large businesses. In this chapter, I take the social economy sector to include collectively owned small business, not-for-profits, cooperatives, family-based production, traditional or non-commodified production, partly commodified production, arm’s-length or semi-independent social service organizations, and volunteer support to others. This working definition groups a diverse set of social practices. Fully commodified enterprises are included, as well as entirely non-commodified productive activity, and familial caring shares equal space with paid professional work. The fairly clear conceptual boundaries between these forms of activity are often blurred in practice, as the different activities frequently reinforce or complement one another in execution and in effect. Considering them together creates the opportunity to probe these connections 2 Understanding how all these factors have come together to produce contemporary northern states and societies requires a subtle and complex approach, too large for a book chapter. A monograph is in preparation, from which some of the ideas in this chapter are drawn.

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and to explore the multiple interactions between public policies and programs, on the one hand, and long-term institutional social change on the other.3 It also focuses analysis on empirically investigated patterns and institutions located on the periphery of the large political and economic institutions that in northern studies have received the bulk of scholarly attention. Northern State and State-like Institutions In this chapter, the “state” refers to the complex of public institutions of governance, including institutions of legitimate, authoritative policy development and decision making, implementation of decisions, and other forms of administration, adjudication, and law enforcement.4 These institutions evolve over time, and are given life by the struggles and choices of citizens. In the northern case, state institutions include not only the federal, territorial, and municipal states and their institutional relationships, but also unique northern innovations created in the great rebalancing of power and rights that has been under way since northern Indigenous peoples began to organize to advance their own interests under the pressures of state intervention and resource development. During the period from 1968 to 1973, all of the northern Indigenous peoples formed organizations for political self-representation.5 With support from and in the context of the growing Canada-wide Indigenous

3 See Abele (2009b) for a slightly different definition and elaboration; Southcott and Walker (2009) for a portrait of formal northern social economy institutions; and Natcher (2009) for an alternative vision and a genealogy of the term rooted in the anthropological tradition. There is significant variety. 4 Technically the term “government” should be reserved for reference to the transient democratic authority established by elections: the government is composed of the members of the party in power, or, in the legislatures of the Northwest Territories and Nunavut, which do not have parties, by the premier and cabinet elected by their peers. The “state” is a more general term, including government institutions and all parts of the bureaucracy. In this chapter, however, I occasionally follow everyday speech in using “government” to refer to state institutions. 5 These included the Committee for Original Peoples Entitlement, the Council of Yukon Indians and the Yukon Native Brotherhood (later combined as the Council for Yukon First Nations), the Indian Brotherhood of the Northwest Territories (later the Dene Nation), the Métis Association of the Northwest Territories, Inuit Tapirisat of Canada, the Innu Nation, and the Grand Council of the Crees, among others. See several chapters in Abele et al. (2009) for more analysis of the Indigenous movement in northern Canada and ensuing changes.

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movement, as well as with newly available core funding from the federal state, they built internal means of communication, advocated publicly, and took legal action to assert their land rights and to obstruct development projects that threatened to undermine their societies. They used their legal and political leverage to halt or delay potentially damaging development projects and to negotiate recognition of their land and Indigenous rights. In concert with Indigenous peoples in other parts of Canada, they succeeded in compelling the federal government to reopen treaty negotiations for those parts of Canada where these had not been completed. The modern treaties have introduced a permanent change in the northern balance of political and economic power. Buttressed by 1982 changes to the Constitution Act and the alterations these compelled in federal policy, new political arrangements in northern Canada have been put in place. These include the creation of the territory of Nunavut, varied forms of Indigenous self-government, an array of co-management boards for land and resources management, and a new political culture in which Indigenous people have authority and legitimacy, as well as legally protected rights to the land and institutions of self-representation. These changes notwithstanding, compared to other parts of Canada, the federal state has exercised and continues to exercise unusual power in the North. The historical role of the federal state, which was enormously important in the creation of the modern North, is explained in more detail in the next section. Today federal power is moderated by increasingly province-like territorial governments and by the institutions created by modern treaties,6 but the federal order is still constitutionally, fiscally, and practically dominant. All three territories are legal creatures not of the Constitution Act, but of the federal legislature.7 Under the provisions of federal legislation,

6 Modern treaties are sometimes called comprehensive land claim agreements, or, more frequently in the North, land claim agreements. All terms are used synonymously in this chapter to refer to agreements about land and political rights reached between the Crown and Indigenous collectivities in the new wave of treaty making that began with the 1996 James Bay and Northern Quebec Agreement. 7 The Yukon Act, the Northwest Territories Act, and the Nunavut Act are federal laws, capable of being altered by Parliament without constitutional amendment. The Nunavut Act is probably an exception, as Nunavut was created pursuant to a constitutionally protected modern treaty negotiated between the Inuit of Nunavut and the Crown. Although there exists no jurisprudence on this point, it seems clear that, while Nunavut’s existence is protected by its mention in the Nunavut Agreement, the same might not be the case for the specific provisions of the act.

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the federal Parliament approves territorial budgets, federal agencies collect substantial resource rents, and the federal government remains the dominant regulatory power, with ultimate decisionmaking authority over major resource development projects. The visible federal presence in the North was once pervasive and obvious, but now appears relatively minor, as many federally funded programs northern residents encounter are administered by their territorial or local governments. This sometimes obscures the large impact federal policy decisions still have on all aspects of northern public government. Under federal legislation, the territorial states (in the North often referred to as the “public governments”) have most of the normal responsibilities and jurisdictions of provinces. Land management regimes differ across territories, and modern treaties give northern Indigenous peoples various levels of collective jurisdiction and ownership. Devolution agreements with the Yukon (2001) and Northwest Territories (2013) have reduced the exercise of federal power by transferring management of Crown lands (though not the offshore) and a portion of revenues from natural resource development to the territorial governments.8 These agreements do not confer provincial status, however, which would require a constitutional amendment. Each devolution agreement contains provisions that ensure that treaties will be respected and resource revenues shared with Indigenous parties, a feature absent from provincial resource rent collection regimes in southern Canada. There is no devolution agreement on lands and resources between Nunavut and the federal government, and so this territory depends most heavily upon federal transfers for its annual budget. Although Inuit parties to the treaties in Nunavut are able to collect resource rents on lands they own, this source of revenue is not open to the government of Nunavut. Territorial legislation creates municipal governments, which are financially and legally creatures of the territorial governments, just as municipalities elsewhere in Canada are creatures of the provinces. In 8 See Yukon Northern Affairs Program Devolution Transfer Agreement, available online at https://www.aadnc-aandc.gc.ca/eng/1297283624739/1297283711723; and Northwest Territories Lands and Resources Devolution Agreement, available online at http://devolution.gov.nt.ca/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/FinalDevolutionAgreement-May-31.pdf.

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many parts of the North, hamlets and towns are the most important government institutions, operating in the local Indigenous language and directly providing most of what citizens require from the public authority (Kennedy Dalseg 2012). Yet, with the exception of the largest centres, local states do not have the ability to levy property taxes or otherwise raise significant own-source revenues. Alongside local, territorial, and federal government institutions, there are Beneficiary Organizations: entities created by final agreements in comprehensive land claim negotiations. Through these institutions, each Indigenous people manages the benefits and obligations created by the agreements. There are few precise parallels to these bodies anywhere in the world. They can be seen simply as private bureaucracies governed by elected leaders who are responsible to all of the people who are parties to (beneficiaries under) the comprehensive claims agreements. Yet these bodies have constitutionally protected roles, substantial public responsibilities (for resource development management, for example), relatively large pools of collectively held investment capital, and surface and subsurface ownership rights on substantial tracts of land. The Beneficiary Organizations are not public institutions, although they resemble them in some of their roles. Given all their responsibilities and powers, it is impossible to understand the evolving state and social economy without taking the impact of Beneficiary Organizations into account. The territorial governments are brought into direct collaboration with Beneficiary Organizations on many important policy matters under the constitutionally protected provisions of comprehensive land claim agreements. In the Yukon an Umbrella Agreement provides the basic framework for agreements between individual First Nations governments and the Crown. Under the terms of the agreement, individual First Nations may collaborate with territorial institutions in service provision as they choose. In the Northwest Territories, where Treaty 8 (1898) and Treaty 11 (1921) were negotiated, Inuvialuit, Dene, and Métis have negotiated four “regional” comprehensive claims agreements since 1984. Of these only the Tlicho Agreement created an Indigenous government; other groups are in the process of negotiating self-government agreements that will sort out their practical relations with other levels of government. Each regional claims organization does exercise responsibility for land management and resource taxation. Dene in the DehCho and Akaitcho areas, parties to the earlier treaties, have not negotiated comprehensive claims agreements, and may not do so. In

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Nunavut, Inuit negotiated a single agreement that led to the creation of the territory itself as well as one territory-wide Beneficiary Organization (Nunavut Tungavik Inc.) and three regional Beneficiary Organizations, to which land management responsibilities have been devolved. In all three territories, territorial governments and Beneficiary Organizations appoint members to co-management boards created by the land claims agreements. These boards, and other bodies created by the agreements, address various matters related to the economy, including wildlife management and land and water use. Although the boards and other institutions are advisory to federal or territorial ministers, they carry substantial political weight. As they are artefacts of modern treaties, their existence is constitutionally protected. All of these institutions, along with certain practices and goals embedded in territorial government, reflect the political gains and compromises that are the result of Indigenous peoples’ mobilization to defend their interests, as this has interacted with the traditions of Canadian institutions of representative liberal democracy. It is obvious that the “state” in northern Canada will continue to be a complex, hybrid institution. The federal government will remain a powerful actor for the foreseeable future, due to its fiscal dominance and its control over natural resource development. Everywhere in Canada the institutions of federal-provincial relations are an important aspect of democracy, but federal-territorial relations have a different character due to the disparity in size and capacity between federal-order institutions and the very small territorial governments, and due also to the role played by Indigenous peoples’ collective rights and constitutional position. The new institutions are finding their feet in times of struggle and strain. Besides global pressures on northern resources and the impact of modern communications media and rapid social change, there have been problems with federal compliance with the terms of the comprehensive claims agreements, reflecting the difficulty federal institutions face in coordinating a “whole of government” response and a legalistic impulse to limit obligations (Canada 2007, chap. 3; Irlbacher-Fox 2009).9 As well, territorial public governments, Beneficiary Organizations, and Indigenous governments have many issues of collaboration and 9 Nunavut Tunngavik Inc. (NTI) is suing the federal government on several aspects of federal non-compliance with the Nunavut Agreement; a territorial court decision in favour of NTI in June 2012 was appealed by the federal government the following August.

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boundaries of responsibility to resolve. And in most parts of the territorial North, democratic institutions at the community level still are not effectively linked to territorial-level decision making, a problem territorial governments and Indigenous governments and organizations face. These are not in principle insurmountable difficulties; as each Indigenous group works to give life to the institutions created under land claims agreements, the potential for increased community control is revealed.10 Most recently, there are signs that the federal Conservative government that has held power since 2006 intends restructuring northern institutions where it can, to facilitate the exploitation of northern resources for export (Abele 2012; McCrank 2006). The Social Economy in Northern Societies If northern governance institutions are hybrid and complex, northern societies are even more so. Yet studies of northern contemporary societies are rare,11 and the social history of many parts of the North remains to be written. Although there is a large and long-standing tradition of research by scholars from many parts of the world on northern Indigenous societies, analyses by northerners, especially by Indigenous people themselves, are scarce. Understanding has been advanced by a small number of northern-based analysts whose scholarly writings proceed from an intimate experiential knowledge of recent historical events (Caine, Salomons, and Simmons 2007; Coulthard 2010; IrlbacherFox 2009; Nahanni 1992). Autobiographical and biographical publications by northern political leaders also provide valuable documentation and insight (Amagoalik 2007; Arvaluk 2007; Freeman 1978; Ittinnuar 2007; McComber and Partridge 2010; Okpik 2008; Quassa 2007). As well, a few precious collections make oral histories generally available (Petrone 1988; Rowley and Bennett 2004). On this base might arise a

10 Few have studied the connections between the democratic development of community institutions and the implementation of modern treaties, although it seems clear that the full realization of the goals of the treaty makers requires strong community participation. For suggestive work, see Caine, Salomons, and Simmons (2007). For a careful (and entertaining) survey of lacunae in northern political science research, see White (2011). 11 Dunk (2003) and Southcott (1993), both of which focus on northern Ontario, are exceptions. Jerald Sabin’s doctoral dissertation (in progress) analyses recent settler societies in Whitehorse and Yellowknife.

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northern and Indigenous version of northern historical events, but such a body of work has not yet appeared to create a more balanced understanding of changes to northern societies. A second gap in the knowledge provided by published research about the North is the relative scarcity of careful studies of the history of qallunaat or mǫla societies.12 There are exceptions, but generally, anthropological and other studies of contemporary northern society by outsiders focus on Indigenous people, relationships between Indigenous people and incomers, or upon Indigenous-state relations. When the incomers do appear in historical or social analyses, they are often cast as the embodiment of religious, commercial, or state institutions; sometimes they are defined in relation to the Indigenous societies they encounter. The cultural and class origins, languages, families, life histories, and individual purposes of these individuals are undocumented and underexamined. Compared to research on Indigenous societies, there has been little independent analysis of the societies formed by the people who came to the North for various reasons and stayed.13 I have been writing of northern “societies,” rather than “society,” in recognition of the marked diversity found in northern social life. Yet all of the people who live in the North do have a few things in common. They live in relatively small communities, ranging from settlement populations in the double digits to the city of Whitehorse (population 23,000 in 2011). To greater and lesser degrees, all three territories have been profoundly shaped by colonialism and by Indigenous peoples’ self-organization to reverse it. All northern residents find themselves on the economic and political periphery, living in circumstances shaped by decisions taken in southern Canada or distant corporate boardrooms. Besides the funds controlled by Beneficiary Organizations, there is 12 These are the terms in Inuktitut and the Dene languages, respectively, for white people. Examples of partial exceptions are Brody (1975) and Cruikshank (2005). In different ways, each presents an even-handed portrait of an Indigenous and newcomer social perspective. For a humorous exploration of the imbalance in northern studies, see Sandford and Nungak (2006). 13 Jerald Sabin drew my attention forcibly to this gap. For a partial remedy, see Johnson and Twynam (2009); Sabin (2011a,b,c); and the chapters in Abele and Southcott (forthcoming). So far, though, few studies of the non-Indigenous cultures of the North have analysed interpersonal and family relationships, sharing practices, productive activity, and other social features so thoroughly researched in Indigenous communities.

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almost no locally accumulated northern-grown investment capital, while federal transfers remain a large portion of every territorial budget. Especially in smaller communities, there are strong local economies characterized by a blend of income from harvesting and cash income from other sources, organized by strong norms of sharing and mutual aid. It appears that, in almost all northern communities, mutual aid and more or less organized volunteerism are dominant features of social life (see Southcott and Walker, in this volume). It is for this reason that there are so many different aspects to the northern social economy, many bridging the social institutions of the original societies of the north with those common to wage-based societies. It is helpful to consider how these social economy institutions emerged in historical perspective. The Historical Role of the State in Northern Community Development As noted in the historical discussion in Chapter 2 of this volume, most observers count the advent of the Second World War as the beginning of a new phase of state-society relations in the North, dominated by state interventions. A brief overview of pre-war circumstances is needed to give those events some context. In most parts of the North until the mid-twentieth century, the state presence was minimal, prompted only by resource developments or the need to secure Dominion government control of the land. The far Northwest saw the largest early state presence by far, due to the influx of thousands of (mainly American) gold rushers to the Yukon at the end of the nineteenth century. These migrants began to establish their own institutions of social order, such as community courts, leading the Dominion government to establish a territorial government in 1898, including the full set of Canadian nineteenth-century state institutions (Coates and Morrison 2005). The rest of the great North-West Territory, which in those days included what are now the provinces of Alberta and Saskatchewan and most of Manitoba, was dominated by Indigenous societies, with a sparse and localized sprinkling of newcomers. Outside the Red River area, the state presence in these areas was limited to Royal Canadian Mounted Police stations and patrols, rare scientific expeditions, and treaty negotiations. Treaty 8 (1898) was negotiated with Dene living in what is now northern Alberta and the southern Northwest Territories who

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were concerned by the gold rushers moving through their territory; Treaty 11 (1921) was prompted by local people’s concerns for disruptions due to the development of oil production at Norman Wells and by federal concerns to secure access to this (Abel 1993; Fumoleau 1975). These interactions, added to the presence of missionaries and traders, surely affected Indigenous peoples’ way of life in multiple ways, particularly in the Yukon and certain other localities.14 There was some in-migration, but except for priests and isolated traders, early settlers who arrived in this period tended to form enclave societies with limited points of contact with the Indigenous peoples whose land they entered (Coates and Morrison 1992, 2005; Rea 1968). This all began to change as the Canadian North acquired strategic importance during the Second World War, and change continued with the onset of the Cold War that began in the late 1940s.15 Fears of a Soviet bomber attack on the United States led to an extensive US military presence in the Canadian Arctic, joint Canadian-US defencerelated research programs, the construction of three early warning radar lines stretching from east to west in parallel across the North, more airfields, and communications sites related to the Ballistic Missile Early Warning System. The North is vast, but this military presence touched most parts of it. Some communities of Indigenous people were moved to make way for these ventures, while others were drawn to the sites of construction activity by employment opportunities or by the availability of huge amounts of discarded materiel. At the same time, non-Indigenous people began to migrate north in greater numbers, enabled by improved transportation facilities, and drawn by the opportunities for employment and adventure. Greater contact with outsiders meant more social disruption, more health problems for Indigenous people, and, also, greater southern awareness of their

14 New religious ideas and especially new diseases had powerful and sometimes devastating effects. Piper and Sandlos (2007) document the spread of disease and the impact of devastating epidemics, such as the 1928–29 influenza epidemic that led to changed subsistence and residential patterns in the western Arctic. Grant (2002) provides a careful examination of the impact of the state in one northern location during this period. See Carpenter (1953) and Rowley (1996) for contrasting impressions of the pre-war period. 15 For details see Armstrong, Rogers, and Rowley (1978, chap. 3). See also Canada (2005); Coates and Morrison (1992); Cruikshank (1985).

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living conditions, which in some cases had become very poor (Tester and Kulchyski 1994).16 The large US presence in the Canadian North also triggered concerns about Canadian sovereignty. These concerns coincided with the postwar expansion of the social welfare system in southern Canada and what appeared to be endlessly expanding markets for Canadian raw materials, particularly in the United States. All three factors augured for a greater state presence in the North.17 Beginning with Louis StLaurent, successive Canadian prime ministers planned state-supported northern natural resource development. At the same time, as universal social programs were introduced in southern Canada, they were extended to the North, carried along on a wave of post-war enthusiasm for the positive potential of social engineering and the possibilities of state-led “modernization” – that is, a broad process of social transformation that meant to replace traditional practices not suitable to modern economies with the integration of northern Indigenous people into the wage economy. State-led changes in northern social life were substantial. Various measures encouraged and compelled centralization of the Indigenous population in communities where social housing was provided, along with a rent regime that introduced the new practice of paying cash for housing (Christensen 2011; Falvo 2011). About the same time, social welfare transfer payments (Old Age Security and social assistance) began to be paid, and unemployment insurance (as it was then called) was introduced in the North as it was in the rest of Canada. Some settlements were relocated to make way for development; attempts to move others were related to considerations of service delivery or social engineering (Canada 1994; Marcus 1995; Tester and Kulchyski 1994). There were also state-led efforts to introduce local government forms and economic associations, in the form of hamlet councils and federated community cooperatives (see MacPherson, in this volume). The public service took measures to extend medical care and compulsory education across the North, within ten years providing these services

16 Kreelak and Karetak (2009) tell the story of one relocation and its consequences. For another discussion, which probes federal motivations, see Canada (1994; 1996:1, 411–544). Mowat (1952) raised public awareness of circumstances in the North during this period. 17 For a more thorough treatment see Abele (2009a). Powell (2008a,b) analyses the place of northern expansion in Canadian post-war politics.

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almost everywhere. Medical and educational programs often separated children, or people who were ill, from their families.18 Immediate reactions from northern people were mixed, and many programs had effects unintended by their architects and unanticipated by the people who accepted them.19 Health care and educational opportunities were welcomed by many, but they led to the (sometimes permanent) separation of families as members were sent south for treatment or to residential schools for education. The introduction of social housing in communities, along with the availability of more guns and eventually snowmobiles, led to major changes in land use and patterns of hunting, as well as more dependence on cash. The federal state heavily promoted, and by various means subsidized, northern resource development. This brought some employment to Indigenous people in the North and often further disruption, relocation, and the loss of lands important for subsistence and for spiritual well-being. The opening of mines and associated roads and airstrips reduced the isolation of Indigenous communities. Settlements were relocated to make way for some projects, while hunting and trapping was disrupted in many more areas.20 Employment opportunities drew some local interest, but an anticipated new northern Indigenous labour force on the model of southern Canada did not

18 Rea (1968) provides a detailed account of the expansion of state presence into the territorial North in the 1950s and early 1960s. For a comparative discussion, see Abele (2009a). 19 Although there are many published sources reporting on, analysing, and reviewing this period, it is probably the case that an integrated analysis of the changes to northern societies induced during this period remains to be written. Generalizing about experiences over such a wide area as the Canadian North is difficult, since regional differences in how all of these changes were felt are pronounced. See Abel (1993); Amagoalik (2007); Arvaluk (2007); Fossett (2001); Freeman (1978); Ittinnuar (2007); McComber and Partridge (2010); Okpik (2008); Quassa (2007); and Snowshoe (1977). 20 With increased Canadian-US defence cooperation during the Second World War and the Cold War came increased economic integration. Many of the resources and some of the energy needed to sustain the war-induced boom in the US economy came from the Canadian mid-North. In the two decades after the Second World War, timber, nickel, iron, tungsten, and precious metals were mined in new operations in many locations in the mid-North, while energy was supplied domestically and for export by hydroelectric power developments in Quebec, Labrador, Manitoba, and British Columbia, and by petroleum development in Alberta after the discovery at Leduc in 1947. These developments were of enormous import for the whole Canadian economy, orienting it more firmly to staples export to the burgeoning US industrial base. See Canada (1996: 1, chap. 11); Grant (2011).

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emerge. Generally northern Indigenous people chose to continue traditional harvesting, integrating wage employment with harvesting. Thus Indigenous people selectively adopted the new technologies, new work opportunities, and new forms of community governance, adding each to their repertoire of economic and political activity. All these changes had long-term consequences.21 Especially when it is remembered that the set of deep interventions by the post-war state occurred during a compressed period (approximately the mid-1950s to the mid-1960s) and that the communities towards which they were directed were often already weakened by epidemics and other more episodic disruptions, it is remarkable that the original social fabric of northern societies remained at all. But it did. Virtually everywhere that Indigenous people survived (and sometimes, due to epidemics, they did not), original social systems adapted to the new conditions and people began to make new equipment and new ways of social selfgovernance their own. Indigenous people living in the 1950s and 1960s in the many small centres of northern Canada may be said to have led the country in constructive “social innovation.” Social Innovation and the Social Economy Although much has been written about modern political innovations in northern Canada, not so much attention has been afforded social innovations: the ways in which members of Indigenous societies choose to respond to opportunities and pressures presented by the arrival of newcomers and new technologies. Focusing on the social economy throws the long history of social innovation into sharp relief. In this chapter, given limitations of space, I briefly describe only two of these: the mixed economy and the northern cooperative movement.22 There is also a panoply of social economy institutions created by non-Indigenous and

21 Insight into the complex implications of these changes may be found in the autobiographical accounts provided by the first generation of Indigenous leaders; see McComber and Partridge (2010). 22 Arguably the variety of Indigenous organizations developed for political representation, treaty negotiation, and administration of common interests – the Beneficiary Organizations – are an example of another form of social innovation. Created by Indigenous people in response to certain opportunities and pressures, and structured, certainly, by Canadian law, these are the organizations to watch, as they are shaped by the people who now control them.

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Indigenous people working together. They are the product of northern residents’ desire to shape a good society in which to live, as they respond to some of the same pressures as Indigenous social economy organizations. In northern Canada, the term “mixed economy” refers to productive practices developed by Indigenous people in response to the changes in the northern economy of the past several decades (Asch 1977; Nahanni 1992; Quigley and McBride 1987; Usher, Duhaime, and Searles 2003). It is found everywhere in the North, but in greatest extent where a substantial proportion of food and other necessities of life is taken from the land. Its dynamic is somewhat similar to that of the modern family farm, and it bears some relationship to household dynamics in wagedominated economies.23 The mixed economy exists in many local forms, but its main lineaments may be described heuristically. The basic unit of analysis is not the individual worker (as is the case in much economic theory), but rather the household. The household may consist of two or three generations of related people who tend to pool their income (particularly income-in-kind) and who may or may not share a single dwelling. Households exist as part of a network of kin and exchange relationships that order the sharing of, particularly, harvested food and the labour of harvest. Cash income is essential. On-the-land production depends upon certain commodities that only money can buy: snowmobiles, outboard motors for boats, gasoline, and the like. In addition, cash is required to buy consumer goods and foodstuffs not available from the land, and to pay rent, mortgages, and utility bills. Sources of cash include wages, universal social transfer payments, small business income, and income from art or craft production and sales. Generally, all household members contribute their labour and at least some of their money to the common weal. While all members of the group are expected to be versatile and able to perform most essential tasks, there is customarily a division of labour based on both gender and age. Where the mixed economy flourishes, cash income also, importantly, subsidizes hunting, fishing, gathering, and trapping. The gifts of the 23 In the late 1990s there was a flowering of research on the economic role of familial relations, some of which was published in special issues of the Cambridge Journal of Economics (see Humphries 1999) and the International Review of Social History (see Janssens 1997); see also Friedmann (1978); Gardiner (2000).

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land are shared, within the household and among households. This sharing distributes to many people the highest-quality food available in the North, as well as fur, hides, bark, and other useful items that also might be made into products that are sold for cash. Furthermore, while “going in the bush” is physically arduous, intellectually taxing, and sometimes risky, it is not typically understood as “work,” but rather as a highly valuable activity that enhances physical, emotional, and mental well-being for the people who participate and for their community. The essence of the mixed economy is that the individuals and households within it do not rely upon a single source for their livelihood, but upon several. These might include small business activity, wage employment, gathering, hunting and trapping, domestic care of others, service to the community, and other activities – in varying proportions. The characteristics of this economic model are resilience, adaptability, practicality, and social stability, and it is able to nurture the spirit as well as the body. The mixed economy also serves as a buffer that provides some protection to the people who have access to it from the boom-and-bust cycles of the resource frontier. Where the mixed economy survives, people who lose or leave their jobs have another option: they may shift their productive effort to essential non-wage activities such as hunting, fishing, gathering, and food preservation. The mixed economy also plays a role in preserving northern cultural continuity. It provides a means for the continued exercise of Traditional Knowledge and skills and for the expression of traditional cultural values. It supports language retention. Very importantly, it provides an opportunity for intergenerational transmission of the place-specific knowledge upon which successful on-the-land production and living depend. The mixed economy is many decades old in most parts of the North, and so far has shown itself remarkably adaptable and resilient. Another important social innovation can be seen in the response of northern Indigenous communities, particularly Inuit communities, to the opportunity to form community cooperatives and a cooperative federation. Elsewhere in this volume, Ian MacPherson discusses the 1959– 60 foundation of the cooperative movement in northern Quebec and the rest of Canada. Cooperatives were a southern-generated transplant that aspired to provide essential services in each community, and organized in a way that embodied and respected the norms of local cultures – a Canadian expression of an international development movement animated by post-war idealism and pragmatism. From the beginning, and necessarily due to their mode of organization, cooperatives in northern

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Canada engaged Indigenous community members in stores, boards, and in the leadership of the cooperative federations. Cooperatives remain a strong aspect of the local economy, particularly in many Inuit communities, where they operate community retail stores, purchase art and crafts for sale in the South, and often take contracts for the provision of community services such as sewage pickup and water delivery. The cooperatives were likely a model for other community institutions, such as housing associations. In all of these cases, community members sit on governing bodies and make decisions collectively; many are also employees and managers. In Inuit territories, the language of work is typically Inuktitut, and workplace patterns of human relations blend community values and the rules that arrived with the new institutional form. For several decades, in communities where they have become established, cooperatives have provided training and experience with self-government and financial management (see Alsop, forthcoming; MacPherson, in this volume). Another set of social economy institutions was created by settlers, many of which now draw wide participation from all northerners. These voluntary associations meet cultural, social, and health needs. Teachers, health care workers, and administrators tended to move north with their families, bringing with them the traditions of youth organizations such as the Boy Scouts and Girl Guides and various kinds of community service such as the Women’s Institute and the Rotary Club. Other organizations reflect northerners’ desire for social justice (Alternatives North) and environmental sustainability (Canadian Parks and Wilderness Society). Today in most parts of the North may be found a strong volunteer culture and a great many community organizations of various types. These organizations and the social achievements they represent largely remain to be documented and analysed, an endeavour necessary before a full account of northern political and economic development can be written.24 In Conclusion: The Rewards of Retrieval The concept of social economy draws attention to some often-overlooked features of state-society dynamics in the diverse regions of the North, in this way helping to delineate sources of strength and areas of particular 24 See Abele and Southcott (forthcoming); Johnson and Twynam (2009); Sabin (2011a,b,c); and Sabin and Abele (2010).

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vulnerability. Recent northern history reflects deep and complex linkages between social change and political innovation. Understanding these linkages takes the discussion beyond the traditional account of northern political and economic history as turning on the mutual effects of Indigenous political movements and organizations, on the one hand, and evolving state policies, on the other, with industrial actors playing an occasional role. Social economy institutions, a few of which I have mentioned in this chapter, illustrate the extent to which northern residents’ initiatives created the society in which they now live in the face of powerful exogenous forces. As northerners worked to change state institutions and to redress the imbalance in local political power, they also changed their own societies. All now live in a social landscape powerfully shaped by the changes in the role of the state in post-war Canada and the purposes and activities of the international resource development industry, but also by their own initiatives and innovations. The social economy institutions that exist today are a product of all these changes, and in various ways they reflect the values and preferences of northern residents to build a society in which they may all flourish. There is plainly a long historical pattern of interaction and mutual influence – an intimate relationship, in fact, between evolving northern state structures and multiple forms of community organization in the social economy. The northern social economy compels a different analysis than that which has developed in the South, due to the different economic base, cultural traditions, and the distinctive role of the state in shaping northern societies. Northern social economy organizations perform essential “bridging” functions in northern societies between old and new patterns of mutual aid, between wage economy practices and those arising from modern harvesting, and across the North’s different cultures. The social economy has been a major site of social innovation. It has also, in the particular political circumstances of the North, played an important role in democratic development and decision making – a contribution that is easily overlooked in analyses that focus on the larger institutions. The Beneficiary Organizations play a unique role. They are the embodiment of Indigenous rights and the repository of many hopes for cultural survival and self-determination. They are major holders of capital, regional investors, and land owners. At the same time, they have been created to promote the social development of Indigenous parties to treaties and the improvement of their societies. Some of their

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responsibilities take them into “state-like” territory – especially as they cooperate with public institutions in the delivery of services, regulatory decision making, and social and economic development planning. The complex state institutions and the Beneficiary Organizations are potentially buffers, barriers, reflections, and enablers of natural resource–based capitalist development. The dream of developing northern minerals for the benefit of the national economy is an old one, but it seems clear that the moment for full-scale development is upon us. One way to read the history of the past fifty years is to see the invention of the territorial states and Beneficiary Organizations as attempts to develop northern responses to development pressures and opportunities; on this reading, the states and organizations can be seen to embody all of the tensions, contradictions, and difficulties that attend massive social and cultural change. The same is true, of course, for northern societies and for the social economy organizations in all their variety – less visible, perhaps, but perhaps also more resilient, adaptable, and enduring. REFERENCES Abel, K. 1993. Drum Songs: Glimpses of Dene History. Kingston, ON; Montreal: Mc-Gill-Queen’s University Press. Abele, F. 2009a. “Northern Development: Past, Present and Future.” In Northern Exposure: Peoples, Powers and Prospects in Canada’s North, ed. F. Abele, T.J. Courchene, F.L. Seidle, and F. St-Hilaire, 19–65. Montreal: Institute for Research on Public Policy. Abele, F. 2009b. “The State and the Northern Social Economy: Research Prospects.” Northern Review 30 (Spring): 37–58. Abele, F. 2012. “Use It or Lose It? The Conservatives’ Northern Strategy.” In How Ottawa Spends 2011-12: Trimming Fat or Slicing Pork? ed. Christopher Stoney and G. Bruce Doern, 218–42. Montreal; Kingston, ON: McGillQueen’s University Press. Abele, F., T.J. Courchene, F.L. Seidle, and F. St-Hilaire, eds. 2009. Northern Exposure: Peoples, Powers and Prospects in Canada’s North. Montreal: Institute for Research on Public Policy. Abele, F., and C. Southcott, eds. Forthcoming. Care, Cooperation, and Activism: Cases from the Northern Social Economy. Edmonton: University of Alberta Press. Alsop, J. Forthcoming. “The Naujat Cooperative: The History and Impact upon Repulse Bay, Nunavut.” In Care, Cooperation, and Activism: Cases

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from the Northern Social Economy, ed. F. Abele and C. Southcott. Edmonton: University of Alberta Press. Amagoalik, J. 2007. Changing the Face of Canada. Ed. Louis McComber. Iqaluit: Nunavut Arctic College. Arvaluk, J. 2007. That’s My Vision. Ed. Noel McDermott. Iqaluit: Nunavut Arctic College. Asch, M. 1977. “The Dene Economy.” In Dene Nation: The Colony Within, ed. M. Watkins, 47–61. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Brody, H. 1975. The People’s Land: Eskimos and Whites in the Eastern Arctic. London: Penguin. Caine, K.J., M.J. Salomons, and D. Simmons. 2007. “Partnerships for Social Change in the Canadian North: Revisiting the Insider-Outsider Dialectic.” Development and Change 38 (3): 447–71. http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1467 -7660.2007.00419.x Canada. 1994. Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples. The High Arctic Relocation: A Report on the 1953–55 Relocation. Ottawa: Ministry of Supply and Services. Canada. 1996. Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples. Final Report. Ottawa: Ministry of Supply and Services. Canada. 2005. Department of Indian Affairs and Northern Development. Final Report of the Canada-Déļine Uranium Table. Ottawa. Canada. 2007. Auditor General of Canada. Report of the Auditor General of Canada. Ottawa: Office of the Auditor General of Canada. Carpenter, E. 1953. “Witch-Fear among the Aivilik Eskimos.” American Journal of Psychiatry 110: 194–99; reprinted in Eskimo of the Canadian Arctic, ed. V.F. Valentine and F.G. Vallee, 55–66. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1968. Christensen, J. 2011. “Homeless in a Homeland: Housing (In)security and Homelessness in Inuvik and Yellowknife, Northwest Territories, Canada.” PhD diss., McGill University. Coates, K., and W.R. Morrison. 1992. The Alaska Highway in World War II: The US Army of Occupation in Canada’s Northwest. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Coates, K., and W.R. Morrison. 2005. Land of the Midnight Sun: A History of the Yukon, 2nd ed. Montreal, Kingston, ON: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Coulthard, G. 2010. “Place against Empire: Understanding Indigenous AntiColonialism.” Affinities 4 (2): 79–83. Cruikshank, J. 1985. “The Gravel Magnet: Some Social Impacts of the Alaska Highway on Yukon Indians.” In The Alaska Highway: Papers of the 40th Anniversary Symposium, ed. K. Coates, 172–87. Vancouver: UBC Press. Cruikshank, J. 2005. Do Glaciers Listen? Local Knowledge, Colonial Encounters, and the Social Imagination. Vancouver: UBC Press.

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Dunk, T. 2003. It’s a Working Man’s Town: Male Working Class Culture in Northwestern Ontario. Montreal; Kingston, ON: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Falvo, N. 2011. Homelessness in Yellowknife: An Emerging Social Challenge. Toronto: Canadian Homelessness Research Press. Freeman, M.A. 1978. Life among the Qallunaat. Edmonton: Hurtig. Fossett, R. 2001. In Order to Live Untroubled: Inuit of the Central Arctic, 1550–1940. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press. Fumoleau, R. 1975. As Long as This Land Shall Last: A History of Treaty 8 and Treaty 11, 1870–1939. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart. Gardiner, J. 2000. “Rethinking Self-sufficiency, Employment, Families and Welfare. Cambridge Journal of Economics 24 (6): 671–89. http://dx.doi.org/10.1093/ cje/24.6.671 Grant, S.D. 2002. Arctic Justice: On Trial for Murder, Pond Inlet, 1923. Montreal; Kingston, ON: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Grant, S.D. 2011. Sovereignty or Security? Government Policy in the Canadian North, 1936–1950. Vancouver: UBC Press. Humphries, J. 1999. “Special Issue on the Family: Introduction.” Cambridge Journal of Economics 23 (5): 515–17. http://dx.doi.org/10.1093/cje/23.5.515 Irlbacher-Fox, S. 2009. Finding Dashaa: Self-Government, Social Suffering, and Indigenous Policy in Canada. Vancouver: UBC Press. Ittinuar, P. 2007. Teach an Eskimo How to Read. Ed. Thierry Rodon. Iqaluit: Nunavut Arctic College. Janssens, A. 1997. “The Rise and Decline of the Male Breadwinner Family? An Overview of the Debate.” International Review of Social History 42 (S5): 1–23. http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/S0020859000114774 Johnston, M., and G.D. Twynam. 2009. “The Social Economy and a Special Event: Community Involvement in the Whitehorse 2007 Canada Winter Games.” Northern Review 30 (Spring): 99–118. Kennedy Dalseg, S. 2012. “Local Institutions and Citizenship Regimes in the Eastern Arctic.” Paper presented at the Canadian Political Science Association Annual Conference, Edmonton, 5 June. Kreelak, M., and E. Karetak. 2009. Kikkik E1–472. Ottawa: Inuit Broadcasting Corporation. Marcus, A. 1995. Relocating Eden: The Image and Politics of Inuit Exile in the Canadian Arctic. Hanover, NH: University Press of New England. McComber, L., and S. Partridge. 2010. Arnait Nipingit: Voices of Inuit Women in Leadership and Governance. Iqaluit: Nunavut Arctic College. McCrank, N. 2006. The Review of the Regulatory Systems Across the North. Report of the Minister’s Special Representative. Ottawa: Indian Affairs and Northern

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Development Canada. Available online at http://www.tunngavik.com/ documents/publications/2008-05-00-Road-to-Improvement-McCrank -Report.pdf. Mowat, F. 1952. People of the Deer. Toronto: Little, Brown. Nahanni, P. 1992. “Dene Women in the Traditional and Modern Northern Economies, Denendeh, Northwest Territories.” MA thesis, McGill University. Natcher, D. 2009. “Subsistence and the Social Economy of Canada’s Aboriginal North.” Northern Review 30 (Spring): 69–84. Okpik, A. 2012. We Call It Survival: The Life Story of Abraham Okpik. Ed. Louis McComber. Iqaluit: Nunavut Arctic College. Petrone, P. 1988. Northern Voices: Inuit Writing in English. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Piper, L., and J. Sandlos. 2007. “A Broken Frontier: Ecological Imperialism in the Canadian North.” Environmental History 12 (4): 759–95. http://dx.doi .org/10.1093/envhis/12.4.759 Powell, R. 2008a. “Configuring an Arctic Commons.” Political Geography 27 (8): 827–32. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.polgeo.2008.08.008 Powell, R. 2008b. “Science, Sovereignty and Nation: Canada and the Legacy of the International Geophysical Year, 1957–8.” Journal of Historical Geography 34 (4): 618–38. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.jhg.2008.08.005 Quassa, P. 2007. We Need to Know Who We Are. Ed. Louis McComber. Iqaluit: Nunavut Arctic College. Quigley, N.C., and N.J. McBride. 1987. “The Structure of an Arctic Microeconomy: The Traditional Sector in Community Economy Development.” Arctic 40 (3): 204–10. Rea, K.J. 1968. The Political Economy of the Canadian North. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Rowley, G.W. 1996. Cold Comfort: My Love Affair with the Arctic. Montreal; Kingston, ON: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Rowley, S., and J. Bennett. 2004. Uqalurait: An Oral History of Nunavut. Montreal; Kingston, ON: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Sabin, J. 2011a. “The Evolution of the Social Economy in Yellowknife.” Presentation to the Northern Summit on the Social Economy, Yellowknife, NT, 22–23 November. Sabin, J. 2011b. “Society-Centered Approaches to Political Science Research in the Northwest Territories.” Paper delivered at the Annual Conference of the Canadian Political Science Association, Waterloo, ON, 16–18 May. Sabin, J. 2011c. Yellowknife’s Voluntary and Nonprofit Sector: A Portrait of a Northern Social Economy. SERNNoCa Research Report Series RR#2-2011.

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Sabin, J., and F. Abele. 2010. “State and Society in a Northern Capital: Yellowknife’s Voluntary Sector.” Paper delivered at Annual Conference of the Canadian Political Science Association, Montreal, 1–3 June. Sandford, M., and Z. Nungak. 2006. Qallunaat: Why White People Are Funny. Beachwalker Films and the National Film Board of Canada. Snowshoe, C. 1977. “A Trapper’s Life.” In Dene Nation: The Colony Within, ed. M. Watkins, 28–31. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Southcott, C. 1993. Provincial Hinterland: Social Inequality in Northwestern Ontario. Halifax, NS: Fernwood. Southcott, C., and V. Walker. 2009. “A Portrait of the Social Economy in Northern Canada.” Northern Review 30 (Spring): 13–36. Tester, F.J., and P. Kulchyski. 1994. Tammarniit (Mistakes): Inuit Relocation in the Eastern Arctic. Vancouver: UBC Press. Usher, P.J., G. Duhaime, and E. Searles. 2003. “The Household as an Economic Unit in Arctic Aboriginal Communities, and Its Measurement by Means of a Comprehensive Survey.” Social Indicators Research 61 (2): 175–202. http:// dx.doi.org/10.1023/A:1021344707027 White, G. 2011. “Go North, Young Scholar, Go North.” Canadian Journal of Political Science 44 (4): 747–78. http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/S0008423 911000734

5 Land Claim Organizations and the Social Economy in Nunavut and Nunavik THIERRY RODON1

In the previous chapter Frances Abele noted the importance of Beneficiary Organizations in the development of new northern societies. Land Claim Organizations (LCOs), another term for Beneficiary Organizations, are major players in the politics, society, and economy of the North, but their role has not been well defined or studied despite their wide range of activities, which include defending beneficiaries’ rights, managing land claim compensation funds and land holdings, negotiating resource development of these lands, and collecting royalties. This role gives them much financial leverage for a variety of purposes. They provide beneficiaries with services such as providing financial aid for the purchase of hunting equipment, creating airlines for inter-community travel, helping Inuit fill out their tax returns, and providing old age pensions. The LCOs should also benefit greatly from the mining development occurring throughout the North with the conclusion of Impact and Benefit Agreements. They will be able to invest in many ventures and therefore become a powerful force in shaping the North’s future. Given the importance of these organizations for the North, the Social Economy Research Network of Northern Canada undertook research to better understand their relationship to the social economy. If, as Abele states, the contemporary northern social economy was shaped by

1 I wish to acknowledge the invaluable contributions of Frédéric Moisan and Cédric Drouin, who provided expert research assistance for the case studies on Pangnirtung Fisheries and Nunavik Creations. I also want to thank Lisa Koperqualuk, who conducted the interviews in Puvirnituq, and all the people from Puvirnituq, Kuujjuaq, Iqaluit, and Pangnirtung who agreed to be interviewed for this project.

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a reaction to colonialism, would the emergence of Land Claim Organizations reduce the need for social economy organizations? As the portraiture survey results described in Chapter 2 indicate, it appears that this is not necessarily the case. This chapter focuses on LCOs in Nunavut and Nunavik and their role in the social economy and, more generally, in the northern economy. I begin by defining and describing the social economy in Inuit regions and the role of LCOs. I then present two case studies: Pangnirtung Fisheries Ltd. in Nunavut and Nunavik Creations Inc. in Nunavik. The data come from interviews conducted with people involved in the social economy of Nunavut (Iqaluit and Pangnirtung) and Nunavik (Puvirnituq and Kuujjuaq). It also includes interviews with senior managers at Makivik Corporation, Nunavut Tunngavik Inc. (NTI), and the Qikiqtani Inuit Association (QIA). To investigate the social economy, I use a capital assets model, which was created by development theorists (Rakodi 1999) and is employed extensively in sustainable livelihood approaches (Davies et al. 2008; Morse and McNamara 2013; Scoones 1998). These approaches, which are rooted in a holistic view of sustainable development, show the interdependence between social and cultural practices and the natural aspect of sustainable development (Dale and Newman 2006; Humphreys 2002; Pretty 2003; Ulluwishewa et al. 2008). Five capital assets are usually identified: natural, social, human, physical, and financial. Natural capital refers to natural resource stocks and environmental services. Social capital refers to social resources (that is, networks, affiliations, and associations). Physical capital refers to physical infrastructure. Human capital includes skills, knowledge, labour, good health, and physical capability. Finally, financial capital refers to the capital base, such as cash, credit/ debt, savings, and other economic assets (Scoones 1998). Some studies also stress the importance of developing culturally appropriate sustainable economic development (Crate 2006; Garmaeva 2001; Fisher 2008). In this chapter I do not address the notions of natural and physical capital since the social economy has little impact on these types of capital. I instead assess how the ventures under study have contributed to the development of the four types of capital that relate to the social economy: financial, human, cultural, and social. I distinguish between social and cultural capital to measure the cultural relevance of these ventures. Table 5.1 describes how these four types of capital have been adapted to the context of Nunavik and Nunavut.

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Table 5.1. Types of Capital and the Social Economy of Nunavut and Nunavik Financial Capital

Human Capital

Social Capital

Cultural Capital

Earnings

Education

Family and friends

Land-based activities

Transfers

Skills

Traditional Knowledge

Wealth

Health

Community sharing networks

Income sharing

Governance

Bonds, stocks, etc.

Other social networks

Language

Understanding the Social Economy of Nunavut and Nunavik The concept of the social economy was developed in the South in opposition to the model of a market economy based solely on profit. The social economy is often seen as being distinct from the public and private sectors, and as providing community services for social needs rather than for profit. The social economy includes charities, foundations, non-profit groups, volunteer organizations, and co-ops. Such groups make their decisions democratically, and value people over capital. They often adhere to principles of participation and empowerment (Southcott 2009). In Inuit communities, however, as others in this volume point out, the dichotomy between society and the economy is less clear, as is often the case in small communities where all activities are tightly interrelated. In fact, all economic and governmental activities seem to be part of the social economy. Governments are clearly a part because they provide jobs in these communities; they are in fact usually the leading employers. This public sector dominance might decline with the rise of mining. For now, however, the private sector remains weak in the North, although it is developing in the bigger communities. These private businesses fulfil a social role by training Inuit employees and supporting community activities. Northern Stores, owned by the Northwest Company, is present throughout the North, and offers a good example of community-minded private enterprise. The classic social economy organizations are likewise present. In Nunavik, especially, each

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community owns its own co-op, and the co-op movement promotes an agenda of economic and political self-determination (Beaulieu 1980; Tulugak and Murdoch 2007). In Nunavut, co-ops have been set up through Arctic Co-operatives Limited, but are less politically involved than those in Nunavik, and play a mostly economic role. Churches and volunteer organizations are present in both regions, and contribute greatly to the social economy through social and charitable activities. LCOs also act as major economic players through subsidiaries, in the case of Makivik Corporation (Air Inuit, First Air, Nunavik Creations), or investments funds, in the case of NTI and QIA. Finally, the land-based economy is often forgotten, even though it is central to the social economy of Inuit communities, providing food and strengthening social and cultural life through activities of sharing and learning. Instead of trying to distinguish between the social economy and the market economy, it would be more useful to speak of a government sector in which regulation, allocation, and rationality are the norms, and an Inuit sector defined by individual autonomy, self-reliance, and sharing. The land-based economy clearly belongs to the Inuit sector, with most other activities being in the government sector. The relative strength of each sector varies, but there is a clear difference between northern centres where the public service economy is prevalent and smaller communities where the Inuit culture and the land-based economy are stronger. The following quotation, from a blog by a former student at Nunavut Sivuniksavut, illustrates clearly the difference between the two realms. I have heard on the news that [I]nuit have the lowest number of volunteers in Canada, or I should say Nunavut, which is mostly made up of [I]nuit anyways, and people probably thought nunavummiut were such bad people or were lazy. But what these statisticians forgot [is] that [I]nuit …, let me point that out, will never brag about volunteering or giving out food. It is degrading to do so. and these information collectors forgot a lot of essential details about the lives of people up here, which is [that] niceness is a given. People will not point out the number of hours they did, visiting elders, which usually means helping one of them one way or another, will never point out that they gave caribou, seal, fish or any country food to anyone. They will never point out that after someone, anyone in the community has passed away, people visit the grieving family for a number of days afterwards, will never point out that they fund raise for family members to go to the funeral which can go up to thousands of dollars. (Akulukjuk 2011)

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Inuit Land Claim Organizations Inuit Land Claim Organizations are multifaceted and complex. They were initially created by the Inuit to negotiate land claims, and primarily served an advocacy role. Once the final agreements were signed, the LCOs were incorporated in order to receive the land claim compensations. These monies usually have been invested, the principal being kept and the return on investment spent on operations and programs. Unlike most corporations, LCOs are not run for profit. The shareholders are not investors, but the beneficiaries of the land claims – that is, the Aboriginal groups that are represented. As land claim signatories, LCOs still perform a political role by ensuring implementation of the agreements while defending beneficiaries’ rights. This role makes them a powerful force in northern politics. There is much variation in LCO investment strategies. Some LCOs follow a business model and invest mostly in the market; others have more of a social/cultural agenda. Nonetheless, they all engage in a mix of social and profit-based activities (Anderson et al. 2004; Saku 2006). Finally, on behalf of the beneficiaries, LCOs negotiate Inuit Impact and Benefit Agreements (IIBAs) with private companies that wish to develop natural resources. IIBAs are private agreements between corporations that can provide LCOs with considerable revenue through compensation and profit sharing.

Makivik Corporation Makivik Corporation is a non-profit organization that came into being in 1978 with the signing of the James Bay and Northern Quebec Agreement (JBNQA), thus replacing the Northern Quebec Inuit Association that had negotiated the agreement. It represents and defends the rights of the Inuit of Nunavik while managing the funds allotted to them under the JBNQA. It thus has a twofold political and economic role, like all LCOs. As Canada’s oldest LCO, it has had a long time to mature. Makivik’s mandates range from owning and operating large profitable businesses and creating jobs to social and economic development, better housing, and protection of the Inuit language and culture and the natural environment. Makivik has been very successful at business ventures. It fully owns six companies (Air Inuit, First Air, Nunavik Creations, Nunavik Furs, Halutik Enterprises, and Nunavik Biosciences

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Inc.), and participates in four joint ventures (Cruise North Expeditions, NEAS Inc., Unaaq Fisheries, and Pan Arctic Inuit Logistics).

Nunavut Tunngavik Inc. and Qikiqtani Inuit Association Nunavut Tunngavik Inc. was created in 1993 to manage compensation funds allocated to Inuit under the Nunavut Land Claim Agreement (NLCA). NTI is associated with three regional Inuit associations, one of them being Qikiqtani Inuit Association. These regional associations manage Inuit-owned lands that cover 350,000 square kilometres and deliver certain programs. NTI is mostly involved in policy advocacy. NTI’s mission statement emphasizes a watchdog role of ensuring that the federal and territorial governments implement the NLCA: “Nunavut Tunngavik Incorporated … ensures that the promises made in the Nunavut Land Claims Agreement … are carried out. Inuit exchanged Aboriginal title to all their traditional land in the Nunavut Settlement Area for the rights and benefits set out in the NLCA. The management of land, water and wildlife is very important to Inuit. NTI coordinates and manages Inuit responsibilities set out in the NLCA and ensures that the federal and territorial governments fulfill their obligations.” QIA, created in 1997, represents the interests of the Inuit of the Baffin region, the High Arctic, and the Belcher Islands. Like NTI, it is a non-profit organization. A QIA representative sits on the NTI board of directors. Two organizations operate under the QIA umbrella: Kakivak Association is responsible for economic development and small business, and Qikiqtaaluk Corporation is the investment arm of QIA. Neither QIA nor NTI owns any businesses; instead, they invest in different ventures, and act only as shareholders through their investment corporations. QIA has invested through Qikiqtaaluk Corporation in offshore shrimp and turbot fishing, airport management, DEW Line cleanups, environmental services, mineral development, helicopter operations, heavy equipment sales and services, petroleum distribution, and management of real estate construction. NTI has more of a policy role, but nonetheless has entered into a uranium mining joint venture with Kaminak Gold Corporation, although NTI’s new president is reviewing this partnership. During this study, key local people from the social economy (co-op managers, church volunteers, economic development officers, volunteer groups) were interviewed about how they perceived the role of LCOs in the social economy. In Pangnirtung, NTI and QIA clearly were

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seen as part of the government sector, which is trying to transfer what used to be family activities to its own jurisdiction: That’s because we’re supporting it here at the hamlet level, but it’s not supported at any other level. They talk about traditional economy and social economy that they try to provide for, but always require some sort of business setting, with liability insurance for students involved. Let’s say we were to take students out to train them, then we have to basically set it up as a business with liability insurance and the whole works that come along with the business. But here in the Arctic, you can’t set it up that way, because it just doesn’t make sense. You can’t have all these hunters and women that provide traditional economy, and set them up as a business. You’re duplicating a hundred times all the things that you need to set up. (Pangnirtung interview)

In Puvirnituq, Makivik is largely seen as part of the Inuit sector. Some interviewees, however, associated Makivik mainly with the market economy, saying it has a negative impact on the co-ops. For some, Makivik’s economic dominance has inhibited co-op growth. For others, Makivik, is one of the many organizations that support the Inuit communities: Our culture, though it remains our culture, is not entirely the same anymore. And we must include the reliance on money. We are no longer in the old way so it is very useful to have organizations, such as the co-op, to be there to help out, to be part of this process. This to provide opportunity to have money. Other organizations, too, such as Makivik and Kativik Regional Government, … try to keep our cost of living down and [retain] our culture at the same time. In the past when I was younger, Inuit had to make do with what they had and did things on their own, without the aid of Qallunaat. They lived in snowhouses in winter, tents in summer, and lighting fuel or electricity or welfare did not exist then, and they could live without these. But presently, they need aid in order to obtain housing. Though they pay a small amount each month. For me, the prices for fuel, for electricity, the essential services such as delivery of water, garbage disposal are all very costly, and we pay for a small percentage of all that. So all of the organizations are very beneficial. (Puvirnituq interview)

Pangnirtung Fisheries Ltd. Pangnirtung is a community of 1,325 inhabitants on Cumberland Sound near the Arctic Circle. It was a whaling station for most of the

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nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, and therefore has a long tradition of marine-related industry. The first fishing operation, Cumberland Sound Fisheries Ltd., was incorporated in 1988 as a 100 per cent Inuit-owned company with fifty shareholders: forty-eight local Inuit, Pangnirtung Inuit Co-op Ltd., and Pangnirtung Hunters & Trappers Association. In 1992 Pangnirtung Fisheries Ltd. (PFL) was established by a partnership between the local Inuit-owned Cumberland Sound Fisheries (49 per cent), and a majority owner, Nunavut Development Corporation (51 per cent), a Crown corporation run by the government of Nunavut. Cumberland Sound Fisheries transferred its turbot quotas, and Nunavut Development Corporation provided financial support (Brubacher Development Strategies 2004, 39). In 2009 this support came to $207,000. Both of these contributions have ensured PFL’s viability. According to Joopa Gowdluapik, chairman of the board of Cumberland Sound Fisheries, “the objective of keeping the plant operational is to create employment in the community.” Don Cunningham, general manager of PFL, thinks similarly. For him, the fish plant has helped create jobs by buying fish from local fishermen (Canada 2009, 10). It has thus done more than just keep a company from going under: as I show further on, PFL has been key to local socioeconomic development. PFL processes turbot and Arctic char for export, and is one of the three largest producers of Arctic food in Nunavut, along with Kitikmeot Foods Limited (in Cambridge Bay) and Kivalliq Arctic Foods (in Rankin Inlet) (Impact Economics and Vail 2008, 23). PFL’s current facility, built in 1994, is the only onshore fish-processing plant in Nunavut. Its frozen fillets are sold locally in Iqaluit hotels as well as nationally and internationally. To offset high shipping costs, the government of Nunavut subsidizes the cost of taking the fish to southern markets. The impacts of PFL on Pangnirtung’s social economy – specifically, on the different types of capital – are summarized in Table 5.2, which points to an important aspect of PFL: the link between the public sector and the land-based economy. This link has been identified as specific to Inuit economic activities (Southcott 2009, 5). Indeed, during an interview, a man was asked: “Could you give me an example of social economy in Pangnirtung?” He answered, “Yes, the fish plant here provides money economy for us and it also provides economy for the families who are out – they fish and they hunt also – they’re out working together as a group. That’s an example of social economy.”

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Table 5.2. The Impact of Pangnirtung Fisheries Ltd. on Pangnirtung’s Social Economy Financial Capital

Human Capital

Makes $3 million Employs 80 people annually in sales (45 fish-plant workers and 35 fishermen) Pays $390,000 annually to local fishermen and fish plant workers

Social Capital

Cultural Capital

Provides daycare

Encourages char fishing (land-based economy and values)

Invests in community Has trained 25 students life ($5,000 in in Pangnirtung through donations for a program of Nunavut sports and social Fisheries Training events) Consortium Provides fish for Provides some formal and informal on-the-job training

Enhances technical knowledge Offers work experience and peer learning

Improves traditional community events knowledge by transferring harvesting techniques

PFL’s activities earned about $3 million in sales in 2009.2 Even though the plant has failed to turn a profit, it provides the highest “socio-economic benefit per tonne of quota in Nunavut with approximately $680 per quota tonne compared to the Baffin Fisheries Coalition (BFC) at $440 per quota tonne” (Tavel Limited and Brubacher Development Strategies 2006, ix). Interestingly, BFC is a collectively owned company and PFL a private one. One thus should judge PFL not in terms of its profitability, but in terms of its community benefits. Don Cunningham, the general manager, estimates these benefits in 2009 were about $390,000. Most of this money was paid to Inuit fishermen and plant workers: during the winter, $20,000 for char fishing and $250,000 for turbot fishing; during the summer, $100,000 for char fishing and $20,000 for turbot fishing. Such wages enable individuals to earn more income through employment and to lengthen their period of earned income. Another community benefit is related more closely to the social economy and better represents Inuit reality: income from PFL employment is transferred to other people within the community and used to buy commodities and food not available from the land. In addition, “the plant also purchases goods and services from the local and territorial economy – freight, fuel, maintenance, and so on.” The value of these expenditures

2 Personal communication with Don Cunningham, general manager of PFL.

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Table 5.3. Operational Summary of Pangnirtung Fisheries Ltd., 2009 Operation

Amount ($)

Turnover

3,000,000

Sales

2,973,872

Subsidy contribution from Nunavut Development Corporation

170,000

Net profit (loss) after subsidy

−41,189

Other contribution from Nunavut Development Corporation Paid to local fishermen Donations Line of credit

37,000 390,000 5,000 500,000

Source: Nunavut Development Corporation (2010, 9).

is not reported (Brubacher Development Strategies 2004, 6). Table 5.3 shows PFL’s operational summary for 2009. Human capital has primarily benefited from increased employment opportunities. In 2005 Pangnirtung had an unemployment rate of 18.0 per cent, compared with the Canadian rate of 6.0 per cent the same year. In these circumstances, PFL’s main importance has been to create job opportunities for local people: an average of 28 jobs per year over the period between 2005 and 2010. The fish plant creates three types of jobs: direct jobs, defined as 50 weeks of employment per year, or 1,500 hours of work during the year; direct traditional jobs, which pay $27,650 during the year to local artists or harvesters; and indirect jobs, which pay $27,650 to local organizations for labour (Nunavut Development Corporation 2010a, 17). According to General Manager Don Cunningham, PFL employs about thirty to forty local fishermen, and a fisherman usually goes to sea with at least one assistant. In addition, thirty-five to forty people work at the fish plant during the fishing seasons. Hence, PFL-created jobs really number seventy to eighty. Economic development in Nunavut has fuelled demand for skilled workers. Technical training is required for many fish-plant positions, like fish gutting (Arctic Council 2004, 35). To meet this challenge, PFL has become involved in worker recruitment and training, notably by teaming up with Cumberland Sound Fisheries to create Nunavut Fisheries Training Consortium (NFTC). NFTC is “a not-for-profit organization that was created in 2005 to provide training opportunities to Nunavut beneficiaries interested in pursuing a career in the fishing

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industry.”3 Under this program 25 students have been recruited and trained in Pangnirtung. The program has two main goals: skills development and inshore fisheries expansion. In November 2008, there were courses in Pangnirtung on gillnet and longline construction and repair. In June 2008 eleven PFL employees took a course on Hazardous Areas and Critical Control Point/Quality Management Plan at the fish plant (Nunavut Fisheries Training Consortium 2010, 8). Winter turbot fishermen have also trained individuals from other communities during test fishing in the fjords, and processing plants have provided some formal and informal on-the-job training (Brubacher Development Strategies 2004, 25). According to a PFL representative, on-the-job training is on a rotation basis, the goal being to ensure that people can perform a variety of duties. The training program also makes allowance for the employees’ well-being in terms of motivation and learning. Such programs and coaching have at least three benefits: enhancement of technical knowledge, work experience, and, from a broader cultural perspective, by peer learning, improvement in Inuit Qaujimajatuqangit (Inuit knowledge) via transfer of harvesting techniques. In terms of cultural capital, fishing has long been part of Inuit Qaujimajatuqangit. By sending fishermen offshore and inshore, PFL is encouraging a blend of modern and ancestral ways of fishing. For example, although transportation now relies mostly on ships and snowmobiles, other practices remain unchanged. The yearly cycle has always set the pace for fishing in northern communities. During the summer, fishermen leave with their family for different camps, and share an experience that enables young people to learn from their elders. For example, the Jayco River camp teaches how to build and use a weir: “an underwater fence that is set up in a V-shape” to lead fish into a catch basin (Nunavut Development Corporation 2010b). This age-old technique has been passed down to modern times via intergenerational transmission. Traditionally, much importance was given to sharing of knowledge. As one Pangnirtung resident, noted, “[w]hen I was a child, we had experience with fish all the time but my mother was the one dealing with fish and the one who went fishing. For me, fishing is fun and when the fish are sea-run and we’re

3 Nunavut Fisheries Training Consortium website, 2010; available at http:// nftconsortium.org/.

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out on the land, when someone is working with fish, whether making dried fish and just working with it, it’s like a learning tool. For me, out camping, camping is spiritual. We can tell our kids what our mothers used to do, we used to watch what they did” (quoted in Arctic Council 2004, 38). This comment reveals another aspect of the social economy: the role of women. Historically, women and men were equally involved in subsistence fishing. Today, approximately 75 per cent of PFL employees are women (Arctic Council 2004, 31), most of them employed in fish processing. In terms of social capital, PFL donates $5,000 annually to the community for sports and social events. With other fishing companies (through NFTC), it provides fish for community feast. This communitarian approach helps Inuit communities by improving personal and communal networking and by providing an opportunity for sharing. But PFL is a place not only for sharing, but also for socializing. As one interviewee said, “[t]hey have nowhere to go here. They come to the fish plant, they’re making money, they’re actually learning, and they’re not at home 24/7. It’s a big benefit to them. They’re even socializing when they’re here, they are sitting in the lunchroom, they have tea, coffee, talking. It’s a great thing for a community like this.” PFL thus maintains and improves personal and support networks within the community. PFL is working on a daycare project to make employment more attractive. Without such services, women cannot take work opportunities or, if they are employed, are constrained in their work performance. As a local resident said, “[s]ome women just stay home because there are no sitters for them. But now there is a daycare, there might be more female workers here. More might find work instead of staying home. It can help make up their minds about finding work. We need to think about our rent, our welfare” (Arctic Council 2004, 32). PFL’s daycare project allows women to enter the labour market and contribute to community prosperity. PFL also provides snacks and breakfasts to employees. These initiatives have likewise improved workplace conditions. Finally, the social economy requires expansion of local infrastructure to maintain and increase local jobs and production. Expansion is essential to maintaining the community impact of local businesses. PFL’s general manager, Don Cunningham, said that the plant has reached only 27 per cent of its capacity and that the quota could be doubled if more people were hired. PFL is facing a challenge to labour recruitment, however, because, as Cunningham noted, new employees risk losing

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their subsidized housing. Given the housing shortage in Inuit communities, this policy clearly creates a poverty trap. The past few years have seen announcements of major investments in Pangnirtung. The 2008 federal budget earmarked $8 million for development of a commercial harbour in Pangnirtung (Impact Economics and Vail 2008, 34). The $40.5 million harbour opened on 18 September 2013, and is improving the efficiency of both the fishermen and the fish-processing plant, and enabling the community to ship its products to market at a much lower price. In 2010, the Nunavut government announced $2.5 million in spending on a 19.5-metre (64-foot) vessel for fishery exploration (Impact Economics 2010, 33). In the next few years, this effort should open up access to new inshore fisheries. In particular, there should be more “participation in the winter fishery, which is more affordable and potentially profitable for small groups of two or three individuals wanting to work for themselves” (Impact Economics 2010, 65). PFL thus actively contributes to the community of Pangnirtung in ways ranging from economic activities to human skills development. Moreover, PFL has the potential to enhance socio-economic capital. It assists the land-based economy (or traditional economy), particularly in terms of harvesting. This economic sector matters to Nunavut’s inhabitants because it directly affects their quality of life and their culture. At the same time, the community faces challenges in housing and employability. To lift these barriers to employment, public policies will have to be overhauled. Overall, the Pangnirtung fish plant has provided the North with a viable onshore model of fish processing (Tavel Limited and Brubacher Development Strategies 2006, 19) and an interesting model of a social economy enterprise.

Nunavik Creations Nunavik Creations Inc. is a Makivik Corporation subsidiary created in 2002 to promote the talents of Nunavik artisans and seamstresses. The most popular items are sealskin vests and mitts (pualuk), slippers (pinirak), tuques (nassaks), parkas (atirik), women’s parkas with a pouch in the back for a baby (amautiks), and tanned furs for sale in Nunavik and in the South. Nunavik Creations therefore has a strong cultural component, but, like any enterprise, it also provides Nunavimmiut with salaries and training opportunities, thus making itself a good example of the Nunavik social economy.

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Table 5.4. Nunavik Creations Inc.’s Role in the Nunavik Social Economy Financial Capital

Human Capital

Social Capital

Cultural Capital

Pays wages totalling $336,000

Employs 12 fulltime workers Has hired 52 local seamstresses since 2002

Develops contemporary Inuit sealskin products, parkas, and accessories

Enhances the value of traditional sewing skills

Gives training and teaches sewing techniques

Organizes a longterm sewing program in the communities

Holds sewing seminars for peer learning

Promotes traditional sewing skills

Source: Financial data come from Nunavik Creations’ financial statements, provided by Makivik Corporation; all other information comes from interviews with Nunavik Creations’ managers.

The impacts of Nunavik Creations on four types of capital in the Nunavik social economy are summarized in Table 5.4. In terms of financial capital, the company paid out $336,000 in wages in 2010 and a total of $1,358,666 in wages, benefits, and per diems from 2007 to 2010. It thus has given Nunavik seamstresses considerable employment opportunities. Purchases of sewing products from the communities came to $297,252 from 2007 to 2010. During the same period, sales of finished products increased by 127 per cent, with an average yearly total of $190,526. From 2007 to 2010, Makivik gave this subsidiary $1,359,306 – a major investment. In terms of human capital, Nunavik Creations Inc. gives work to twelve full-time employees in Kuujjuaq, Inukjuak, Kangirsuk, and Montreal, and has provided fifty-two seamstresses with employment since its opening. It has helped raise the wages of local seamstresses by increasing the prices of its items, thereby giving more recognition for the skill and labour involved in sewing. Nunavik Creations Inc. contributes to social capital and the maintenance of Inuit culture through training and passing on traditional sewing methods. It holds sewing seminars for peer learning, and has invited seamstresses from the communities to visit the sewing centre and learn techniques that the garment industry requires to target the high-end market. This training gives local seamstresses an opportunity to learn industry standards so that Nunavik Creations can sell more handmade products outside the region. Over the years close to $20,000 has been injected into the training and seminar program. Nunavik Creations has

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also set up a long-term sewing program in the communities in partnership with the Kativik Regional Government through an employment and training program that has granted $30,712 over the years. It also promotes the use of Inuktitut, the Inuit language, and has preserved the Inuit terminology used for sewing. Nunavik Creations is a good example of a social enterprise that capitalizes on one aspect of Inuit culture by supplying garments to domestic and international markets. It provides Inuit seamstresses income, contributes to maintaining Inuit culture, and is a source of pride for Nunavimmiut. In fact, it is remarkable to see them wearing locally produced winter clothing that is clearly inspired by Inuit traditions but made to accommodate today’s needs. Conclusion In Nunavut and Nunavik – two regions with an Inuit majority – the social economy is distinct from what one sees in the rest of Canada, both conceptually and in practice. In these regions, it meshes with the traditional Inuit view of economic life, since traditionally no distinction was made between the economic and social spheres and all activities were undertaken for both material and social gain. After the Second World War, the rise of a colonial welfare state weakened the land-based economy and made Inuit communities highly dependent on government transfer payments. Since the 1980s the Inuit have been trying to break free from this dependence, first through land claim negotiations and then through self-government agreements. One outcome has been the formation of LCOs and the use of settlement moneys by the Inuit to take back control of their lives. The Nunavut and Nunavik economies have two distinct components: the state realm, whose activities are linked to the modern economy, and the Inuit realm, which encompasses all land-based activities that stem from the traditional economy. In both regions, there is also a major difference between smaller communities, where most of the economy has a social component and where land-based activities are prevalent, and towns that are economically dependent on government transfer payments and that in the near future might become hubs of the mining industry. Pangnirtung Fisheries Ltd. and Nunavik Creations Inc. have attempted to bridge this divide and bring together the state-based and land-based economies. PFL employs local Inuit to fish Arctic char, thus providing a subsidy to the land-based economy. Nunavik Creations

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promotes Inuit sewing skills by producing garments for the Nunavimmiut and for outside markets. Both activities also contribute to the preservation of Inuit language and culture by maintaining the link with the land and the culture. These examples show how northern economic enterprises can capitalize on the Inuit land-based economy. Such enterprises should be judged in terms not only of economic efficiency, but also of social efficiency through their contribution to the sustainability of Inuit communities in Nunavut and Nunavik. Finally, Land Claim Organizations, depending on their strategy, play different roles in development of the social economy. In Nunavut, NTI and the QIA perform this role only through the use of investment funds, preferring instead to focus on providing Inuit with services and doing advocacy work. In fact, the territory’s LCOs are reluctant to become directly involved in its social and economic development because their leadership often feels that the government of Nunavut should be performing this role and that strong LCO involvement would tend to reduce federal funding (Rodon 2014). The situation is different in Nunavik, where Makivik Corporation is directly involved in economic and social development and is a strong political actor. Here, the public institutions are fragmented and lack the legitimacy of a real government, being more akin to a public administration (Rodon and Grey 2009). Although the research for this chapter was limited to only a few examples of LCO activities, it is clear that these organizations, now a fixture of the Canadian North, see the social economy as an important tool of economic development in the region. Many northern social economy organizations emerged from the struggle to establish land claims, but the need for these types of organizations has not declined with the success of land claims negotiations. LCOs continue to see the social economy as an important link between subsistence activities and the needs of the market economy. They are using their capacity and resources to engender new types of social economy ventures that are designed to play a more central role in the economic development of their communities. At the same time, different LCOs are using different strategies to achieve this goal. Further research would allow us to better understand how varying situations affect the strategies LCOs use with respect to the social economy, and which strategies provide the most benefit to communities.

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6 Understanding the Contributions of Volunteering to the Social Economy in Whitehorse, Yukon, through the Views of Outdoor Recreation Volunteers CARRIE M CCLELLAND A N D MARGARET JOHNSTON 1

Many communities across Canada rely heavily on volunteer-based organizations to provide services and activities. Further, nearly half of all non-profit organizations depend entirely on volunteer labour. These organizations provide extensive services to Canadians while facilitating a strong connection to the community through individual participation (Hall et al. 2005). Volunteering plays a significant role in contributing to the common goals of the community (or parts of it) as well as fulfilling individuals’ need for self-direction and freedom of choice (Burden 2000). Indeed, the number of volunteer hours donated by Canadians in one year amounts to the equivalent of one million full-time jobs (Hall et al. 2006). Furthermore, volunteer-run events can also bring business to a community through such things as festivals, competitions, tournaments, and fairs, thereby contributing to the local economy (see Laverie and McDonald 2007). Clearly, though, volunteering has value to individuals and communities outside its measurable contribution to the economy. Investigating volunteerism within a social economy framework allows us to consider the value of volunteering outside the traditional market paradigm (see Fasenfest, Ciancanelli, and Reese 1997). There are numerous definitions of the social economy, with the broadest identifying it through a multidimensional framework that encompasses 1 The authors would like to acknowledge the Social Economy Research Network of Northern Canada and the Northern Scientific Training Program for funding this research, and the logistical support of the Yukon Volunteer Bureau. We also thank the study participants in Whitehorse for their willingness to share their stories and passion for the outdoors.

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organizations with common economically sustainable and pro-social mandates. By working at a grassroots level, social economy enterprises and organizations can help to support community needs and effectively address local needs. Volunteer-based organizations are at the foundation of the social economy. One of the principal factors of the social economy that distinguishes it from other sectors is the influence of volunteers. While the market economy depends on cash and paid labour, the social economy also uses the resources and services provided by volunteer members. As a result, the net assets of social enterprises are owned by no individual, but by the organization itself, becoming social dividends and building blocks for enhancing the social economy (Quarter 1992). Community members do not necessarily benefit financially from their labour within a social economy organization, but their services contribute to the greater strength of the community or a segment of the community. The development of the social economy reflects both gaps evident in the delivery of services and products by governments and private enterprise, and a strong community foundation for sharing and helping. Volunteering through organizations – and the more informal volunteering of simply helping others – can provide small rural and northern communities many of the services, products, and activities found in larger centres. Because of large distances between communities in the Canadian North, and the low population density of that region compared with southern rural areas, communities there rely on volunteering in the social economy to create access to opportunities and provide support where the private sector and government agencies cannot do so. Part of the work of the Social Economy Research Network of Northern Canada was to better understand the nature and experience of volunteering in the Canadian North and, in particular, the role of volunteerism in the social economy of the region. The portraiture chapter of this volume, which describes the social economy profile of each of the five regions that make up the Canadian North, notes that volunteers were most often used by social economy organizations in the Yukon. In that territory, 52 per cent of people volunteer with an organization, surpassing the national average of 45 per cent. Yukoners also donate the second-highest average number of volunteer hours yearly of all residents of Canada’s provinces and territories. Much of this volunteer work is given in support of sport and recreation; indeed, sport and

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recreation groups constitute 21.2 per cent – the largest category – of the non-profit and voluntary organizations in the territories (Hall et al. 2005). It is important to recognize the distinctions among the three Canadian territories in relation to social economy organizations dedicated to sport and recreation. Southcott and Walker (2009) note that the Yukon has a higher number of such organizations and that these account for 25 per cent of the Yukon’s social economy organizations, a higher percentage than in the other two territories or in Nunavik and Labrador (see Southcott and Walker, in this volume). In this chapter we examine the views of volunteers on their contributions through outdoor recreation volunteering in Whitehorse, Yukon, and link these contributions to key elements of the social economy framework. The specific purpose is to explore whether volunteers’ views of their experiences are linked to social economy concepts and to examine the implications of any such links. We provide a context for the study by outlining some ideas about volunteer motivation, outdoor recreation, and the social economy. We then describe the study approach and the major results relating to the five themes we have found, with a focus on three components that relate specifically to social economy concepts. The discussion links these results to broader social economy questions, and outlines a conceptualization of the provision of outdoor recreation opportunities in Whitehorse, and the Canadian North generally, through the social economy. Volunteering, Outdoor Recreation, and the Social Economy in the North Volunteers can fulfil many community needs while simultaneously receiving personal benefits from their positions. Volunteer motivation tells us about what people expect to experience in their volunteering and the kinds of contributions they expect to make to their community. Researchers have looked at volunteer motivation within a number of frameworks to understand the relationships and interactions that influence volunteer behaviour, but few have specifically linked volunteer motivation literature and social economy concepts (but see Johnston and Twynam 2009). Studies have found that personal values are strong indicators of volunteer motivations. Janoski, Musick, and Wilson (1998) find that people who appreciate the values and principles of volunteering are more likely to serve than those who are enticed to volunteer by increased

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access to social resources and opportunities. Cnaan and Goldberg-Glen (1991) find altruistic elements to be the highest-ranked motivations for volunteering in human services, with the social aspects and the desire to gain practical experience the lowest ranking motivations, although the authors note that motivations to volunteer are not necessarily distinct but are numerous and overlapping. Han (2007) states that all volunteer motivations can be grouped under two broad categories: egoistic and altruistic. Altruistic motives encourage people to volunteer without any external incentives, while egoistic motives reflect the personal benefits individuals receive from volunteering. Altruistic motivations can be divided further into either organizational attachment (allegiance to the organization) or volunteer attachment (concern for society). Egoistic motives can be divided into either internal benefits (such as gaining new skills) or external benefits. In research on outdoor recreation volunteers, Dennis and Zube (1988) find that benefits that support the common good are the strongest incentives for such volunteers. Personal benefits are also valued, but they are not as significant a predictor of volunteer behaviour as are the former. Caldwell and Andereck (1994) also conclude that contributing to society is a primary motive for outdoor recreation volunteers, followed by benefits derived by social interaction. Arai (2000) finds that many volunteers are looking for the opportunity to make a contribution to their community, develop their own personal knowledge and skills, and form relationships with the people they meet. Group membership is also a valued aspect of outdoor recreation, providing an incentive for people to volunteer (Dennis and Zube 1988). Propst, Jackson, and McDonough (2003) find that many volunteers in recreation management are not necessarily looking for personal enjoyment or fun, but believe that their participation will influence decisions that affect their community and, therefore, them personally. Volunteers look for these outlets to increase their awareness of issues facing their community and to contribute to community development (Glover 2004; Seippel 2006; Sharpe 2006). Expectations about benefits tie volunteers to their particular choices and behaviour. Given the strong role played by motivations relating to contributing to society and having a positive influence on community, it is important to consider the nature of volunteers’ expectations of their contributions as individuals actively engaged in the social economy. The social economy can be understood as a spectrum of social organizations at work within the broad third sector that fills the space

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between, and overlaps the edges of, the two areas of the traditional market economy: the public and the private sectors. The social economy accommodates both the social and economic value of organizations that function within a social mandate (Quarter et al. 2001). Understanding the social economy as a broad third sector suggests the many different ways in which individuals, organizations, and communities can contribute to, and benefit from, activities that have both an economic and a social function. Organizations included on the spectrum blend social and economic values to support the needs of a community (LePage 2006; Quarter 1992). Research on the social economy has attempted to bring light to various activities that previously might have been undervalued or unseen because of the difficulty of quantifying outcomes such as increased community engagement, social cohesion, community empowerment, and relationship building. The traditional market economy framework is restricted to monetary measurement, and does not accommodate the value of labour input, social power, and indicators of social inclusion or exclusion (Fasenfest, Ciancanelli, and Reese 1997). Through social organizations, volunteers have the ability to influence social norms, affect communication and decision making, and, most important, pursue individual interests while acting for the benefit of the common good (Braun and Caster 2001). Much of the interest in the social economy has focused on topics such as social services, education, governance, public policy, and entrepreneurialism, but there has been less emphasis on recreation (see Canadian Social Economy Research Partnerships n.d.; Jones 2006; MacKinnon 2006; Painter 2006; Quarter et al. 2001). There is a strong argument, however, for exploring such activities. Increasingly, many communities face the challenge of stretching resources to fulfil greater needs, and so recreation services rely on volunteers to maintain programs (Silverberg, Backman, and Backman 2000). Volunteer-based recreation organizations can also contribute more than recreation services as such to a community. Leisure activities (such as outdoor recreation) provide a space for people to volunteer and become engaged in community processes, democratic decision making, and citizens’ involvement (Hemingway 2006; Sharpe 2006). Volunteer-based outdoor recreation organizations also contribute to broad community goals related to healthy lifestyles. Thus, outdoor recreation presents an important – and neglected – perspective for investigating the contributions of volunteers to the social economy. Focusing on volunteers in outdoor recreation can

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provide a specific demonstration of how these activities have value and contribute to the social economy, as viewed by the individuals involved in providing them. This bottom-up perspective of the social economy forces consideration of the individual. The organizational focus of much of the research on the social economy has overemphasized that level of analysis and underemphasized the individual and societal levels. In this chapter, we approach the social economy by speaking with the people at its foundation: volunteers. In so doing, we hope to add to understanding of the activities of outdoor recreation organizations in the social economy (see Painter 2006). This is particularly relevant as a way of exploring how volunteers view their contributions in a northern setting that provides a context distinct from both urban and rural southern Canada. Methods Our research took place in Whitehorse, the capital city of the Yukon, with a population of just over 20,000, which is nearly two-thirds of the territory’s population (Statistics Canada 2007). Although its population is the largest of any community in the territorial North, Whitehorse remains a relatively small and isolated city: its two closest, sizable neighbours are each about 500 kilometres away and have populations of fewer than 2,000 people (Yukon Executive Council 2007). Whitehorse presents an interesting setting for the investigation of volunteer contributions because its population is large enough to demand a wide variety of services and opportunities, but small enough that volunteers might witness the impacts of their efforts in the community. Whitehorse’s physical setting allows residents easy access to wilderness landscapes that host a multitude of recreation opportunities. The Yukon government’s Active Yukon Monitoring Database shows that nearly 41 per cent of documented sport governing organizations in the territory are related to outdoor recreation and that 5 per cent of the population is involved with recreation groups (C. Sparks Consulting 2007). With such a variety of recreation possibilities available, many Whitehorse residents are involved in volunteer-based groups that help to coordinate and organize outdoor recreation activities and events in the Yukon. The 2007 City of Whitehorse Parks and Recreation Master Plan outlines several recreation objectives for the community, from increasing opportunities for physical activity and healthy living, to promoting skill

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development and environmental appreciation, that can be met through the activities of outdoor recreation organizations. The plan takes a benefits-based approach to evaluate recreation and leisure services in the community, in order to respect individual leisure needs as well as “the collective role recreation and leisure choices play in overall community health and well-being” (Inukshuk Planning & Development, PERC, and Malloch Graham + Associates 2007, i). We collected qualitative data for this study from thirteen conversational interviews with outdoor recreation volunteers in summer 2007. We modified a snowball sampling technique to combine community referrals with systematic cold calling to a variety of outdoor recreation organizations in Whitehorse. Conversational interviews allowed study participants the freedom to shift the interview focus to topics they thought relevant and to explore their personal descriptions of their voluntary activity. Participants were not told explicitly that the interview was about the social economy; rather, they were told it was about their volunteering. Specifically, they were asked how their volunteering contributed to the community and to themselves. Interviews lasted between thirty and fifty minutes and were transcribed and returned to the participant within seventy-two hours of the interview. Participants were able to make changes or additions if they felt these to be necessary. Research participants were chosen from adult volunteers with outdoor recreation activities in the community. Table 6.1 provides information about the study participants, their volunteer contributions, and the services they provided. We read and coded interview transcripts thematically to organize material in categories that describe the volunteers’ experiences. We grouped participants’ responses into five major themes – lifestyle and sense of identity, personal benefits, community benefits, pressure, and the influence of money – each containing numerous sub-themes and links to other themes. These themes represent the ways in which outdoor recreation volunteers felt their efforts contributed to community well-being. Findings Study participants were asked about ways in which they felt their outdoor recreation volunteer work affected the community. Their comments about how volunteering in outdoor recreation had become an integrated part of their lives were grouped under the theme “lifestyle

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Table 6.1. Participants in the Study of Outdoor Recreation Volunteers and Their Volunteer Contributions, Whitehorse, Yukon Outdoor Recreation Activities for Which the Participant Interview Gender Volunteered

Other Recreation Volunteer Activities

1

Female Cycling, running

Curling

Major official, timing, checkpoint volunteer

2

Female Horseback riding

Speed skating

Side-walker (support), instructor, administrative support

3

Female Dogsledding

Checkpoint manager, supervisor/ coordinator, volunteer

4

Female Canoeing, dogsledding

Coordinator, race marshal, support personnel, board member, volunteer coordinator

5

Female Soccer, canoeing, biking, birding, Millennium Trail project

Executive, field trip leader, children’s coach

6

Male

Cross-country skiing, mountain biking, running, biathlon

7

Male

Snowmobiling

8

Female Outdoor education, backpacking, canoeing, hiking, alpine skiing, running

9

Male

Mountain biking, Ultimate Frisbee, disc golf, snowboarding

Course maintenance, race organizer, trail construction, general volunteer, league organizer

10

Female Cross-country skiing, orienteering

Coach, instructor, executive, volunteer recruitments, race planning

11

Male

12

13

Broomball, softball

Athletics Yukon

Roles and Responsibilities of the Volunteer within the Organizations

Executive, coach, trail building, race planning Executive, trail maintenance

Martial arts Board member, volunteer, gate setting, coach, checkpoint mgr, instructor, program organizer canoeing and hiking leader

Minor hockey

Executive, facility development and maintenance, marketing, team rep; expansion committee, coach,

Female Running, adventure racing

Aerobics, fitness classes

Organizer, instructor

Male

Wheelchair Competitive coach basketball

Soccer

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and sense of identity.” Volunteering was often a key aspect in the lives of participants; for many, being involved as a volunteer had become a way of life and had given them a sense of identity. Interviewee 6 explained: “It was becoming a parent that really drew me into coaching. Being a parent is like being a coach, a life coach.” The large themes of “personal benefits” and “community benefits” encompass how participants developed personal skills or relationships, as well as how they saw volunteer work affecting the community. Most participants pointed to the services they provided, and described some very specific contributions. For example, many outlined the skill sets they used in volunteering that fulfilled specific community needs. Participants also talked about their labour as filling a gap in available services related to creating awareness and providing educational opportunities for community members. Many study participants felt that their volunteer involvement in outdoor recreation bettered the physical health of the community and also helped to build the selfconfidence and mental well-being of individuals. Outdoor recreation activities allowed community members to become involved in a variety of ways and to feel included and part of something special within the community. The fourth theme, “pressure,” encompasses participants’ descriptions of a more sombre side of their volunteer involvement, such as fighting burnout, time management issues, and organizational politics. Although not discussed in further detail here, it is important to recognize that some volunteers felt they were being stretched thin as they were asked to provide more and more services to their community. Some study participants also spoke specifically about monetary issues as related to volunteering. Views regarding funding, financial value, and the nature of volunteering are explored under the theme “the influence of money.”

Providing opportunities for activity Study participants stated that, with the help of many volunteers, outdoor recreation organizations in Whitehorse had been able to increase the accessibility of their services to other parts of Yukon, as well as to various age groups and skill levels. As Interviewee 6 explained quite simply, “[v]olunteers make it happen.” This is evident in the twentythree different outdoor recreation activities the study participants provided, including management and operations, workshops, training,

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competitions, tournaments, special events, and new facilities available to the community (see Table 6.1). These outdoor recreation services sometimes offered unique opportunities to Yukoners. As Interviewees 1 and 13 pointed out, volunteering to make activities or events happen meant that residents had the chance to experience something different. Interviewee 12 explained the importance of having these choices during the Yukon’s long, dark winters: “We wanted to provide local people with a chance to try it.” Interviewee 2 also strongly supported horseback riding because “having the opportunity for them to go and participate in the programme is really a great thing.” Furthermore, Interviewees 9 and 11 described recreation facilities that had been created through the efforts of volunteer groups. When explaining how community members sometimes used a volunteer-maintained broomball rink, Interviewee 11 said, “[i]t doesn’t really benefit the league, but it’s good to see people using the facility and enjoying it … because you can’t get that experience with your children in a city-run facility.” Study participants also felt they had a particular skill set or ability that was needed for an activity to occur. They noticed a gap in available services and worked to fill it. Interviewee 13 explained that he volunteered “where I can use certain things that I know because of my background … It’s the experience I bring to the team. I’ve been there myself.” Interviewee 6 said, “I realized that there was a need for good land based activities that could keep the kids busy.” Many volunteers felt they had acquired experience through their own participation and other life experiences, and that to share that knowledge was advantageous to the community. “With all the acquired experience I have and coaching credentials I have as well, I’m thinking: What good is having all that if you can’t share it and pass it on?” (Interviewee 6). Since volunteers recognized the need for that service in the community, they would continue to help out in many ways. Interviewee 11 explained: “The more you get out there the more you realize there’s more work to be done.” Many people shared Interviewee 6’s perspective: “It’s nice … to be able to give back to the greater community of Whitehorse.” Fulfilling this community need was significant because volunteers noticed a gap in service and felt they could improve the situation. Interviewee 10 explained: “It doesn’t take long to become involved if you want to. There’s always a need; that’s probably a common thing you’ve seen with your research.”

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Contributing to community awareness and involvement Almost all the participants saw their volunteer work as contributing to the education of community members and increased levels of awareness within the community and themselves. Interviewee 5 pointed out that people who participated in outdoor recreation activities had the chance to learn about the environment, as well as about different cultures and traditions: “So it creates more of a shared understanding of protection in their area. It helps in the overall appreciation of an area and developing an understanding of other people’s areas.” Interviewee 6 said, “[a] lot of teachings fall into place. You learn about all the plants and all the animals and you learn about how they all coexist and connect together, and it’s opened the door to many other things.” Some study participants found themselves acting as role models, mentoring behaviour and skills for fellow volunteers and participants. Often this stemmed from the increased awareness and knowledge they could provide to the community. Interviewee 9 said, “I think if you set a good example up front then people will aspire to maintain that kind of standard if they have to do it.” Study participants saw the value in setting a high standard, and thought that engaging community members was important for increasing awareness of community issues and the outdoor world. Participants also said their activities provided a healthy and positive place for community involvement. Interviewee 4 learned that “your volunteers need to feel valued and be on the team … I think that there’s a place for everybody.” Several interviewees noted that some recreation activities had a particular focus on involving marginalized or special populations such as First Nations, women, and people with disabilities, and that the outdoors provided a good setting for bringing people together to participate. As Interviewee 6 explained, “[w]e’re not there to counsel, we’re there to give them an opportunity and listen to them and encourage them to speak up and learn how to have a voice.” Interviewee 5 said, “I think that’s an important aspect to it, that everyone contributes to it.” Many study participants also said that outdoor recreation activities provided outlets for activity and encouraged people to be more active. Interviewee 12 commented that “[i]t’s sort of like one Yukoner at a time as far as getting people physically active … I think that’s one of the benefits you can’t necessarily quantify.” Similarly, Interviewee 2 felt that horseback riding for people with disabilities was extremely beneficial

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on many levels: “Therapeutic riding is about self-esteem, freedom … it’s the combination of exercise, emotional benefits, and physiotherapy.” Several study participants said these outlets for activity and the challenge to participate often encouraged community members to take on healthier lifestyles. Interviewee 6 believed that providing opportunities for healthy physical activity could help the community battle social issues such as substance abuse and malnutrition. Although study volunteers did not articulate exactly how participants benefited, they often pointed to increased self-esteem, self-confidence, and other emotional benefits as accruing from such activity. Interviewee 6 said, “[t]ake the word ‘recreation’: I define it as re-creation … you can create all the economy opportunities you want but if we don’t have healthy people we’re never going to get the results.”

The influence of money The influence of money has particular relevance in the exploration of volunteering in terms of social economy. Money is a controversial topic, with participants expressing viewpoints from many different angles. Many of the recreation organizations for which the study participants volunteer had been granted government funding to help offset the cost of expenses such as equipment, supplies, and staff positions. Interviewee 13 felt that “[i]t does so much good that I think that more money should be put into amateur sports.” Some study participants thought that volunteers could not support the weight of the organization because of time commitments and requirements such as taking time off of work. Interviewee 10 explained, “[w]e’re trying to get a bit of funding for a technical director who could act as a head coach, too. We’re finding that our sport can’t grow.” Some people saw volunteer-run organizations as quite beneficial to the community because events brought in tourists and outside money to help out local businesses and the economy. Yet Interviewee 3 noted that the Yukon Quest International Dog Sled race had been heavily criticized by some because it received substantial government funding. She explained, however, “to me it’s a two-way street: you get what you put into it.” Some people mentioned that the community benefited financially from volunteer-led outdoor recreation organizations. Where a nonprofit organization normally would have a paid position, volunteers with appropriate qualifications filled those roles and provided some

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financial relief: “They usually have a paid position for that … so that helps the organization because then they don’t have to pay me.” At the same time, individual volunteers could benefit from organization perks such as free passes or funding to attend coaching seminars to increase their qualifications. Also, some volunteer-based organizations provided services that could not otherwise be afforded. Interviewee 7 stated that Whitehorse benefited from the high-quality trail maintenance provided by the snowmobiling association: “They have to be kept up and the City can’t do that because they don’t have the right equipment … this way it’s done by volunteers so you’re not paying high wages for it.” The principal argument against including paid positions in voluntary organizations concerned the essence and nature of volunteering as being voluntary. A few interviewees indicated that they were quite upset that community members (government employees in particular) had been given company time to volunteer. Some participants were not comfortable with this being considered volunteer time when these individuals were being paid by their employers for that time. Interviewee 11 actually refrained from volunteering for the recently hosted Canada Winter Games altogether: “The thought of people getting paid time off for the ‘volunteer’ job didn’t sit well with me so I opted out.” Similarly, several interviewees noted their concerns about incorporating a paid position into their voluntary organization. For them, having paid positions contradicted the spirit of volunteering, and some mentioned they might stop volunteering should this become a factor. As Interviewee 4 noted, “[i]t would really change things if money got involved … because it’s a different motivation and I want to be involved with people who really want [it] to happen for its own sake and not about the money … I believe the strength of volunteers comes from not being paid to do it … the goodwill of people giving back to their community needs to be in that spirit and being valued.” Others commented that money could not replace the rewards they received in its stead. Interviewee 6 said, “[y]ou get paid in ways that money can’t buy,” and Interviewee 1 noted that “[s]ome people want gains but monetary gains don’t mean anything … thank yous [mean something].” Discussion The findings from this research provide insight into a variety of areas of interest regarding the ways volunteers view their contributions to the community that have relevance for the social economy. Contributions

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by volunteers can be seen clearly through the number of activities and services they provide, which is not surprising considering that in Canada the largest percentage of volunteer hours is directed towards sports and recreation (Hall et al. 2006). In a relatively small and isolated community such as Whitehorse, it could be difficult for government agencies to cover the variety of recreation options one might find in a city with a larger population. The volunteers in this study suggested, however, that they themselves believed volunteer-based outdoor recreation activities supported community goals and fulfilled many community needs. As a result, Whitehorse might be benefiting from the support of volunteers whose service allowed for the provision of a variety of opportunities. The city certainly recognizes the value of offering its residents a wide range of activities, and that it cannot provide all of them itself (Inukshuk Planning & Development, PERC, and Malloch Graham + Associates 2007). It is in this respect that Neamtam (2005) emphasizes the importance of the social economy, since governments can no longer adequately serve communities with broad-reaching, generalized programs. Through volunteer-based outdoor recreation organizations, however, community members help provide a range of opportunities to residents by bringing volunteers together to donate skills and services. In this way, these organizations in Whitehorse are working within the social economy and using alternative solutions to address the inability of local governments to provide every recreation program residents desire (see Evans 2006). It is also apparent that some volunteer-based outdoor recreation organizations might be contributing to the social economy by supporting broader community goals for service and recreation. The views of study participants echoed the city’s philosophy that recreation is an integral part of personal and community wellness and that there are indirect benefits to community members other than the service users. Study participants noted that many outdoor recreation organizations in Whitehorse provided activity outlets and challenged residents to become more physically active, reinforcing the health and fitness goals outlined by the city: “This objective refers to a holistic wellness of the mental, the emotional and the physical – the whole person; the City’s role is to provide a range of leisure opportunities that appeal to all residents enabling them to achieve a minimum level of wellness no matter what their financial resources, skill or disability levels are” (Inukshuk Planning & Development, PERC, and Malloch Graham + Associates

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2007, 22). A number of study participants saw their outdoor recreation activities as important contributors to physical health and fitness. Physically fit individuals might put less of a strain on public health care systems (see Pronk, Tan, and O’Connor 1999), but participants also believed physical activity made people feel better about themselves. Moreover, volunteers felt that participation in outdoor recreation could help individuals gain confidence and build self-esteem. As well, outdoor activities offered a valuable setting for community members to participate both formally and informally in organized recreation. The community benefits of volunteer-based outdoor recreation also played a meaningful role in the development and maintenance of the local social economy. Other study participants argued, however, that their organization could not meet user demands solely through the efforts of volunteers and that the responsibilities of these organizations had become so demanding that paid staff was seen as the best solution. Although both volunteers and city planners recognize the value and importance of providing adequate and accessible recreation opportunities for community members, the 2007 City of Whitehorse Parks and Recreation Master Plan acknowledges that there are “limited financial resources available and there is a point when the department can no longer ‘do more with less’” (Inukshuk Planning & Development, PERC, and Malloch Graham + Associates, 2007, iii). For this reason, the place of money, both to fund organizations and to pay for an individual’s service, can provide interesting insight into the understanding of outdoor recreation organizations in a social economy framework. Although volunteers recognize the need for money to provide supplies and services through their organizations, the intrusion of money and paid positions can reduce the benefits of volunteer-based organizations for both individuals and the community. Many of the outdoor recreation organizations represented by volunteers in this study depend on government funding to offset the expenses of their operations. In their position between the public and private sectors, however, social economy organizations that receive government funding might have their independence called into question (Quarter 1992). Does such an organization then become a government sector program, now tied to the ebb and flow of public economics, instead of remaining independently sustainable within the social economy? It is perhaps in relation to this concern that Interviewee 3 commented that some had heavily criticized the Yukon Quest International Dog Sled race because it received substantial government funding. Yet, from a

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different perspective, the Yukon Quest can be seen to benefit the community’s economy because of the influx of tourists, competitors, and business into Whitehorse during the race. Laverie and McDonald (2007) suggest that commercializing an event can be good for a community because it leads to greater community income through the multiplier effect. It could be that outdoor recreation activities such as the Yukon Quest are actually good examples of social economy organizations because they appropriately blend government influence with private sector business (see Restakis 2006). Volunteers also saw the separation from monetary influences such as payment of great importance in terms of the social value of outdoor recreation organizations. They emphasized that their organizations were particularly important to the community because they were voluntary. Some argued against the inclusion of paid positions in their organizations because this would contradict the spirit of giving that creates an important atmosphere in the activity. These sentiments reiterate the findings of Fasenfest, Ciancanelli, and Reese (1997), who argue that the social economy measures community benefits based on values, rather than on monetary remuneration. Sharpe (2006) notes that the professionalization of recreation activities diminishes the significance of volunteering, thereby decreasing the value of that experience. This study’s findings are also similar to those of MacKinnon (2006), who concludes that the community empowerment people feel in coming together and volunteering to create a service is an important part of the social economy. Further, community empowerment is enhanced by the knowledge and awareness of community issues (Arai 1997); this appears to be happening in Whitehorse, where participating in volunteer-based outdoor recreation is creating educational venues and increasing awareness of community issues. Study participants said that by volunteering they were able to expand their familiarity with local issues and learn about the challenges affecting the greater community, a finding that echoes research by Arai (1997), Jones (2006), and Omoto and Snyder (2002). This deeper understanding is beneficial for the community since socially aware individuals are more likely to take action. Findings from this research contribute to our understanding of the relationship between the social economy, the government, and the private sector at work within the community. Figure 6.1 demonstrates the provision of outdoor recreation activities through volunteer labour that arises from the social economy. This model presents a holistic approach to understanding how volunteering supports community projects in

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Figure 6.1. The Provision of Outdoor Recreation through the Social Economy and Volunteer Labour

Community Social economy Receives funding and sponsorship; Supplies, facilities and equipment from other 2 sectors

Government

Private sector Receives business networks and opportunities and settings for community service

Receives support for government mandates and contributions to community goals

VOLUNTEER LABOUR

(Contributions)

Outdoor recreation activities

(Contributions)

outdoor recreation; all three sectors are connected and must cooperate to fulfil their functions. Social economy organizations are sometimes supported by government initiatives, but the social economy also has its own responsibility to stay grounded in community dynamics while supporting the interests of individuals. Also, as it is placed between the government and the private sector, the social economy bridges the gap between these two sectors and overlaps areas of both. The social economy is influenced not only by government policies and funding, but also by goods and services from the private sector. Using the support from these two sectors, through volunteer labour the social economy is able to provide outdoor recreation services for the community. The overlap between the government and the social economy also means that governments and for-profit businesses can also look at the

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economic benefits of supporting volunteer-based outdoor recreation in their communities. As they are supported by volunteer labour, these activities and events bring visitors and business to the community at little or no extra cost. Businesses can benefit from philanthropic opportunities, the recognition they might receive from this service, and increases in business transactions from social economy organizations. Furthermore, increased levels of fitness and exchanges of social capital resources between volunteer and participants encourage healthy living and reduce the strain on public health care systems (see Pronk, Tan, and O’Connor 1999; Veenstra 2001). Communities can also greatly benefit from increases in public participation in democratic processes that occur as a result of increases in education and awareness gained through volunteering with community-based activities. Conclusions Our research shows that outdoor recreation volunteers recognize important elements of their volunteering that provide value for the community and individuals, and that they believe outdoor recreation organizations do the same. It is important to note, however, that this was an exploratory study that took a broad approach to considering contributions through a limited sample, and it is difficult to generalize from interviews of just thirteen members of the diverse and active community of Whitehorse volunteering. Nevertheless, although preliminary and limited, the results do provide a spectrum of perspectives upon which we can hypothesize and further investigate the implications of volunteering for the social economy from the point of view of the volunteers. Clearly, outdoor recreation is an important area of leisure, not only because it provides opportunities for fitness, health, teamwork, and individual sport, but also because of the indirect benefits associated with the volunteer-based organizations. Volunteering works to increase the variety of activities available to a community with a small population base, and to provide services that governments cannot feasibly sustain and that profit-oriented businesses would not pursue. The intangible value of volunteer-based organizations also contributes to our understanding of the social economy at the community level. Although much of the research on the social economy looks at the larger impacts and influences on that sector, it remains focused on the individuals who work to support social economy organizations. It

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is evident that elements such as giving back and providing opportunities are important in meeting social needs and sustainable community development. Therefore, through a social economy paradigm, our research confirms some of the details of the many activities at work in a community that we know are inherently valuable, but that cannot necessarily be measured. Our research also suggests some interesting points to consider regarding social economy and volunteering. As demonstrated in Figure 6.1, the social economy receives support from the government and the private sectors while filling the space between the two. The social economy, in turn, provides volunteer labour in the community and, in this case, the resulting outdoor recreation activities return service to the government and private sectors through such aspects as supporting government goals and providing business opportunities. Volunteer-based outdoor recreation organizations serve an important role in the social economy by providing a setting for individuals to become engaged in the community. Research shows that people become attached to organizations and to the sense of purpose they receive from working in the community. Again, outdoor recreation is an important venue for community involvement and civic engagement that contribute to sustainable community development as part of the social economy. Volunteers in this study emphasized the importance of being part of a team and providing meaningful contributions to the community; therefore, the benefits of being a volunteer-based organization might be lost if people do not feel valued and included in the service delivery process. For this reason, outdoor recreation organizations need to be wary of becoming reliant on monetary support and paid positions. Although the inclusion of paid personnel might become necessary to maintain and expand services, organizations must consider the possibility that this shift in focus could change the spirit of the activity that many volunteers value. Indeed, this was an area of conflict for the interviewees in this study, a tension which suggests that exploring the dynamics of monetary influences on volunteer views and experiences in relation to the social economy would be useful. The spirit of giving that makes volunteer-based organizations so valuable also suggests that governments should not interfere with the movements of individuals and organizations within the social economy since the voluntary nature of many of these ventures is a key feature of outdoor recreation activities. However, government support for

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volunteer-based initiatives through such things as appropriate levels of funding, access to physical resources, and logistical support remains necessary. As some of the participants in this study commented, it is sometimes difficult to meet the demands of community members regarding recreation opportunities without adequate support for such things as training volunteers, acquiring supplies, and even hiring personnel. These concerns were also raised in the surveys undertaken for the portraiture chapter of this volume. More research is recommended to investigate the significance of the outdoor setting of the volunteer experience and the specific benefits this provides compared with other volunteer experiences in recreation. Residents of Whitehorse greatly value the wilderness setting of their community and many enjoy taking part in outdoor activities. It would be of interest to see if the values of volunteering in outdoor recreation are congruent with the views of volunteers in recreational activities that do not use the outdoors or wilderness and if the views of volunteers regarding the community and individual benefits of outdoor recreation transferable to other recreation settings. It is safe to say that some aspects, such as the development of an appreciation for environmental concerns and the ability to spend time outdoors, cannot be applied to indoor recreation settings. Yet many of the ways in which outdoor recreation volunteers contribute to individual and community well-being do not appear to be contingent on the outdoors. Future research should examine the possibility of differences in contributions to the social economy that relate to the organizational and environmental settings of volunteering experiences. Finally, given the historical development of the social economy in the Canadian North and the distinctions evident through the profiles described in the portraiture chapter of this volume, an examination is needed of the differences in the experience of volunteering in the five regions and in the various types of communities in the Canadian North. REFERENCES Arai, S.M. 1997. “Volunteers within a Changing Society: The Use of Empowerment Theory in Understanding Serious Leisure.” World Leisure & Recreation 39 (3): 19–22. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/10261133.1997.9674074 Arai, S.M. 2000. “Typology of Volunteers for a Changing Sociopolitical Context: The Impact on Social Capital, Citizenship, and Civil Society.”

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Society and Leisure 23 (2): 327–52. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/07053436.2000 .10707534 Braun, H., and A. Caster. 2001. “Civil Commitment: The Contribution of Volunteering to Building.” In Social Capital and Community in Canada and Germany, ed. C.B. Ferguson and L.W. Roberts, 53–65. Winnipeg: St. John’s College Press. Burden, J. 2000. “Community Building, Volunteering and Action Research.” Society and Leisure 23 (2): 353–70. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/07053436.2000 .10707535 Caldwell, L.L., and K.L. Andereck. 1994. “Motives for Initiating and Continuing Membership in a Recreation-related Voluntary Association.” Leisure Sciences 16 (1): 33–44. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/01490409409513215 Canadian Social Economy Research Partnerships. n.d. “Building and Strengthening Communities through the Social Economy.” Victoria, BC: Canadian Social Economy Hub. Available online at http://socialeconomyhub .ca/sites/socialeconomyhub.ca/files/socialeconomybookletenfinal.pdf; accessed 14 November 2008. Cnaan, R.A., and R.S. Goldberg-Glen. 1991. “Measuring Motivation to Volunteer in Human Services.” Journal of Applied Behavioral Science 27 (3): 269–84. http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/0021886391273003 C. Sparks Consulting. 2007. Active Yukon Monitoring Database & Active Yukon Contacts Database. Whitehorse, YT: C. Sparks Consulting. November. Dennis, S., and E.H. Zube. 1988. “Voluntary Association Membership of Outdoor Recreationists: An Exploratory Study.” Leisure Sciences 10 (4): 229–45. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/01490408809512194 Evans, M. 2006. “The Social Economy and the Shadowy Side of the Life Course.” Horizons Policy and Research Initiative 8 (2): 48–53. Fasenfest, D., P. Ciancanelli, and L.A. Reese. 1997. “Value Exchange and the Social Economy Framework and Paradigm Shift in Urban Policy.” International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 21 (1): 7–22. http://dx.doi .org/10.1111/1468-2427.00055 Glover, T.D. 2004. “The ‘Community’ Center and the Social Construction of Citizenship.” Leisure Sciences 26 (1): 63–83. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/ 01490400490272486 Hall, M.H., M.L. de Wit, D. Lasby, D. McIver, T. Evers, C. Johnston, J. MacAuley, et al. 2005. Cornerstones of Community: Highlights of the National Survey of Nonprofit and Voluntary Organisations, cat. 61-533-XIE. Ottawa: Statistics Canada. Hall, M., D. Lasby, G. Gumulka, and G. Tyron. 2006. Caring Canadians, Involved Canadians: Highlights from the 2004 Canada Survey of Giving, Volunteering and Participation, cat. 71-542-XIE. Ottawa: Statistics Canada.

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Han, K. 2007. “Motivation and Commitment of Volunteers in a Marathon Running Event.” PhD diss., Florida State University. Hemingway, J.L. 2006. “Leisure, Social Capital, and Civic Competence.” Leisure 30 (2): 341–55. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/14927713.2006.9651356 Inukshuk Planning & Development, PERC, and Malloch Graham + Associates. 2007. 2007 City of Whitehorse Parks and Recreation Master Plan. Whitehorse, YK: City of Whitehorse, Parks and Recreation Department. Janoski, T., M. Musick, and J. Wilson. 1998. “Being Volunteered? The Impact of Social Participation and Pro-social Attitudes on Volunteering.” Sociological Forum 13 (3): 495–519. http://dx.doi.org/10.1023/A:1022131525828 Johnston, M., and G.D. Twynam. 2009. “The Social Economy and a Special Event: Community Involvement in the Whitehorse 2007 Canada Winter Games.” Northern Review 30 (Spring): 99–117. Jones, K.S. 2006. “Giving and Volunteering as Distinct Forms of Civic Engagement: The Role of Community Integration and Personal Resources in Formal Helping.” Nonprofit and Voluntary Sector Quarterly 35 (2): 249–66. http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/0899764006287464 Laverie, D.A., R.E. McDonald. 2007. “Volunteer Dedication: Understanding the Role of Identity Importance on Participation Frequency.” Journal of Macromarketing 27 (3): 274–88. http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/0276146707302837 LePage, D. 2006. “The Social Purchasing Portal: A Tool to Blend Values.” Horizons Policy and Research Initiative 8 (2): 35–9. MacKinnon, S. 2006. “The Social Economy in Manitoba: Designing Public Policy for Social Inclusion.” Horizons Policy and Research Initiative 8 (2): 26–34. Neamtam, N. 2005. “The Social Economy: Finding a Way between the Market and the State.” Policy Options 73: 71–6. Omoto, A.M., and M. Snyder. 2002. “Considerations of Community: The Context and Process of Volunteerism.” American Behavioral Scientist 45 (5): 846–67. http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/0002764202045005007 Painter, A. 2006. “The Social Economy of Canada: Concepts, Data and Management.” Horizons Policy Research Initiative 8 (2): 30–4. Propst, D.B., D.L. Jackson, and M.H. McDonough. 2003. “Public Participation, Volunteerism, and Resource-based Recreation Management in the U.S.: What do Citizens Expect?” Society and Leisure 26 (2): 389–415. http://dx.doi .org/10.1080/07053436.2003.10707628 Pronk, N.P., A.W. Tan, and P. O’Connor. 1999. “Obesity, Fitness, Willingness to Communicate and Health Care Costs.” Medicine and Science in Sports and Exercise 31 (11): 1535–43. http://dx.doi.org/10.1097/00005768-1999 11000-00007

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Quarter, J. 1992. Canada’s Social Economy: Co-operatives, Non-profits, and Other Community Enterprises. Toronto: James Lorimer. Quarter, J., J. Sousa, B.J. Richmond, and I. Carmichael. 2001. “Comparing Member-based Organisations within a Social Economy Framework.” Nonprofit and Voluntary Sector Quarterly 30 (2): 351–75. http://dx.doi.org/ 10.1177/0899764001302009 Restakis, J. 2006. “Defining the Social Economy – The BC Context.” Prepared for the BC Social Economy Roundtable. Vancouver: British Columbia Co-operative Association. Seippel, O. 2006. “Sport and Social Capital.” Acta Sociologica 49 (2): 169–83. http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/0001699306064771 Sharpe, E.K. 2006. “Resources at the Grassroots of Recreation: Organisational Capacity and Quality of Experience in a Community Sport Organisation.” Leisure Sciences 28 (4): 385–401. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/014904006 00745894 Silverberg, K.E., S.J. Backman, and K.F. Backman. 2000. “Understanding Parks and Recreation Volunteers: A Functionalist Perspective.” Society and Leisure 23 (2): 453–75. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/07053436.2000.10707539 Southcott, C., and V. Walker. 2009. “A Portrait of the Social Economy in Northern Canada.” Northern Review 30 (Spring): 13–36. Statistics Canada. 2007. 2006 Community Profiles. Cat. 92-591-XWE. Ottawa: Statistics Canada. Available online at http://www12.statcan.ca/census -recensement/2006/dp-pd/prof/92-591/details/page.cfm?Lang=E&Geo1= CSD&Code1=6001009&Geo2=PR&Code2=60&Data=Count&SearchText=W hitehorse&SearchType=Begins&SearchPR=60&B1=All&Custom=; accessed 10 April 2008. Veenstra, G. 2001. “Social Capital & Health.” Isuma: Canadian Journal of Policy Research 2 (1): 72–81. Yukon Executive Council. 2007. Yukon Monthly Statistical Review. March. Whitehorse: Bureau of Statistics.

7 Beyond Their Most Obvious Face: The Reach of Cooperatives in the Canadian North I A N M ACP H E R S O N

The expansion of Eurocentric, North Atlantic societies around the world gathered momentum in the 1950s, made possible by communication and transportation changes and the triumphalism of the winning side in the Second World War; it was made seemingly necessary by the global competition of the Cold War. It included deepening relationships with, and efforts at increasing control over, Indigenous peoples, wherever they were found – the ending of a process of North Atlantic expansionism that had begun centuries earlier. It included many attempts, several of them at least partially successful, to use cooperatives as a way to stimulate economic growth and social development, to bridge differences between “developed” and “developing” countries, as many people interpreted the world at the time. For the more idealistic implementers of cooperative action, the hope was that cooperatives, through their democratic processes and their embedded, more permanent local ownership structures, would enable Indigenous peoples to organize long-term institutional tools that would help them become masters of their own economic and social destinies (see, for example, Bonow 1978). Cooperatives could stimulate economic growth that could be more controlled “at home” than other forms of economic development. They could help install the rudiments of democracy, as that system was understood in the northern, “advanced” countries. More sinisterly, perhaps, particularly in the southern countries, cooperatives were a way to organize the products of the hinterlands for the market economies of the time, albeit a way of mobilizing that sometimes could be abused if manipulated by a few leaders or by outsiders when cooperatives were not operated as they should be.

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This chapter, using some of the approaches drawn from the field of Cooperative Studies (see MacPherson and McLaughlin-Jenkins 2008), explores the history of cooperatives in the Canadian Arctic as a case study in cooperative development. As pointed out in the introduction to this volume, the Social Economy Research Network of Northern Canada (SERNNoCa) project has noted the importance of cooperatives in many of the Indigenous communities of Nunavut and the Northwest Territories (although not as extensively in the Yukon).1 To better understand the unique aspects of the northern social economy, it is important to understand the processes behind the development of these cooperatives and the forces that keep them as key institutions in many Arctic communities. This chapter is concerned essentially with trying to understand the diverse ways in which northern co-ops have served their members and the communities in which they live. Cooperatives and Development In some ways, particularly in their formative and stabilizing periods, northern co-ops were greatly influenced by ideas brought to the region from the outside; they were part of a global emphasis on “development” that was a common international theme during the 1960s and 1970s. “Development” became a buzzword of those decades. Its roots lay in reactions to the economic adversities that were some of the most obvious legacies of the Second World War. During the late 1940s and the 1950s, many European countries embarked on successful, focused rebuilding programs, drawing on their own resources and such external assistance as they could find in, for example, the Marshall Plan and United Nations programs – approaches that helped them recover rapidly from the most damaging war in human history. They did so through systematic economic development (including significant cooperative expansion), strong government economic policies, the extensive mobilization of funds, both public and private, to make growth possible, and the encouragement of individual and collective entrepreneurship to provide the necessary momentum. The same pattern could be found in Asia, most notably in the remarkable cases of Japan and South Korea (see Birchall 1997, 175–8, 180–4).

1 Part of the SERNNoCa project included the development of a Galleria of Northern Co-ops; see http://yukonresearch.yukoncollege.yk.ca/sern/projects/.

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These successes encouraged the application of development approaches to the poorer nations and regions in the southern hemisphere as the northern empires withdrew (or were forced to withdraw) from most of their overseas colonies. That strategy continued, even intensified, after independence had been gained. Many of the emerging nations of the world had to address a series of ongoing challenges and to adjust quickly if they were to participate in the developing global economy. The strategy included the encouragement of cooperative enterprise and cooperative approaches to mobilizing communities. Most of the key independence leaders – for example, Nehru, Ghandi, Nkrumah, Williams, and Nyerere – promoted cooperatives of different types in different ways and for different purposes (Birchall 1997, 135–43, 167–73). “Development” programs also became a not-too-subtle way in which the Eastern and Western rivals of the Cold War sought to ingratiate themselves with the developing countries of Asia, Africa, and Latin America. As a result, “Eastern” and “Western” forms of cooperatives developed around the world. The history of cooperative development is an important if little examined dimension of the last fifty years of the twentieth century. It was buffeted by the quarrellings of the bigger ideological camps and the posturings of the superpowers, but it also carried within it the seeds of alterative economic and social formulations. It can be seen as part of the cultural baggage and institutional commitments of people who moved with the empires, although it came in more muted forms. It can also be interpreted as a significant contribution to local and regional efforts to develop sustainable independent communities and nations. That is as true for the Canadian Arctic as for anywhere else. The importance of “development” was recognized internationally in many ways, but perhaps the most obvious was the creation of the United Nations Development Programme in 1965. It brought together the UN’s Extended Program in Technical Assistance and its Special Fund to create resources particularly for “underdeveloped” countries and peoples around the world. Its emergence stimulated interest in development programs – overseas and “at home” – in several countries, including Canada. Within English-Canadian cooperative circles, the interest in cooperative development was first most evident within the community development program of the Antigonish Movement and the widening interests of the Cooperative Union of Canada (CUC). Some of the CUC leaders, notably A.B. MacDonald, Ralph Staples, and Alex

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Laidlaw,2 had become interested in the international cooperative development at meetings of the International Cooperative Alliance, one of the foremost supporters of development programs in Europe and of the UN’s awakening interest in international development. The three men helped create the Co-operative Development Foundation in 1947, and Laidlaw and Staples developed “Co-operatives Everywhere” in 1962 (MacDonald had died in 1952). They were fundraising efforts on behalf of cooperative development activities at home and abroad.3 They contributed to the beginnings of English-Canadian programs in the Caribbean, and helped finance English-Canadian involvement in the encouragement and development of cooperatives in the Canadian Arctic (MacPherson 2009a, 156–67, 176–85). In Quebec the Mouvement des caisses Desjardins, from the time of Alphonse Desjardins onward, had always shown an interest in international cooperative development. In the 1960s, as with their counterparts in the CUC, its leaders began to examine specific international development projects, and saw the possibilities of encouraging the international expansion of cooperatives as a way of meeting some of the world’s most pressing social and economic needs. They were receptive, therefore, to the idea of northern development as it gathered momentum during the 1960s, and offered valuable support, much of it through its training centre, the Institut coopératif Desjardins.4 Cooperatives in the Canadian North The northern Canadian co-ops were part of an international phenomenon in the 1960s and 1970s.5 The issues of culture, economic inequality, member development, and community relationships they raised were far from unique in the developing projects of the international 2 It is noteworthy that MacDonald and Laidlaw were trained within the Antigonish Movement and Staples was much influenced by it. 3 The Co-operative Development Foundation at first was concerned only with the development of cooperatives in Canada, but by the mid-1950s was becoming interested in the international cooperative development; see MacPherson (1985, 166–72; 2009a, 189). 4 In 1970 the Mouvement des caisses Desjardins formed the Compagnie internationale de développement régional to undertake its international development work. 5 Northern co-ops developed relatively quickly in the Northwest Territories and in what is now Nunavik and Nunavut. As Lionais and Hardy point out in this volume, their role in the Yukon is somewhat less important.

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cooperative movement of that time. This international background is important because it helped shape the attitudes of people who journeyed from southern Canada and Europe to promote the development of cooperatives in the Canadian North.6 Like co-op organizers in other countries, the northern cooperative promoters were consciously introducing an institutional form that, perhaps somewhat naively, they believed could be applied readily virtually anywhere – one that fitted a wide range of situations and that could be adapted to most, if not all, cultural contexts. They had firm convictions as to how it should be applied and developed. They emphasized the importance of education and training. They insisted on the formalities of regular meetings, the use of such guides as Robert’s Rules of Order, and the development of business methods – the adoption of accounting procedures, human resource policies, and product marketing drawn from Western practice. They sought to make the northern cooperatives they helped to organize locations for the significant exchange of ideas, practices, and culture. They created organizations in the Canadian North that were not unlike those one could find in stores, marketing co-ops, and financial cooperatives in the southern “developing” world – or that had been found earlier in southern Canada. The first Arctic cooperatives were established in 1959 at Kangiqsualujjuaq (George River) in Nouveau-Québec and in Killineq (Port Burwell) and Cape Dorset in the then Northwest Territories. Over the next four years, in large part because of the encouragement of the Department of Northern Affairs and National Resources and the efforts of northern civil servants, members of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, and some missionaries, the number of co-ops increased to sixteen. Also in 1959 the first gathering of northern co-op leaders took place in Frobisher Bay (Iqaluit). Organized by Northern Affairs, it was a remarkable event – in fact, the first pan-Arctic Inuit meeting ever held. It was particularly noteworthy because the bonds among Inuit leaders created there (and at a further conference in 1963 at Puvirnituq) would be important for

6 Many of the most important “missionaries” for cooperative development in the Canadian North were public servants, most prominently within the then Department of Northern Affairs and Natural Resources – notably, Paul Godt, James Houston, Donald Snowden, and Alexandr Sprudz. Sprudz and Godt were well trained in the cooperative movements of their native countries – respectively, Latvia and the Netherlands. Others were actual missionaries, mostly Roman Catholic, and included such people as Andrew Grousaert and André Steinmann.

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the cementing of relationships that helped shape the northern movement. They would also contribute significantly to the development of a region-wide Inuit consciousness. Arctic cooperatives expanded steadily throughout the 1960s and 1970s. In Nouveau-Québec, under the leadership of André Steinmann, an Oblate missionary, and Peter Murdoch, a former employee of the Hudson’s Bay Company, a group of associated cooperatives emerged along the east coast of Hudson Bay and on the shores of Ungava Bay. In 1967 five of them organized the Fédération des Coopératives du Nouveau-Québec (FCNQ; see Girard and Faubert-Mailloux 2001, 217–33). From the beginning the FCNQ reflected the more centralist and resourceful approach of Quebec cooperatives, notably the Mouvement des caisses Desjardins and La Co-op Fédérée (the apex organisation for agricultural cooperatives in Quebec). It is significant that the Mouvement des caisses Desjardins helped support the FCNQ’s manager for several years and that much of the early training of people for the co-ops of Nouveau-Québec took place in the Desjardins training centre. Northern co-ops outside Nouveau-Québec followed the less centralized, more independent cooperative traditions of anglophone Canada. Like the movement in southern English-speaking Canada, they faced the complex challenge of trying to unite cooperative developments across the enormity of Canada – except that, in its case, it faced the remarkable distances, cultural differences, and transportation costs of bringing people together who lived in the Yukon, Northwest Territories, and Labrador. In 1965, despite the challenges, southern leaders – from the federal government, the Canadian Handicrafts Guild, and the Cooperative Union of Canada – and leaders from several newly formed Arctic co-ops, created Canadian Arctic Producers (CAP) to market Inuit art. In 1972 co-op leaders from the North and the South organized the Canadian Arctic Cooperatives Federation (CACFL) to provide wholesaling and other services to the Arctic co-ops, many of which were becoming involved in the operation of consumer stores. In 1981 CAP and CACFL united to form Arctic Co-operatives Limited (ACL). Under the determined, resourceful leadership of Andrew Grousaert and Bill Lyell, it weathered some very difficult times during its stabilizing period in the 1980s and 1990s to become a well-established and profitable enterprise serving the northern cooperatives and their communities. There are several historical overviews of the Arctic movement (see MacPherson 2009b), although awareness of the northern cooperative

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experience is rare within general studies of the North. For many outsiders, visitors, business people, and researchers, it would appear, the “co-op” is just another store in many northern and especially Arctic communities. Its deeper and broader dimensions are not readily grasped or acknowledged, perhaps even by many northerners, despite the successes the co-ops have enjoyed and particularly given the roles they have played (MacPherson 2009b). The northern cooperatives went through the stages that are typical of successful cooperative development anywhere, although, because of the complexities of northern circumstances, each stage took longer than comparable developments elsewhere.7 The formative stage, which included the establishment of local cooperatives and the beginnings of federations to support them, occurred during the 1960s and early 1970s. All told, some sixty co-ops were established across the North, starting with the coastal communities and then developing in the forestland communities of the territories and Nouveau-Québec/Nunavik. Each northern cooperative has its own story. There was a mixture of “founders,” including people from both the South and North. All coops, though, ultimately depended upon the support of the Inuit and Dene people, and particularly the elders in each community, to succeed. In fact, in ways that are difficult for “outsiders” to comprehend – and that are perhaps impossible to measure – the cooperatives were readily acceptable because they could be seen as extensions of the informal cooperative activities necessary for survival in the Arctic – the collaborative hunting of seals and other animals, much of the fishing that Indigenous people undertook, and the familial gathering of other foods. Living a lonely, isolated, individualistic life is not a common alternative in the Canadian Arctic. Rather remarkably, therefore, cooperatives quickly became ingrained in the northern experience. Many Inuit came to view them, in fact, as their own invention – so much so that, when travelling south in the late 1970s, just a decade or so after the founding of the co-ops, they were surprised to see that southerners had also “invented” them. Although there were certainly differences in the ways people in communities viewed their co-ops, the sense of ownership generally ran deep – deeper (one suspects) than how members of co-ops in the South viewed their organizations.

7 For a description of the managerial dimensions of Arctic co-ops see MacPherson (1991).

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The truth was that each cooperative had to respond carefully to community needs from the beginning; if it did not, on a purely business level, it would end up with a large inventory that was difficult, if not impossible, to turn over. Cooperatives were also operating on thin margins, existing in situations where there was little disposable income: cash income was low, unemployment was high, transition to a cash economy was difficult, and government investment and support were crucially important. The search for self-sustaining economic activities was pervasive and daunting; there was a lingering need for continuing practices associated with the traditional economy – notably hunting, fishing, and trapping – which created special demands within the cooperatives. There were few products to be shipped out and therefore few ways to make a living. The co-ops had to find their way in what was always a fragile economic order – their stores would never be easy to organize, sustain, and manage. There was little room for error and, frequently, a challenging learning curve for the people involved, few of whom had any business experience. Despite the obstacles, most of the co-ops survived, and during the 1970s and 1980s the northern movement became stabilized. The central organizations, the FCNQ in Nouveau-Québec and CAP/CACFL/ ACL in other regions, became pillars of the northern movement. They were observers, suppliers, inspectors, and advisors of the local co-ops. They provided most of the training for elected and employed leaders, as well as for members of staff. They provided advice and assistance for the construction of stores and other buildings associated with the cooperatives – and construction in the Arctic is always a challenging and distinct activity. They were, in effect, the movement’s bankers. They were the primary lobbyists with government, an important dimension of success in the Arctic for cooperatives as for all kinds of economic activities and businesses. The role of the central organization in helping local co-ops in the North respond to members’ needs is unlike that of most other central institutions in the international movement. And, at the base of this uniqueness lies the varied needs of members and their communities – and how they shaped the cooperatives they largely developed. Working with local cooperatives, the federations spearheaded the movement’s building phase as the number of northern co-ops grew during the 1980s and 1990s. The building phase was marked by the increasing diversification of the business activities of local co-ops, the differing challenges they faced, and the resultant changes within the operations

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of the federations. In the process, the co-ops became one of the largest employers in the region and, in their versatility, rivalled government in what they could do and tried to do for local people. Within the local co-op organizations and the regional federations, Inuit and Dene people increased their leadership role, particularly on boards and increasingly in management. It was a distinct and important benefit for the Inuit and Dene people, a form of “upward mobility” of some considerable significance. Almost all the staff members were Aboriginal people. Several Indigenous people, especially many Inuks, moved on from their co-op beginnings to enter politics, work for government, and lead other Indigenous organizations. The co-ops, in effect, became incubators for leadership development and entrepreneurial training. They contributed, for example, to the training of many Inuit politicians – by 2000 one-half of the members of the Nunavut Legislative Assembly had started their “political” careers as elected officials in the cooperative movement. The employment and training – formal and informal – generated by the co-ops was and is an important contribution to the northern economy and to northern society. From the late 1990s onward, like co-ops elsewhere that have achieved stability and engaged in significant growth, the northern co-ops have gone through periods of reformulation as they have responded to external and internal pressures. All around them the northern marketplace has changed. As transportation in and out of the region has improved and as computer-assisted buying has grown, there are more ways in which northerners can purchase what they want. In many communities the transient population, attracted by the possibilities of northern mineral and petroleum development, contribute to, but also distort and complicate, trade. The co-ops have added new services, especially in telecommunications – most notably in television services. And beneath all the bustle, life in the communities has been changing dramatically as the traditional ways decline and as health and social issues become more serious. The impact on the co-ops of all these changes has been significant and incessant. The growth and transition of the cooperative businesses, however, are only two aspects of northern cooperative development. Looking beyond the store floor, the cooperatives should be seen as multifaceted institutions that reach deeply into the communities in which they function. Specifically, to be grasped fully, the northern cooperatives, like cooperatives in other locations, should be seen in five different if related contexts: how they relate to and represent their memberships; how they

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are connected to their communities; how they relate to other cooperatives, both nearby and far away; how they relate to government, a particularly important point in the North; and how they are led and managed, given the other four sets of relationships. Because of space limitations, this paper focuses on only two of these aspects: the co-ops’ relationships with their members and with their communities, two dimensions that tend to be passed over in the literature on the subject. They were chosen because they help make the point that there is much more to Arctic cooperatives than the rows of canned goods and supplies that one might call their most obvious face.

Membership A key fact of the northern cooperatives is that their memberships are made up almost entirely of Indigenous peoples. Within any of the communities and co-op membership groups, there are always a few people from southern Canada and other parts of the world, some of whom decide to live permanently in the North. Mostly, though, they are sojourners who stay in the North for only a few weeks or months – perhaps one or two years. That means that the effective and continuing co-op memberships are overwhelmingly Inuit and Dene – 90 per cent is the common percentage. It has been that way since the beginning, and in most communities it likely will remain that way for the foreseeable future. That simple fact means that northern co-ops have tended to reflect the experiences of Indigenous peoples over the past sixty years. When the co-ops were first formed, many Indigenous peoples in the region, particularly the Inuit, were still on the land, living in many ways as they had done for millennia. As they came into the communities, many families practised a mixed economy, fishing and hunting and accessing the resources of the land and sea as much as they could, competing for the very few jobs that were available in the communities, and purchasing what they could afford in the stores. For them (and the southern sojourners) the stores could never be the source of inexpensive food and supplies that such stores are in the South, given the high costs imposed by distance from suppliers, infrequent and expensive shipping systems, and the limited scale of the commodities in demand. The land and the sea still nurtured. Nevertheless, migration to communities proceeded inexorably. Government insisted upon it and, as health issues deepened and the

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pressures for expanding educational opportunities grew, there was little choice. Moreover, particularly in the early 1950s, the plight of some northern peoples caused by health issues, notably chest problems, or from food shortages when the caribou did not appear became a well-publicized national disgrace (see Harrington 1952). The federal government responded in part by encouraging migration to communities, where social services could be provided more regularly and effectively. For Inuit and Dene the accelerated move into communities marked a mammoth transformation of their lives: a shift from seasonal migrations to permanent residences, from self-reliance to increasing dependency upon government grants and support, from traditional to southern medicine, from familial, informal education to formal education, and from limited and local communications to radio and eventually television and the Internet. The extent of change over a generation or so was dramatic, rarely duplicated anywhere else in the world at that time for its speed and inexorable impact. What then was the nature of the relationship between the co-ops and their members in the early years? How did it change? One aspect of that relationship was that the co-ops became an important source of employment. Several co-ops, such as Cape Dorset, Puvirnituq, Lake Harbour (Kimmirut), Pond Inlet (Mittimatalik), and Holman Island, stimulated northern art production – notably carvings and prints – for distribution in southern Canada and Europe. It was and remains an important business, one of the few that flowed naturally from the migration of the Indigenous peoples from the land to communities; one that built upon the artistic talents of many Indigenous peoples, especially the Inuit; one that ultimately engaged hundreds of Inuit artists and sculptors. For many people outside the region, Inuit art became the first and most arresting way in which they could begin to grasp the distinctive qualities of the Inuit worldview – their spiritual quests and their understanding of the world around them. It was not, however, a field of activity without controversy. Very quickly, for example, a quandary developed as to whether the art should remain true to Inuit beliefs, particularly as they changed, or whether it should be produced in the most commercially profitable styles, conforming to what buyers expected it to be, meaning that it could be sold more readily. Inuit art – what it examines, how it is produced, and who the artists are – reflects fundamental questions of identity and adaptation. These themes can be seen readily in any gallery that shows it and any retrospective that examines

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its development over the past sixty years. They are apparent in any of the cooperatives that encouraged the production of Inuit art. It is perhaps the most obviously important dimension of the cultural contributions of the Arctic cooperatives. It is a perpetual dialogue that occurs largely within cooperative circles. The northern co-ops, particularly in Nouveau-Québec, developed other businesses in the early years – notably, a successful Arctic char fisheries business that catered to a growing demand in southern Canada. A few of them also became involved in the fur business, but it proved to be a highly risky activity because of changing demand and the impact of anti-trapping campaigns. As the years went by, co-ops developed successful hotel businesses, undertaken partly to serve the needs of people coming to the region to explore its mineral and petroleum wealth. They also served an expanding number of tourists coming from outside Canada, including the United States and several Asian and European countries.8 All of these activities became important to co-op members for the work they created and the training they necessitated; they significantly affected how many cooperatives developed – what they did, how they were organized, and how they connected with one another. Ultimately, though, members primarily related to co-ops by purchasing the goods and services they provided. As the stores grew, they became vital community gathering places, especially as they developed coffee bars and restaurants. Many of them became particularly important as gathering places for young people. The stores also provided community-based competition to the existing stores in the region, notably the Hudson’s Bay Company. Because of their democratic structure and the transparency provided by directors elected from the community and required to report on each store’s business activities regularly, the stores gave confidence to members that the prices they paid for goods and services were as reasonable as possible – and whatever surpluses were generated from sales would be returned in the form of dividends.9 The cooperative structure usually provided a valuable “watchdog” service for the communities they served.

8 The hotels operated by the members of ACL are organized into a chain, Inns North. 9 In 2010 the co-ops associated with ACL returned some $9 million to members (out of total annual sales of $182 million) – an important dimension of the northern economy and a significant contribution to family budgets.

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The cooperative form also has proved to be remarkably adroit at responding to the growing needs of small communities that otherwise have limited capacity to meet them. The Tununiq Sauniq Co-op in Mittimatalik (Pond Inlet), for example, operates numerous businesses, the most prominent of which are a retail and grocery store, a restaurant, a hotel, the community post office, fuel delivery, cable television, property rentals, outfitting and adventure holidays services, snowmobile repair, and an art store. It is so effective at opening new businesses that some claim it makes it difficult for others to do so, and it rivals local government for responding to social and economic needs. Entrepreneurship is widespread in the Canadian Arctic, but much of it is through communitybased initiatives, such as cooperatives, not through the essentially individualistic efforts more common in the South. Members of well-operated cooperative stores have come to expect them, therefore, to meet their needs more effectively, not only for food supplies, but also for clothing, hardware, appliances, and other supplies – including snowmobiles as they have become increasingly important in the North. Today, most stores are mini-department stores, stocked with a wide diversity of goods and foodstuffs. In the process, co-ops have contributed to a consumer revolution in the Arctic region – for better and worse. The development of the stores as enterprises during their formative periods initially depended largely upon southern (or non-Aboriginal) leadership because of legal requirements, the complexities of business operations, and the need to communicate in English or French with southern suppliers. During that time, more particularly outside Quebec, the development of co-ops, regardless of the idealism and best intentions of southern organizers or non-Aboriginal leaders in northern communities, reflected paternalistic attitudes, a common dimension of the “development” mentality of the time, even though in the Arctic it was more muted than elsewhere. Paternalism is not uncommon in the early stages of cooperative development, and in some ways it can be beneficial,10 but it is better if transcended quickly. Inuit quickly absorbed the self-reliant and independent nature of cooperative activism, especially as they realized that co-ops were 10 Paternalistic attitudes are common in the history of the international cooperative movement, and, as long as they do not last too long, can be helpful, even essential. Rita Rhodes, in her studies of the development of cooperatives in the British Empire/ Commonwealth, makes the point persuasively; see, for example, Rhodes (2008, 2012).

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important sources of employment and not just a way to sell whatever art they could produce and that met the required standard. From the beginning, the staffs of the northern stores were predominantly Inuit and Dene, and the co-ops employed more Inuit and Dene as they developed. A high percentage of the employees were women, another example of why female employment became so important in the communities. Although they had difficulty competing with government and some other employers in the wages and benefits they could offer, the co-ops provided good careers for many northern people. Employment in many stores was on a somewhat flexible basis to allow for family, hunting, and fishing activities. In some co-ops, at least, it still is – an acknowledgment of the importance of cultural and economic pressures: “country food” remains an important dimension of the North, a necessity, but also a reflection of Indigenous “food culture.” Often there is no choice but to supplement the food one buys in the stores. Finding the funds to live on the common southern Canadian diet can be prohibitively expensive, given the cost of goods imported from the South and the limited cash incomes of many families. Relying to a significant extent on country food is also healthier. Northerners were no more knowledgeable or careful about the kind of mainstream food they ate – with its high levels of fat and sodium – than were most southerners in North America during the 1970s, 1980s, and 1990s. Nor were the stores as knowledgeable or responsible in promoting the food they sold as they would try to become after 2000. Indigenous people became more prominent in junior and then senior management positions as the co-ops stabilized. In Nouveau-Québec, concerted efforts were made from the beginning by the leadership, particularly Steinmann and Murdoch, to train Inuks to assume more senior management roles, including that of general manager. It was a successful initiative because of their determination and the support of southern cooperatives, notably the Mouvement des caisses Desjardins. It was also made possible because cooperatives in Nouveau-Québec/ Nunavik were closely linked – although that did not mean they agreed on all matters. Because of those linkages, the FCNQ managerial approach helped local co-ops in a variety of ways, such as with accounting systems, managing cash flow, and ordering supplies. Learning the necessary management skills was less onerous in Nouveau-Québec/ Nunavik than in the widely scattered and independent co-ops in other parts of the North. The career path for Inuit within the FCNQ cooperative system had a higher ceiling.

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In total, then, members have at least the opportunity to relate to northern co-ops in a number of ways. In turn, co-ops have tried to expand and deepen that relationship. Membership in northern co-ops is not the same (and should not be) as “customership” in other businesses – in the region or beyond.

Communities Many of the communities that emerged or started to grow during the 1950s and 1960s were developed in places that Indigenous peoples had used in their annual migrations. Some, however, brought together people who had had little to do with one another historically, meaning that building a “community” took some time to achieve. The basic units for most Inuit are associated with family and kinship ties. They are the glue that holds people together and encourages several kinds of traditional and spontaneous cooperative practices – from hunting to fishing to the collection of berries to providing the kinds of help that are crucial for surviving difficult times. Thus, when people from different family groups found themselves in the same community, there was the inevitable learning period before they could work effectively together – as is always the case when people from different backgrounds come together. In some instances, such as at Grise Fiord and Resolute Bay, communities were created through dramatic and harsh relocations, a particular challenge in the subsequent building of resilient, confident communities. The cooperatives became one of the institutions that could represent collective community interests forcefully and give scope to local loyalties. They helped intensify the bonds of association in the northern communities. Part of that came from their values and principles: they were open to everyone; they tried in their practices to live up to the cooperative values of “democracy, equality, equity and solidarity.”11 They generally encouraged community participation in co-op affairs, at a minimum through their annual meetings. In fact, the Arctic stores attracted – and continue to attract – the highest percentage of members to their annual meetings of any of the cooperative groups in Canada. Most important, Aboriginal people were elected to their boards 11 International Co-operative Alliance, “Co-operative Identity, Values & Principles”; available online at http://ica.coop/en/whats-co-op/co-operative-identity-valuesprinciples.

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from the beginning, and the percentage of Indigenous board members has increased steadily. In the process, the co-ops helped contribute to the protection and preservation of Indigenous culture and to the economic independence of northern communities as they developed. As Zebedee Nungak recalls, “[t]he Co-operatives … were great places where Inuit could express their aspirations, their profound wishes for their communities and their region … [T]here was a very definite seed that was planted in the first Co-op meetings where people started talking about doing things for themselves, running the show, expressing self-determination in ways that government either federal or provincial could never have imagined. People were becoming aware of their identity, and their rights as a collective” (quoted in Girard and Faubert-Mailloux 2001, 219). It is a sentiment shared by others. An anonymous informer commented to Anna Tulugak and Peter Murdoch (2007, 7): “We felt we were losing our old way of life and with it the ability to control our own survival. We felt more and more under the control of “bosses” that knew little of our culture and our way of life. When we began to hear about co-operatives, it seemed to us the system would give us a way to regain some of the control we previously had.” Louis Tapardjuk, from Igloolik and a former president of ACL, observed, “[w]e’re all aware that the co-op is the best vehicle for joining the two activities of money and culture.”12 This early recognition of the possibilities cooperatives offered for the protection of culture and as a support for a growing Inuit consciousness meant that the external development emphasis brought from outside declined quickly. It was replaced by an increasingly strong sense of Inuit and Dene consciousness. The strength of the cultural dimension within cooperatives is further evident in the widespread use in the stores of the different Inuktitut dialects across the North. It can be seen in the support the stores give to cultural events – the Arctic Winter Games, music, dance, and drumming, as well as art. Assessing the role of culture in northern co-ops is

12 Quoted in Mitchell (1997, 155). Tapardjuk started his public service with the Igloolik Co-operative at age twelve as stock boy and eventually became the manager. He served on the Igloolik Co-op Board of Directors, which he represented in ACL, and was president of ACL from 1976 to 1981. He has been a member of the Nunavut Assembly since 2004 and has served as minister for several departments over the years.

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not simple, but it should not be ignored or undervalued, as it too often has been in the existing literature. As carriers of Inuit and Dene culture and community ambitions, however, the cooperatives did not have a monopoly. From the 1960s onward, the Inuit and Dene peoples have developed many institutions to reflect those ambitions. The drive to create Nunavut and to assert the independent strength of Nouveau-Québec/Nunavik created powerful organizations centrally committed to those objectives. The co-ops, at best, could be only sympathetic supporters. As federal, provincial, territorial, and municipal governments were attracted to the possibilities of development corporations as a way to stimulate northern economic development, interest in the further application of the cooperative model lost some of its lustre, particularly in Nouveau-Québec/Nunavik, but also in some other northern regions. Inuit leaders and families, the Indigenous elites of the North, fractured, developing different and competing loyalties to organizations and other ideas on development and to the competing interests of families. At the same time, the sudden and extensive interest in the North by wealthy and powerful resource companies and banks seemed to offer immense wealth for the region. Government support for cooperatives declined over the years, making start-ups – always difficult – even more challenging. The idea of further co-op development and the further application of the co-op model dissipated, and now rarely seems to enter into discussions of northern development, even though its applicability to social services, health, and housing arguably could be considerable (see MacPherson 2009b). In the North, as elsewhere, the application of the co-op model has tended to be partly absorbed and then diminished and ultimately ignored by competing approaches to economic and social development, unless it is continuously, consciously, and conspicuously explored. Conclusion It is wrong to reduce the cooperatives of the North to simple businesses functioning like all the others in the marketplace – to think of them as stores much like any other. They are institutions that carry much within their particular structures, practices, and value systems – institutions that have always related to their members and communities in profound and changing ways. They began as carriers of a range of assumptions associated with international development thought and practice

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of the 1960s and 1970s. That approach was quickly transformed as Inuit and Dene interpreted their cooperatives in their own ways and for their own purposes. Very quickly, the co-ops became less a conduit for well-intentioned external aspirations and more a vehicle for northern development by northerners. Cooperatives became locations for cultural debates, exchanges, and transference. Like all cooperatives, they functioned within very specific contexts – contexts that need always to be kept in mind by those who would seek to understand them, whether they live in the North or elsewhere. In fact, it is the continuous and powerful impact of their contexts that makes the study of cooperatives particularly valuable. It is their contexts that give them their special relevance. Rather than being simple businesses to be understood primarily through bottom-line analysis, they should be seen as important windows into the history of the past fifty years of the Canadian North. They should be viewed as key aspects of how people in the North have accommodated change and sought to control it. The co-ops provide rich insights because of the ways in which they must relate to their members and their communities, as well as to how they relate to the cooperative movement of which they are a part and to government, which, particularly in the North, plays a vital role. They are especially interesting because of their need to develop unique managerial and governance approaches that can best deal with these relationships. In this chapter I have focused on member and community relations because those dimensions typically are considered only in passing in the existing literature. I have sought to show that these aspects are central to the northern co-op experience – just as they are (but often even less obviously) in how co-ops function in other places. Member and community relations lie at the heart of co-op distinctiveness; they form the core of what they are about. There are many examples, not least in the co-ops that were demutualized in southern Canada in recent years, of where that central point was lost. When patronizing one’s co-op becomes simply an economic transaction, the essence of what it means to be a co-op is at risk, if it is not already forgotten. Given the ways that northern co-ops are embedded in the communities and memberships they serve, reflecting upon them within the field of Cooperative Studies, therefore, is a useful exercise on another level; it is yet another example of how seeing the

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world through northern eyes can help explain much about what is happening globally – one more way in which southerners can learn from the northern experience. But what does this emphasis on membership and communities suggest about the future of northern cooperatives? Currently the northern regions are undergoing remarkable transformations, changes that run particularly deep because they come in the wake of a previous period of significant change. People in these regions who have lived through the past half-century have seen and endured much. The coming decades offer even more of the same. Cooperatives have been an important part of what has recently been; they can be as important – or more so – in what is coming. The impact of global warming, and what that might mean for animal life and economic development, can only be surmised. It is increasingly clear, though, that it will transform the basis of much of northern life. It will make many northern communities even more the foci of substantial outside interest as the chase for northern resources speeds up and as questions of sovereignty sharpen. The resultant ebb and flow of populations in many communities will have both positive and negative effects. How can the co-ops best adjust to such fluctuations? How will members sustain their control? Will they? What will the increasing numbers of sojourners demand and how will the stores adjust? Will they retain their cultural commitments? Will their leadership cadres change in outlook and intent? What difference will it make if they do? An altering and fluctuating member base always makes managing a cooperative more difficult – although it can also open up new opportunities for business development. While it is reasonable to assume that the further opening of the North will bring expanded opportunities and increased income for some people in the region, there will also likely be increased social pressures and a continuing scramble for meaningful employment among many. The youthful population of the North will be hard pressed to take full advantage of the changes that occur despite the ongoing and expanding efforts to provide the training that will be necessary. There will be an even greater need for the kind of community-based entrepreneurship that the co-ops have represented. Despite all the efforts, though, there is no reason to assume that the problems associated with depression and the uncertainties typical of

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a largely Indigenous population in the midst of rapid change will speedily disappear. Health issues, such as diabetes and chest ailments, will continue to alarm. If those assumptions are correct, what does it mean for the cooperatives? Given their demonstrated capacity to respond to so many different kinds of pressures, should they seek out or foster an increased emphasis on health issues? Should they advocate and work for community-based cooperative approaches to health care and social services? Can the cooperative model be further enlisted to help meet the social issues already evident and looming larger as one looks into the future? Will other interest groups allow that to happen? Simultaneously, the process of undermining traditional societies associated with the migrations of people and the widespread, deepening impact of media, both conventional and social, will continue to threaten old ways and old bonds. What will those pressures mean for cooperatives? Will they become even more than in the past defenders of traditional ways, or will they become agents of change themselves, as they also did to some extent in helping transform the food cultures of the region in the last half of the twentieth century? Will they be able to sustain their well-established capacity to expand and to defend local economic and social development through community-based enterprise, or will they be swept aside, ignored by political leaders who do not appreciate sufficiently what they have done and what they are capable of doing? Will they be replaced increasingly by conventional mainstream business approaches of the South, which will bring with them different value systems and rationales? Only the members of their communities can answer these questions – a circumstance that invites considerable comfort given the cooperative movement’s past accomplishments and determinations, but that also highlights the risks that are invariably a part of the world unfolding in Canada’s northern lands. Small communities are not always well suited to control, resist, and selectively adapt to large external forces. They will feel the pressures exerted by competing leadership cadres promoting alternatives more beneficial to them and their southern allies. They may or may not embrace the cooperative options that in the past have contributed to the independence and resiliency of northerners, both as individuals and collectivities.

Appendix13 Statement on the Cooperative Identity

Definition A co-operative is an autonomous association of persons united voluntarily to meet their common economic, social, and cultural needs and aspirations through a jointly-owned and democratically-controlled enterprise. Values Co-operatives are based on the values of self-help, self-responsibility, democracy, equality, equity and solidarity. In the tradition of their founders, co-operative members believe in the ethical values of honesty, openness, social responsibility and caring for others. Principles The co-operative principles are guidelines by which co-operatives put their values into practice. 1. Voluntary and Open Membership Co-operatives are voluntary organisations, open to all persons able to use their services and willing to accept the responsibilities of membership, without gender, social, racial, political or religious discrimination. 13 The appendix is taken from International Co-operative Alliance, “Co-operative Identity, Values & Principles”; available online at http://ica.coop/en/whats-co-op/ co-operative-identity-values-principles.

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2. Democratic Member Control Co-operatives are democratic organisations controlled by their members, who actively participate in setting their policies and making decisions. Men and women serving as elected representatives are accountable to the membership. In primary co-operatives members have equal voting rights (one member, one vote) and co-operatives at other levels are also organised in a democratic manner. 3. Member Economic Participation Members contribute equitably to, and democratically control, the capital of their co-operative. At least part of that capital is usually the common property of the co-operative. Members usually receive limited compensation, if any, on capital subscribed as a condition of membership. Members allocate surpluses for any or all of the following purposes: developing their cooperative, possibly by setting up reserves, part of which at least would be indivisible; benefiting members in proportion to their transactions with the co-operative; and supporting other activities approved by the membership. 4. Autonomy and Independence Co-operatives are autonomous, self-help organisations controlled by their members. If they enter to agreements with other organisations, including governments, or raise capital from external sources, they do so on terms that ensure democratic control by their members and maintain their co-operative autonomy. 5. Education, Training and Information Co-operatives provide education and training for their members, elected representatives, managers, and employees so they can contribute effectively to the development of their co-operatives. They inform the general public – particularly young people and opinion leaders – about the nature and benefits of co-operation. 6. Co-operation among Co-operatives Co-operatives serve their members most effectively and strengthen the co-operative movement by working together through local, national, regional and international structures. 7. Concern for Community Co-operatives work for the sustainable development of their communities through policies approved by their members.

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REFERENCES Birchall, J. 1997. The International Co-operative Movement. Manchester: University of Manchester. Bonow, M. 1978. Co-operation in Developing Countries for Social and Economic Progress. Stockholm: Swedish Co-operative Centre. Girard, J.P., and I. Faubert-Mailloux. 2001. “Co-operatives in Québec Aboriginal Communities: Review of the Literature.” In A Report on Aboriginal Co-operatives in Canada: Current Situation and Potential for Growth, ed. L.H. Ketilson and I. MacPherson, 217–33. Saskatoon: University of Saskatchewan, Centre for the Study of Co-operatives. Harrington, R. 1952. The Face of the Arctic: A Cameraman’s Story in Words and Pictures of Five Journeys into the Far North. New York: H. Schulman. MacPherson, I. 1985. Building and Protecting the Co-operative Movement: A Brief History of the Co-operative Union of Canada. Ottawa: Co-operative Union of Canada. MacPherson, I. 1991. “‘If you only cover one of the breathing holes …’ Structured Markets and Co-operative Entrepreneurship – the Case of Co-operatives in the Northwest Territories.” In Old Pathways and New Directions: Towards a Sustainable Future, ed. M. Robinson, 58–76. Calgary: University of Calgary, Arctic Institute of North America. MacPherson, I. 2009a. A Century of Co-operation. Ottawa: Canadian Co-operative Association. MacPherson, I. 2009b. “What Has Been Learned Should Be Studied and Passed On: Why the Northern Co-operative Experience Needs to Be Considered More Seriously.” Northern Review 30 (Spring): 57–80. MacPherson, I., and E. McLaughlin-Jenkins. 2008. Integrating Diversities within a Complex Heritage: Essays in the Field of Co-operative Studies. Victoria, BC: New Rochdale Press. Mitchell, M. 1997. From Talking Chiefs to a Native Corporate Elite: The Birth of Class and Nationalism among Canadian Inuit. Montreal; Kingston, ON: McGillQueen’s University Press. Rhodes, R. 2008. “Paternalism in the Early British Consumer Co-operative Movement.” In Integrating Diversities within a Complex Heritage: Essays in the Field of Co-operative Studies, ed. I. MacPherson and E. McLaughlin-Jenkins, 129–50. Victoria, BC: New Rochdale Press. Rhodes, R. 2012. Empire and Co-operation: How the British Empire Used Co-operatives in Its Development Strategies. Edinburgh: John Donald. Tulugak, A., and P. Murdoch. 2007. A New Way of Sharing. Baie-D’Urfé, QC: Fedération des Coopératives du Nouveau-Québec.

8 Cooperatives and the Social Economy of the Yukon D O U G L I O N A I S A N D K I M H A R DY

Cooperatives are an important component of the social economy. They, along with other social enterprises, form the wealth-creating components of the social economy. They are often promoted as being particularly appropriate development vehicles for peripheral regions and isolated communities such as the Canadian North. As MacPherson (in this volume) points out, cooperatives are common in two of the three Canadian territories, but they remain quite rare in the Yukon (Southcott and Walker, in this volume). This chapter explores the socio-economic context of the Yukon in order to explain the lack of cooperatives in the territory. Hudson (2011) argues that three approaches can be used to understand regional (territorial) development of the social economy. In the welfare approach, the social economy is one that fills in for the market and the state, and the focus is on the social or moral imperative to provide vital services to the local community. This approach is a form of social economy based on redistributing wealth to those in need. Hudson argues that the welfare approach is associated with the neoliberal political project, as it “props up” the mainstream capitalist economy rather than questioning it or challenging it. The second approach to the social economy is one that focuses on alternative forms of economic organization that place social need ahead of private gain and capital accumulation. This approach thus might involve itself in wealth creation, but the surplus would be used for social need rather than for private purpose. The distribution of surplus in such alternative (social) enterprises is used for social purpose. Such a social enterprise does not challenge the mainstream system, capitalism, however; rather, it offers a parallel system. Hudson associates this approach with a social democratic political project.

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Finally, Hudson proposes a third, radical approach to the social economy that directly challenges the capitalist system by redefining the relationship between the economy and society. This approach is associated with a post-capitalist politics. Cooperatives would fit into the alternative approach whereby the social economy is involved in wealth-creating enterprise, but they would do so under a different set of values and logic. Cooperatives are popular “solutions” for peripheral regions, as they are often the only providers of services in rural areas. Mainstream companies often find it too costly to invest in these areas or they anticipate unacceptable levels of economic return (Canada 2006). Marginalized populations often adopt the cooperative model, as it allows them to organize collectively and participate in an economy from which they would otherwise be excluded or as a coping mechanism for regional economic problems (Rice and Lavoie 2005). As discussed in the introduction to this volume, the geographic isolation of the North creates an interesting contrast of economic activities. On the one hand, large corporations are interested in exploiting the resources of the North, and in so doing they impose a particularly colonial form of capitalist development. On the other hand, Indigenous people practise a mixed form of economy that weaves together traditional forms of subsistence hunting and fishing with a large public sector presence as well as participation in large-scale private sector–led resource extraction (Abele 1997). The presence of both a large corporate sector interest and a large public sector would seem to crowd out local control of the economy. The Yukon fits well into this description of the North. Its economy is dominated by resource-extraction industries, and the sector dominates both the political imagination and economic growth. The Yukon differs from the other territories in terms of its historical relationship to industry and government, both of which were much more active in the Yukon from much earlier on. Therefore, infrastructure in the Yukon is much more developed than that in the other territories. The modern history of the Yukon’s economy is characterized by significant waves of activity. Prior to European contact, there was significant trade among the First Nations of the region, with coastal goods often traded for interior goods. European interest was initially in the fur trade and later, famously, in the Klondike gold rush – indeed, the rugged frontier capitalism of placer gold mining still holds much of the imagination of Yukoners. The Yukon was opened up by the building of the Alaska Highway in the 1940s by the US military and by further road

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construction by the Canadian federal government in the 1950s. Since then there have been occasional boom periods (the 1970s) as well as periods of decline (the 1980s and 1990s), all led by development or disinvestment of the mining industry. Recently the Yukon has undergone another boom as mining output more than doubled between 2008 and 2012 (Research Northwest 2013). In terms of employment, however, the public sector dominates, with approximately a third of all employed persons working in it. Despite the large private and public sector interest and control of the economy, cooperatives have a long and successful history in the North outside the Yukon. Belhadji (2001) reports that the average northern co-op does several times as much business as the average southern co-op, employs more than twice as many full-time workers, and has more than three times the assets. Northern co-ops, however, are less profitable than their southern counterparts. Arctic Co-operatives Limited (ACL), profiled in MacPherson’s contribution to this volume, provides an example of the success of co-ops in the North, particularly as it is by far the dominant (and in some regions, the only) co-op in the region. Ketilson and MacPherson (2001) attribute its success to a number of factors, including relatively small community size, cultural homogeneity, isolation, and early government support. Unlike in the other territories, in the Yukon cooperatives are quite rare, with only four active ones identified at the time of the survey by the Social Economy Research Network of Northern Canada (SERNNoCa). Southcott and Walker point out (in this volume) that this is one of the important differences between the social economy of the Yukon and that of the rest of northern Canada. Indeed, the comparative absence of cooperatives in the Yukon is striking. Although SERNNoCa research on the state of the social economy often concentrates on highlighting the particularities of the North compared to the South, as Abele notes in her contribution to this volume, equally interesting is the region’s diversity. This chapter examines this diversity by explaining the relative absence of cooperatives in the Yukon. We begin by reviewing the characteristics of regions that seem to promote cooperative growth. We then examine the Yukon through the lens of these characteristics; the basis for this section is a series of interviews conducted with both operating and closed cooperatives, as well as with public sector representatives, regarding the co-op experience in the Yukon. We conclude with reflections on what the comparative lack of cooperatives suggests for the social economy of the Yukon.

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The Region and Cooperative Development Despite general similarities in geography and economy with the rest of the Canadian North, the Yukon has a much lower incidence of cooperatives. How can this comparative lack of cooperatives in the Yukon be explained? What distinguishes the Yukon from the other territories with respect to cooperative development? In this section we distill from the literature the characteristics of a region that support cooperative development. We can then evaluate the extent to which the Yukon exhibits these characteristics. Four areas, or themes, emerge in the literature that are characteristic of regions that have seen successful cooperative development: government support; cooperative advocacy and leadership; financing and access to capital; and the social and cultural context.

Government support and awareness The relationship of cooperatives, as with the rest of the social economy, to the public sector is strong. Government policy creates the context for development. Not surprisingly, cooperative development is tied to regions with supportive governments (Adeler 2009; Ketilson and MacPherson 2001). For instance, the success of co-ops in Nova Scotia is directly related to partnership agreements and to government’s awareness of cooperatives as key to regional development (Soots 2007). This is true in the North as well, where the establishment and growth of ACL is tied to the initial and continued support of government for co-ops across the region (with the exception of the Yukon) (Ketilson and MacPherson 2001). This government support, however, has not always been aligned with the cooperative movement in terms of values. Government support for the development of coops in the North has often been as much about creating permanent settlements of historically migrant groups for reasons of sovereignty and as a base for resource extraction as about a commitment to the cooperative ideal (MacPherson 2009). The value of government support for cooperative development is also demonstrated in Quebec, which puts resources into creating political frameworks such as tax incentives and policies that encourage local investment in social enterprises (Mendell 2009). When governments understand and support co-ops, it increases the chances that local entrepreneurs will adopt that business model. There

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are three key elements of cooperative development in relation to government. The first is the level of awareness of cooperatives in government (Labelle 1999; Soots 2007). Governments that understand how cooperatives operate are more likely to recognize how they can create a supportive environment for their development. If a government does not appreciate the cooperative model, a co-op will face the task of educating officials before acquiring the needed government support. The second element is the presence of provincial or territorial departments that provide cooperative incentives (Belhadji 2001; Ketilson and MacPherson 2001; Labelle 1999). These incentives range from providing financial support, such as grants for business planning and organizing, to offering in-house technical assistance to facilitate cooperative development. The third element is government recognition of the value of local reinvestment (Labelle 1999). Governments that have identified local reinvestment as a strategy for sustainable economic growth cite the cooperative model as a solution. These governments understand the impact of alternative business structures such as co-ops, and are more likely to support their development. Nova Scotia’s Community Economic Development Investment Funds (CEDIFs), which are available to co-ops, are an example of such supportive policy.

Co-op advocacy and leadership Government support, however, is not sufficient for a vibrant cooperative sector. Co-op development is also tied to the presence of thirdsector organizations that act as champions and as a source of resources for cooperatives. Regions that have a local non-governmental body or active leaders who represent co-ops have a considerably denser co-op population. Co-ops are more likely to develop when on-the-ground leadership advocates and promotes the effectiveness of the model to community members who might not otherwise be aware of co-ops (Labelle 1999). These actors also work as advocates for the co-op sector, educating and lobbying government for increased supportive policies for co-op development (Ketilson and MacPherson 2001). The Nova Scotia Cooperative Council, for instance, plays a critical role in bringing priorities and issues for cooperative development to the attention of the provincial government for increased support (Soots 2007). Such cooperative advocates and leaders serve to network existing co-ops and broker opportunities among them for mutual support. A number of

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case studies reveal the important impact of this networking function on cooperative development. The sixty-year-old Cooperative Council of Quebec, for instance, is the nucleus of cooperation among Quebec cooperative organizations and serves to link cooperative goods and services to each other (Girard 2001). This networking and brokering can result in co-ops buying and trading services and products among themselves, sometimes resulting in the formation of new co-ops. Actors that primarily assist new co-ops are particularly effective in the regions they support by providing important legal and structural knowledge. Devco, a British Columbia–based cooperative development consulting group, fills an important gap in providing support and information to those interested in starting a co-op in the province (Diamantopoulos and Findlay 2007). When cooperative technical assistance is available in a region, people are more likely to explore the possibility of adopting the model, as the expertise is obtainable (Ketilson 1999; Soots 2007).

Financing and access to capital Financing is a considerable challenge for cooperatives. In Canada, some funding and grants are usually available for co-ops, but there is a gap when it comes to accessing start-up, operational, and growth financing. Grants play a vital role in the initial development of co-ops, particularly for feasibility studies and business plan development, but they do not provide the much needed capital investment to get a cooperative started (Adeler 2009; Ketilson and MacPherson 2001). Statistics Canada (2008) reports that one-fifth of cooperatives find obtaining financing a serious obstacle to growth. Traditional pools of capital, such as banks, are typically not geared towards financing coops, as they seek investments with the greatest financial return. These institutions view cooperatives as high-risk ventures and do not recognize social return on investment in their lending guidelines (Cameron 2007). Unconventional financing bodies favourable to cooperatives, such as credit unions or community loan funds, are cited as important institutional supports in regions with a significant cooperative presence (Sapovadia 2007). Statistics Canada (2008) reports that 71 per cent of cooperatives that requested new or additional loans, lines of credit, or credit cards in 2007 made their request to a credit union or caisse populaire. The same survey suggests credit unions are more likely than banks to approve financial requests.

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Community reinvestment models allow cooperatives and other community enterprises to organize and pool local capital to finance their own. Nova Scotia’s CEDIFs, for example, enable cooperatives to raise their own capital from community members (Strandberg and Cameron 2004). Investors are incentivized with a 35 per cent tax credit and eligibility for Registered Retirement Savings Plans (RRSPs). Cooperatives are able to access the significant pool of local savings that are often funnelled out of the community through RRSP contributions.

The social and cultural context There is a certain degree of path dependency for regional engagement with cooperatives. Regions that have experienced the benefits of cooperatives are more likely to provide support for the model and to adopt it (Ketilson and MacPherson 2001). Regions that have demonstrated value through co-ops establish a critical mass that leads to the formation of more cooperatives (Fulton and Herman 2001; Wilkinson and Quarter 1996). Conversely, cooperatives are less prevalent in regions with more competitive and global approaches to economic development (Staatz 1983). For example, in Saskatchewan, as agricultural cooperatives became larger and more competitive on a global scale, they became less focused on their initial intention of sustaining the livelihoods of local farmers. Many of these cooperatives folded or merged in order to compete in the global marketplace. The collaborative nature of co-ops does not lend itself to economies that are focused on highly competitive global opportunities (Conn 2003), although the Mondragon Cooperatives of the Basque region of Spain can be seen as an exception (Errasti et al. 2003). Furthermore, social attitudes towards cooperatives can be hurt by significant failed engagements in the model. In regions where cooperatives have failed, people are less likely to adopt the model than where cooperatives are successful (Frost 2008). Quebec, for example, has enjoyed the benefits of co-ops for over a hundred years, and their contribution to employment and economic growth in the province has given them momentum and spurred the development of more cooperatives (Saucier, Beaudry, and Denis 2001). Such regions are able to withstand the occasional failure of a cooperative, as the failure is more likely to be attributed to business risk rather than to a problem with the cooperative model itself. In regions new to the co-op model, however, early failures are more likely to be attributed to flaws in the model, rather than to business risk.

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Regions that have had success with cooperatives have devoted considerable attention to co-op membership and have developed educational programs to support them. In Nova Scotia, the Extension Department of St. Francis Xavier University has been particularly effective in developing study clubs, which have become the basis of credit unions, fishing and housing cooperatives, and cooperative stores. The British Columbia Institute for Cooperative Studies was established in 2000 to act as a catalyst for research, learning, and teaching about cooperative thought and practice. The Centre for Cooperative Studies at the University of Saskatchewan serves a similar role. These education centres provide research and educational opportunities for practitioners and academics to further explore the cooperative model and cooperative growth. Although positive past experience helps, the potential for cooperative development is also enhanced by a sense of communal solidarity coexisting with economic threats from outside the community. Thus, isolated homogenous groups often turn to the cooperative model not only to support a local economy, but also to protect a local culture and unique way of life. For instance, the Mondragon Cooperatives were established to protect the Basque community in Spain; the Evangeline cooperatives in Prince Edward Island emerged out of a need to provide support to the province’s isolated Acadien community; and in the North, ACL has worked with isolated communities that are predominantly Aboriginal. These four aspects – government support, associational advocacy, financing, and social context – have been identified in the research as important for creating an environment in which co-ops function optimally. Regions with a strong co-op presence have a combination of all four of these support mechanisms, and have created a critical mass of co-ops that, in turn, continue to support one another’s growth. Regions where co-ops struggle tend to lack all or some of these characteristics. Characteristics of Co-ops in the Yukon As noted, Yukon Territory has a lack of operating cooperatives compared to other regions of the Canadian North. In this section, we review the history of cooperative development in the Yukon, highlight current cooperative enterprises in the territory, and evaluate the territory through the lens of the regional characteristics supportive of cooperatives.

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The history of Yukon co-ops Although there are currently very few cooperatives in the Yukon, there is evidence of some degree of cooperative history in the territory. According to the Yukon government’s Corporate Affairs registrar, twenty-four non-financial cooperatives were incorporated in the Yukon Territory between 1966 and 2009. Other cooperatives mentioned in interviews with residents, such as an incorporated food co-op based in Whitehorse in the 1980s and a retail food and craft cooperative based in the community of Teslin, do not appear on the registrar’s list. As well, two defunct co-ops, the Whitehorse Credit Union and the Aboriginal Craft Co-op, remain strong symbols of the co-op experience in the Yukon. The Whitehorse Credit Union, established by a small group of residents in 1957, grew slowly and steadily from 150 members to 2,700 in 1980, when it closed its doors due to financial difficulties. The credit union’s loan portfolio was assumed by Credit Union Central of British Columbia, and the 2,700 member accounts were transferred to the Royal Bank of Canada. The territorial government and the Canadian Co-operative Credit Society (now Credit Union Central of Canada) shared the debt of the dissolved credit union, and the territorial government legislated that no credit unions would be permitted to operate in the territory. The Aboriginal Craft Co-op in Whitehorse manufactured and sold the “Yukon parka” as well as other local crafts. It also served to purchase First Nations craft supplies for local artisans, and provided a retail location for selling these wares. The cooperative was highly subsidized by government, and was considered an “unrealistic venture that was never going to be financially sustainable.” By examining the experiences of past cooperatives in the territory, we can see that a number of attempts have been made to use the co-op model without much success. A closer examination of the cooperatives listed on the Yukon government’s registrar list reveals a very diverse range of cooperatives that all formed in isolation from one another.

Existing Yukon co-ops The historical experience with cooperatives in the Yukon has led to there being few currently existing cooperatives. According to the Yukon government’s Corporate Affairs Registrar, only nine co-ops are listed as “active,” and only four were operating at the time of our research. The

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remaining five had dissolved, gone into receivership, or changed their structure from the co-op model to a non-profit society. The four active cooperatives are the Great Green Growers Cooperative (GGGC), the Yukon River Salmon Cooperative (YRSC), the Yukon Artists @ Work Cooperative (YAAW), and the Yukon Housing Cooperative. The GGGC adopted the cooperative model to take the burden of a mortgage off a local organic farm operation. The co-op members are shareholders and consumers who are concerned with food security and are interested in maintaining a local supply of organic produce. At the time of study, the GGGC was conducting a feasibility study to analyse the market potential of supplying local organic produce to the Yukon. It is still struggling to recruit the membership required to raise enough capital to purchase suitable land to securely establish the organic farm. The YRSC is a commercial producers’ cooperative and Canada’s first New Generation fisheries cooperative. Membership is made up of commercial salmon fishers in the Dawson City area. The operation processes small but constant batches of value-added salmon products. The cooperative is struggling due an inability to secure financing. This has stalled the project, and resulted in a lack of confidence in the membership. YAAW was started by local artists to establish a physical space near Whitehorse in which to sell their original works. The members of the co-op staff the gallery, sell their pieces, and advocate for individual original art sales. The co-op is doing well, and is looking at the possibility of expanding its operation. The Yukon Housing Cooperative, incorporated in 1987, is currently in receivership, and is planning to dissolve and transfer its twelve-unit building to social housing. The co-op is exploring its legal rights to remain viable, and is working with the Cooperative Housing Federation of Canada to build its case. Of the four cooperatives, only Yukon Artists @ Work can be considered to be running successfully. The other three are struggling to survive due to an inability to raise sufficient capital or to navigate through the regulations and legislation of the Yukon’s inhospitable cooperative environment. The existing cooperatives did not emerge out of a cooperative movement in the Yukon; rather, they were either forced into cooperative structures or came by the structure by chance. Founders of the cooperatives report that the motivation to adopt the co-op structure had little to do with cooperative values. YAAW originally incorporated as

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a non-profit society, but was rejected by the Yukon government registrar, who suggested they register as a cooperative. “Basically we had to become a co-op,” says Nicole Beuberger, chair. “They wouldn’t let us incorporate as a non-profit society, so we became a co-op and it’s turned out to be really good.” The registrar’s office felt that, as a nonprofit society, YAAW was unfair competition to the great number of non-profit art societies already operating in Whitehorse. Since becoming a co-op, YAAW has come to realize the model suits its purpose well. The GGGC set out to raise capital in an attempt to “save the farm,” and stumbled upon the cooperative model when one of the founding members learned of it while researching similar farms in Canada. “We wanted a way to get a group of people together to pool money, and a co-op was really the only structure that would allow us to do that,” says Ted Dean, treasurer of the GGGC. The YRSC identified a group of fishermen who were all looking to do the same thing, and chose the co-op model because “it just seemed to fit with what we were trying to get going.” In a contrary example, the Southern Lakes Tourism Marketing Cooperative actually set out to become a cooperative since it was drawn to the values and principles of the model, but later dissolved due to lack of member interest Three of the co-ops thus adopted the model without a thorough understanding of cooperatives and their values. All saw being a co-op as secondary in importance to the purpose of their venture. This can be related back to the fact that each co-op came across the model by chance – each had an identified intention for its venture and would have adopted any structure that made the venture possible. The Yukon and Regional Characteristics that Support Cooperatives The scarcity of cooperatives in the Yukon and the continuing struggle of existing cooperatives can be explained through the absence there of the characteristics of regions that support cooperative development.

Government support and awareness As the literature review reveals, no region in Canada has seen cooperative growth in the absence of government support. Three elements of government involvement are present in regions that have had success with cooperative development: a high level of awareness and

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understanding of cooperatives; the offer of cooperative incentives by government; and recognition of the value of local reinvestment. From our interviews with representatives of Yukon cooperatives, we took away an overwhelming feeling that there is a general lack of understanding and awareness of the value of cooperative enterprises on the part of the territorial government. A number of interviewees encountered challenges when dealing with the Yukon government with regard to co-ops. When seeking government funding, the Great Green Growers Cooperative found itself having to educate government departments as to why the co-op model was best suited to meeting its needs. The Yukon Housing Cooperative, currently threatened by the Yukon Housing Corporation with conversion to social housing, has enlisted the help of the Co-operative Housing Federation of Canada (CHFC) to help it regain ownership of its co-op from the Yukon government. Bob Nardi of the CHFC, responding to the territorial government’s plans, says, “I don’t think they understand the requirements of co-operative housing or the advantages of it, and the fact that co-operative housing can function less expensively and more efficiently than social housing” (CBC News North 2008). While working with the Yukon River Salmon Co-op in 2005, co-op practitioner Marty Frost was told by the Yukon registrar that there was only one incorporated cooperative in the Yukon and that “co-ops don’t work up here.” People who have approached the Yukon government with an interest in forming a cooperative have been encouraged to incorporate as a society instead. Nonetheless, a number of individual cooperative advocates within the Yukon government have supported cooperative workshops in the territory. Two such workshops, held in 2004 and 2007 and spearheaded by federal government bodies, were co-funded by the territorial government’s Regional Economic Development branch. These workshops spurred some interest from the village of Faro and the Vuntut Gwichan First Nation in Old Crow, which held subsequent government-funded workshops. Local municipal and First Nations governments have also supported community members interested in starting co-ops by providing tools and links to assistance outside the territory. The village of Teslin and the Teslin Tlingit Council supported and lobbied for a cooperative development workshop held in their community in 2007. Faro contributed funding towards a condensed version of the same workshop, which explored the feasibility of developing a local retail

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grocery cooperative. As the devolution transfer agreement between the federal government and the Yukon was still in its early days at the time of our research, Yukon communities had had few resources to dedicate to these initiatives and had to partner with the territorial or federal government for funding. Existing cooperatives in the Yukon have adapted to the lack of local government support for cooperatives by focusing their lobbying efforts on the activity of their co-op, rather than on the subject of co-ops. The GGGC has focused its efforts on obtaining funding from agricultural sources. YAAW has secured arts funding to help its venture grow. All of the currently operating cooperatives in the Yukon have taken advantage of federal government co-op programs and funding such as the now-defunct Co-operative Development Initiative. Co-ops in the Yukon are in a good position to obtain federal funding as there is little competition in the Territory for such money. When one examines government’s recognition of the value of local reinvestment in the Yukon, an obvious gap presents itself. The Yukon government’s economic development strategy traditionally has focused on attracting outside investment and supporting medium to large businesses in the territory (Yukon 2006). This emphasis in such a relatively small region results in most government resources being focused on one or two large projects instead of supporting the development of small, community businesses such as cooperatives. The Yukon’s existing cooperatives have gotten by without the support of government in the territory, but without increased awareness, incentives, and recognition of the cooperative model by government, it will be challenging for cooperatives to develop as they have in other regions of the North.

Cooperative advocacy and leadership Regions with a significant cooperative sector have an associational presence that serves to advocate for the cooperative agenda and provide leadership to move it forward. Four key functions of advocacy and leadership have facilitated strong cooperative growth in other regions: on-the-ground leadership for co-op development, a networking and brokering function among existing cooperatives, lobbying efforts on behalf of co-ops, and local technical assistance such as legal and venture planning for co-ops. In the Yukon, however, the local advocacy and leadership role for co-ops is vacant apart from a few attempts by

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cooperative development agencies and practitioners from outside the territory to spur co-op development through workshops. Although well attended by interested participants, these workshops, at the time of our research, had not resulted in the formation of any new co-ops because of the lack of local ownership and support. Advocacy groups in other regions that have had success with cooperative development are often heavily supported and funded by government. Since there is little understanding of or support for co-ops in the Yukon government, its appetite for funding this role is absent. Yukon co-ops have identified the need for an advocacy or leadership role. When asked, many of the representatives of Yukon co-ops were unsure of what other co-ops existed in the territory, and felt it would be helpful to have a body that could connect them to their counterparts as well as provide information and research about co-ops in the region. In other regions, a critical mass of successful co-ops, having identified the need for advocacy and leadership, has formed groups to perform these functions. Yukon co-ops might share common community-based goals, but they are too few and function too independently of one another to warrant the resources and time required to advocate for a cooperative agenda in the territory. Yukon co-ops can participate in federally organized advocacy groups, but these would not focus on a cooperative agenda specifically for the Yukon. As well, the Yukon has no local source of cooperative technical assistance that can offer the legal and venture planning often required to organize and incorporate a co-op. Instead, co-ops there have accessed technical assistance from outside the territory – primarily Marty Frost of DevCo, based in British Columbia – although all have stated that they would have benefited from having access to those skills locally. It was also revealed through dialogue stemming from the 2007 workshops that having a local technical resource would make it easier to use the cooperative model.

Financing and access to capital Successful cooperatives require access to appropriate financing mechanisms – in particular, the availability of investment capital for co-op ventures, the existence of credit unions or community loan funds to finance co-ops for a social return on investment, and community reinvestment models.

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In the Yukon, however, financial organizations that support co-ops – most often credit unions or community loan funds – are absent. Interviewees speculated that there were already enough banks in Whitehorse and that the collapse of the last credit union had left “a bad taste in potential members’ mouths.” They also said that the territory’s larger banks would not consider co-ops’ requests for loans to finance their ventures in any case. Cooperatives, however, could have an opportunity to access capital through a different route. Each self-governing First Nation has adopted a Development Corporation structure to manage its investments and increase local ownership of businesses in its community. Most Development Corporations are interested in providing a financial return for their respective First Nations and generating employment opportunities for community members. But these structures are also well positioned to provide access to capital for higher-risk, locally owned community ventures such as cooperatives. Another potential source of capital for Yukon co-ops is a First Nations institution called däna Näye Ventures, which, as well as offering technical support, administers the Yukon Micro Loan Program, offers short- and long-term loans, and operates lines of credit and demand loans. Often, cooperatives elsewhere have found financing through community reinvestment models, such as Nova Scotia’s CEDIFs. Such models provide an avenue for raising the start-up investment needed to get cooperatives going. No such financing tool is available in the Yukon. The territory offers a 25 per cent tax credit to small and medium-sized businesses that have been in operation for at least two years, but this tax break is not sufficiently flexible for any of the co-ops in the territory to take advantage of, nor does it meet their start-up financing needs. In other regions, government creates incentives for local reinvestment, but since the Yukon government has not identified local reinvestment as a priority in its economic development strategy, it has not put in place the basic framework in which local financing tools can develop.

The social and cultural context Four key social and cultural qualities have an impact on the success of cooperative development in a region: the historical development of the local economy and its predisposition to cooperative values; the impact of the historical development and success or failure of co-ops in the region; the region’s cultural propensity towards cooperative values

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through education and positive experiences with the co-op model; and the impact of geographic location and the degree of isolation of local economies or marginalized populations. The literature on cooperatives highlights the importance of the historical development of the local economy and its relationship to global markets for cooperative development in a region. As Southcott and Walker discuss (in this volume), the Yukon’s economy was driven by three key economic “booms” – the Klondike gold rush, the building of the Alaska Highway, and the development of large-scale mining – which caused dramatic surges in the territory’s population followed by dramatic declines. These developments did not create any sustainable local economic wealth, but were heavily influenced by outside events: an increase in the value of gold combined with rumours of its abundance in the Yukon; the need for a strategic highway through the region at a time of conflict first with Japan and then the Cold War with the Soviet Union; and fluctuating global commodity prices for metals. When these large-scale developments ended, an influx of government funding helped to maintain a population in the territory, but it also created an economy dependent on government. One in three people in the Yukon work for some level of government, and the majority of businesses in the territory have been established to provide products and services to government. This government-centred economy satisfies the majority of the Yukon population’s needs. Cooperatives in other regions are often established to fill needs unmet by the public or private sector, but this has not been the case in the Yukon. As well, since government jobs in the Yukon are abundant and high paying, they attract highly skilled community members who might otherwise work in the non-profit sector or in the territory’s social economy. Moreover, the Yukon has a high number of government-funded non-profit societies compared with other regions in Canada. These non-profits – ranging from art societies to environmental organizations to groups concerned with poverty reduction – fill many of the same social roles that cooperatives do in other regions. Since the non-profit society model has demonstrated so much success in the territory, there is little incentive to explore the cooperative model as an alternative. Part of the Yukon’s historic identity is that it is the “home of the colourful 5 per cent,” a place of unique individuals. Those interviewed all characterized the Yukon as a place founded on the individual pursuit of wealth. One cooperative member said, “you are never going to get common thinking in the Yukon because people are so diverse.”

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Another interviewee stated that cooperatives have not worked in the Yukon because “there are too few people and tons and tons of singleperson talent.” The history of cooperatives in the Yukon does not gleam with success, which has led to the co-op model’s having a reputation for failure in the territory. Indeed, the co-op model itself is often blamed for the lack of success of these ventures. A number of interviewees noted that many of the co-ops had failed because of poor management or financial trouble, not because they were co-ops per se: “Many small businesses fail, but you don’t hear about them. The co-ops in the Yukon have failed for the same reasons any other small businesses fail.” The Yukon is not nearly as geographically remote as the rest of Canada’s North, where Arctic Co-operatives Limited has had success. All of the communities in the territory, with the exception of Old Crow, are accessible by road. The capital, Whitehorse, is just a two-hour flight from the major centres of Calgary and Vancouver. This proximity means that there is not the same need for community members to find ways to access essential goods and services as in the more remote communities ACL serves. One interviewee suggested that there had not been the same level of cooperative development in the Yukon because “we didn’t have ‘Northern Stores,’ which all pulled out of northern communities at the same time, creating an urgency to fill the gaps left by these stores.” This urgency prompted the initial government support that gave ACL its start. In the Yukon, in contrast, two independently owned retailers have filled the need for general products in the territory. Although it might seem that the cooperative model offers a natural solution to many of the territory’s economic development challenges, co-ops do not appear to fit with the cultural identity of Yukoners. There is a perceived need to diversify the local economy – to add cooperatives to the mix – but those interested in the cooperative model lack the cohesion and will to push the model forward. Jake Duncan of YRSC said, “the Yukon is not unlike a developing nation. There are small pockets of people wanting to do [cooperative economic development]; they just haven’t been able to join forces to do it effectively yet.” Conclusion For a region to be successful in developing cooperatives, it needs to have an appropriately supportive institutional infrastructure. Having groups of individuals interested in cooperative options is not enough

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to create a co-op-rich region; they need to be supported in myriad ways, including through legislation, finance, services, and mutual support. Unfortunately, the Yukon lacks such supportive infrastructure. The territorial government, at least at the time of research, seems openly hostile to the idea of cooperatives. There is no associational presence rooted in the territory to assist cooperatives. There is little access to capital for cooperatives, and the general public is not predisposed to them. On none of the characteristics of regions with strong co-op movements does the Yukon fare well. Yet the reason the appropriate cooperative supports developed in other northern regions and not in the Yukon remains unexplained. MacPherson (2009) notes that, although northern cooperatives are now rooted in the North, their historical development was initiated from the South and supported by the federal government, based on a desire to establish sovereignty over the region and to create settled communities that could then be governed. The Yukon, however, already possessed established settlements in Dawson and Whitehorse, and access to the South had already been opened up due to the Klondike gold rush and the Alaska Highway construction project. Therefore, the incentive to use co-ops as a means to fill the territory’s needs was not present. Since then neither the territorial nor the federal government has actively promoted cooperatives in the Yukon. What kind of social economy, then, is supported in the Yukon? Here we return to Hudson’s (2011) three approaches to the social economy: welfare, alternative (where co-ops would fit), or radical. Southcott and Walker (2009), in their survey of social economy organizations in the North, report that, despite a generally strong presence of social economy organizations in the Yukon, there are few organizations involved in trade, finance, and insurance or in business and professional associations. This suggests that, beyond cooperatives, few social economy organizations in the Yukon are involved in wealth creation. Rather, the social economy of the Yukon seems to follow the welfare approach whereby social economy organizations are assembled to meet needs that are unmet by the state or the market – that is, the social economy of the Yukon predominantly fills a wealth-redistribution role. It is a gapfilling, civil society approach to the social economy. The political imagination of the Yukon remains largely based on neoliberal frameworks. The extraction of resources in such an isolated geography requires close cooperation between government and the international finance sector. The consequence of the Yukon government’s focus on this sector is that

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it must align itself with the neoliberal approach to remain a friendly site for foreign investment. That political imagination then influences how the Yukon engages with its social economy. It is not surprising that, in this context, the Yukon’s social economy is more aligned with the gap-filling approach, which does not challenge the neoliberal political imagination. This is not to say that there is no hope for a more progressive form of social economy in the Yukon. Although there are few formally organized cooperatives in the territory, our research has uncovered much economic activity that is cooperative, but organized informally. The isolation of living in such an environment often brings neighbours together to organize themselves collectively through purchasing or equipment-sharing groups. Further, although the Yukon does not have a territorial associational presence of supportive organizations, both national and provincial bodies have demonstrated an interest in supporting the development of cooperatives in the Yukon. Yukoners themselves are beginning to seek alternative forms of social economy organizations – for instance, in 2009 there was a popular movement to reinstate credit unions in the Yukon, although ultimately it did not go through. The potential for a more progressive political economy is quite real. REFERENCES Abele, F. 1997. “Understanding What Happened Here: The Political Economy of Indigenous Peoples.” In Understanding Canada: Building on the New Canadian Political Economy, ed. W. Clement, 118–40. Montreal; Kingston, ON: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Adeler, M.J. 2009. Enabling Policy Environments for Co-operative Development. Saskatoon: University of Saskatchewan, Centre for the Study of Co-operatives. Belhadji, B. 2001. Socio-Economic Profile of Aboriginal Co-operatives in Canada. Ottawa: Agriculture and Agri-Food Canada, Co-operatives Secretariat. Cameron, S. 2007. “Community Investing in Canada.” Kentville, NS: Canadian Community Investment Network Cooperative. CBC News North. 2008. “Whitehorse Housing Co-op to Fight Government Closure.” 19 February. Available online at http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/ north/whitehorse-housing-co-op-to-fight-government-closure-1.740079; accessed December 2011.

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Canada. 2006. “What Is a Co-operative?” Ottawa: Agriculture and Agri-Food Canada, Co-operatives Secretariat. Conn, M. 2003. Co-ops and Community Economic Development. Burnaby, BC: Simon Fraser University, Community Economic Development Centre. Diamantopoulos, M., and I. Findlay. 2007. Growing Pains: Social Enterprise in Saskatoon’s Core Neighbourhoods. Saskatoon: University of Saskatchewan, Community-University Institute for Social Research and Centre for the Study of Co-operatives. Errasti, A. M., I. Heras, B. Bakaikoa, and P. Elgoibar. 2003. “The Internationalisation of Cooperatives: The Case of the Mondragon Cooperative Corporation.” Annals of Public and Cooperative Economics 74 (4): 553–84. Frost, M. 2008. “Social Capital and Financing Co-operative Start-ups.” In Effective Practices in Starting Co-ops: The Voice of Canadian Co-op Developers, ed. J. Emmanuel and L. Cayo, 139–48. Victoria, BC: New Rochdale Press. Fulton, M., and R. Herman. 2001. An Economic Impact Analysis of the Co-operative Sector in Saskatchewan. Saskatoon: University of Saskatchewan, Centre for the Study of Co-operatives. Girard, Jean-Pierre. 2001. “Les coopératives de solidarité au Québec: entre rupture et continuité.” Économie et Solidarité 39 (2): 53–74. Hudson, R. 2011. “The Regional Problem and the Social Economy: Developmental Potential and Limits.” Paper presented at the Sustainable Community Business Conference, Sydney, NS, 13–15 July. Ketilson, L.H. 1999. Resilience of the Cooperative Business Model in Times of Crisis. Saskatoon: University of Saskatchewan, Centre for the Study of Co-operatives. Ketilson, L.H., and I. MacPherson. 2001. Aboriginal Co-operatives in Canada: Current Situation and Potential for Growth. Saskatoon: University of Saskatchewan, Centre for the Study of Co-operatives. Labelle, L. 1999. “Development of Cooperatives and Employee Ownership, Quebec Style.” Available online at http://dept.kent.edu/oeoc/ publicationsresearch/Winter2000-2001/CooperativesQuebecStyle.htm; accessed 15 November 2011. MacPherson, I. 2009. “What Has Been Learned Should Be Studied and Passed On: Why the Northern Co-operative Experience Needs to Be Considered More Seriously.” Northern Review 30 (Spring): 57–80. Mendell, M. 2009. “The Three Pillars of the Social Economy in Quebec.” In The Social Economy: International Perspectives on Economic Solidarity, ed. A. Amin. London: Zed Books. Research Northwest. 2013. Yukon Mining Sector Profile. N.p.: Research Northwest.

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Rice, M., and D. Lavoie. 2005. “Crown Corporations and Co-operatives as Coping Mechanisms in Regional Economic Development.” Canadian Geographer 49 (4): 367–83. Sapovadia, V. 2007. “Evaluating Effectiveness among Cooperatives vis-à-vis Other Social Institutes: A Case Study of NABARD’s Rural Innovation Fund & Other Schemes. Ahmedabad, India: Gujarat University, B.K. School of Business Management. Available online at http://www.researchgate.net/ publication/228200197_Evaluating_Effectiveness_Among_Cooperatives _vis-a-vis_Other_Social_Institutes_-_A_Case_Study_of_Nabard's_Rural _Innovation_Fund__Other_Schemes; accessed 21 August 2014. Saucier, C., R. Beaudry, and C. Denis. 2002. “Entre l’enthousiasme et l’inquiétude.” Cahiers du CRISES, Collection Études théoriques ETO208. Montreal: Université du Québec à Montréal, Centre de recherches sur les innovations sociales. Available online at https://depot.erudit.org/ bitstream/001662dd/1/ET0208.pdf; accessed 21 August 2014. Soots, L. 2007. “Supporting Innovative Co-operative Development: The Case of the Nova Scotia Co-operative Development System.” Port Alberni, BC: Canadian Centre for Community Renewal. Southcott, C., and V. Walker. 2009. “A Portrait of the Social Economy in Northern Canada.” Northern Review 30 (Spring): 13–36. Staatz, J.M. 1983. “The Cooperative as a Coalition: A Game-Theoretic Approach.” American Journal of Agricultural Economics 65 (5): 1084–9. Statistics Canada. 2008. “Survey on Financing of Co-operatives.” Statistics Canada Daily, 3 December. Available online at http://www.statcan.gc.ca/ daily-quotidien/081203/dq081203d-eng.htm. Strandberg, C., and S. Cameron. 2004. “The Emergence of Community Investment as a Strategy for Investing in Your Community.” Paper prepared for the “Investing in Your Community” Conference, Saskatchewan, March. Wilkinson, P., and J. Quarter. 1996. Building a Community-Controlled Economy: The Evangeline Co-operative Experience. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Yukon. 2006. Yukon Economic Development Strategy. Whitehorse: Yukon Economic Development.

9 Hunter Support Programs and the Northern Social Economy D AV I D N AT C H E R , D A M I A N C A S T R O , A N D L A W R E N C E F E LT

The Canadian North is often characterized in oppositional terms. Oppositions between North and South, traditional and modern, Indigenous and non-Indigenous, and informal and formal are used to create boundaries and symmetrical frameworks that simplify academic and policy analysis. Although useful in analytical terms, in reality clean separations are problematic and unambiguous distinctions are not easily derived. This is particularly true in cases involving culture, identity, and modes of economic production. For example, throughout the North, subsistence and wage-earning activities are inextricably tied to the cultural continuity of Indigenous communities as expressed through their continued connections to the “land.” This relational integration is what Hart (2006) refers to as complimentary unity, where economic and social interactions elude dualistic representations. As boundaries between interactions become blurred, negative dialectics (James 1980) are created whereby new conceptual understandings of the world can emerge. In the case of the Canadian North, the blurred boundary between economy and culture gives rise to the notion of social economy. This is especially apparent in the Aboriginal social economy. As discussed in the introduction to this volume, the work of the Social Economy Research Network of Northern Canada (SERNNoCa) has been characterized by the recognition of two separate but interrelated social economy traditions. The first is the “third sector” of contemporary economies, which includes the community-based non-profit, voluntary, and cooperative organizations that work to deal with a range of issues that the state and the private sector cannot, or do not want, to address. The second, found primarily in the anthropological literature,

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addresses the sharing and cooperative relations that have long characterized the subsistence economy of the Indigenous societies of the North, which is an important cultural base for these societies. Although these two traditions can be seen to come from different sources, increasingly they are intertwined and converging. The subsistence economy continues to exist in contemporary northern communities and represents an important cultural, social, and economic force. At the same time, the subsistence economy is increasingly characterized by new forms of social relations and new forms of organizations. Indigenous societies are developing new, “third sector” types of organizational forms to support complementary economic and cultural aspects of the Aboriginal social economy. The process of this seeming convergence and how it is being used to support both cultural and economic goals was one of the main issues investigated by research associated with SERNNoCa’s Theme 4: Indigenous Communities and the Social Economy. In this chapter we explore the complimentary unity of economy and culture through an analysis of Hunter Support Programs (HSP). We argue that HSPs strengthen the structural and behavioural associations of economy and culture and represent an important and unexamined aspect of the northern social economy. We first provide an overview of the various HSPs that are in place in northern Canada, and then ground this discussion in a more focused analysis of two HSPs administered by the Innu Nation in Labrador. Background In 1971 the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act (ANCSA) was signed into law and became the first comprehensive Aboriginal land claim to be implemented in North America. Motivated by the emerging political consciousness of Alaska Natives in the 1960s, ANCSA was ultimately achieved due to the US federal and Alaska state governments’ desire to clear a political path for the development of oil reserves in Prudhoe Bay and the need to complete a property rights transaction with Alaska Natives (Morehouse 1987). To a lesser extent the federal and state governments were motivated by what they saw as a responsibility to address Native social welfare problems brought about by the “inevitable disappearance of the traditional subsistence sector” (Nettheim, Meyers, and Craig 2002, 68) and the desire to draw Alaska Natives into the social and economic mainstream (Morehouse 1987). ANCSA awarded Alaska Natives 44 million acres of land and a cash

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settlement of US$962.5 million to be administered through the formation of thirteen regional and two hundred village for-profit corporations. A condition of ANCSA, however, was the extinguishment of land title to the remaining 365 million acres of state and federal land and the relinquishment of all Native hunting and fishing rights, the result of which, some (for example, Langdon 1986) have argued, is that there is virtually no connection between ANCSA and the future subsistence needs of Alaska Natives. This, coupled with the aim of ANCSA to corporatize Native culture (Dombrowski 2007), has meant that Native subsistence rights have become determined largely by state and federal agencies. Although the 1980 passage of the Alaska National Interest Lands Conservation Act (ANILCA) did later provide a subsistence priority in times of resource scarcity, it failed to establish an allocation preference to Alaska Natives. By failing to protect the subsistence rights of Alaska Natives, ANCSA and ANILCA have been criticized for being the most pervasive forms of social engineering legislation that have ever affected Alaska Native tribes, and as largely responsible for fundamentally changing the cultural practices, social relationships, and subsistence economies of Alaska Native communities (Thomas and Thornton 1998). ANCSA’s lessons were carefully considered by the Cree and Inuit of northern Quebec, who were engaged in their own land claim negotiations with the Canadian federal government (Nettheim, Meyers, and Craig 2002). These negotiations, motivated by similar socio-political conditions as in Alaska (in this case, hydroelectric development), led to the 1975 James Bay and Northern Quebec Agreement (JBNQA), Canada’s first modern-day comprehensive land claim settlement. With the passage of the JBNQA, the Cree and Inuit were awarded $225 million in compensation and a total land settlement of over one million square kilometres. Although the agreement required the Cree and Inuit to cede certain territorial rights, they gained new forms of recognition and protection for wildlife-harvesting activities (Morehouse 1987), most notably through various HSPs. These programs are administered pursuant to section 29 of the JBNQA, with the basic objectives being to help maintain wildlife-harvesting activities of the Cree and Inuit, to ensure a supply of country food for Cree and Inuit communities, and to maintain harvesting equipment such as community freezers and boats. According to Martin (2003), the inclusion of HSPs in the JBNQA has been a significant factor in stabilizing Aboriginal hunting economies in Quebec.

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Since the settlement of the JBNQA, twenty-three other comprehensive land claims have been settled in Canada, many of which include HSPs for Aboriginal harvesters. Although ranging in design and means of delivery, HSPs in general provide Aboriginal harvesters the necessary resources – cash, equipment, facilities, and services – to maintain access to wildlife and other natural resources. In addition to those implemented through the settlement of comprehensive land claims, HSPs have also been introduced as part of an increasing number of Impact and Benefit Agreements (IBAs) negotiated between Aboriginal communities and resource development industries. These programs are often negotiated to compensate communities for the loss of access to traditional lands due to non-compatible land developments. HSPs are also administered by community hunter and trapper organizations or other local associations, with funding made available by Aboriginal or territorial governments. The last type of HSP takes the form of various market mechanisms that are used to facilitate harvesting activities and the local production of land-based arts and crafts. In all cases HSPs aim to help sustain local livelihoods, by supporting the nutritional needs of community members, compensating harvesters for the loss of access to traditional lands and resources, and supporting culturally important land-based traditions that might otherwise be hard to maintain. In the section that follows, we provide an overview of the various HSPs that are in place across the North, offering a glimpse of the range of programs that facilitate Aboriginal access to wildlife resources. Hunter Support Programs Following the 1975 settlement of the JBNQA, two HSPs were implemented. The first was the Cree Hunters and Trappers Income Security Program. The objective of this program was to “ensure that hunting, fishing and trapping shall constitute a viable way of life for the Cree people, and that individual Cree who elect to pursue such way of life shall be guaranteed a measure of economic security consistent with conditions prevailing from time to time” (JBNQA, section 30.2.8). Specific activities supported by the program include: providing the necessary funds to purchase, construct, or repair equipment used in hunting, fishing, and trapping; picking and processing wild berries; processing, transporting, and marketing land-based resources; providing transportation to and from bush camps and harvesting sites; and providing compensation for time spent in a mandatory course for firearm use.

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The program also provides a direct transfer of funds to harvesters who spend more than 120 days per year on the land harvesting traditional resources. The second HSP concerned the Inuit of northern Quebec, in the region known as Nunavik, and it differs from that of the Cree program in a number of respects. One of the most salient is that community governments administer HSP funds on behalf of the collective community membership. For example, the Quebec government transfers funds to the Kativik Regional Government, which then allocates a portion to harvesters to help offset the high costs of living in Nunavik. This serves essentially as a subsidy to Inuit harvesters to help them purchase harvesting equipment or pay for the transport or purchase of country food. This subsidy also includes the purchase of fuel to help harvesters who lack regular employment to access harvesting areas. Given that, on average, Nunavik communities pay more than 47 per cent higher gasoline prices than do communities in southern Quebec (Bernard 2006), this subsidy goes a long way towards offsetting some of the more significant costs associated with wildlife harvesting. Additional financial support is available to Inuit for the production of traditional equipment and tools, including sleds, harpoons, knives, and tents that can then be used personally or sold to other Inuit. A similar initiative involves the production and sale of fur clothing. In 1982 another HSP was negotiated with the Naskapi people as part of the Northeastern Quebec Agreement to provide “an income, benefits and other incentives for Naskapis of Québec who wish to pursue wildlife harvesting activities as a way of life or on behalf of the Naskapis of Québec residing in the Naskapi community” (section 19.2). The Naskapi receive a yearly grant from the Quebec government to offset the costs associated with wildlife harvesting. Funds are also made available help engage youth in harvesting activities. In addition to these land claim–based HSPs, other programs have also been implemented as part of IBAs or other forms of compensation resulting from the loss of access to lands or resources. For example, as a result of hydroelectric development in the James Bay region, increased levels of mercury were found in fish, an important part of the Cree diet. “To help mitigate the loss of fisheries and to restore and strengthen the Cree fisheries in ways which respond to Cree aspirations,” a Mercury Agreement was signed in 2001 between the Grand Council of the Cree, the Cree Regional Authority, and Hydro-Québec. Specific initiatives funded by the agreement (article 6.1.1) include: funding for fish

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harvesting, processing, storage, and transportation infrastructure; feasibility assessments of commercial and sport fisheries, including fish marketing; facilitating Cree access to fishing sites; the enhancement and construction of fishing camps; the introduction of training programs designed to perpetuate Traditional Knowledge of the fishery and related harvesting activities; provisions for the purchase and maintenance of fishing equipment; the development and maintenance of trails to fishing sites; and fish-restocking programs. These and other program initiatives were designed to ensure the sustainability of the fishery for the long-term benefit of the Cree. In Nunavut the Nunavut Harvester Support Program (NHSP) was established in 1993 to support the harvesting activities of eligible beneficiaries of the Nunavut Land Claims Agreement (NLCA). The NHSP was originally established by the government of the Northwest Territories and the Tunngavik Federation of Nunavut, each making an initial program investment of $15 million. The NHSP includes investment in a Capital Equipment Program, a Small Equipment Program, a Community Harvest Program, and the Atugaksait Program (formerly the Women’s Role in Harvesting and Traditional Knowledge Enhancement program). The Capital Equipment Program is designed to provide Inuit households with the necessary equipment – boats, motors, snowmobiles – to access distant harvesting sites. Priority is given to households with limited access to other sources of wage income and to members of households that, on average, earn less than $75,000 per year and have not accessed the program in the previous four years. This last criterion helps ensure the maximum distribution of program benefits to all interested applicants. The Small Equipment Program facilitates the purchases of bulk quantities of harvesting equipment – such as global positioning systems, high-frequency radios, satellite phones, fishnets, sleeping bags, floatation suites, and sewing machines – sent to community hunter and trapper organizations for resale to harvesters at subsidized prices. The Community Harvest Program provides up to $3,000 to hunter and trapper organizations to organize and lead hunts for the benefit of the entire community, particularly community members with limited ability or opportunity to hunt for themselves. The Atugaksait Program provides financial assistance for projects that teach land-based survival skills, harvesting knowledge, and traditional production techniques that perpetuate Inuit values and knowledge. Nunavut’s Department of Economic Development and Transportation also contributes to the harvesting activities of Inuit households

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through its Sustainable Livelihood Fund, which is part of the Nunavut government’s small business program. This program is available to harvesters and artists who have a business plan to produce and sell products derived from the harvest of wildlife and other natural resources (such as seal skins and soapstone). Individuals can receive up to two grants, each worth $5,000 per year. Other market-based programs also support Inuit land-based economies in Nunavut. For example, Kitikmeot Foods Ltd. and Ekaluktutiak Hunters and Trappers Association have partnered in a commercial muskox harvest. Sold commercially, muskox meat demands high prices in Canadian and US markets and the qiviuq – the animal’s soft underwool – is highly valued to make clothing. In the Northwest Territories the territorial government administers the Community Harvester’s Assistance Program, which promotes wildlife harvesting by helping to defray some capital and operating costs. The territorial government also provides Local Wildlife Committees annual funding to help offset a portion of their administrative costs and to assist them in the delivery of related services and support for the promotion of wildlife harvesting. The Western Harvesters Assistance Program provides Aboriginal organizations funds to assist and promote renewable resource harvesting at the community level. In the Inuvialuit Settlement Region, the Inuvialuit Regional Corporation supports Inuit hunters through the Inuvialuit Harvesters Assistance Program (IHAP). Upon application, the IHAP can provide a large portion (upwards of 75 per cent) of the funds necessary to purchase major harvesting equipment such as snowmobiles, boats, outboard motors, and all-terrain vehicles. The program also covers a portion of the costs of small equipment such as radios, tents, stoves, heaters, chainsaws, sewing machines, fishnets, lumber, generators, firearms, toboggans, global positioning systems, ice augers, and binoculars. In the Yukon the 1993 Umbrella Final Agreement included a provision for a study to examine the possible implementation of an HSP. No such program has yet been implemented in the territory, however, and there is no indication that either the territorial or the federal government is inclined to support one in the future. In its absence a number of Yukon First Nations have implemented their own programs to provide harvesters small subsidies to purchase gasoline and other small equipment. Other local programs, such as the Community Lunch Program administered by the Little Salmon Carmacks First Nation, provide hunters financial and capital support to harvest country food that is

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shared at a weekly lunch. Although the quantity of such food falls well short of providing for the full nutritional needs of the community, the emphasis of the program is on interaction between youth and Elders and the transfer of skills in harvesting, processing, and preparing country food. Innu Hunter Support Programs The Innu (meaning “the people”), Canada’s most easterly Cree-speaking people, have occupied north-central Labrador (Nitassinan) for over 8,000 years (Armitage 1990). Prior to the nineteenth century, Europeans had little effect on the life of the Innu. Living and travelling in extended family units, the Innu spent most of the year deep in the interior of Labrador and made only periodic visits to the coast. By the late nineteenth century, however, sustained efforts to draw the Innu into dependency on European trade goods heralded an era of great change, much of it harmful, including, but not limited to, the introduction of European diseases. It was not until the 1960s that the Innu were more or less settled permanently in year-round settlements. Today, the Innu reside in two communities: Sheshashiu and Natuashish (formerly Davis Inlet). The settlement of the Innu was a culmination of events. First, in 1949, Newfoundland officially joined Canada, and with Confederation assumed administrative responsibility for the Labrador Innu (as well as neighbouring Inuit). In the years that followed, Innu affairs, including housing, employment, and general human rights, were ignored or mishandled (Sampson 2003), the results of which are still being experienced today. With the removal of the Innu from the land, industrial development proceeded unabated, with extensive mining, forestry, and hydroelectric development collectively transforming Innu territory. The Innu were also confronted by armed forces of member states of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization, which used Innu territory for low-level flight training. Tanner (2000, 85) summarizes the cumulative effects of these and other incursions: While individually each of these threats constitutes a scandalous injustice, seen together they are indicative of a general and pervasive ignorance and lack of consideration for the interests of the Innu. The combined effect of these threats has been to degrade the environment, leaving less and less land and fewer animals for Innu hunters, who are thus effectively being

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deprived of the right to pursue their own way of life. The Innu need to preserve their land in its natural state to maintain what they value most: their hunting culture and their spiritual relationship with the animals and the land.

In light of these challenges, and in the absence of a settlement of their own comprehensive land claim, the Innu Nation introduced two selffunded HSPs to help maintain their presence on the land and to support the harvesting activities of Innu households. These two HSPs are sponsored by the Sheshatshiu Band Council (SBC), and include a Community Hunt Program and the Innu Outpost Program. The Community Hunt Program is organized by the SBC, which hires community hunters to harvest caribou. Hunters are selected based on their recognized skills and abilities. The SBC provides all the necessary supplies – including food, equipment, and transport. Most often these hunts occur along the Labrador Highway during the migration of the George River caribou herd. For the Innu Nation, the importance of caribou cannot be overstated. Serving as a major dietary component, caribou form the basis of the Innu economy, while caribou hunting and related activities (processing and distribution) serve as the foundation of Innu social structure. As the animal is the most powerful spirit in Innu culture, respect for caribou continues to be shown through the communal feast known as Mukushan. Because the migration pattern of the George River herd varies from year to year, the SBC has established a network of hunting cabins along the highway for use by Innu hunters. The SBC also provides snowmobiles and gasoline for travel into more remote locations where caribou are found in some years. Upon the completion of a successful hunt, caribou and other country food are returned to the community and distributed to Elders, who serve as focal points of distribution of the food to an extensive network of community households. Elders thus ensure that those in most need receive a fair portion of the harvest. For Innu households that are either unable or cannot afford to hunt for themselves, the Community Hunt Program is one of the few opportunities to obtain caribou. There is an important distinction to be made between the Community Hunt Program and social assistance. As the Tungavik Federation of Nunavut (1989) notes, social assistance stands in contrast to the minimum cash-flow needs of the harvesting economy, and is designed primarily to permit consumption of foodstuffs brought in from outside, rather than to sustain the production of food from local resources. As opposed to the support

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made available through HSPs, social assistance tends to erode, rather than buttress, the cultural values bound in the subsistence harvesting economy. In addition to providing an important source of food, the Community Hunt Program is an opportunity for young hunters to accompany more experienced hunters. The hunt serves as a form of apprenticeship, whereby young hunters learn from more senior hunters and refine their own hunting skills. As a rite of passage, the killing of one’s first caribou serves as an important indicator of a young man’s readiness to assume responsibility as a family provider. In a cultural context, caribou hunting remains a defining factor for young Innu men entering adulthood. The hunts also afford an opportunity for youth to leave the community for periods of time and, as one senior hunter noted, to remove them from some of the more negative temptations found in the community – for example, alcohol and drugs – and to be reminded of what it is to be Innu. Another important aspect of the Community Hunt Program is that it reinforces social relationships. The act of giving and receiving caribou not only facilitates the distribution of food as an economic resource; it also affirms personal relationships and the social networks that support them. While participating in the production and distribution of caribou establishes a sense of social relatedness among Innu households, equally important is that the sharing of caribou instils a moral framework between the Innu and the non-human world. For the Innu, their relationship with the caribou is based on reciprocal transactions. An important part of that “moral contract” involves caribou offering themselves to Innu hunters in exchange for their respectful treatment as nonhuman persons. Encompassing an important spiritual dimension, food sharing and norms of reciprocity entail broader conceptions of social responsibility, and account for an entirely different set of motivations that extend beyond economic rationality. Fundamental to these practices is a basic tenet that is manifestly bound to religious ideology and ritual (Natcher 2009). Thus the underlying principle of Innu behaviour is adherence to a moral system that governs human behaviour towards the environment. The legitimacy and authority of these cultural beliefs are determined at the community level by reference to a locally evolved knowledge base that binds Innu members through shared norms and values: “Hunting caribou is more than food on the table. It is a fundamental part of who we are. It is part of our way of life. The animals we hunt are not just commodities. We believe that they are given to us by

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the animal masters, and that by hunting, we show respect for the land and all that it provides” (Ashini 1997). The Innu Outpost Program, also organized by the SBC, is designed to get Innu families into more remote camps. In contrast to the Community Hunt Program, where hunters are selected and activities occur in areas more or less adjacent to the Labrador Highway, the Outpost Program provides an opportunity for all interested community members to participate and to gain access to otherwise inaccessible locations by chartered bush plane. Hunters and Innu families can spend as little as a week or up to several months in the bush during the spring and fall. During these times, families and extended family groups live and work together by hunting, fishing, trapping, and procuring a range of country food. In 2001 it was estimated that approximately half of Sheshatshiu residents participated in seasonal trips into the country for two to three months at a time, primarily during the spring caribou migration (Scott 2001). More than half the residents used the Outpost Program, many of whom (44 per cent) would have had no other financial means to leave the community (Minaskuat Inc. 2008). This participation rate is consistent with current trends that show that, since 2007, an average of 300 community members (25 per cent of Sheshashiu) per year have participated in the program. In addition to the health and nutritional benefits of the program (Samson and Pretty 2006), spending time at the Outpost camps is also important in terms of emotional and cultural well-being. For the many Innu who were born prior to 1960, these locations often represent places of birth, and returning is important for maintaining a sense of identity. Even for those born after 1960, spending time in Outpost camps where their parents and grandparents were born instils positive emotional and cultural connections with both the land and the generations of Innu before them. The Canadian Human Rights Commission has highlighted the emotional, spiritual, and cultural benefits of the Outpost Program (Backhouse and McRae 2002), finding that its continuance is central to healing the Innu people of past physical and psychological traumas resulting from permanent settlement. It has been suggested however, that these programs’ dependence on money risks transforming traditional cultural values and weakening existing social networks. The incompatibility of subsistence and “modern” economies means that Aboriginal family structure, values, and expectations might be altered so as to devalue traditional forms of socialization (Hund 2004, 1). As a result, “[t]he functioning of social

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networks has been affected by a decrease in importance of the extended family unit and the emergence of inter-generational segregation, a decline in the practice of traditional cultural values, a concentration of resources in fewer hands, and the emergence of social conflict” (Ford et al. 2008, 54). Despite the irreversible importance of cash in Aboriginal communities, we argue that, in the case of the Innu, the HSPs have reinforced Innu values and the social relationships associated with wildlife harvesting. The value of the Community Hunt and Outpost Programs can be found in the unity of complementary outcomes. That is, both programs provide Innu households the financial means to access and procure wildlife resources (predominantly caribou). These “transactions” then result in the redistribution of country food through established social networks, thereby reinforcing cultural norms of reciprocity long observed by the Innu. HSPs now provide the economic basis for wildlife harvesting, thereby invigorating social institutions and perpetuating traditional values among Innu households. Conclusion In 1971 the first comprehensive Aboriginal land claim in North America was signed between Alaska Natives and the US government. Four years later, in 1975, Canada concluded its first comprehensive land claim settlement, the James Bay Northern Quebec Agreement, with the Cree and Inuit of northern Quebec. Although the primary motivation for these land claims agreements was arguably the need to establish clear and secure title to lands and resources in advance of large-scale resource development, it is also widely acknowledged that land claims agreements have afforded Aboriginal claimants well-defined entitlements to land and wildlife resources. These agreements are intended to protect a valued way of life predicated largely on the harvesting of wildlife resources. The ensuing policy and legislative environments created by these and subsequent land claims agreements have had a major effect at the community level, however, by influencing the forms of livelihood that Indigenous peoples can attain. In a number of cases in northern Canada, Hunter Support Programs have been negotiated as a principal means of reinforcing subsistence opportunities. In other cases, such as in Alaska, the absence of HSPs or similar institutions has created additional food insecurities. As one of the principal objectives of the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act was to draw Alaska Natives out of the “traditional subsistence sector” (Nettheim, Meyers, and Craig 2002)

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and into the “social and economic mainstream” (Morehouse 1987), it is not surprising that HSPs were not considered during negotiations. Sadly it is this form of dualism (traditional versus mainstream) that, in effect, has created a dialectic between subsistence and wage economies that to this day is proving disadvantageous to the rights and livelihoods of Alaska Natives. In Canada, Aboriginal groups were wise to observe the outcome of the Alaska settlement and to negotiate aggressively for the inclusion of HSPs in their own land claims agreements. These claims-based programs then set the stage for the broader acceptance by government and industry of other forms of harvesting support – for instance, the Cree Mercury Agreement and the Western Harvesters Assistance Program in the Northwest Terrritories. The various HSPs we have described in this chapter demonstrate that it is not easy to draw clear conceptual boundaries between economy and culture in northern Canada. As both Abele and Rodon note in their respective chapters in this volume, communities are using Beneficiary Organizations linked to new comprehensive treaties to serve both cultural and economic objectives. The cultural notions of sharing and cooperation that are at the centre of the Aboriginal social economy were originally the products of the subsistence economy. Aboriginal communities are now developing new programs to ensure that the subsistence economy continues to exist and to contribute to communities because of its cultural importance. Beneficiary Organizations are borrowing organizational forms more closely associated with the “third sector” social economy, and there is concern that the use of these forms will further erode these communities. Our research indicates, however, that this is not the case. Communities are able to borrow from both social economy traditions to ensure their ability to adapt to new situations without abandoning their cultural identity. By unpacking the objectives and outcomes of HSPs, the connections, rather than the distinctions, between economy and culture continue to be seen, making more apparent the contribution of HSPs to the northern social economy. REFERENCES Armitage, P. 1990. “Land Use and Occupancy among the Innu of Sheshatshiu and Utshimassit.” Sheshatshiu, NL: Sheshatshiu Innu Nation. Ashini, D. 1997. Speech to Canadian Environmental Defence Fund Annual Dinner. Quoted in Voisey’s Bay News, 24 June and 28 June.

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Backhouse, C., and D. McRae. 2002. Report to the Canadian Human Rights Commission on the Treatment of the Innu of Labrador by the Government of Canada. Ottawa: Canadian Human Rights Commission. Available online at http://caid.ca/InnuRepHRC2002.pdf; accessed 22 August 2014. Bernard, N. 2006. “Nunavik Comparative Price Index 2006.” Quebec City: Université Laval, Chaire de recherche du Canada sur la condition autochtone comparée. Available online at http://www.chairecondition autochtone.fss.ulaval.ca/documents/pdf/135.pdf; accessed 22 August 2014. Dombrowski, K. 2007. “Lifestyle and Livelihood: Culture Politics and Alaska Native Subsistence.” Anthropologica 49 (2): 211–30. Ford, J.D., B. Smit, J. Wandel, M. Allurut, K. Shappa, H. Ittusarjuat, and K. Qrunnut. 2008. “Climate Change in the Arctic: Current and Future Vulnerability in Two Inuit Communities in Canada.” Geographical Journal 174 (1): 45–62. http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1475-4959.2007.00249.x Hart, K. 2006. “Bureaucratic Form and the Informal Economy.” In Linking the Formal and Informal Economy: Concepts and Policies, ed. B. Guha-Khasnobis, R. Kanbur, and E. Ostrom, 21–35. Oxford: Oxford University Press. http:// dx.doi.org/10.1093/0199204764.003.0002. Hund, A. 2004. “From Subsistence to the Cash-based Economy: Alterations in the Inuit Family Structure, Values, and Expectations.” Paper presented at the annual meeting of the American Sociological Association, San Francisco, 14 August. Available online at http://citation.allacademic.com/meta/ p_mla_apa_research_citation/1/0/8/8/2/p108826_index.html; accessed 22 August 2014. James, C.L.R. 1980. Notes on Dialectics: Hegel, Marx, Lenin. London: Allison and Busby. Langdon, S.J. 1986. Contemporary Alaskan Native Economies. New York: University Press of America. Martin, T. 2003. De la banquise au congélateur: mondialisation et culture au Nunavik. Quebec City: Les Presses de l’Université Laval. Minaskuat Inc. 2008. 2006 Historic Resources Overview and Impact Assessment of Muskrat Falls Generating Facility and Reservoir and Muskrat Falls to Gull Island Transmission Line Corridor. Environmental Impact Statement for the Lower Churchill Hydroelectric Generation Project. Happy Valley-Goose Bay, NL. Morehouse, T.A. 1987. “Native Claims and Political Development: A Comparative Analysis.” Paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the Western Regional Science Association, Kona, HI, 19 February. Natcher, D.C. 2009. “Subsistence and the Social Economy of Canada’s Aboriginal North.” Northern Review 30 (Spring): 69–84.

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Nettheim, G., G.D. Meyers, and D. Craig. 2002. Indigenous Peoples and Governance Structures: A Comparative Analysis of Land and Resource management Rights. Canberra, Australia: Aboriginal Studies Press. Sampson, C. 2003. A Way of Life That Does Not Exist: Canada and the Extinguishment of the Innu. London: Verso Press. Sampson, C., and J. Pretty. 2006. “Environmental and Health Benefits of Hunting Lifestyles and Diets for the Innu of Labrador.” Food Policy 31 (6): 528–53. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.foodpol.2006.02.001 Scott, C., ed. 2001. Aboriginal Autonomy and Development in Northern Québec and Labrador. Vancouver: UBC Press. Tanner, A. 2000. “The Innu of Labrador, Canada.” In Endangered Peoples of the Arctic: Struggles to Survive and Thrive, ed. M. Freeman, 75–92. London: Greenwood Press. Thomas, F., and T. Thornton. 1998. “Alaska Native Subsistence: A Matter of Cultural Survival.” Cultural Survival Quarterly 22 (3): 29–34. Tungavik Federation of Nunavut. 1989. “An Inuit Response.” Canadian Arctic Resources Committee 17 (1): 2–3.

10 Historical Perspectives on Mining and the Aboriginal Social Economy JEAN-SÉBASTIEN BOUTET, ARN KEELING, AND JOHN SANDLOS1

The development of major mining projects in the Canadian North beginning in the late 1920s (and intensifying in the 1950s and 1960s) transformed the region. Mining often introduced rapid economic and environmental changes that were detrimental to the social economies of Aboriginal groups based largely on subsistence wildlife harvesting, community systems of sharing, and mutual aid. The establishment of wage labour as a dominant economic force, the construction of instant mining towns with modern amenities such as shopping centres, the introduction of roads and railways (and attendant social impacts such as drugs and alcohol), and the production of broadscale ecological changes that affected fish and wildlife populations often severely impacted Aboriginal communities located close to mining operations. If, as discussed in the introduction of this volume, one of the main objectives of the Social Economy Research Network of Northern Canada was to understand the contemporary situation of the northern social economy through an understanding of both the contemporary

1 This research was generously supported by funding from a SERNNoCa subproject grant, a Social Sciences and Humanities Council of Canada Northern Communities Special Call, ArcticNet, and Memorial University. The authors would like to acknowledge the support and assistance of: the Hamlet of Rankin Inlet, the Innu and Naskapi communities of the Schefferville and Sept-Îles region, and, in Fort Resolution, the Deninu Kue First Nation and Fort Resolution Métis Council, along with individual co-researchers in those communities. The authors are themselves responsible for any errors or omissions.

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Western notion of this phenomenon and the Aboriginal social economy, then a proper understanding of the effect of these transformations on the Aboriginal social economy needs to occur. An investigation into the reaction of the Aboriginal social economy to mining will help us better understand the processes of change currently affecting it. Many scholars and other commentators have tended to adopt a broad staples critique of the early mining period, emphasizing the detrimental social, economic, and ecological effects of the mines while also highlighting the relative lack of financial benefits that flowed from them in the form of employment or cash payments (Abel 1993; Ali 2003; Deprez 1973; Keeling 2010; MacPherson 1978a,b; Notzke 1994; Sandlos and Keeling 2012; Sumi and Thomsen 2001). Seen through the lens of political economy and political ecology, industrial mining in the territorial North can be understood as a colonial force, an agent of modern development that has displaced and disrupted Aboriginal subsistence economies (Keeling and Sandlos 2009). The historical interactions between mining and the Aboriginal social economy have been more complex, however, than a narrative emphasizing one-way social, economic, and ecological effects allows for. Our oral historical and archival research on mining in three geographically dispersed northern communities – Pine Point, Northwest Territories; Schefferville, Quebec; and Rankin Inlet, Nunavut – strongly indicates that the Aboriginal social economy did not wither and wilt in the face of mining activity. Indeed, mining and wildlife harvesting at times coexisted in a mutually supporting relationship, with hunting providing a safety net during downturns in metal prices and wage labour an alternative to subsistence when wildlife was scarce or fur prices low. Although federal government officials often naively promoted mining as a means to modernize and replace seemingly “backward” hunting and trapping economies, in other cases these authorities openly advocated the pursuit of social-economic activities among Aboriginal people as a source of economic security (not to mention an alternative to relief payments) in the event of mining industry downturns or failures. Conversely, Aboriginal groups at times succeeded in negotiating their own relationships with mining labour, often selectively participating in the wage economy to meet increasing transportation and equipment costs associated with social-economic activities and life on the land. As with other cases of mixed wage and subsistence economies in northern Canada (Berkes et al. 1994; Elias 1997; Natcher 2009; Usher, Duhaime, and Searles 2003; Wenzel 1983; Wuttunee 2010), mining and the Aboriginal

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social economy were not always distinct from each another (the fur trade, after all had introduced a mercantile commercial economy to northern Canada over two centuries earlier), but instead represented a continuum of economic activity to which Aboriginal people were able to adapt and control to a certain extent. As important as it is to acknowledge the colonial history of displacement associated with mining in northern Canada, the individual stories of Aboriginal people reveal a complex, fluid, and sometimes mutually reinforcing set of relationships between Aboriginal community-based social economy practices and industrial mining activities. Rankin Inlet: Indigenous Adaptation and Industrial Employment The Rankin Inlet Nickel Mine – Arctic Canada’s first industrial mining operation – was hailed at the time of its opening in the 1950s as a grand experiment in Arctic modernization, prompting newspaper headlines such as “Mine employs many Eskimos” (Regina Leader-Post, 19 July 1957, 21) and “Eskimo miner experiment” (Calgary Herald, 16 December 1957, 19). Unusually for the time, the mine actively sought to employ Inuit labour, both during the construction phase beginning in 1953 and (more notably) on the surface and underground during the mine’s short operational phase from 1957 to 1962. Inuit employment at the mine was promoted by federal government officials concerned about the future of Inuit during the “caribou crisis” of the mid-1950s. Inuit workers were also welcomed by the mining company; as a small venture operating under difficult market and environmental conditions, Rankin Inlet Nickel Mines Ltd. embraced Inuit labour as part of a strategy to reduce labour costs and turnover at the mine. From a small cohort of workers helping build the mine and town, the Inuit labour force came to make up 70 per cent of the mine workforce (Boulter 2011; McPherson 2003; Taylor 1985). The subsequent closure of the mine in late 1962 dealt a devastating blow to the community, forcing many Inuit families to leave the settlement while others struggled to make a living from a combination of welfare, government make-work projects, and subsistence activities. The Rankin Inlet case illustrates the complex interactions between wage labour and the Aboriginal social economy during both the operational and post-closure phases of the mine, as well as the contradictory policies of federal officials towards Inuit in the region. At Rankin Inlet, the traditional social economy, rather than simply being displaced,

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coexisted with and in some respects facilitated both mineral development and Inuit employment. Government policies around land-based activities were bound up with the shifting and contradictory goals of Inuit modernization and regional economic development. Traditional pursuits alone, however, were unable to support the community once its main economic generator disappeared, although they contributed to the material well-being and resilience of the residents. Ironically, plans to diversify the Rankin Inlet economy in the wake of the mine closure centred on government-subsidized social-economic activities, including hunting, fishing, handicrafts, and other cooperative ventures. Federal officials initially greeted the establishment of the Rankin Inlet Nickel Mine as a partial solution to the perceived crisis of the Inuit land-based economy in the 1950s. Early in the decade, with Arctic fox fur prices collapsing and caribou populations apparently in crisis, the Department of Northern Affairs and National Resources adopted an increasingly interventionist policy in the eastern Arctic (Kulchyski and Tester 2007; Sandlos 2007). While continuing the long-standing “policy of dispersal” that sought to limit Inuit nucleation around trading posts and Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) detachments by promoting subsistence hunting and fishing, Northern Affairs also sought ways to deliver improved health, education, and social welfare services to this dispersed population (Damas 2002; Tester and Kulchyski 1994). As officials in Ottawa and the Arctic grappled with these contradictory policies and their implications – including episodes of starvation among some inland Ahiarmiut Inuit and the national scandal they provoked – the mine at Rankin Inlet appeared to offer an opportunity to shift Inuit away from their seemingly precarious land-based economy and towards industrial wage labour and a self-sustaining settlement economy. Writing to the mine secretary for information about the operation, R. Gordon Robertson suggested that, “[b]ecause of the steadily increasing inroads on the wildlife resources of the north, it is going to be necessary to have more Eskimos adapted to wage employment as their means of livelihood” (Robertson 1955). Notably, Robertson’s emphasis on “adaptation” would remain a central theme in discussions around Inuit resettlement and wage work at Rankin Inlet. For the North Rankin Nickel Mine, Inuit workers provided a ready and “cheerful” labour force that helped the company deal with the difficulty and expense of attracting and retaining southern mine workers to this remote location. As equipment was shipped from Montreal and construction of the mine began in earnest in 1953–54, the company

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needed seasonal workers, and turned to an Inuk from Chesterfield Inlet, Singiituq, who recruited dozens of Inuit workers for the operation (there was no Inuit settlement at Rankin Inlet before the mine). Working as stevedores and construction assistants, Inuit workers lived apart from non-Inuit workers, camping with their families in skin tents. Despite a language barrier and a lack of specialized skills, Inuit workers were prized by the company for their industriousness and willingness to work in the harsh Arctic climate. As the mine shifted to production in 1957, its president, Dr. W.W. Weber, told Northern Affairs officials he was “strongly in favor of employing as many Eskimos as possible” and integrating them into the life of the mining camp (cited in Herbert 1957). That year, Inuit employment shot up from fourteen to eighty workers and, under the initiative of new mine manager J. Andrew Easton Inuit workers became integrated into nearly all aspects of the operation, including (eventually) underground work (Boulter 2011, 35). Among the challenges for this new workforce, however, was the balance between wage labour at the mine and traditional activities. Initially, both the mine and Northern Affairs officials remained concerned not to “take the Eskimos permanently from their native way of life” by limiting, for instance, the number of days per week worked (Herbert 1955). During the construction phase, Inuit were permitted time off to hunt, and in some cases were even paid to fish and hunt “provided [the hunter] shares the proceeds of the hunt with the natives who remain at work” or, in some cases, with other mine workers (Boone 1954). Despite the desire (noted above) to move Inuit into wage employment to relieve pressure on game populations, some Northern Affairs officials, such as James Cantley, raised concerns about the long-term employment of Inuit at mines, military bases, and other installations in the Arctic. Recognizing potential problems of wage dependency and economic uncertainty, Cantley argued that Inuit should be encouraged to continue to “follow their native way of living so that they and their families would not find it too difficult to readapt themselves if the employment were to cease” (Cantley 1953). In this sense, the Inuit social economy of landbased livelihoods would provide a safety net for the uncertainties of the wage economy – a position that foreshadowed later discussions surrounding the closure of the Rankin Inlet mine. For their part, although they embraced wage labour, Inuit also appeared unwilling to simply abandon traditional activities and livelihood strategies. Today Inuit recall moving “from igloo to mine shaft” (Rogers 2011), but this clearly was not a simple substitution of one way

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of life for another. As the mine moved towards production in 1956 and employed ever more Inuit, mine managers found, to their consternation, that some Inuit employees would leave work or not show up for shifts in order to go hunting. W.G. Kerr, the Northern Service Officer for the region, reported in December of that year that “the Eskimos stated that they were satisfied with the pay and working conditions but that they would like to have time off for hunting meat for their wives and children” (cited in Cunningham 1956). Kerr worked with the mine manager to develop a sort of rotation system whereby Inuit employees could take days off for hunting, so long as they gave notice and a replacement worker could be found. Robert Williamson, a welfare office and anthropologist who lived at Rankin Inlet in the 1960s, suggested this arrangement not only ensured that the mine had enough workers for any given shift, but also promoted punctuality and reduced absenteeism overall among Inuit employees (Williamson 1974, 116). Although the rotation system did not solve these problems completely, it represented a novel solution to Inuit workers’ expressed desire to continue hunting to supply game to families (which, unlike the men, did not receive meals in the mine cafeteria). Indeed, Elders in Rankin Inlet interviewed about their experiences working at the mine recalled that hunting and fishing remained an important part of their livelihood strategies.2 “We ... made a request to our supervisors, to the authorities, to go out and hunt ... as long as they agreed, then we could go out in the middle of the week,” remembers one former miner. Still, as another miner noted, if they neglected to inform supervisors, “yeah, we were punished. And at one point I got into a huge argument with the mine boss, Andy Easton.” A third miner remembered that, although it seemed that they worked “all the time” in the mine, “we are meat eaters, so we used to go out hunting” whenever possible, underscoring the cultural significance of traditional activities. Contemporary anthropological observers debated the extent to which Inuit workers were able to balance wage labour and traditional livelihoods. For Williamson, who worked closely with both Inuit and mine officials and who spoke Inuktitut, Rankin Inuit undertook a form 2 Patricia Boulter and Arn Keeling interviewed several former miners and miners’ wives in August 2011. The conversations were translated simultaneously between Inuktitut and English by Piita Irniq; thus the quotations are translations of the informants’ answers.

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of “cultural commuting” between the non-Inuit world and their own, while retaining basic Inuit social values and practices (Williamson, n.d.). He contended that many Inuit took up wage work only to improve their material situation as hunters, pointing to the rotational system as evidence of the Inuit desire to remain hunting people. Yet Williamson also decried the dependency induced by wage work; in his PhD thesis, written on “socio-cultural change” at Rankin Inlet, he describes the Inuit as undergoing “a process of rather rapid cultural disintegration” (Williamson 1974, 187). This latter perspective echoes the observations of anthropologist Robert Dailey and nurse Lois Dailey, who conducted a report on social conditions in Rankin Inlet in 1961 (a report commissioned, in part, to address the question of post-closure community adjustment). The Daileys suggested the wage economy had largely supplanted the traditional economy among Rankin Inuit, while noting that “remnants” of former practices remained. In particular, they highlighted how the erosion of the traditional co-dependent domestic economy particularly affected women, whose social role (they argued) was diminished in settlement life (Dailey and Dailey 1961). The question of Inuit “adaptation” to or dependency on wage labour came into sharp relief with the closure of the mine in 1962. The Rankin mine had always been a precarious proposition, and rumours of closure stalked it almost from the beginning. By 1960, however, those rumours became more insistent as higher grade ore played out and nickel prices fell on international markets. For Northern Affairs officials, the prospect of the mine’s closure constituted a renewed “crisis” that threatened the entire Keewatin Region (now known as the Kivalliq Region). Writing to C.W. Harvison, Commissioner of the RCMP, R. Gordon Robertson noted that the mine’s closure threatened to worsen the “critical emergency amongst all those who depend upon the land for their living” (Robertson 1962). An intensive series of interdepartmental discussions and reports followed through 1962, including three separate interdepartmental “Keewatin Conferences,” as the federal government struggled to keep Rankin Inlet and other communities from becoming “disaster areas.”3 Crucially, much of this debate turned on the potential of the Inuit social economy, along with government welfare and economic 3 These conferences (and their many references to disaster and crisis) are documented in Library and Archives Canada, RG 85 R216, Series D-1-A, vol. 1447 (part 5) and vol. 1448 (parts 6–8).

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development assistance, to support workers displaced by the mine’s closure. As noted above, some voices within the bureaucracy had long suggested Inuit mine workers should be encouraged to keep up traditional land-based activities as a security against mine closure (and against massive welfare expenditures). With the impending closure in late 1962, however, this question became more acute. On the one hand, some officials believed “trapping and fishing could be encouraged and could provide a basic livelihood for native residents in the area” (Rancier 1962), but this option required study of the optimal locations around the eastern Arctic for absorption of the dispersed Rankin Inlet population. Proposals for a return to the land-based economy around the community itself included the creation of government-organized, cooperative resource harvesting and marketing initiatives, in order to improve Inuit “efficiency” in their traditional pursuits. In 1962–63, Northern Affairs launched a series of pilot projects, including a char fishery, collective caribou hunts, and a fox trapping project, both for local consumption and, potentially, for export outside the region. From these initiatives, C.M. Bolger, Administrator of the Arctic, concluded that “the renewable resources can provide an adequate basic food supply for the Eskimo people but that not all of them will be able to gain an adequate livelihood from the opportunities of making a living that now exist in the Keewatin Region” (Bolger 1963). Although more radical solutions – including the depopulation of the entire Keewatin – were proposed, ultimately it was hoped that a combination of voluntary relocation, government-sponsored ventures, and a return to traditional pursuits would avert a humanitarian disaster. Planning discussions failed to avert considerable economic struggles at Rankin Inlet in the aftermath of the mine’s closure. “I remember when the mine closed people became much poorer,” recalled one woman whose husband had worked at the mine. Inuit workers were excluded from unemployment insurance benefits, and social assistance payments skyrocketed in 1963, but (perversely) welfare rates were adjusted to account for individuals’ ability (though not necessarily success) to obtain “country food” (Stewart 1964; Williamson 1974). Yet, as Shingituk [Singiituq], the Inuit foreman, pointed out in a meeting with Rankin Inlet’s Eskimo Affairs Council in February 1962, many people who had moved to Rankin Inlet “no longer had the type of equipment they would need to return to the land” – especially dogs (Proceedings of a Meeting 1962). Although some Inuit left Rankin Inlet, returning to their communities of origin or moving to others, such as Whale Cove,

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many stayed and struggled to cope with the economic dislocation. They often turned to the social economy and traditional activities to do so. In a remarkable series of interviews filmed by Peter Ittinuar in 1972, some former miners recalled the “hardship” experienced by those remaining at Rankin Inlet. One interviewee noted that, “when we stopped working, we became hunters again, full time hunters,” in addition to engaging in casual labour (in construction or shipping) and receiving social welfare (cited in Ittinuar 1972).4 In an interview with one of the authors, one former mine employee recalled the difficulties of returning to hunting – he shared dogs with his brother and sold carvings to the arts and crafts studio established in the community to finance supplies for hunting activities. The miner’s wife cited above reported that her husband combined trapping, hunting, and sealing, while she worked at a government-sponsored craftmaking project. By the late 1960s, the hamlet began a slow recovery through government-instigated economic initiatives such as a fish cannery, a ceramics studio, and craftmaking, although these were not undertaken as cooperative or non-profit ventures (Mason, Dana, and Anderson 2009; Neale 1997). In addition, the federal government relocated the administration for the Keewatin Region to Rankin Inlet. A mini construction boom and new employment and training opportunities (particularly in the government sector) attracted some Inuit back to Rankin Inlet, including several who had moved to other mines across the North for work. The pattern of combining wage opportunities with the Inuit social economy of hunting and food sharing, however, remained a defining feature of the settlement. Based on his observations in Rankin Inlet in 1974, anthropologist W.H. Jansen II remarked on the persistence of informal economic support systems, particularly the sharing of food from the land (Jansen 1979, 49), but also the sharing of hunting equipment and other goods within kinship networks. For Jansen, these practices, combined with flexible engagement in formal employment, did not constitute an obsolete cultural attitude, but an important “adaptive value in coping with altering economic conditions” (106). Jansen, then, like earlier observers, emphasized the “adaptive strategies” embodied in the Inuit social economy, which played a central role in providing security for Rankin Inlet Inuit in the context of past, present, and future

4 Ittinuar’s film was accessed in the Community Resource Centre in Rankin Inlet. The film is in Inuktitut, and was translated for the authors by Piita Irniq.

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economic uncertainty. Importantly, he concluded that economic planning for northern settlements should account for and even embrace “a continued multifaceted economy, rather than ... any monolithic emphasis” (109). In the precarious modern Arctic economy, he suggested, these strategies were likely to remain crucial. At Rankin Inlet, the Aboriginal social economy and industrial development were intertwined – in the daily practices of Inuit working at the mine and living in the town, in the employment strategies of the mining company, and in the social and economic development policies of federal administrators. Paradoxically, although the government promoted industrial development and Inuit employment, uncertainty surrounding the longevity of extractive development and the fear of mass welfare dependency among the region’s increasingly nucleated Inuit led to a desire on the part of Northern Affairs officials to preserve elements of the traditional Inuit subsistence and sharing economies, including hunting (for both caribou and marine mammals), trapping, and fishing. Balancing wage labour and traditional activities was also framed by government officials, anthropologists, and even the popular media as part of a process of gradual cultural “adaptation” to modern work practices and settlement life. In another sense, however, industrial development may be said to have “adapted” to the Inuit social economy. Inuit people agitated for and won the ability to combine hunting and wage work. Hunting and food sharing also likely helped sustain the settlement’s population, even when the mine was operational – particularly as most Inuit workers remained in low-skilled, low-pay positions and struggled to meet the expense of feeding their families. The marginally profitable mining operation benefited doubly from the Inuit social economy: it ensured the availability of a pool of local workers without the expense of recruitment and relocation of southerners, and it underwrote the costs of social reproduction among Inuit workers, reducing overall labour costs. In this sense the Inuit social economy subsidized the “experiment” of Arctic industrial modernization. It did so in another sense: traditional activities, whether undertaken for family subsistence or as collective ventures, formed the basis for a solution of the crisis that beset the Keewatin Region in the wake of the closure of the Rankin Inlet mine in the early 1960s. Northern Affairs officials vigorously promoted organized community hunting and fishing ventures (as well as handicrafts and, later, ceramics production) at Rankin Inlet and other Keewatin communities as a strategy to reduce the welfare burden of displaced mine

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employees. In a bitterly ironic situation, the social economy of Keewatin Inuit was mobilized to absorb the failures and dislocations of industrial development and state-driven modernization initiatives. Schefferville: Living with Industrialism As with the Rankin Inlet mine, the establishment of the iron ore mine at Schefferville, Quebec, represented a watershed moment in the opening of the subarctic hinterland to industrial interests. In the eyes of Quebec premier Maurice Duplessis and his administration, revenues from northern mineral developments – although generated by a foreign-owned company, Iron Ore Company of Canada – would contribute powerfully to the economic independence of the province (Quebec 1951). These developments were located at the heart of Naskapi and Innu ancestral homelands, in the Quebec-Labrador peninsula, and led to the relocation of these two Algonquian groups from the Ungava region near Fort Chimo (now Kuujjuaq) and from the coastal region of Sept-Îles, respectively, to the new mining town of Schefferville. Throughout this process, federal authorities worked to ensure that these groups joined the wage workforce, hoping thereby to transform the “Indians into a more self-dependent group of useful Canadian citizens” (Boulanger 1957). The mining industry, meanwhile, sought to take advantage of a flexible yet readily accessible pool of “unskilled” Aboriginal labourers, with the tacit support of local union representatives (Bradbury and St-Martin 1983, 138; Morisset 1960). These various institutional policies and actions combined to dictate the conditions for the marginal integration of Innu and Naskapi communities into the growing industrial order, as their transition towards mixed subsistencewage livelihoods deepened. At no point throughout these peoples’ encounter with iron mining did state or corporate agents make serious efforts to facilitate the coexistence of wage employment with other activities that constituted the Innu and Naskapi social economy, yet this important sector continued to occupy a central place in their lives throughout the mineral production period. If, on the one hand, wage labour gained economic importance as a means of subsistence for Aboriginal families, on the other hand the Innu and Naskapi did not hesitate to return to their life on the land during important hunting periods or when labour opportunities suddenly became unavailable (Boutet 2010). This persistent strategy was a source of concern for mining and government officials (Jones

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1960), and it points to the pluralistic nature of interactions – in tension, but also mutually beneficial – between the industrial wage economy and land-based activities at Schefferville. As such, Innu and Naskapi interpretations of the fluidity of movement across these two interconnected worlds can significantly challenge scholars’ more general conceptualization of them as distinct, dualistic enterprises. The diversity of stories related to the exploration of Aboriginal homelands, the corresponding growth of wage labour opportunities, and the communities’ ensuing resettlements highlight the complexity of this important transitional moment for Innu and Naskapi worlds. As various mining parties sought to identify new iron reserves in Nouveau-Québec during the inter-war period, they became convinced that the region’s ore deposits held great commercial potential. In the southern portion of the Quebec-Labrador peninsula, between Sept-Îles and Schefferville, Innu guides led prospectors across a seemingly vast, unmapped, and sparsely inhabited territory. In 1937 an Innu from Sept-Îles by the name of Mathieu André located a rich deposit near Sawyer Lake, about one hundred kilometres southeast of Schefferville, before leading Joseph Retty and the Labrador Mining and Exploration Company there (Geren and McCullogh 1990, 23). It appears that several other Innu helped geologists based in Sept-Îles identify mineral formations on an informal, part-time basis (Grégoire 1977, III2). An Innu man remembered how he frequented the Schefferville region accompanied by other Aboriginal people for exploration activities, and that he eventually installed a small camp near his territory at Attikamagen Lake to facilitate his involvement with both surveying and hunting. It was only a short time after the opening of the mine in 1954 that he moved to Schefferville permanently and looked for new employment opportunities there, making use of the recently constructed railway to relocate from Sept-Îles.5 The export of iron ore on an industrial scale indeed required the construction of a railroad linking the growing mining centre with the

5 Jean-Sébastien Boutet conducted twenty-six interviews in Kawawachikamach, Maliotenam, Matimekush, Lac-John, and Schefferville in September and October 2009. The majority of the interviews were translated simultaneously from Innuaimun and Naskapi by Alfred McKenzie and George Mameamskum. In most cases, the author has further translated the interviews from French to English.

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St Lawrence River. The Quebec North Shore and Labrador Company (QNS&L) oversaw this massive construction project, and through the late 1940s and early 1950s it employed thousands of workers from across the country. Several Innu individuals received wages as loggers and bush guides for the railway staff, and because of their familiarity with the terrain, these individuals were especially well qualified to carry out the challenging task of resupplying the work camps (Vachon 1985, 43–4; Vakil 1983, 137). By 1953 total earnings of the Sept-Îles Innu were already primarily made up of salaries (82 per cent; Grégoire 1977, IV7). As QNS&L construction activities wound down, many families left the coast and relocated to the Schefferville region in hope of obtaining paid positions at the mine when fur trapping became increasingly unviable in the post-war period. Among this group of early wage labourers were individuals who continued, once settled in Schefferville, as one interviewee said, to be employed seasonally by different contracting companies on odd jobs that included the construction of the mining town or other pre-production activities such as the opening of mining roads. Wage employment during railway construction accelerated the Innu transition towards a mixed economy, but took precious time away from hunting and fishing activities. The completion of the railroad in February 1954, meanwhile, rendered navigational skills on parts of the territory, such as the Moisie River canoe route and adjacent footpaths, somewhat less vital. Nevertheless, some people argued that benefits also accrued from the introduction of industrial infrastructure and employment. One Innu individual recounted that, at the time, younger people such as his father were able to depart from the hunting group to work with a surveying crew for a few weeks; one year, when his father came back to the coast to meet his family in Sept-Îles, his seasonal earnings were used to pay down the accounts at the store managed by the Hudson Bay’s Company. Soon thereafter, he left again for the bush with fresh supplies, this time accompanying his relatives on the hunting expedition since, as the interviewee explained, “my parents still lived traditionally.” At the same time, as another Innu recalled, the operation of the train and the Hollinger Ungava Transport airlift (deployed during the railway construction) enabled people to reduce their travel time and to pack more goods into the interior territories, thus facilitating access to their hunting grounds while decreasing the likelihood that they would run out of food while out on the land. On 2 August 1954 the first cargo of iron ore was loaded onto the freighter Hawaiian and left the village of Sept-Îles for the industrial port

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of Philadelphia (Rumily 1973, 495). It was merely two years later, late in the summer of 1956, that the Naskapi completed their own resettlement from Fort Chimo and joined the Innu, many of whom were already established on the shores of Lac-John, a few kilometres north of Schefferville. From the federal government’s point of view, an important rationale for this move was that assistance operations in Ungava had become too onerous and that it was time for the Naskapi to get off the “gratuitous indiscriminate relief” (Walton [1956]) in favour of joining the ranks of industrial wage employment (Roy 1956). Although several mining companies had been involved in geological exploration across the northern part of the Labrador iron trough since the mid-1940s, offering nearby labour opportunities to the Naskapi (Neal 2000, 114), these people’s involvement with exploration activities remained sporadic (Wilkinson and Geoffroy 1989, 71). In contrast to the Innu, fur sales, rather than wages, made up the majority of Naskapi earnings right up to their move to Schefferville in 1956, despite an overall slumping trapping economy (Robbins 1969, 124). From the roughly ten Innu initially hired seasonally by Iron Ore Company of Canada in summer 1955, the number of Aboriginal individuals employed at the mine generally increased through the mid-1960s as the company maintained a relatively constant level of production, particularly between 1963 and 1968 (Canada 1963–68, 1964; Grégoire 1976, 21; Robbins 1969, 124). Several people interviewed in Schefferville emphasized that the mining economy introduced serious challenges to their hunting activities. Some of the most significant impediments to life on the land resulted from the many open pits that spread over an area of about a thousand square kilometres near the municipality, as well as from the constraints imposed by Iron Ore Company of Canada that prevented hunters from using the company’s roads and thus bypassing the mining pits. Meanwhile, for Aboriginal hunters employed at the mine, a large portion of their week was devoted to wage labour, particularly during peak production seasons, which meant that land-based activities became largely restricted to weekends or to longer vacation and off-season periods. With less time available for travelling on the land, people were forced to direct their effort to fishing, trapping, and capturing smaller animals near Schefferville (Hammond 1976, 13). This “little hunt,” in turn, contributed to altering people’s dietary habits, but, as a Naskapi Elder made clear, this did not necessarily preclude them from obtaining other favoured food from the land as needed. He recounted that, “when the work week was over, on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday,

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the men went out. We still had caribou here and there, but not a lot. That’s what we did during our weekends: we went out and hunted ptarmigan, fish, grouse, porcupine.” The concentration of hunting activities near Schefferville led to certain tensions regarding hunting and fishing spaces. During the first full summer following the Naskapi relocation from Ungava, federal agent R.L. Boulanger investigated to see if a piece of land could be set aside for this group in the vicinity of Wakuach Lake, but the area was already occupied by Innu trappers who administered a trapping lot that was part of the Saguenay provincial beaver reserve (Boulanger 1957). If no bureaucratic solution could be found to overcome this problem of overcrowding, a system of informal land tenure, strongly anchored in sharing traditions, was jointly developed on the ground by the Innu and Naskapi. As Désy described, “the concerned individual, typically Naskapi, goes to see the owner of the territory (a Montagnais [Innu]) and explains that he would like to hunt and trap there. As a general rule, the Montagnais grants the permission but asks for a gift in return; the Naskapi agrees to bring a desirable piece of the caribou that he will kill or a certain number of beavers or fish that he will catch” (Désy 1963, 27). Notwithstanding this socio-territorial arrangement, the pressures on local harvesting grounds and animal populations could not be relieved completely, and some families were forced to range further afield for better hunting opportunities (Hammond 1976, 19). For some Innu and Naskapi hunting families, one strategy was to take the train or drive out on the service road south of the municipality, before travelling onto secondary routes by foot, canoe, or snowmobile (Laforest et al. 1983, 198). The caribou hunt, however, required more profound adaptations, which demonstrated the strong emphasis that Aboriginal families put on preserving and actualizing their relationship with the animal in the context of industrialization. If some people were able to hunt caribou casually southwest of Schefferville, not far from the settlement, others had to charter planes to cover greater distances to access the migratory herds, whose presence apparently had become rare near the mining town. This could necessitate travel as far away north as Caniapiscau River, Champdoré Lake, and even George River. As one interviewee recalled, “there were no caribou around when the mines were here. We had to fly out to get the caribou.” Yet despite documented hunting successes (Hammond 1976, 12, 21), the economic burden resulting from these extensive movements, typically undertaken over very short periods, was quite heavy. It was not unusual for hunters

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to spend several thousands of dollars on a single expedition, some interviewees said, and Innu and Naskapi families generally did not receive government support to participate in those hunts (McKenzie 1983). With their relatively higher and more consistent salaries, therefore, mine workers could most regularly afford to leave town to find the caribou and share the animals killed during these forays (Hammond 1976, 12, 21). For mine workers, the economic burden of the caribou hunt was compounded by the fact that they had to leave work to participate in these expeditions. Former workers remembered that they were sometimes allowed to go hunting, but others noted that they did not bother requesting permission to leave, since they typically were able re-enter the labour force upon their return from the land. In fact, in a rare recognition of Aboriginal people’s agency, government officials argued that the common practice of repeatedly laying off Innu and Naskapi labourers – officially carried out by the mining company to prevent them from gaining permanent working status – was in fact a joint company and union strategy aimed at bringing the problem of hunting-related absenteeism under control: “The Indians were working during a few weeks and were leaving, without any warning, for a few weeks of hunting in the fall. After their hunting season, they were coming back to the employment office of the company requesting work ... In order to prevent any conflict between the company, the non-Indians, and the Indians, it was agreed that the actual procedure [of cyclical layoffs] be established” (Boulanger 1961). Unfortunately, this policy also contributed to confining these labourers to the lowest echelons of the industrial labour hierarchy, notably by denying them permanence. In November 1982 the resource-dependent municipality of Schefferville went tumbling to a sudden and brutal crash when Iron Ore Company of Canada announced the closure of the mine. As authorities worked hesitantly to promote economic alternatives to mineral exploitation, Innu and Naskapi residents sought to reorganize their livelihoods through the region’s deindustrialization phase. The lack of wage labour opportunities in Schefferville in the aftermath of the mine closure led to the outmigration of the non-Aboriginal population. Seeking a better future, some Aboriginal people followed a similar path, and went on to get training to gain new qualifications or to find work away from their communities, while a few others moved into entrepreneurship and related endeavours. For some, however, a

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partial return to the land remained the most sensible option. As one Innu remembered this period, “I said to my wife, ‘We will do something else; we will start an outfitting camp for hunting caribou and for fishing.’ Every year, we went up, we spent the summer. When winter came, we also went up a little bit to trap.” Some individuals relied on the few seasonal jobs that were available – often house building, renovation work, and guiding – in part to accumulate enough hours to become eligible for government support programs, before leaving for the bush when work ran out at the end of the season. The Innu and the Naskapi share similar memories of returning to the territory “to find marten and furs,” sometimes for extended periods of time, following the announcement of the mine shutdown. During the 1982–83 season, hunters with registered trapping lots captured twice as many marten – the most important trapping animal among local Aboriginal residents at the time – as they did on average in the previous four-year period (Laforest et al. 1983, 204). Yet hunting the more distant caribou remained costly in the early post-mining world, before the animal began to return gradually to the Schefferville area. In April 1983 the Innu administration informed the Quebec government that the rarity of the caribou near Schefferville and the devastating employment conditions meant that the community was no longer able to assume the full costs of its annual hunting expeditions, and pleaded the Ministère des Loisirs, de la Chasse et de la Pêche to provide financial assistance to help it cover part of its expenses (McKenzie 1983). Far from achieving the original promise of bringing a full century of durable social and economic development to Innu and Naskapi societies, industrialization instead led to a paradoxical situation where Aboriginal groups ultimately sought external support to maintain ancestral (albeit evolving) hunting practices. To be sure, the marginal employment opportunities did provide, overall, a non-negligible contribution to local household economies, and in this sense the sentiments of nostalgia expressed today by some Schefferville residents regarding the vanishing mining past is testimony to Iron Ore Company of Canada’s mixed legacy in the region. If the mining authorities’ ethnocentric and paternalist approach to development altered and disturbed the relationship of Aboriginals with their homeland in very particular ways, Innu and Naskapi groups nevertheless responded by reaffirming their own ways of living in their interaction with industrialism. Amid great transformative forces, Aboriginal people’s active pursuit of a life on the land under a variety of complex circumstances often blurred

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the boundary between social economic and wage industrial practices and livelihoods. At the same time, they reiterated – remarkably, in the context of a dominant industrial world – the fundamental importance of the Aboriginal social economy, which included the hunting and sharing of certain harvesting products despite the heavy financial cost to their societies. Pine Point: Social Economy and the Environment The history of the Pine Point lead-zinc mine in the Northwest Territories is hardly common knowledge in the manner of the Klondike gold rush, though arguably it is more significant as an exemplar of the potential and the pitfalls of mineral-led development in Canada’s territorial North. When the Canadian mining giant Cominco (and its subsidiary Pine Point Mines Ltd.) finally opened the mine in 1964, the scale of the development was massive (Nagle and Zinovich 1989). Over its twentyfour-year operational lifespan, the mine produced 69 million tons of ore and 9,628,000 tons of ore concentrate, most of it taken from forty-eight open pits (with two underground shafts) spread over a large development area of roughly 1,600 square kilometres (Macpherson 1978b). The mine was significant for more than its production values, however, as federal politicians (across party lines) and senior bureaucrats promoted the project as the major gateway to further mineral and infrastructural development in the region. In fact, the federal government was so boosterish about the mine that it provided close to $100 million in subsidies to support associated railroad, highway, and hydroelectric projects. Federal officials and politicians justified the outlay of public money by arguing that the mine and associated infrastructure would stimulate northern development by attracting further mining capital to the region, producing a cavalcade of new mining projects and providing a solution to the economic challenges facing northern Aboriginal trappers due to a severe downturn in fur prices in the late 1950s (Sandlos and Keeling 2012). Despite such promises, scholars and public commentators have analysed the Pine Point mine almost exclusively in terms of its detrimental impacts on the subsistence economies of Aboriginal communities of the South Great Slave Lake region. Even in the mine’s early days, the political economist Kenneth Rea noted the heavy export orientation of the project as part of his broader critique of staples dependency in northern Canada (Rea 1968). Paul Deprez’s (1973) report deplored

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the failure of the federal government to develop housing and employment training programs to ensure that local economic benefits flowed from the mine to the nearby Chipewyan and Métis community of Fort Resolution. Undoubtedly the highest-profile criticisms of the mine came during the Mackenzie Valley Pipeline Inquiry, where many Fort Resolution residents testified in 1975 about the effects of mine development, including potential water pollution, the lack of employment opportunities, the loss of an important hunting territory, and the destruction of traplines due to seismic line cutting (Mackenzie Valley Pipeline Inquiry 1975). Justice Thomas Berger’s (1977) final inquiry report highlighted Pine Point as the primary contemporary example of a northern mega-development project negatively affecting the hunting and trapping economies of an Aboriginal community while providing few employment or other local economic benefits. One year later, Janet Macpherson (1978b) echoed these same themes in a scholarly report for the environmental non-governmental organization the Canadian Arctic Resources Committee (CARC). The sudden cessation of mining activity in 1988 and the subsequent collapse and removal of the town of Pine Point (a community that had housed close to two thousand residents at its height) further entrenched the notion that mineral-led development promoted only instability and false promise for local Aboriginal communities (Neil, Tykkyläinen, and Bradbury 1992; Notzke 1994, 216–17). None of these authors explicitly evokes the concept of the social economy in their analysis of the Pine Point Mine. Clearly, however, the theme of wage labour and mineral development interrupting a subsistence economy based primarily on social institutions such as family/community harvesting activities on the land and the sharing of country food can be applied readily to the case of Pine Point and other northern mineral developments (Bernauer 2011). Oral history interviews conducted in Fort Resolution in spring 2010 confirm that many trappers who worked in the Pine Point area experienced the destruction of traps from the heavy equipment used in line cutting or withdrew traplines due to the risk of losing traps. Many of the twenty-eight people interviewed spoke of lost hunting opportunities due to the appropriation of land for mineral development or because, as one informant put it, “all the animals disappeared; they went farther away because of all the construction going on and all the equipment running. We had to go farther away to go trapping, like into the tree line, like even halfway to Smith, to go trapping. And hunting, all the animals

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sort of disappeared.”6 One Elder suggested that competition with nonAboriginal recreational hunters in the Pine Point labour force seriously compromised the availability of game for local subsistence harvesters. Many interviewees also expressed ongoing concerns about the impact of mining activity and water pollution on fish populations and the mess the company left behind in the form of the huge gravel-capped tailings pond and unenclosed open pits.7 One informant suggested that, “I’ve seen the devastation that it’s done to that area. You know, the holes that were put in there that have never been brought back to its natural state. You know, you fly over Pine Point and all you see is holes, and dust, and a moon landscape. You know, we’ve lost all that. We had a lot of people that used that area for traditional use purposes. Now we don’t. We don’t have anybody that goes there. If we hunt in that area, we don’t usually consume the meat because of what we think’s out there yet.” In social and economic terms, Elders in particular spoke of the community becoming more individualistic as people engaged in wage labour at the mine, along with the increased mobility associated with the extension of the Mackenzie Highway to Fort Resolution in 1972 and the attendant influence of modern amenities such as electricity and, eventually, television. As one Elder described that change, “it seemed like people were much closer before than after ... Before it was like one big family, people got along much better. It seemed like about from the time they got that road in, people kind of, you know, I don’t know how to explain it, but it was not the way it was before Pine Point.” Others described the social effects of increased drug and alcohol availability after the road was completed, suggesting there was a period of widespread substance abuse in the early to mid-1970s.8 Finally, there is no doubt that some Fort

6 Catherine Boucher, Arn Keeling, Frances Mandeville, and John Sandlos conducted the twenty-eight interviews between 18 May and 20 May 2010. These semi-structured interviews were conducted more as conversations than as a questionnaire, so aggregate numbers of comments should be regarded as significant themes in the interviews rather than hard survey data. 7 In addition to the individual quoted, thirteen interviewees emphasized environmental concerns with respect to the abandoned Pine Point mine. 8 In addition to the Elder quoted, five others discussed the social impact of the road and attendant new technologies. Another informant discussed the economic impact of the road on local businesses in Fort Resolution, as people started to shop for goods and services at Pine Point. Seventeen interviewees noted the biggest impact of the closure of the Pine Point mine was the inability to purchase cheaper groceries

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Resolution residents were drawn away from the subsistence economy and into wage labour at the mine. Although comprehensive quantitative data are not available, our interviews suggest that the general move towards wage labour appears to have accelerated at the later stages of the mine’s operation as the children of first-generation Fort Resolution labourers (who experienced much of their upbringing and education in Pine Point) gained full-time employment in the mine. Many interviewees described how their fathers had moved between the land-based economy and occasional employment at the mine, while they themselves had worked more consistently at the mine and associated their time at Pine Point with only occasional participation in hunting and trapping.9 Recalling many of these themes, one younger interviewee reflected broadly on the experience of working in the mine and living in the town: “Coming out of a little bush community into kind of a semi-suburb setting, with all this big industry and stuff like that … I was young, and I really didn’t feel the impact until years later [when] I kind of looked back, and holy smoke, you know; it didn’t change me that much, you know … It [dragged] me away from my traditional lifestyle … because of the work economy and then of course after that the alcoholism. You know, I didn’t drink all that much, but it was there.” Certainly, when taken together, all these factors suggest that the mine was the central agent of social and economic change in the post-war history of the South Slave region, a modern development project that presented a stark challenge to the traditional land-based orientation of Fort Resolution (Smith 1976). Nonetheless, the personal stories of those Fort Resolution residents who worked at the mine suggest the relationship was much more complicated than a simple colonial narrative of economic dispossession and dislocation of traditional economies. Many interviewees spoke in glowing terms of life in the town of Pine Point, in large measure because of the modern services, cleanliness of the town, and high-quality sports and recreation facilities.10 The following memories are typical of many at a relatively nearby location, lamenting that they now had to travel all the way to Hay River, 133 kilometres away by road. 9 Thirteen interviewees mentioned their fathers moving from hunting and trapping to wage labour (and also between the two). One informant discussed the same theme with respect to her mother. 10 Even if some recalled racism or social adjustment issues when moving to the town, twenty interviewees emphasized that it was a good or a great place to live. The almost reverential view of the town was also widespread among the non-Aboriginal population.

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interviews: “Every yard had flowers and grass, picket fences. It was a beautiful town. And a lot of sports, a lot of guys from southern [British Columbia], Ontario, even all over the world. We had at that mine guys from Iran, my dad had good friends from Portugal, Argentina, you know, all over. I could just keep on naming them. It was just awesome to live there.” Another informant similarly longed for the halcyon days of her Pine Point years: “I had so much fun living there. Oh, do I ever miss that place! I wish it would have opened up again.” Many interviewees described the town’s social dynamic as harmonious, a place where “everyone got along,” with some suggesting that Newfoundlanders and local Aboriginals were particularly friendly, due to a shared affinity for hunting and fishing. Although some interviewees related specific experiences with racism in the town, most eventually concluded that it was still a great place to live.11 Others emphasized the economic opportunities associated with wage labour and the attendant ability to purchase material goods. One interviewee remembered fondly his experience in the wage economy: Pine Point, when I worked there long ago in the early 80s, we used to make really good money … compared to everywhere else that I worked. I’ve worked in other mines too. But I haven’t made as good money as I did in Pine Point ... My cheques were close to two grand. And beer was, what, maybe seventy, eighty cents a beer? ... We’d go there, after about the first month of work, we’d have enough money to buy a vehicle. Like staying in a bunkhouse, I think it was $85 used to come off our cheques for room and board. And the rest is free and clear, takehome, close to two grand in two weeks. In 1980.12

He also suggested that the mine offered, for a period of his life, a recurring source of economic security: “I worked there for a year and a half, and then I went off and did something else … and … if I was stuck or something I just had to phone the mine and ‘Oh yeah! Come on back!’ So I’d go back there and I’d have a place to stay, would have something to eat, and I got a job. I could go there with nothing, with a shirt on my back, and they’d give you a key for a bunkhouse, you could go to the 11 Thirteen interviewees mentioned that people generally got along with one another in Pine Point. Nine informants mentioned that there was racism in the town. 12 Three other interviewees also emphasized the opportunities to be found in the wage economy at Pine Point.

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cook shack and eat anytime I wanted, open 24/7. And after two weeks, I’m in the money again.” For this individual, the experience working at Pine Point became a springboard to further labour opportunities in the diamond mines of the Northwest Territories. Ironically, some Fort Resolution residents who became Pine Pointers experienced their most intense feelings of dislocation after the mine closed. They described how difficult it was to return to Fort Resolution because the town lacked the modern housing, infrastructure, and recreational facilities that Pine Point had.13 One interviewee noted practical differences in the two communities, such as the small population of Fort Resolution, which made it difficult to organize youth sports teams with appropriate age divisions due to the relative lack of players. Although many interviewees said increased proximity to extended family was one advantage of moving back to Fort Resolution, one suggested that he felt unwelcome and like an outsider in the place where he was born. If the establishment of the mine produced a sense of loss and dispossession among those in the subsistence economy, as the analysis of Berger and others suggests, the feelings of loss and longing for the glory days of the mine indicate that some Fort Resolution people readily adapted to the mining economy and welcomed the opportunities presented by wage labour in an industrial economy. One overwhelming sentiment, expressed in many ways, was that the Pine Point mine brought a mix of the good and the bad. Indeed, this mixed and sometimes contradictory view of mineral development in Fort Resolution became readily apparent when interviewees were asked if they thought a current proposal by a junior development company, Tamerlane Ventures, to reopen the Pine Point mine was a good idea. Some responded with scepticism about potential environmental impacts, but many were also enthusiastic about the idea that Fort Resolution might obtain more employment opportunities (and possibly an Impact and Benefit Agreement) as a result of further development.14 It would be a mistake to interpret the positive memories of Fort Resolution residents who lived and worked in Pine Point as a wholesale refutation of the Bergeresque impact studies of the 1970s, or as an apologia for the dispossession of hinterland subsistence economies by industrial 13 Five interviewees discussed their difficulty adjusting to the move back to Fort Resolution. 14 Nine interviewees expressed enthusiasm for the Tamerlane project, while nine were critical of or ambivalent towards the project.

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megaprojects. They do suggest, however, that northern Aboriginal people have engaged in a complex negotiation between community values associated with the subsistence-oriented social economy and the more individualistic values associated with wage labour. Although some referred to money as a primary benefit of work at the mine, it was much more common for interviewees to frame their positive experiences in terms of the Pine Point’s cohesive community spirit. Moreover, the transition from a subsistence to a wage economy was never absolute in Fort Resolution, as many interviewees indicated their transient work at the mine merely supplemented hunting and trapping activities, while for others the ability to hunt and trap proved an important coping strategy during slowdowns at the mine or after its closure.15 If not quite a middle ground of mediated cultural exchange (in accordance with Richard White’s theories of colonial contact between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal societies), the introduction of industrial mining at Pine Point offered the residents of Fort Resolution an opportunity to navigate within, and in some cases around, the powerful forces that were attempting to reshape their land and livelihoods. Conclusion Mining developments established in the 1950s and 1960s in northern Canada did not produce a complete shift among Aboriginal communities away from social economy activities, especially those rooted in traditional resource harvesting and sharing practices, and towards wage labour. Industrial mining undoubtedly provided a crucial conduit for the penetration of industrial capitalism into northern Canada, but this modernizing force ultimately sat alongside, and at times even depended upon, the Aboriginal social economy as a fallback mode of production to soften the vagaries of mineral production. Rankin Inlet was the only one of our three case studies where government and mine officials formally recognized the co-dependent nature of mining and the Aboriginal land-based economy through flexible employment policies and post-closure adjustment efforts, however flawed. But even 15 One interviewee in particular mentioned this point. Another stated that he had moved several times between trapping and wage labour. A further interviewee suggested that lots of people quit the mine to trap when fur prices were high. See also the reference above to interviewees who spoke of their fathers working between hunting and trapping and wage labour.

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in locations such as Schefferville and Pine Point, where Aboriginal employment policies were tentative at best, local Aboriginal people still managed to take advantage of economic opportunities in both the wage and subsistence sectors, often moving frequently between the two simply by quitting the mine work when hunting or fur prices proved relatively good. If mine work did constrain the land-based economy in many ways – through environmental impacts, the influx of outside recreational hunters, or by drawing Aboriginal workers off the land – it also likely represented a critical source of economic diversification in a northern trapping economy that, as historians Arthur Ray (1990) and Frank Tough (1996) have argued, was not able to fully support most Aboriginal communities during price downturns after the end of the Second World War. On a more individual scale, our interviews at all three locations indicate that many Aboriginal people remember mine work fondly, even nostalgically, as one of the most significant economic opportunities of their lives (even among interviewees who lamented the impacts of mine development on hunting and trapping and remained critical of mine company employment and environmental policies). In the histories of the Rankin Inlet, Schefferville, and Pine Point mines, the complex interplay between the industrial capitalist and social economies (and the attendant tensions between individualistic and communal values) suggests the difficulty of considering them as rigidly defined categories, and illustrates how wage labour might have alternately facilitated and hindered Aboriginal social economic practices in northern Canada. REFERENCES Abel, K. 1993. Drum Songs: Glimpses of Dene History. Montreal; Kingston, ON: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Ali, S.H. 2003. Mining, the Environment, and Indigenous Development Conflicts. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Berkes, F., P.J. George, R.J. Preston, A. Hughes, J. Turner, and B.D. Cummins. 1994. “Wildlife Harvesting and Sustainable Regional Native Economy in the Hudson and James Bay Lowland, Ontario.” Arctic 47 (4): 350–60. http:// dx.doi.org/10.14430/arctic1308 Berger, T. 1977. Northern Frontier, Northern Homeland: The Report of the Mackenzie Valley Pipeline Inquiry, vol. 1. Toronto: James Lorimer. Bernauer, W. 2011. “Mining and the Social Economy in Baker Lake, Nunavut.” Saskatoon: University of Saskatchewan, Centre for the Study of Co-operatives.

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Elias, P.D. 1997. “Models of Aboriginal Communities in Canada’s North.” International Journal of Social Economics 24 (11): 1241–55. http://dx.doi.org/ 10.1108/03068299710193598 Geren, R., and B. McCullogh. 1990. Cain’s Legacy: The Building of Iron Ore Company of Canada. Sept-Îles, QC: Iron Ore Company of Canada. Grégoire, P. 1976. “Étude sur les travailleurs montagnais de Schefferville.” Rapport au Conseil consultatif des recherches amérindiennes. Grégoire, P. 1977. “Impact du développement minier sur la population montagnaise de Schefferville.” Rapport au Conseil Attikamek-Montagnais. Hammond, M.M. 1976. “A Socio-economic Study of the Naskapi Band of Schefferville.” Montreal: Naskapi Band Council of Schefferville. Herbert, C.H. 1955. Memorandum to the Deputy Minister, 21 December. Library and Archives Canada, RG 22 R216, vol. 210, file 40-3-22, part 1. Herbert, C.H. 1957. Memorandum to the Deputy Minister, 25 April. Library and Archives Canada, RG 22 R 216, vol. 832, file 40-3-22, part 2. Ittinuar, P. 1972. “Rankin Inlet Mine.” Unpublished film. Available at Rankin Inlet Community Resource Centre, Rankin Inlet, NU. Jansen II, W.H. 1979. “Eskimo Economics: An Aspect of Culture Change at Rankin Inlet.” Canadian Ethnology Service Paper 46. Ottawa: National Museum of Canada. Jones, H.M. 1960. Correspondence with Deputy Minister, 22 January. Library and Archives Canada, RG 10, vol. 6926, file 379/29-1, part 1. Keeling, A. 2010. “‘Born in an Atomic Test Tube’: Landscapes of Cyclonic Development at Uranium City, Saskatchewan.” Canadian Geographer 54 (2): 228–52. http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1541-0064.2009.00294.x Keeling, A., and J. Sandlos. 2009. “Environmental Justice Goes Underground? Historical Notes from Canada’s Mining Frontier.” Environmental Justice 2 (3): 117–25. http://dx.doi.org/10.1089/env.2009.0009 Kulchyski, P.K., and F.J. Tester. 2007. Kiumajut (Talking Back): Game Management and Inuit Rights, 1900–70. Vancouver: UBC Press. Laforest, R., J. Frenette, R. Comtois, and M. Mongeon. 1983. “Occupation et utilisation du territoire par les Montagnais de Schefferville.” Rapport au Conseil Attikamek-Montagnais. Mackenzie Valley Pipeline Inquiry. 1975. Vols 31–32, Fort Resolution, NT, 8 October. Macpherson, J.E. 1978a. “The Cyprus Anvil Mine.” In Northern Transitions, vol. I, Northern Resource Use and Land Use Policy Study, ed. E.B. Peterson and J.B. Wright, 111–50. Ottawa: Canadian Arctic Resources Committee. Macpherson, J.E. 1978b. “The Pine Point Mine.” In Northern Transitions, vol. I, Northern Resource Use and Land Use Policy Study, ed. E.B. Peterson and J.B. Wright, 65–110. Ottawa: Canadian Arctic Resources Committee.

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11 Conservation-cum-Social and Economic Development: The Emergence of an Eco-social Economy in the Canadian North1 N AT H A N B E N N E T T A N D H A R V E Y L E M E L I N

Historically conservation was seen as a way to protect areas of natural value and splendour. According to early purveyors of the ideal, this required the exclusion of local communities and traditional activities from wilderness areas (Colchester 1994; McNamee 2009; Nepal and Weber 1995; Roe 2008). Across the globe, protected areas have been created on the Yellowstone model of conservation, which was based on a Cartesian view of humans and nature as separate (Adams and Hutton 2007). However, ongoing critiques of the impacts of strict conservation on local cultures and communities (for example, West and Brockington 2006; West, Igoe, and Brockington 2006) and of big environmental organizations – often the leading proponents of protected areas (Chapin 2004; Dowie 2009) – have resulted in different approaches to the establishment of protected areas and conservation initiatives in general. The new approach seeks to reconcile conservation with community economic development and socio-cultural aspirations, the argument being that win-win outcomes are possible (Adams et al. 2004; Borrini-Feyerabend, Kothari, and Oviedo 2004; Bushell and Eagles 2007; Roe and Elliott 2010; Walpole and Wilder 2008). This shift in thinking, adopted by some environmental non-governmental organizations (ENGOs), could be seen as representing a broader shift towards an eco-social economy. The conservation-with-development mandate of ENGOs also might be more akin to the way traditional communities approach conservation, since humans and the natural world are often seen as interconnected. In this way of seeing, culture, society, and 1 An abridged version of this chapter was published as Bennett and Lemelin (2014). It is published here with permission. Funding for this research project was provided by the Social Economy Research Network of Northern Canada, the Aurora Research Institute, the Northern Scientific Training Program, and Parks Canada. At the time of writing, the principal author was also supported by a Trudeau Scholarship, an SSHRC Joseph Armand Bombardier Scholarship, and a fellowship from the Protected

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economy cannot be separated from the environment (see, for example, Kemf 1993). Aboriginal groups also often advocate for conservation of the local environment, with local development as a primary objective (Berkes, Colding, and Folke 2003; Ghimire and Pimpert 1997). In this chapter, we focus on a case study of the Lutsel K’e and the Thaidene Nene protected area initiative in the Northwest Territories to demonstrate: 1) how the conservation mandate has changed over time in both international discourse and in Canadian policy and practice; 2) that, for local people, conservation is as much a social, economic, political, and cultural endeavour as it is about the protection of nature; 3) that local social economy organizations are emerging to advocate for conservationcum-socio-economic development; and 4) that the agendas of some ENGOs that work with northern communities are also aligning their conservation objectives with the broader social, economic, and cultural goals of northern Indigenous communities. We posit that these shifts are representative of the emergence of an eco-social economy in the Canadian North. Other chapters in this volume have noted the differences between contemporary definitions of the social economy and the social economy discourse associated with Aboriginal communities. Although the environment is a marginal concept in the “third sector” notion of the social economy, as Natcher notes in this volume, it is central to the Aboriginal social economy. It is possible that a more inclusive definition of the social economy, one that includes environmental organizations and movements, might help us bridge differences between these two perceptions of the social economy. Background We begin with a review of early conservation efforts and how the focus of conservation activities has changed over time, paying special attention to the Canadian context. We then briefly examine definitions of the social economy and show how these definitions often exclude environmental organizations from the social economy. We conclude this section by offering a definition of the eco-social economy.

Conservation: From exclusionary to inclusive Not surprisingly, exclusionary efforts at conservation have often affected local people negatively by physically displacing communities,

Areas and Poverty Reduction project. This research could not have been undertaken without the support and guidance of the Thaidene Nene Working Group, particularly Stephen Ellis and Gloria Enzoe, and the Lutsel K’e Dene First Nation during the research design, implementation, and writing stages. The standard disclaimers apply.

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restricting access to critical livelihood resources, changing local tenure regimes, creating increased levels of conflict with wildlife, impacting cultural sites and practices, creating poverty in local communities, and generating social impacts from increasing tourism (see, for example, Coad et al. 2008; Rao and Geisler 1990; Scherl et al. 2004; Stevens 1997; West and Brechin 1991; West and Brockington 2006; West, Igoe, and Brockington 2006). Of course, protected areas can also lead to significant benefits for local populations, including protecting natural resources and environmental services essential for communities, increasing levels of tourism development and employment alternatives, improving security of land tenure, supporting local community organizational and governance processes, improving health in local communities, and decreasing levels of poverty (Coad et al. 2008; Cohen, Valemei, and Govan 2008; Koziell 2001; Leisher, van Beukering, and Scherl 2007; Murphy and Roe 2004; Naughton-Treves, Holland, and Brandon 2005). Yet the relative balance of costs and benefits of protected areas for local communities versus broader society is a matter of ongoing debate, as are the necessary means to achieve just and equitable outcomes for local communities. In part, it is these ongoing critiques by social scientists of the negative impacts of conservation on communities that have led to significant realignments of conservation thinking, policy, and practice at the international level. As early as the 1970s, “the idea that parks should be socially and economically responsible slowly began to become a part of mainstream conservation thinking” (Adams and Hutton 2007, 150). This thinking can be seen in the entrenchment of ideals such as co-management and community protected areas (for example, BorriniFeyerabend et al. 2007; Stolton and Dudley 1999; Western, Strum, and Wright 1994), Indigenous rights (for example, Anaya and Williams 2001; Borrini-Feyerabend, Kothari, and Oviedo 2004; WWF 2008), conservation with development (for example, Hughes and Flintan 2001; IUCN 1980; McNeely and Miller 1984; McShane and Wells 2004), and poverty reduction (for example, Fisher and IUCN 2005; Scherl et al. 2004; Wetlands International 2009; see also Roe 2008 for a review) in the literatures of conservation organizations.2 Moreover, conservation policy and praxis have shifted towards considering the needs and aspirations of local communities. The inclusion of local communities in the

2 See the Durban Accord (IUCN 2005) for a document containing all of these ideals.

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establishment and management of protected areas is de rigueur in concept, if not completely in practice.

Conservation in Canada: Moving towards equity In the Canadian context it is noteworthy that few studies have comprehensively examined the impacts of protected areas on communities, particularly Aboriginal communities. Dearden and Langdon (2009) point out that early Canadian national parks, which were created on the Yellowstone model, often failed to consider local Aboriginal groups and communities. In Riding Mountain National Park, for example, the communities of the Keeseekoowenin Ojibway were completely expelled from the area; other communities near Canadian protected areas suffered a similar fate (Sandlos 2007, 2008). More broadly, Aboriginal groups were excluded from practising traditional subsistence activities such as hunting, trapping, fishing, and harvesting within the boundaries of protected areas (Peepre and Dearden 2002; Sandlos 2007; Sneed 1997). The levels of benefit that local communities have received from tourism development related to protected areas has also been questioned (Lemelin et al. 2010; Lemelin and Bennett 2010). Moreover, as Bennett, Lemelin, and Ellis (2010, 126) point out, “there have been no comprehensive studies of the actual cumulative costs and benefits of previous national parks for Indigenous or northern Canadian gateway communities … This is a future area of research that is sorely needed.” So the broader array of social impacts of protected areas in the Canadian is not fully known. Still, perhaps as a result either of the aforementioned critiques or of changes in broader Canadian governance structures, the management of protected areas in Canada might be shifting towards providing more equitable outcomes for local and Aboriginal communities through recognizing Aboriginal rights, increasing Aboriginal participation in management, and advocating for local development. In Canada, the laws, policies, and practices of conservation agencies have been forced to align with changes in the 1982 Constitution Act, the Canadian Parks Act, and a number of decisions of the Supreme Court of Canada. The Constitution Act, for example, explicitly recognizes the subsistence and treaty rights of Aboriginal people, rights that the Supreme Court has upheld (see Bone 2003, 195; Canada 2008). As a result of the Court’s decisions, subsistence hunting, trapping, harvest, and fishing by Aboriginal people are allowed within protected areas, yet many older national parks

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and provincial protected areas have not fully incorporated Aboriginal treaty rights (Dearden and Langdon 2009). Since the 1980s many of the new northern national parks have been established with the support of Aboriginal groups after lengthy consultation processes, and have been engaging local communities in collaborative management processes (Dearden and Langdon 2009; Héritier 2010; Lemelin and Maher 2009). Often at a more informal level – that is, through locally created training programs – government conservation agencies have recognized the need for more active programs of community development, although this is not explicitly recognized in policy. Moreover, as Timko and Satterfield (2008) suggest in their study of four Canadian national parks, these agencies are practising social equity or moving towards it according to three criteria: resolution of land tenure and ownership, maintenance of livelihood opportunities, and participation in national park governance. Many Canadian ENGOs, as we show later in this chapter, have also realigned both their mandates and their practices with the changes in Canadian governance structures and with the broader ideals of conservation with development.

Defining the social and eco-social economy Social economy and community development theorists suggest that the economy can be envisaged as having three segments: the private sector, which includes businesses and corporations whose principal mandate is maximizing economic gains; the public sector, which includes all aspects of the economy that fall under the auspices of government; and a third sector that includes activities such as the operation of philanthropic trusts and the creation of community cooperatives and capacity-building programs, and that has been alternatively labelled the “social economy” (see, for example, Borzaga 2001). Some authors (such as Bridge, Murtagh, and O’Neill 2009) also argue, however, that the social economy is one aspect of a broader third sector, which includes family activities such as child care and other informal forms of social capital. Many authors have sought to define social economy organizations based on the type of institution, their principles of operation or identity, and their intention or mandate (Borzaga 2001; Quarter et al. 2001). Three types of institutions can be part of the social economy: cooperatives, mutuals, and associations, which Molloy, McFeely, and Connolly (1999) differentiate in the following way: cooperatives focus on for-profit self-help; mutuals focus on not-for-profit self-help; and

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associations are philanthropic and not-for-profit. It is generally agreed that four principles that “cannot be considered as an optional complement” (Borzaga 2001, 6) are common to the operation of social economy organizations: 1) provision of a service to members or the community; 2) an independent management; 3) a democratic decision-making process; and 4) a focus on social rather than economic outcomes. It is this fourth principle – intention or mandate - that is somewhat problematic, particularly as it relates to the intention or mandate that allows a democratic, independently managed, and service-oriented cooperative, mutual, or association to be part of the social economy. What activities, in particular, can be included as part of the social economy? A cursory review of a broad range of definitions and literature provides an extensive list of organizations that are active in a diverse array of activities, including financial services, home care and assisted living, health care and social services, community economic development, arts and culture, heritage, education, child care, community media, social movements, job training and worker reintegration, capacity building, housing, community recreation, tourism, and ethical purchasing. What of organizations that meet all of the other prerequisites of the social economy but whose primary mandate is environmental issues or environmental preservation? Are these organizations part of the social economy? For the purposes of furthering this discussion, we examine four Canadian definitions of the social economy. According to Western Economic Diversification Canada (WEDC), social economy organizations “provide social, cultural, economic and health services to communities that need them” (cited in CSERP 2007, 3). For the Canadian federal government, social economy “organizational missions are based on a combination of common interest and public service objectives” (Canada 2005, 1), but what constitutes a common interest or public service is not defined. The Canadian Community Economic Development Network (CCEDN) states that social economy organizations focus on “service to members of community rather than generating profits” (cited in CSERP 2007, 3), but its list of activities does not include the environment. Environmental organizations or conservation initiatives are often not directly incorporated into these definitions. The exception is the view of the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council, which allows for social economy organizations that “seek to enhance the social, economic and environmental conditions of communities” through “redirect[ing] their surpluses in pursuit of social and environmental goals” and “addressing

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environmental concerns” (cited in Restakis 2006, 8). Even in this definition, the environment is placed in a subsidiary position to economic and social development. Similarly, Johanisova (2009) points out that social enterprise typologies often fail to include those with an environmental leaning. Yet, as we demonstrate in the remainder of this chapter, Indigenous environmental movements and supporting conservation organizations are framing their conservation activities as integral to and supportive of appropriate local social and economic development. It is this perhaps utilitarian and anthropocentric logic, or perhaps integrative and holistic Indigenous way of seeing, that situates environmental and conservation organizations within the social economy, particularly in the context of the Canadian North and in Aboriginal communities (see also Natcher 2009). To account for this lack of inclusion and so to place conservation and environmental organizations within definitions of the social economy, we use the term eco-social economy, which has seen little use to date in academic writing: a Google Scholar search on 4 January 2012, for example, found just eleven results. The majority of this literature in some way references a parallel term, the “eco-social market economy,” which was initially spawned by Josef Riegler and the Austrian People’s Party in 1989 (Radermacher 2004), proposed in Al Gore’s book Earth in Balance (Gore 1992), and later adopted in the Global Marshall Plan (Riegler and Radermacher 2004; see also Riegler n.d.). In this framing, the eco-social market economy refers to a means of achieving balance through pursuing three goals: 1) a competitive, innovative, and technologically oriented economy, with 2) a focus on social equity, and 3) the protection of nature (Riegler n.d.). But this framing is largely market oriented in the emphasis it places on the free market and on economic outcomes. In addition, the focus is on macro-level political support and economic functioning at broader scales. It is our contention that an effective eco-social economy should operate more from the periphery through democratic participation and action, rather than through centralized structures. As Kvieskiene (2010, 81) notes, “[t]he distributed systems of a social economy handle complexity not by standardization and simplification imposed from the centre, but by distributing complexity to the margins.” In other words, the eco-social economy should be locally, rather than globally, focused. It is noteworthy that the term eco-social economy has seen significantly more usage in the lexicon of popular movements: a Google Web search for the term on 4 January 2012 found 61,300 results. A review of the multitude of ways in which

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this term is used is beyond the scope of this chapter; however, the gist is that the term combines the pillars of sustainability – ecology, society, and economy – in one ideological concept.3 Yet, as far as we are aware, the “eco-social economy” has not been used in the context of conservation and development in either the academic or popular literature or to place environmental organizations and movements within the social economy. Due to its limited use in the academic literature, and in the hope that a broader discussion will take place about the rightful place of environmental and conservation organizations and movements within conceptualizations of the social economy, we offer our own definition of the term: The social economy places primary importance on social over economic development outcomes. The eco-social economy is that portion of the social economy that is focused on the environment and on conservation as part of and/or as a means to social – including cultural, political, and spiritual aspects – and economic ends. Ecosocial economy organizations are independently managed and democratically run, and support the mandates of their members, other groups, and/or the broader society.

This definition of the eco-social economy explicitly recognizes that the social sphere of development is comprised of cultural, political, and even spiritual dimensions. In addition, the definition places the environment not as subsidiary to social and economic development, but on par with or even above these concerns. And as we demonstrate in the following case study, for many Aboriginal people the environment cannot be separated from these aspects of a community’s development. A Demonstrative Case Study of Lutsel K’e and Thaidene Nene In this section we explore the emergence of an eco-social economy in Lutsel K’e, Northwest Territories, which centred on the likely creation of a national park or other form of protected area in the Lutsel K’e Dene First Nation’s traditional territory. Using results from field research conducted in Lutsel K’e in summer 2008 and a review of secondary documents, we demonstrate 1) how local perceptions of conservation 3 See, for example, the website of the Eco Social Economy Network South and East Europe, at http://www.escoop.eu/projects/previous-projects/43-esensee-%E2%80% 93-eco-social-economy-network-south-and-east-europe

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make the push for the creation of a protected area representative of an eco-social economy initiative; 2) how ENGOs external to the community are working with Lutsel K’e to support the eco-social economy mandate and how they recognize the importance of advocating for the dual conservation and development mandate; and 3) how locally created eco-social economy organizations are emerging in Lutsel K’e to support the conservation-cum-socio-economic development mandate envisaged by the community.

A brief history of conservation in Lutsel K’e Lutsel K’e is a community of approximately four hundred people (Northwest Territories 2004) situated on the shore of Christie Bay, on the East Arm of Great Slave Lake in the Northwest Territories. Lutsel K’e is the sedentary home of the once-nomadic Lutsel K’e Dene First Nation (LKDFN), who roamed the northern boreal forest following vast herds of caribou (Ellis 2003). Established in 1960 around a school and a Hudson’s Bay Company trading post, the community of Lutsel K’e now consists of approximately 150 buildings, including a store, a school, a church, a community centre, an arena, a health centre, a social services and healing centre, and several municipal buildings (SENES Consultants and Griffith 2006). In 1969 the federal government initiated a process to create a national park of more than seven thousand square kilometres in the traditional territory of the LKDFN without the knowledge of local people (Griffith 1987; “Government stupidity unites Indians,” News of the North [Yellowknife, NT] 31 July 1969). This story might sound familiar, as it is representative of the ways that protected areas have been created around the world. After Chief Pierre Catholique accidentally found out about the impending park, the community of Lutsel K’e successfully opposed its creation. More than thirty years later, after many changes in the political and economic landscape of the Canadian North, the LKDFN approached Parks Canada to reinitiate the conversation about the creation of a national park (Ellis and Enzoe 2008). In 2006 the LKDFN signed a Memorandum of Understanding with the Government of Canada to conduct feasibility studies, recommend a boundary, examine the impacts and benefits of the park, and conduct consultations. A community vision for the park has been put forward and the proposed East Arm National Park has been renamed Thaidene Nene (meaning “the land of our ancestors” in the Dene language). Community development

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and capacity building options are also being examined. Currently, negotiations between the LKDFN and Parks Canada are proceeding on an area of thirty-three thousand square kilometres as a part of the ongoing Akaitcho Treaty 8 negotiation process. The LKDFN refers to the area not as a “national park” or a “park” but as a “protected area” or a “partnership to protect an area.” Hereafter, we refer to it as a “protected area” to recognize that the final outcome is still ambiguous. As part of these ongoing community-advocated processes of protectedarea creation, a collaborative research project was undertaken between the LKDFN and this chapter’s authors as part of the Social Economy Research Network of Northern Canada. Field research was conducted in Lutsel K’e and the North during the spring and summer of 2008. During this time, we conducted forty-six interviews with members of the LKDFN, nonIndigenous members of Lutsel K’e, and other individuals from outside the community who were engaged with conservation or development processes in Lutsel K’e. These individuals came from environmental and development-focused government and non-governmental organizations and the private sector. Research findings were approved by community members and published in various formats, including in a report, on a website, and in several co-authored articles with community members. In the following section, we draw on these results and secondary documents to demonstrate the aforementioned points. Results: The Emergence of an Eco-social Economy

Indigenous and local perspectives on conservation in Lutsel K’e Elsewhere we have extensively explored the broad array of benefits that the LKDFN associates with the creation of a protected area in its traditional territory (see Bennett 2009; Bennett, Lemelin, and Ellis 2010). This analysis revealed that the perceived and desired benefits of the protected area fall into eleven categories: aesthetic, cultural, economic, educational, employment, health, environmental, infrastructure, political, social, and spiritual. In addition, many of the benefits are connected to other benefits in an intricate web that could be seen as representative of the holistic way in which the LKDFN envisages both the world and conservation (Bennett, Lemelin, and Ellis 2010). For the LKDFN, the creation of a protected area is as much a social, cultural, political, and economic endeavour as it is about the protection of nature. All benefits

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are seen as both an extension of and integral to conserving the environment. For example, the conservation of the area is seen as a means to safeguard caribou populations so that local people can continue caribou hunting as an important social, cultural, and subsistence activity. In turn, subsistence hunting and harvesting are seen as integral part of the functioning of the ecosystem within a broader cultural landscape. Even the development of a protected-area-related eco-tourism industry is seen as a way to support environmental conservation and cultural revitalization, and to provide meaningful employment opportunities. Thus, in ideology alone, the protected-area initiative is representative of an eco-social economy. We should also add that the level of local support for the protectedarea initiative could be seen as a civil society response to failings of the market economy and current political and decision-making structures. These forces combined have neglected to create meaningful livelihoods for local people, safeguard traditional cultural and social structures of the community, provide adequate health and educational services, and preserve the environment. The traditional territory of the LKDFN is threatened by one of the biggest exploration and staking rushes in Canadian history (Ellis and Enzoe 2008). For many local people, the threat of resource-extraction industries, particularly mining, to the caribou upon which local livelihoods depend and to human health and ecological integrity is a very real and present danger. Many community members see the creation of a protected area as offering a way to achieve desired social and economic development outcomes through conservation, without being a detriment to the environment. In short, the protected area is seen as one means, alongside much broader self-actualization processes associated with the Akaitcho Treaty 8 negotiations, to overcome the federal government’s fiduciary “irresponsibility.”

The shifting mandates of ENGOs in the North: From eco to eco-social As discussed previously, although protected areas in Canada historically were established primarily for ecological reasons, the mandate is shifting towards the recognition of Aboriginal rights, the creation of co-management structures, and, more recently, the balancing of local development needs with conservation objectives (Lemelin and Johnston 2008). This shift is reflected in the changing mandates and roles of particular ENGOs that work on conservation initiatives in northern Canada – more specifically,

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the Northwest Territories. For example, the recent mandates of three conservation organizations – the World Wildlife Fund (WWF), the Canadian Boreal Initiative (CBI), and the Canadian Parks and Wilderness Society (CPAWS) – have been integral to supporting the LKDFN in processes related to the conservation of Thaidene Nene. As previously discussed, local rationales for protecting the area include community social and economic development. Conservation of the environment is also seen as serving cultural, social, and political purposes. Although the primary mandates of ENGOs remain the achievement of conservation objectives and perhaps by default broader societal objectives (health, education, enjoyment), their mandates and mission statements often contain references to supporting, involving, or recognizing the role of local communities and Indigenous groups. CPAWS’s mission statement, for example, says that the organization will achieve its objectives through “protecting Canada’s wild ecosystems in parks, wilderness and similar natural areas, preserving the full diversity of habitats and their species” but recognizes that it will do this through “working co-operatively with government, First Nations, business, other organizations and individuals in a consensus-seeking manner, wherever possible” (CPAWS 2009). The Boreal Conservation Framework of the CBI has a more balanced vision of “maintaining the health of the Boreal Forest,” while also recognizing the need to consider “sustainable commercial interests,” “long-term economic benefits,” “lands, rights and ways of life of First Nations,” “environmental, social and economic benefit,” “impact on the workforce,” “traditional knowledge and local perspectives” and “cultural values” (CBI 2009). On the other hand, the WWF’s mission focuses on the “conservation of nature,” and is not forward in recognizing its support for local community development or consideration of local communities (WWF 2009). The roles that ENGOs, such as the CBI, CPAWS, and perhaps the WWF could fulfil or have fulfilled in supporting local community development outcomes also make them an integral part of the social economy in Lutsel K’e. “On the ground” community realities might alter not only the mandate, but also the actual roles these organizations occupy in ways that better reflect the social and economic needs of local communities while still striving to achieve environmental conservation objectives. “They fund what they call ‘acres on the ground’,” said long-term community member Steven Ellis, later adding, “[but] I think that they realize that they have to work with communities.” Interviewees both inside and outside Lutsel K’e perceived ENGOs as

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having a significant role in supporting local communities to achieve local development objectives. There were four areas where it was felt that ENGOs have helped or could assist in achieving social and economic development objectives in the community: 1) supporting community conservation initiatives through funding, providing intellectual and capacity inputs, and playing an intermediary role; 2) providing funding supports for community capacity building and social, cultural, and economic development objectives related to conservation; 3) advocating for the community through exerting political influence; and, 4) advocating for the community through increasing external awareness and knowledge of the place and the issues. Although several ENGO representatives felt that their organizations did not have the capacity to provide much support to communities in achieving social and economic development objectives related to conservation, they also suggested that their organizations should become more involved in activities such as capacity building. At the same time, many community members felt that the ENGOs had already contributed significantly to these activities. One participant commented that ENGOs often funded community-driven initiatives that the government federal (that is, Parks Canada) was unable or unwilling to fund. Funding had come from ENGOs for community planning processes, workshops for youth, visits to other parks, training programs, the hiring of educators, and the initial identification of the area to be protected. Many participants also felt that ENGOs could continue to support the community through the process of protected-area creation by helping to set up a community compensation fund to ensure long-term financial support for local initiatives and by advocating for the community vision of the protected area using political or popular means. ENGOs “bring a lot of political clout to the table” and create “a huge political push for that park to happen, that Lutsel K’e couldn’t generate on their own,” commented one ENGO representative and interviewee. “They can be strong allies,” commented a community interviewee.

Local eco-social economy organizations In addition to outside ENGOs that are advocating for the broader goals of the LKDFN in creating the park, a number of additional ecosocial economy organizations have emerged or likely will be created to support the achievement of these goals. The most important of these organizations is the Thaidene Nene Working Group (so-called at the time of research), which was recently renamed the Thaidene Nene

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Negotiations Advisory Council. This organization is an extension of the Lutsel K’e Dene First Nation and has focused on issues related to the creation of the park, including convening meetings, organizing capacity-building and training workshops, seeking funding opportunities, liaising with outside ENGOs, academic organizations, and governmental bodies, and working alongside the Akaitcho Treaty 8 negotiation processes. It is board run, has a membership appointed by the chief and council of the LKDFN, and is dedicated to serving the members of the LDKFN. Its primary mandate is to work towards the conservation of Thaidene Nene as envisioned by members of the community. Three more eco-social economy organizations are envisaged, and likely will result from the creation of the national park: a co-management or, preferably, a joint-management body, a trust fund, and an eco-tourism cooperative. As mentioned earlier, the creation of a co-management body has been the norm for northern protected areas since the mid1980s (Lemelin and Johnston 2008). Participants in Lutsel K’e envision a co-management body like the Torngat Mountains National Park cooperative board (Canada 2010; Lemelin and Baikie 2012), where local people hold the majority or all of the seats and with sufficient capacity and funding to carry out their mandate independently. Furthermore, the LKDFN would like to move beyond the idea of co-management bodies as serving an advisory role to the minister of the environment. Rather, the LKDFN would prefer to talk about managing the protected area in a true “partnership” that would imply more of a “joint management” arrangement based on “joint authority,” wherein authority is delegated by both the minister of the environment and the chief of the LKDFN (e-mail communication, Steven Ellis, 10 January 2012). The creation of a board-run trust fund oriented towards local development, such as the one created for the Haida First Nation as a result of the creation of Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve, is also a desired outcome of the protected-area negotiation process. A trust fund is seen as having several purposes. First, the money could be invested locally in social, cultural, educational, economic, and infrastructure initiatives. Second, interviewees felt it was important for local people to have control over their own money instead of “always having to ask for a handout” from the federal government. Third, many people felt that the creation of a local eco-tourism industry was a likely result of the creation of the protected area, and that a cooperative was the ideal structure for supporting the tourism industry (Bennett et al. 2010). The roles of the tourism cooperative would include coordination, training and education, administration and accounting, writing funding applications, procuring

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insurance, handling bookings, product development and marketing, liaising with wholesalers, hiring local people, capacity building, and representing tourism in other park-related processes. Finally, several interviewees also felt that the community should create its own local ENGO – for example, a “Dene cultural, conservation, non-profit association” or a “friends of Thaidene Nene” – to support the protected area and the community over the longer term. Lutsel K’e is also home to a number of social economy organizations that do not have an ecological mandate, including the Denesoline Corporation, the Co-op store (Arctic Co-operatives Limited), Thebacha Business Services (a “Community Futures Development Corporation” located in Fort Smith), and the community health centre. Many of the economic-oriented social economy organizations likely will be buoyed by supporting protected-area-related activities. Both the Denesoline Corporation and the Co-op, it was felt, could capitalize on infrastructure development, transportation, maintenance, and supplies contracts related to the creation of the protected area. Special provisions might need to be made during negotiations to ensure that these contracts are kept within the community. All three organizations, the Denesonline Corporation, the Co-op, and Thebacha, also were seen to have potentially important roles in supporting the development of tourism (see also Bennett et al. 2010). Thebacha Business Services could continue to support community economic development, entrepreneurship training, business counselling, and loan programs with a renewed focus on tourism, but would need to have an increased presence in the community. Arctic Co-operatives Limited could build and operate a hotel and restaurant, sell souvenirs, and provide goods and services to tourists. Finally, results showed very differing opinions about whether or not Denesoline should support tourism development and invest in local tourism-related businesses and infrastructure (such as a hotel). Moreover, both social and eco-social economy organizations in Lutsel K’e had or were envisaged to have important roles in the supporting development associated with the creation of a protected area in the traditional territory of the LKDFN. Discussion and Conclusions In this chapter we have briefly reviewed how the conservation mandate has shifted away from a primary focus on conserving pristine nature without humans towards consideration, and even inclusion,

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of humans within protected areas. These changes are reflected in the international discourse, in Canadian protected-area-related legislation and policies, and in the way protected areas are seen. In then turning to an overview of the social economy, we argue for a more important place for environmental and conservation organizations and initiatives within definitions of the social economy. To support this position, we focus on a case study of Lutsel K’e, Northwest Territories, and the creation of a national park or protected area in the traditional territory of the local First Nation. Our results show that: 1) local perspectives on conservation position the protected-area initiative within an ecosocial economy ideology; 2) that ENGOs involved with Lutsel K’e are, of necessity, engaging with the social and economic mandate of communities in order to achieve environmental ends; and 3) that a number of eco-social economy organizations and social economy organizations will be created as a result of, or stand to benefit from, the creation of a protected area. On the first point, the concept that the eco-social economy can include an ideological position or even an initiative is supported by those who attempt to define the social economy as a political or ideological approach, rather than in a utilitarian or stop-gap manner. For more on this, see Bridge, Murtagh, and O’Neill (2009, 79), who suggest that various definitions of the social economy are based on three arguments: 1) an economic/entrepreneurship approach; 2) a socio-economic policy approach; and 3) a political/ideological approach. In defining the protected-area initiative as part of an ecosocial economy, we take the position that the eco-social economy can include ideologies, movements, policies, and organizations, and that what constitutes part of the eco-social economy can be determined by ideals, mandates, institutional structures, principles of operation, and activities. Labelling the move to protect Thaidene Nene as an eco-social economy initiative, rather than as a conservation initiative, might also be more closely aligned to Indigenous perspectives on the interconnectedness of all aspects of life (see Kemf 1993) that is part of what others in this volume have called the Aboriginal social economy. As Ellis (2003, 112) puts it, “[t]he traditional values, practices, and knowledge of aboriginal people demonstrate recognition of the necessity for a healthy, synergetic relationship between people and nature at all levels.” Another example of a similarly emerging eco-social economy protected-area initiative is the Tla-o-qui-aht Tribal Parks Initiative on the west coast of

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Vancouver Island. This initiative is guided by the principle of Hishuk ish ts’awalk, meaning “everything is one” in the local language, and is part of achieving the vision: “To re-establish a healthy integration of economy and environment in which there is a balance of creation and consumption and a continual investment in biological and economic diversity” (Tribal Parks 2010). In relation to the second point, we argue for the greater incorporation of environmental and conservation-focused organizations within the social economy. On-the-ground realities and community needs associated with conservation initiatives often make protected-area creation processes social endeavours as well as environmental endeavours. ENGOs, in the context of Lutsel K’e, have been important proponents of community developments in relation to the creation of the park. Externally operating ENGOs are seen as having numerous key roles in local conservation and development outcomes through supporting community conservation initiatives, providing funding for local capacity building and community development efforts, and advocating externally for local concerns and vision through exerting political influence and raising awareness. So far ENGOs have been very supportive of Lutsel K’e’s interest in protecting Thaidene Nene, and have also provided financial support for workshops, research, visits to other parks, and training initiatives. In the future ENGOs could continue to support the community’s conservation, development, and capacity-building initiatives, and advocate for the community during the creation of the national park or other type of protected area. Indeed, ENGOs could be an important link between third sector social economy organizations and the Aboriginal social economy. ENGOs highlight the importance of holistic links between the land, people, and cooperation that are central to the social economy that has long characterized the Indigenous communities of Canada’s North. It is noteworthy that the ENGOs that operate in Lutsel K’e seem to situate their mandates and, even more so, their activities increasingly in relation to the needs and aspirations of the communities with which they work, rather than in relation to the mandates of their international counterparts. For example, one ENGO interviewee recognized that the organization’s mandate in northern Canada was not as focused on development considerations as it was in the developing world. At the same time, the local focus is a hopeful indication of an eco-social economy that is distributed to the margins (Kvieskiene 2010), one that is locally rather than globally oriented. And yet a more

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effective cross-scale integration of eco-social economy organizations locally to nationally to globally might allow for more effective policy and practice at all levels. This is a topic that deserves considerable discussion and debate. On the final point, the current Thaidene Nene Negotiations Advisory Council, the envisaged co-management board or joint management arrangement, trust fund, and community tourism cooperative all seem laudable and realistic eco-social economy organizations. Both co-management boards and community trust funds have resulted from the creation of other national parks in Nunavut, Labrador, and British Columbia. And current social economy organizations in the community, such as the Co-op and the Denesoline Corporation, could also capitalize significantly on the creation of a protected area. Furthermore, given the social and cultural context of Lutsel K’e – the collectivist orientation of the Dene and the importance of all voices being heard – both social economy and eco-social economy organizations might be more effective and suitable means to achieve the community’s development goals related to the creation of a protected area. There might be significant barriers to the success of this type of organization, however, including lack of local capacity (in business and management), the sustainability of funding sources, the number of boards requiring participation in the community, and declining levels of civic engagement and participation. All these issues need to be considered and planned for as these organizations continue to advocate for and support social and economic development as it relates to conservation in Lutsel K’e. Government support of the effective functioning of these eco-social economy organizations also should be an integral part of ongoing negotiations with Parks Canada. In conclusion we call for continued support for the development of the eco-social economy, first and foremost through its explicit recognition as a distinct but integral part of the social economy. Yet the term “eco-social economy” still deserves a significant amount of additional debate and redefinition. It is clear, however, that the ideals behind the creation of a protected area in Thaidene Nene and the organizations – as defined by their mandates, actions, and structures – that are working on and emerging from this initiative demonstrate the emergence of an ecosocial economy in the Canadian North. Moreover, environmental and conservation-focused organizations and initiatives should be incorporated into definitions of the social economy so as to receive broader support from government and civil society.

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REFERENCES Adams, W.M., R. Aveling, D. Brockington, B. Dickson, J. Elliott, J. Hutton, D. Roe, et al. 2004. “Biodiversity Conservation and the Eradication of Poverty.” Science 306 (5699): 1146–9. http://dx.doi.org/10.1126/ science.1097920 Adams, W.M., and J. Hutton. 2007. “People, Parks, and Poverty: Political Ecology and Biodiversity Conservation.” Conservation & Society 5 (2): 147–83. Anaya, J., and R.A. Williams. 2001. “The Protection of Indigenous Peoples’ Rights over Lands and Natural Resources under the Inter-American Human Rights System.” Harvard Human Rights Journal 14: 33–86. Bennett, N. 2009. “Conservation, Community Benefit, Capacity Building and the Social Economy: A Case Study of Lutsel K’e and the Proposed National Park.” Master’s thesis, Lakehead University. Available online at http:// lutselkeandthaidenenene.wordpress.com/documents/. Bennett, N., and R.H. Lemelin. 2014. “Situating the Eco-social Economy: Environmental Movements and Conservation Organizations as Catalysts for Social and Economic Development.” Community Development Journal 49 (1), 69–84. Bennett, N., R.H. Lemelin, and S. Ellis. 2010. “Aboriginal and Local Perspectives on the Community Benefits of Conservation: A Case Study of a Proposed Canadian National Park and the Lutsel K’e Dene First Nation.” Geography Research Forum 30: 132–40. Bennett, N., R.H. Lemelin, M. Johnston, and Lutsel K’e Dene First Nation. 2010. “Using the Social Economy in Tourism: A Study of National Park Creation and Community Development in the Northwest Territories, Canada.” Journal of Rural and Community Development 5 (1/2): 200–20. Berkes, F., J. Colding, and C. Folke, eds. 2003. Navigating Social-Ecological Systems: Building Resiliency for Complexity and Change. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bone, R.M. 2003. The Geography of the Canadian North: Issues and Challenges, 2nd ed. Don Mills, ON: Oxford University Press. Borrini-Feyerabend, G., A. Kothari, and G. Oviedo. 2004. Indigenous and Local Communities and Protected Areas: Towards Equity and Enhanced Conservation – Guidance on Policy and Practice for Co-managed Protected Areas and Community Conserved Areas. Best Practice Protected Area Guideline Series. Gland, Switzerland: International Union for Conservation of Nature.

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Borrini-Feyerabend, G., M. Pimbert, M.T. Farvar, A. Kothari, and Y. Renard. 2007. Sharing Power: Learning-by-Doing in Co-management of Natural Resources throughout the World. London: Earthscan. Borzaga, C. 2001. “Introduction: From Third Sector to Social Enterprise.” In The Emergence of Social Enterprise, ed. C. Borzaga and J. Defourny, 1–28. New York: Routledge, Taylor & Frances. Bridge, S., B. Murtagh, and K. O’Neill. 2009. Understanding the Social Economy and the Third Sector. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Bushell, R., and P.F.J. Eagles. 2007. Tourism and Protected Areas: Benefits beyond Boundaries. Wallingford, UK: CABI. Canada. 2005. What We Need to Know about the Social Economy: A Guide for Policy Research. Ottawa: Policy Research Initiative. Canada. 2008. Parks Canada. A Handbook for Parks Canada Employees on Consulting with Aboriginal Peoples. Gatineau, QC: Parks Canada, Aboriginal Affairs Secretariat. Canada. 2010. Parks Canada. Tongait KakKasuangita SilkKijapvinga Torngat Mountains National Park of Canada Management Plan. Gatineau, QC: Parks Canada. CBI (Canadian Boreal Initiative). 2009. “About Us: Our Mandate.” Available online at http://www.borealcanada.ca/about-mandate-e.php, accessed 17 April 2009. Chapin, M. 2004. “A Challenge to Conservationists.” World Watch Magazine 17 (6): 5–20. Coad, L., A. Campbell, L. Miles, and K. Humphries. 2008. “The Costs and Benefits of Forest Protected Areas for Local Livelihoods: A Review of the Current Literature.” Working paper. Cambridge, UK: United Nations Environment Programme World Conservation Monitoring Centre. Cohen, P., A. Valemei, and H. Govan. 2008. Annotated Bibliography on Socioeconomic and Ecological Impacts of Marine Protected Areas in Pacific Island Countries. Worldfish Bibliography 1870. Penang, Malaysia: WorldFish Centre. Colchester, M. 1994. Salvaging Nature: Indigenous Peoples, Protected Areas, and Biodiversity Conservation. Darby, PA: DIANE Publishing. CPAWS (Canadian Parks and Wilderness Society). 2009. “Canadian Parks and Wilderness Society: About Us.” Available online at http://cpaws.org/ about/; accessed 17 April 2009. CSERP (Canadian Social Economy Research Partnerships). 2007. “Building and Strengthening Communities through the Social Economy.” Victoria, BC: University of Victoria. Available online at http://socialeconomyhub.ca/ sites/socialeconomyhub.ca/files/socialeconomybookletenfinal.pdf; accessed 27 August 2014.

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Dearden, P., and S. Langdon. 2009. “Aboriginal Peoples and National Parks.” In Parks and Protected Areas in Canada, 3rd ed., ed. P. Dearden and R. Rollins, 373–402. Don Mills, ON: Oxford University Press. Dowie, M. 2009. Conservation Refugees: The Hundred-Year Conflict between Global Conservation and Native Peoples. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Ellis, S. 2003. “Which Way to Denendeh? Past Failures and Future Opportunities for Traditional Knowledge and Environmental Decision Making in the Northwest Territories.” Master’s thesis, University of Waterloo. Ellis, S., and G. Enzoe. 2008. “The Land that We Keep for Us: An Aboriginal Perspective on Conservation – The Case of Thaidene Nene/East Arm of Great Slave Lake.” Presentation to the Canadian Parks for Tomorrow Conference, Calgary, 8–12 May. Fisher, R.J., and IUCN (International Union for Conservation of Nature). 2005. Poverty and Conservation. Gland, Switzerland: IUCN. http://dx.do i.org/10.2305/IUCN.CH.2005.FR.LL.2.en. Ghimire, K.B., and M.P. Pimpert, eds. 1997. Social Change and Conservation: Environmental Politics and Impacts of National Parks and Protected Areas. London: Earthscan. Gore, A. 1992. Earth in the Balance: Ecology and the Human Spirit. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. Griffith, R. 1987. “Northern Park Development: The Case of Snowdrift.” Alternatives 14 (1): 26–30. Héritier, S. 2011. “Parcs nationaux et populations locales dans l’ouest canadien: de l’exclusion à la participation.” Canadian Geographer 55 (2): 158–79. http:// dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1541-0064.2010.00314.x Hughes, R., and F. Flintan. 2001. Integrating Conservation and Development Experience: A Review and Bibliography of the ICDP Literature. Biodiversity and Livelihoods Issues. London: International Institute for Environment and Development. IUCN (International Union for Conservation of Nature). 1980. World Conservation Strategy: Living Resource Conservation for Sustainable Development. Gland, Switzerland: IUCN. IUCN. 2005. The Durban Accord. Gland, Switzerland: IUCN. Johanisova, N. 2009. “Towards an Eco-social Enterprise?” In Third Sector and Sustainable Social Change: New Frontiers for Research. ISTR Conference Working Papers, vol. VI, 1–12. Barcelona. Kemf, E. 1993. Indigenous Peoples and Protected Areas: The Law of Mother Earth. London: Earthscan. Koziell, I. 2001. Diversity not Adversity: Sustaining Livelihoods with Biodiversity. London: International Institute for Environment and Development.

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Kvieskiene, G. 2010. “Challenges of Social Policy: Between Reform and Crisis.” Socialinis Ugdymas 11 (22): 75–83. Leisher, C., P. van Beukering, and L.M. Scherl. 2007. Nature’s Investment Bank: How Marine Protected Areas Contribute to Poverty Reduction. [n.p.]: Nature Conservancy/WWF International. Lemelin, R.H., and G. Baikie. 2012. “Our Home and Native Land: Recognizing the Socio-cultural Dimensions of Last Chance Tourism.” In Last Chance Tourism: Adapting Tourism Opportunities in a Changing World, ed. R.H. Lemelin, J. Dawson, and E. Stewart, 168–81. New York: Routledge. Lemelin, R.H., and N. Bennett. 2010. “The Proposed Pimachiowin Aki World Heritage Site Project: Management and Protection of Indigenous World Heritage Sites in a Canadian Context.” Leisure 34 (2): 169–87. http://dx.doi .org/10.1080/14927713.2010.481113 Lemelin, R.H., and M. Johnston. 2008. “Northern Protected Areas and Parks.” In Parks and Protected Areas in Canada: Planning and Management, 3rd ed., ed. P. Dearden and R. Rollins, 294–313. Don Mills, ON: Oxford University Press. Lemelin, R.H., and P. Maher. 2009. “Nanuk of the Torngats: Human-Polar Bear Interactions in the Torngat Mountains National Park, Newfoundland and Labrador, Canada.” Human Dimensions of Wildlife 14 (2): 152–5. http:// dx.doi.org/10.1080/10871200802688532 Lemelin, R.H., N. McIntyre, R. R. Koster, and M. Johnston. 2010. “Polar Bear Management in Polar Bear Provincial Park and the Washeo and Weenusk First Nations.” In Tourism and Change in Polar Regions: Climate, Environments and Experiences, ed. M. Hall and J. Saarinen. New York: Routledge. McNamee, K. 2009. “From Wild Places to Endangered Spaces: A History of Canada’s National Parks.” In Parks and Protected Areas in Canada: Planning and Management, 3rd ed., ed. P. Dearden and R. Rollins, 25–55. Don Mills, ON: Oxford University Press. McNeely, J.A., and K. Miller. 1984. “National Parks, Conservation, and Development: The Role of Protected Areas in Sustaining Society.” In Proceedings of the World Congress on National Parks, Bali, Indonesia, 11–22 October 1982. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press. McShane, T.O., and M.P. Wells. 2004. Getting Biodiversity Projects to Work: Towards More Effective Conservation and Development. New York: Columbia University Press. Molloy, A., C. McFeely, and E. Connolly. 1999. Building a Social Economy for the New Millennium. Derry, UK: Guildhall Press. Murphy, C., and D. Roe. 2004. “Livelihoods and Tourism in Communal Area Conservancies.” In Livelihoods and CBNRM in Namibia: The Findings of the WILD Project, ed. J. Long, 119–38. Windhoek, Namibia: Ministry of Environment and Tourism.

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Natcher, D. 2009. “Subsistence and the Social Economy of Canada’s Aboriginal North.” Northern Review 30 (Spring): 69–84. Naughton-Treves, L., M.B. Holland, and K. Brandon. 2005. “The Role of Protected Areas in Conserving Biodiversity and Sustaining Local Livelihoods.” Annual Review of Environment and Resources 30 (1): 219–52. http://dx.doi.org/10.1146/annurev.energy.30.050504.164507 Nepal, S.K., and K.E. Weber. 1995. “Managing Resources and Resolving Conflicts: National Parks and Local People.” International Journal of Sustainable Development and World Ecology 2 (1): 11–25. http://dx.doi.org/ 10.1080/13504509.1995.10590662 Northwest Territories. 2004. Bureau of Statistics. “Łutsël K’e.” Available online at http://www.stats.gov.nt.ca/Infrastructure/Comm%20Sheets/Lutselke .html; accessed 15 October 2007. Peepre, J., and P. Dearden. 2002. “The Role of Aboriginal Peoples.” In Parks and Protected Areas in Canada, 2nd ed., ed. P. Dearden and R. Rollins, 323–53. Don Mills, ON: Oxford University Press. Quarter, J., J. Richmond, J. Sousa, and S. Thompson. 2001. “An Analytical Framework for Classifying the Organizations of the Social Economy.” In The Nonprofit Sector and Government in a New Century, ed. K. Brock and K. Banting, 63–100. Montreal; Kingston, ON: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Radermacher, F.J. 2004. Balance or Destruction: Eco-social Economy as the Key to Global Sustainable Development. Vienna: Ecosocial Forum Europe. Rao, K., and C. Geisler. 1990. “The Social Consequences of Protected Areas Development for Resident Populations.” Society & Natural Resources 3 (1): 19–32. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/08941929009380702 Restakis, J. 2006. Defining the social economy – The BC context. Vancouver: British Columbia Cooperative Association. Riegler, J. n.d. “Global Marshall Plan for a Worldwide Eco-social Market Economy: An Idea with Dynamics.” Available online at http://files .globalmarshallplan.org/josef_riegler.pdf; accessed 27 August 2014. Riegler, J., and F.J. Radermacher. 2004. “Global Marshall Plan: Balance the World with an Eco-Social Market Economy.” Available online at http:// www.oekosozial.at/uploads/tx_osfopage/Projekt%20der%20Hoffnung% 20span.pdf; accessed 5 January 2012. Roe, D. 2008. “The Origins and Evolution of the Conservation-Poverty Debate: A Review of Key Literature, Events, and Policy Processes.” Oryx 42 (4): 491–503. http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/S0030605308002032 Roe, D., and J. Elliott. 2010. Earthscan Reader in Poverty and Biodiversity Conservation. London: Earthscan.

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Sandlos, J. 2007. Hunters at the Margin: Native People and Wildlife Conservation in the Northwest Territories. Vancouver: UBC Press. Sandlos, J. 2008. “Not Wanted in the Boundary: The expulsion of the Keeseekoowenin Ojibway from Riding Mountain National Park.” Canadian Historical Review 89 (2): 189–221. http://dx.doi.org/10.3138/chr.89.2.189 Scherl, L.M., A. Wilson, R. Wild, J. Blockhus, P. Franks, J.A. McNeely, and T.O. McShane. 2004. Can Protected Areas Contribute to Poverty Reduction? Opportunities and Limitations. Gland, Switzerland: International Union for Conservation of Nature. http://dx.doi.org/10.2305/IUCN.CH.2005.6.en. SENES Consultants and R. Griffith. 2006. Thaidene Nene State of Knowledge Report. Lutsel K’e, NT: Lutsel K’e Dene First Nation. Sneed, P.G. 1997. “National Parklands and Northern Homelands: Toward Co-management of National Parks in Alaska and the Yukon.” In Conservation through Cultural Survival: Indigenous Peoples and Protected Areas, ed. S. Stevens, 135–54. Washington, DC: Island Press. Stevens, S., ed. 1997. Conservation through Cultural Survival: Indigenous Peoples and Protected Areas. Washington, DC: Island Press. Stolton, S., and N. Dudley, eds. 1999. Partnerships for Protection: New Strategies for Planning and Management for Protected Areas. Abingdon, UK: Earthscan. Timko, J., and T. Satterfield. 2008. “Seeking Social Equity in National Parks: Experiments with Evaluation in Canada and South Africa.” Conservation & Society 6 (3): 238–54. http://dx.doi.org/10.4103/0972-4923.49216 Tribal Parks. 2010. “Tla-O-Qui-Aht Tribal Parks.” Available online at http:// www.tribalparks.ca/; accessed 5 January 2012. Walpole, M., and L. Wilder. 2008. “Disentangling the Links between Conservation and Poverty Reduction in Practice.” Oryx 42 (4): 539–47. http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/S0030605308000744 West, P.C., and S.R. Brechin. 1991. Resident Peoples and National Parks: Social Dilemmas and Strategies in International Conservation. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. West, P., and D. Brockington. 2006. “An Anthropological Perspective on Some Unexpected Consequences of Protected Areas.” Conservation Biology 20 (3): 609–16. http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1523-1739.2006.00432.x West, P., J. Igoe, and D. Brockington. 2006. “Parks and Peoples: The Social Impact of Protected Areas.” Annual Review of Anthropology 35 (1): 251–77. http://dx.doi.org/10.1146/annurev.anthro.35.081705.123308 Western, D., S.C. Strum, and R.M. Wright, eds. 1994. Natural Connections: Perspectives in Community-based Conservation. Washington, DC: Island Press.

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Wetlands International. 2009. Planting Trees to Eat Fish: Field Experiences in Wetlands and Poverty Reduction. Wageningen, Netherlands: Wetlands International. WWF (World Wildlife Fund). 2008. “Indigenous Peoples and Conservation: WWF Statement of Principles.” Gland, Switzerland: World Wildlife Fund International. WWF. 2009. “World Wildlife Fund: Who We Are – Environmental Conservation.” Available online at http://www.worldwildlife.org/who/index.html; accessed 17 April 2009.

12 Gúlú Agot’ı T’á Kǝ Gotsúhɂa Gha (Learning about Changes): Rethinking Indigenous Social Economy in Délı̨ nę, Northwest Territories D E B O R A H S I M M O N S , W A LT E R B AY H A , I N G E B O R G F I N K , S A R A H G O R D O N , K E R E N R I C E , A N D D O R I S TA N E T O N

The establishment of the Social Economy Research Network of Northern Canada (SERNNoCa) in 2006 was a dual catalyst for reflection on the concept of social economy – from the perspective both of academics who understand the term in relation to its use in scholarly and policy discourse, and of community-based Indigenous researchers. The latter were usually unfamiliar with the term “social economy,” but found themselves invited to investigate – usually in collaboration with a graduate student – over a period of two years how this phenomenon manifests itself in their communities. In the Sahtúot’ı̨ nę1 (Dene of Great Bear Lake) community of Délı̨ nę, a fly-in community of fewer than six hundred in the Northwest Territories, social economy research during the period from 2009 to 2011 gave rise to a series of questions about theory, research methodology, and policy development in the context of the community’s imminent transition to self-government, along with efforts to understand and prepare for significant environmental and social change. The introductory chapter to this volume notes the existence of two distinct (but not necessarily mutually exclusive) understandings of social economy alive and well in the North. These two understandings

1 Vowels a-e-i-o-u without diacritics are pronounced like baa-bay-bee-go-boo in the Dene language of the Sahtu Region (the language is also known as North Slavey). The acute accent over the “u” indicates a high tone (the Sahtu language has two tones, and low tone is not written). The hook under a vowel indicates nasalization. Nasalized “į” is similar to the vowel in “means,” and nasalized “ę” is similar to the vowel in “sent” (Legat 2012). The Roman orthography for the Dene languages is defined in Northwest Territories (1990).

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were dealt with in greater detail in a special social economy issue of the journal Northern Review (volume 30, 2009), and are also described in the diverse contributions to this volume. The Northern Review issue includes discussions of what might be considered as conventional social economy institutions, including cooperatives and volunteer organizations, as well as examinations of the Indigenous “mixed economy,” described as a coherent innovation by Indigenous peoples that blends traditional subsistence practices with cash from a variety of sources (for example, Abele, Natcher, Southcott and Walker). Natcher calls for research and policy that reflect the complexity and heterogeneity of Indigenous economies; this call is echoed in Kuokkanen (2011), and reflected in contributions by Abele; Natcher; Boutet, Keeling, and Sandlos; and Bennett and Lemelin, in this volume. Abele concludes her Northern Review paper by posing a question about the nature of the interface between conventional social economy institutions characterizing primarily wage-based economies and the mixed economy in the context of socio-economic change. This question addresses the core of the Délı̨ nę First Nation research agenda over the past several years, as the community seeks to maintain and strengthen its national identity and autonomy while accounting for the evolving reality of its engagement with the global economy. After describing the background and context for our research, we consider key lessons learned in social economy theory, methodology, and policy from the Délı̨ nę research experience. Our research develops a unified conception of the Indigenous social economy as a product of the invisible and visible struggles that take place at the edges of capitalist accumulation, where non-commodified kinshipbased subsistence production and sharing come together with wage labour, government subsidies, commodified goods and services, and imported social economy institutions. Further, we argue that a functionalist analysis of the social economy deriving institutional and policy requirements solely from quantified characterizations of economic “needs” might be an obstacle to comprehending and supporting the strategic processes that Indigenous communities define for themselves in seeking well-being and self-determination. We make the case that stories and language provide meaningful vehicles for analysing change and continuity within the social economy and for developing policy that addresses community needs and aspirations, here understood by way of the Sahtúot’ı̨ nę concept of Dene Ts’ı̨ lı̨ “being Dene.”

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Background and Context: The Délı̨nę Social Economy Project-within-a-Program SERNNoCa’s Délı̨ nę social economy project was an extension of a larger research program initiated in 2006 by the Délı̨ nę Knowledge Project (Délı̨ nę First Nation) in partnership with the University of Manitoba. The larger program was entitled Dene Cho Godí Gháré Hįdó K’ǝ́lu K’ǝ Hídǝ́ – The Words of Our Ancestors Are Our Path to the Future. The program was an effort to implement a strategic plan for research (Délı̨ nę Knowledge Centre Action Group 2003, 2004). Developed as a by-product of a major five-year program to research the social and environmental impacts of the Port Radium uranium mine, which operated from 1930 to 1960 on the east side of Sahtú (Great Bear Lake),2 the plan established priorities for research in language and culture, health, and environment, along with a (still-unrealized) dream for a Délı̨ nę Knowledge Centre building (Canada-Délı̨ nę Uranium Table 2001, 2005; Délı̨ nę First Nation 2005).3 As the program progressed, a series of four key research needs were elicited by the community, and/or were imposed by the community’s insertion into larger governance processes. First, as scientists communicated news of a drastic decline in the barren-ground caribou herds upon which the community has long depended and the imposition of management measures became imminent, the community embarked on an inquiry into the nature of Sahtúot’ı̨ nę caribou knowledge and stewardship. Second, following completion of the Canada-Délı̨ nę Uranium Table’s report on the historical and ongoing impacts of Port Radium – and as the community approached the twentieth anniversary of the annual August gathering in honour of the late renowned local prophet Ɂehtsǝ́o Erǝ́ya,4 who extrapolated from the experience of the

2 The Port Radium mine, which employed Sahtúot’ı̨ nę in the provision of wood and country food and as ore carriers and boat pilots along the transportation route, marked the first major insertion of Sahtúot’ı̨ nę into a wage economy. The persistence of seasonal harvesting practices to the present indicates, however, that “assimilation” did not take place; Sahtúot’ı̨ nę maintained generally strong relationships with the land throughout the period the mine operated. 3 Because the Délı̨ nę Knowledge Centre became identified with the idea of a building, per the feasibility study completed by the Aurora Research Institute (2004), research activities related to the strategic plan came to be referred to as the “Délı̨ nę Knowledge Project.” 4 Ɂehtsǝ́o is an honorific term meaning “grandfather,” used for especially revered Elders. Erǝ́ya is the spelling of the prophet’s original name provided by Jane

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uranium mine to envision future social and environmental change – the community requested audio compilations and documentation related to Sahtúot’ı̨ nę spirituality and well-being as a way of mitigating negative impacts of such change. Third, the community became concerned to understand the nature of climate change and to develop a proactive approach to addressing environmental change within the framework of self-government.5 Fourth, it became clear that Sahtúot’ı̨ nę knowledge processes require the core involvement of youth, and the community wished to develop effective means of facilitating Elder-youth knowledge exchanges that could bring together the knowledge of the past with the challenges of the present and future. These four priorities were combined during the 2009–11 period under the program title Gúlú Agot’ı T’á Kǝ Gotsúhɂa Gha – Learning about Changes. The SERNNoCa project was initiated in the context of this larger community research agenda, and encompassed a wide variety of activities combining relatively structured graduate student research with a variety of communityelicited processes on the land, in the community, and in the schools (Ɂehtséo Ayha School and Aurora College Learning Centre) that shed light on the nature of the Sahtúot’ı̨ nę social economy – without ever using that foreign term. The Social Economy in Sahtúot’ı̨nę History Abele (2009a,b) and others point out that, notwithstanding the expansion of settlement and the state during the 1930s, Indigenous peoples in the Northwest Territories remained relatively self-sufficient until after the Second World War. There were clear indications during the first part of the twentieth century, however, that Indigenous peoples of the territory were conscious for the first time of the need to establish formal recognition of their sovereignty, harvesting rights, and rights to

Modeste (Modeste and Délı̨ nę Knowledge Project 2009). The pronunciation has been adapted as the anglicized “Ayha” (as in Ɂehtséo Ayha School). “Ɂ” represents a glottal consonant (similar to the break indicated by the hyphen in the English “uh-oh”). The letter “ǝ́” gives the “ay” sound as in “bay.” So the pronunciation is similar to “Ehtsayoh Erayah,” with added high tones. 5 In this case, the community was responsive to a series of three major funding opportunities offered by the Department of Indian Affairs and Northern Development, Health Canada (Inuit and First Nations Branch), and the International Polar Year.

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compensation for sharing their lands and resources. By the late nineteenth century, northern Dene had been experiencing epidemics and famine related to immigration through their traditional lands stimulated by the Yukon gold rush – and consequently began requesting treaty (Abel 2005; Fumoleau 2004). But it was not until a viable oil well was developed at Norman Wells in 1920 that the federal government undertook the Treaty 11 process – the last of the numbered treaties. Oral histories documented by Fumoleau (2004) demonstrate the deliberate agency of Dene leaders in requiring that their harvesting rights be protected and requesting other services through treaty negotiations, notwithstanding the bad faith and dizzying rapidity with which federal agents imposed the text of the treaty during 1921 and 1922. The treaty, minimal as it was in its support for harvesters, perhaps could be identified as a germinal manifestation of the Dene social economy, a product of the tense interface between capitalist development and Dene resistance – an institutional form aiming to protect the traditional Dene mode of production, but by its very existence adding a new hybrid dimension to the meaning of Dene survival and well-being. Within the Northwest Territories, the Sahtúot’ı̨ nę experience with wage labour at Port Radium and along the uranium transportation route during the period from 1930 to 1960 was perhaps the first significant moment in what Abele (2009b) refers to as the “invention” of an Indigenous mixed economy. Oral histories indicate, however, that income from the mine did not supplant the traditional economy, but rather was supplementary to it as seasonal labour for some individuals within extended families (Délı̨ nę First Nation 2005). Nevertheless, there were signs of impending trauma manifested in the prophesies of Ɂehtsǝ́o Erǝ́ya, whose shared visions of a radically different future projected from the effects of the development of the mine. It was not until the closure of the mine and relocation of people to the settlement now called Délı̨ nę that forces – police, church, school, wildlife conservation enforcement, and eventually rental housing – designed to assimilate Sahtúot’ı̨ nę by dismantling their autonomy and self-sufficiency began to take hold in a transformative way. Kulchyski (2005, 232) notes that “what policy makers and legislators in Ottawa desired was never exactly what took place in the communities.” In Délı̨ nę the community response to all these impositions during the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s was to inject strong leadership within three key dimensions of settlement life: spirituality, governance, and wildlife stewardship. The spiritual dimension was shaped by the knowledge

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and visions of four powerful prophets, and practised in a syncretic adaptation of Catholicism. Governance was structured by the band council system imposed by the Indian Act, but was most strongly influenced by a series of leaders who were known for their ability to nurture social relationships and self-sufficiency among community members. Leadership in wildlife stewardship was maintained in resistance to state conservation measures; the state’s concession to this was the establishment of the Hunters and Trappers Association, which is still remembered as a dynamic and well respected organization that provided meaningful support for harvesting activities. At a larger scale the proposal for a Mackenzie Valley pipeline in the 1970s provoked resistance throughout Dene territory and led to the forging of the Dene Nation. The project to achieve a unified Dene and Métis comprehensive land claim disintegrated in the 1990s; Délı̨nę leaders subsequently participated in negotiations that led by 1993 to the third land claims settlement in the Northwest Territories: the Sahtu Dene and Métis Land Claim Agreement encompassing the five communities of Colville Lake, Délı̨ nę, Fort Good Hope, Norman Wells, and Tulít’a. The land claim marked a major shift in community institutions and the establishment of a series of new regional institutions. In 1998, traumatized by a new understanding of the potential environmental and health impacts of the Port Radium mine, the community launched a battle that led to the creation of the Canada-Délı̨ nę Uranium Table and a five-year, multidisciplinary research program driven largely by the Délı̨ nę First Nation (Délı̨ nę Uranium Team). Incorporated within this program was a series of “healing journeys” on the land; these journeys, led by spiritual leader Charlie Neyelle, were conscious efforts to revitalize not only land-based skills, knowledge, and culture, but also spiritual relationships – these were also linked with a renewal of annual Spiritual Gatherings in honour of Ɂehtsǝ́o Erǝ́ya. At the same time, the community entered self-government negotiations; Délı̨ nę was the first community in the Sahtu that sought to fulfil this requirement of the land claim (Canada 1993, section 5). By the early part of the 2000s the community was undertaking initiatives in watershed management planning and the establishment of protected areas,6 and planning for the Délı̨ nę Knowledge Centre. As this book goes to press,

6 Caine (2008) provides a useful account of these community-driven multi-stakeholder initiatives in land stewardship.

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each of these projects has evolved tremendously, but their common feature has been the effort to establish a stable foundation for key aspects of the Sahtúot’ı̨ nę mixed economy in the face of increasingly evident forces of environmental and social change.7 As Abele (2009b), Kuokkanen (2011), Natcher (2009), and others stress, Indigenous mixed economies cannot be considered as purely economic in the narrow sense. Among Sahtúot’ı̨ nę, spirituality, law, governance, culture, and social-ecological relationships are all inherent to the mixed economy. Insofar as mixed economies inform the nature of Indigenous social economies, the category is necessarily expanded beyond the definitions taken for granted in the mainstream social economy literature. It is tempting, however, to reintroduce conceptual dualism in making a qualitative distinction between imported economic institutions and Indigenous social economies, thereby reifying both. A more fruitful approach would consider Indigenous social economies as entities that reflect the heterogeneity of the mixed economy. The history of Délı̨ nę indicates that the “traditional” aspect of the Indigenous economy is not “more easily integrated into a social economy paradigm” as Southcott and Walker (2009, 18) argue. If the social economy is understood historically as a by-product of social conflict caused by capitalist accumulation, then by definition self-sufficient and autonomous traditional economies as they once existed did not require social economy organizations. The evolution of the mixed economy in Délı̨ nę, however, has combined elements of both dispossession and resistance,8 and over time this often traumatic experience has given rise to essentially hybrid forms of social economy. These forms manifest a strong rootedness and continuity in traditional practices and non-commodified relationships – “being Dene” – while becoming necessarily deliberate and strategic in response to the power of the state and the forces of global capital – drawing on institutional supports and funding sources negotiated with 7 It should be noted that one imported social economy institutions does exist in Délı̨ nę: the Great Bear Co-operative, which consists of a department store competing with the local Northern Store. There are also ongoing efforts to stimulate organizing along standard voluntarist lines. These two imported approaches to developing the social economy are laudable adaptations to urban, sedentary life. However, they also play a role in accelerating the erosion of key aspects of the Sahtúot’ı̨ nę traditional economy by increasing dependence on commodity goods and supplanting local protocols of leadership. 8 Simmons (1995) has developed a theoretical framework for understanding Indigenous agency within the context of capitalist accumulation in Canada.

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the territorial and federal governments and externally based nongovernmental organizations. These hybrid forms bear little resemblance to non-Indigenous social economy organizations precisely because of the distinct colonial and Indigenous historical contexts in which they have been forged. To the extent that colonial power remains present as either an imposition or internalized consciousness (what Bayha calls “whitenetization”), the diverse components of the social economy inform one another in a way that may be fraught with contradiction. Rethinking Methodology through Indigenous Ways of Knowing The research process undertaken for the Délı̨ nę social economy project was an outgrowth of the local methodology that had been evolving in the community over the preceding decade, moving through a phase in which participatory methodology was embraced and locally adapted, to a hybrid methodology centred on Indigenous concepts and ways of knowing. Thus, notwithstanding our affirmation of the existence of a social economy in Délı̨ nę, we did not use the term itself in our research process, nor did we develop a structured questionnaire that directly addressed the nature of the social economy. Instead, we addressed SERNNoCa’s agenda indirectly. Needless to say, this created a particular challenge in justifying the relevance of the research – a challenge that speaks to our central problem. In describing our effort to “decolonize methodology,” to use the term of Maori theorist Linda Tuhiwai Smith (1999), we also hope to shed light on the strategic approach required to decolonize the social economy. Participatory research methodologies in Indigenous knowledge – or what is now enshrined in territorial government policy and federally legislated cooperative resource management institutions as “Traditional Knowledge” – have been practised in the Northwest Territories since the surge in research that took place under the auspices of the Mackenzie Valley Pipeline Inquiry and the Denendeh comprehensive land claim process in the 1970s and 1980s. In the first part of the 2000s, research in the community of Délı̨ nę was influenced by Joan Ryan, who assisted in the development and implementation of the Délı̨ nę Uranium Team’s oral history project with three community researchers (see Ryan 1995; Ryan and Robinson 1990, 1992). An adaptation of Ryan’s approach emerged from this collaboration, in which formal academic education at Aurora College and training in new computing technologies were added to the program with community researchers. The program was

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assessed and summarized in a document by the Délı̨ nę Ethics Committee (2003). Notwithstanding the participatory and innovative aspects of the process, the structure of the research followed conventional quantitative interview methods using a long questionnaire, translated into the Dene language from English – with a core objective of providing “data” for cross-disciplinary scientific analyses related to health and environmental impacts of the uranium mine. This data-driven approach also became the standard approach used in the Traditional Knowledge studies required for development licence applications. The Délı̨ nę Knowledge Project research program launched in 2006 provided an opportunity to forge an alternative research methodology, driven by Sahtúot’ı̨ nę ways of knowing, but also including sciencebased methods. This methodology sought to turn the tables on the structure that, by default, centres on the agency of the academically trained researcher (with the community as “participants”), such that the community, governed by official leaders and led by local researchers in dialogue with knowledge holders, are the agents who define the research questions, frame concepts and methods, and lead analysis of research results. In this scenario, mǫ́la9 (outsiders) are positioned primarily as interlocutors. Tension is ongoing, however, between the evolving methodological ideal and practical reality. Decolonizing research is neither easy nor straightforward, particularly given that the community is not homogenous in perspectives or priorities – and the involvement of mǫ́la and externally based research and funding institutions continually reinserts residual mistrust and a sense that the research will be used in a way that undermines self-determination.10 The Délı̨ nę research methodology is similar to that of the social economy in that it is not defined by a reified “traditional” modality. It is, rather, a product of the frictional interface between Indigenous and non-Indigenous knowledges, economies, and governance systems, a necessary basis for maintaining and revitalizing Indigenous language, knowledge, culture, and skills, and for speaking back to externally based power in decision-making processes.11 For Délı̨ nę, the stakes

9 Pronounced with a nasalized “o,” as in the French mon. 10 Caine, Salomons, and Simmons (2007) offer some reflections on the predicament of the outsider based on their involvement in research with Délı̨ nę. 11 See McGregor, Bayha, and Simmons (2010) for reflections on Indigenous research methodologies emergent from discussions among Traditional Knowledge practitioners in the Northwest Territories.

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in research are high, and the specific methods used in any project are highly strategic. At the same time the fluid conditions of research in a small community engaged in a rapid learning curve while juggling a diversity of internally and externally defined variables and pressures have required that research be adaptive and responsive to surprises and opportunities for knowledge creation that emerge from the daily life of the community. Research by Allice Legat (2012) and Tłı̨ chǫ (Dogrib) Elders – to whom Sahtúot’ı̨ nę are closely related – points to the embodied nature of Dene knowledge, which is quite distinct from the abstract forms of knowledge privileged in academic settings. Being knowledgeable entails the physical practice and experience of surviving as Dene in a changing world. From early youth, Dene become learners of survival skills, including the protocols of social-ecological relationships and collaborative practices required to maintain subsistence. They also soon become both caregivers and teachers of the younger members of the extended family. But linked to the experiential space of “being Dene” is the space of language, song, and story within which knowledge and experiences through the generations are esthetically shared and their meaning interpreted. It is this space, and how it is maintained within an increasingly cross-linguistic and cross-cultural context – a context of social and ecological change – that the Délı̨ nę Knowledge Project has sought to explore. Indigenous methodologies have been very accommodating of a wide variety of methods, on the twofold basis that many contemporary research questions cannot always be answered through traditional ways of knowing, and that it might be more effective to use tools that are validated by the state to achieve desired reforms. There are a number of examples in the Northwest Territories where communities have deliberately chosen quantitative research methods to send messages to government and industry in the language those institutions are able to understand.12 This is a logical response to the frustration expressed 12 An assessment of the extent to which these choices indeed achieved their objectives in knowledge creation and impacting policy would be an important avenue of future research. Interestingly, cooperative resource management boards in the Northwest Territories for the most part have embraced positivist/quantitative research methods within the framework of participatory methodologies. However, recent controversies in resource management issues – the issue of caribou management is a particularly salient example – indicate that the outcome paradoxically has been to exacerbate a sense of alienation from decision-making processes among many Indigenous stakeholders, perhaps with the exception of the few leaders who have the capacity to engage meaningfully with the results of such research.

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by Traditional Knowledge practitioners across the North that their research is not acknowledged, respected, understood, or accounted for by decision makers. In Délı̨ nę, leadership in a series of major, long-term, cross-disciplinary research programs over the past decade and a half has led cumulatively to the development of a relatively sophisticated array of interrelated research processes aiming to strengthen knowledge creation, learning, and ownership of research. The process of developing research questions and methods and of validating, analysing, and interpreting results and conclusions has become increasingly collectivized through “meta-research” meetings that might focus on a specific project, and might also be a forum for learning about the history, context, and scope of various projects proposed and under way, so as to develop an overall picture of a community research agenda. Through these gatherings, the community can take ownership of research processes and reduce the risk of “research fatigue” – the sense that people have been mined for their knowledge, or “researched to death.” The research questions that emerge from such dialogues are often richer, and the approaches to addressing the questions more effective, as a result.13 Moreover, the meta-research process enhances the meaning of the principles of Ownership, Control, Access, and Possession (OCAP) that have become the standard for research in Indigenous communities (First Nations Centre 2007). Increasingly, research in Délı̨ nę engages youth as researchers, often tapping into their special skills and interests in modern technologies such as digital storytelling, production of audio documentaries, and digital mapping to enhance interactions with older generations. This development has been the result of repeated urgings by Elders that youth become involved in learning through such activities. Elders understand that knowledge sharing with mǫ́la researchers is limited in its benefits to the community, and in fact might be essentially disempowering. Sahtúot’ı̨ nę Elder and spiritual leader Charlie Neyelle uses a Catholic trope to describe the experience: for him, speaking

13 This does not eliminate the reality that the community continues to be approached by graduate and post-doctoral students and other researchers who wish to conduct research on questions developed elsewhere – this is particularly the case for studies at a scale that reaches beyond the community or Sahtúot’ı̨ nę traditional territory. Having developed a coherent research agenda through meta-research gatherings, however, community organizations, researchers, and knowledge holders are better able to respond to such ad hoc requests.

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with mǫ́la researchers is just like “going to confession.” By implication, the sharing of knowledge in such research scenarios results in the requirement to do penance – a re-enactment of subordination to the researcher “priest” and the institution he or she represents. In contrast, the involvement of younger generations points to future Dene leadership and self-governance. As a result, knowledge sharing by Elders is usually much enhanced when the principal interlocutors are youth – the narratives are richer, more meaningful, more alive in performance, and often laden with a sense of passion, even urgency. This is especially the case when youth are charged with developing a tangible product about what they are learning. Aboriginal-led research in the Northwest Territories is not new – it dates back at least to the 1970s, the days of the Mackenzie Valley Pipeline Inquiry and the subsequent Denendeh comprehensive land claims process with the associated Dene Nation mapping project, which included detailed mapping by Sahtúot’ı̨ nę of land use in their traditional territory (Nahanni 1977). However, this latest phase of community-led research by Sahtúot’ı̨ nę has arguably situated research as more than the standard ensemble of methods, data, synthetic results, and abstract conclusions derived from and reflecting back on the objectified or “participating” community. Recent research in Délı̨ nę contains an embodied process of experiential knowledge creation, relationship and capacity building, and governance. It incorporates relatively non-commodified practices on the land, semi-commodified knowledge exchanges (student funding, honoraria for research participants, and prizes for storytelling contests), and wage labour (for Délı̨ nę Knowledge Project staff). In this sense it is an outgrowth of the mixed economy. Research constitutes one of the various strategic actions the community undertakes towards maintaining and enhancing community well-being, towards “being Dene,”14 towards self-governance in response to past, present, and future social and environmental change, and is thus a significant aspect of the Sahtúot’ı̨ nę social economy. Learning about Changes, 2009–11 The Délı̨ nę Social Economy project began in fall 2007 with the development of an initial research proposal. Considerable dialogue was required to establish the relevance of the Délı̨ nę research objectives, 14 In Sarah Gordon’s words, many cultural attributes “have crossed, or are crossing, the line between (unconscious) culture and (conscious) heritage” (Gordon 2011).

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since the focus on “language, place, and governance” did not resemble in an obvious way standard social economy themes. The discussion led to a revised proposal that was approved in December 2008. Meanwhile the Délı̨ nę Knowledge Project identified two doctoral students to assist in pursuing community research objectives: folklorist Sarah Gordon (Indiana University) and linguist Ingeborg Fink (University of Cologne). An additional master’s student, Tiarella Hanna (University of Alberta), was supported for research under the auspices of the panCanadian Arctic program, Community Perspectives on Changing Caribou Populations. Then began the search for funding to support the overall research program, since only the caribou project was fully funded. SERNNoCa funding supported only one student, and this was insufficient for student travel or residency, as required by the community to establish appropriate research relationships. It also did not allow for the funding of community staff, office space, or research participants. Through strenuous efforts and drawing upon a variety of partnerships established over the preceding years of proposal development and research activities, the Délı̨ nę Knowledge Project was successful in gathering funding to maintain the community staff team of two (Research Coordinator Edith Mackeinzo and Trainee Doris Taneton), and office and community-based activities during the two years spanning 2009–11. This funding came from diverse sources, each projecting its own particular requirements onto the research program.15 The three graduate students were each remarkable in their strong understanding of the need to establish long-term relationships within the community as the basis for developing the research questions and conducting and validating their research. The two doctoral students

15 Funding partners included: the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC) Aboriginal Research Fund; the SSHRC-funded program, Abandoned Mines in Northern Canada: Historical Consequences and Mitigation of Current Impacts; Health Canada’s Inuit and First Nations Climate Change and Health Adaptation program; the International Polar Year; the Department of Indian Affairs and Northern Development’s Cumulative Environmental Management Program and Contaminants and Remediation Directorate; the Prince of Wales Northern Heritage Centre (Northwest Territories Education, Culture and Employment); and the Endangered Languages Documentation Programme of the University of London’s School of Oriental and African Studies. Tiarella Hanna’s project was fully funded by the SSHRC program, under the direction of co-investigators Brenda Parlee and Peter Boxall.

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engaged in a variety of Délı̨ nę Knowledge Project meta-research gatherings and research activities that they were able to harness for their own research purposes. The community, in turn, was exceptional in its hospitality to the students, providing opportunities for volunteering, social interactions, and on-the-land experiences that were essential to the learning experience.16 Each of the students visited the community more than once, beginning with a visit of a month or two to make initial acquaintances and to scope out the research possibilities, and then a more prolonged stay to conduct the research. Sarah Gordon made a third visit to validate research results (and intended to return again following completion of her dissertation), and Ingeborg Fink planned several future visits to continue her research, thanks to additional funding.17 The design of the research program carried out during the two-year span of the SERNNoCa program aimed for a balance of activities on the land, in the community, and in the school, involving women and men of the three generations. The research included a wide variety of methods, including structured quantitative interviews (Tiarella Hanna), semi-structured interviews (Sarah Gordon), facilitated focus groups or Talking Circles, participant-observation in community and on-the-land experiences, non-competitive storytelling “contests,” a newly developed curriculum of Elder-youth “Story Cycles” at the school,18 and Elder-youth-scientist exchanges. Tools used were often simultaneously modes of documentation and knowledge sharing – these included audio and video recordings (with transcripts), cultural-ecological mapping using Google Earth, digital storytelling, and the development of posters, slide presentations, a radio documentary, and compilation compact discs.

16 Délı̨ nę First Nation Manager Pauline Roche deserves special mention in this regard as organizer of volunteering opportunities. Morris and Bernice Neyelle played an important role as hosts and mentors for all three students. Morris Modeste generously hosted the three students in on-the-land harvesting trips. 17 Fink’s continued research is funded by the Documentation of Endangered Languages program, funded by the Volkswagen Foundatıon. 18 The Story Cycles included a punctuated series of activities planned in collaboration with an Elder, spaced over a series of weeks, starting with the Elder’s telling of one story (or more) on a specific topic, a dialogue with the Elder in which students ask prepared questions to learn more about the story(s), the presentation/interpretation of the story(s) by the students through various media of their choice, and an on-theland experience that aimed to reinforce and enhance the meaning of the story.

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Discussion: Three Values in the Sahtúot’ı̨nę Social Economy The results of the research were as diverse in their implications as the research activities themselves, and as of this writing are in various phases of analysis and application by team members. Beyond the metaresearch meetings, workshops, and conferences mentioned earlier that provided spaces for dialogue about the research, analysis/application has been channelled by team members in written form,19 through further academic studies,20 and in community-based practice.21 For the purpose of the question that drives this chapter, we highlight three interrelated concepts or values that emerged as strengths or sources of well-being, or Dene Ts’ı̨ lı̨ (“being Dene”). None of these concepts translates well into the English language. We discuss them very briefly here in order of increasing difficulty for non-Dene observers: dırın̨én̨é, ɂeɂah, and néwhehtsı̨ nę. Although the three values are defined according to knowledge passed down through the generations, they also define sites of contention, strategic action, and hybridity. Dırın̨én̨é is usually translated as “this land,” but includes all the relationships among living beings (including people) and non-living beings that compose Sahtúot’ı̨ nę ecological, cultural, social, and spiritual space. A full conception of dırın̨én̨é makes any sort of mapping or ecological research exceedingly complex, since it interweaves the four dimensions of Sahtúot’ı̨ nę knowledge. In youth digital stories, Elder storytelling events, mapping exercises, on-the-land experiences, and Elder-scientist-youth exchanges, the importance of dırın̨én̨é as an aspect

19 Starting with the several research reports required by the funders, and moving on to peer-reviewed academic products, of which this chapter is one effort; see also Bayha (2012). 20 Edith Mackeinzo completed her Community Linguist Certificate at the Canadian Indigenous Languages and Literacy Development Institute (CILLDI), University of Alberta. Doris Taneton entered two Northwest Territories–based programs in higher education: the Aboriginal Languages Revitalization certificate course co-sponsored by the territorial government and the University of Victoria; and the University of Alberta–credited Dechinta Bush University Centre for Research and Learning. Sarah Gordon is working on her doctoral dissertation, and Ingeborg Fink is working towards development of research questions in linguistics. 21 Walter Bayha and Morris Neyelle continue to be active in community discussions about self-government implementation. Edith Mackeinzo went on to teach language at Ɂhtséo Ayha School. Tiarella Hannah moved to Yellowknife-based consulting work.

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of “being Dene” was emphasized. There was consensus that the stories and place names that map the land become meaningful as tools for survival and taking care of the land only if brought alive by on-the-land experience. Elders and harvesters are aware that environmental change, including the impacts of development and climate change, requires that new sources of knowledge be incorporated into the Sahtúot’ı̨ nę knowledge system. For this reason, they embraced opportunities for knowledge exchanges with scientists. The growing monetary cost of travel on the land is being addressed through innovative means in addition to limited support from the Délı̨ nę Renewable Resources Council, including elaborate communication systems (phone, visits, and now Facebook) where people learn from others’ experiences as a basis for planning their own trips; contributions of money to hunters by those who have income; expanded sharing networks for those whose access to the land is reduced;22 and wherever possible, channelling various types of available program funding (such as the funding for the Canada-Délı̨ nę Uranium Table process, community justice program, self-government, and various research projects) to support community on-the-land trips as a way of achieving diverse objectives in healing and well-being. Community trips are planned with a combination of openness to spontaneous activities and structured “curriculum” for knowledge exchanges and skills development to address the relatively new reality that many youth no longer have regular opportunities to learn land-based skills with their families from early childhood. Ɂeɂah is usually translated as “law,” but is distinct from the codified system of abstract laws that are recognized and enforced by the state. Ɂeɂah is understood as the ensemble of ordering principles and practices that sustain relationships, the core of which is the principle and practice of respect. Ɂeɂah is deeply historical, stretching back to the time “when the world was new” and giants and spiritual beings forged the land. In its purest form, ɂeɂah is a form of intimate knowledge manifested as a form of spiritual power, or ɂı̨ k’ǫ́, in relation to specific things or animals.23 Humans and animals learned about the nature of their relationship when they exchanged places with each other. Special knowledge 22 Access might be reduced by distance (living in a place where the resources are unavailable) or lack of time, skills, good health, equipment, or funds. 23 Sahtúot’ı̨ nę writer George Blondin was particularly preoccupied with stories of ɂı̨ k’o and its dissipation in the colonial era; see Blondin (2006) and Blondin and Dene Cultural Institute (1996).

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came when a human turned into an animal, and lived in animal society for a time. There is an often-repeated story about a meeting among the animals in which ecological predator-prey relationships were agreed upon (Bayha 2012). Tricksters, especially tatsǫ́ (raven), play a key role in establishing ɂeɂah through negative example (being greedy, trying to control others, being untruthful, and so on). Women also often play a trickster role in stories that reveal their power and responsibilities. Ɂeɂah is learned through stories whose meaning is revealed not prescriptively, but through experience as a way of surviving in the extended family, in the community, on the land. The importance of ɂeɂah was indicated in the choice of this topic by Elder Leon Modeste as the starting point for the school story cycles (the second topic chosen as a logical followup was the roles of women and men). Bayha (2012) tells a story of his mother hiding boiled geese from him when he was a wildlife officer, noting that the presence of mǫ́la “enforcers,” including missionaries, police, and wildlife officers (whether or not the individuals were Dene), caused people to live double lives. Ɂeɂah became a particular point of contention with respect to caribou stewardship during the period from 2006 to 2011, when government wildlife managers considered caribou to be in decline and requiring special management measures that in certain respects ran counter to Sahtúot’ı̨ nę understandings of their respectful relationship with caribou.24 The self-government process itself has provoked fertile discussions about the applicability of story-based ɂeɂah in the new regime – given the key role lawyers played in wording the selfgovernment agreement, which in turn has been translated from English legal language to Dene language. Our research indicates that because of its embodied, contextual, and non-prescriptive nature, ɂeɂah might properly reside in the domain of social economy, informing from without the space of governance negotiated with the state. Ɂeɂah remains alive insofar as it is communicated through dialogue and performance among the three generations. And remaining alive, it becomes hybridized as youth recreate it to reflect their present and projected future reality. 24 Three of the issues that Elders and hunters most often expressed concern about were, first, that Sahtúot’ı̨ nę ɂeɂah prohibits controlling caribou (caribou management), since caribou are themselves autonomous agents, whereas wildlife managers promoted preferentially killing males (Sahtúot’ı̨ nę understand that males are necessary to the strength and health of the herd); second, that the concept of regulating harvesting runs counter to the reciprocal understanding between Sahtúot’ı̨ nę and caribou; and, third, that Sahtúot’ı̨ nę have a responsibility to harvest caribou, and thereby help to maintain the health of the herd.

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Néwhehtsı̨ nę is usually translated as “spirituality,” but this concept has little to do with institutionalized religion. Néwhehtsı̨ nę is the spiritual aspect of Sahtúot’ı̨ nę relationships that draws its power through communication (often referred to as “prayer”) with the ancestors and the natural world. Since colonial times, Sahtúot’ı̨ nę have used tools of the Catholic Church alongside their own ceremonies to practice néwhehtsı̨ nę. Travelling on the land is infused with néwhehtsı̨ nę, including gifts to the land and water, honour given to ancestors whose burial sites are scattered across the land, and an array of practices that pay respect to animals and medicines harvested. Story sharing in the community regularly takes place in the spiritual space of Ɂehtsǝ́o Erǝ́ya’s house on Sunday afternoons and during the weeklong Spiritual Gathering in the prophet’s honour – in recent years this has been enhanced by the broadcasting of oral narratives from the Délı̨ nę Knowledge Project archive, as well as the distribution of a compact disc and pamphlet set that includes audio and written prayers in the Dene language (Neyelle 2009), a compact disc with prayer songs by Leon Modeste and Rosie Sewi (Délı̨ nę Knowledge Project 2009), and a poster with a written narrative about the life of Ɂehtsǝ́o Erǝ́ya (Modeste and Délı̨ nę Knowledge Project 2009). Drum songs, traditional games, and arts and crafts are performances of néwhehtsı̨ nę, binding people to the ancestors and forging a sacred solidarity within and beyond families, community, and nation. The role of néwhehtsı̨ nę in research was manifested in the prayers with which each group research session began.25 This aspect of research became especially evident when research processes included youth, and the ceremonial disciplines of cross-generational and cross-cultural respect – including speaking truth, active listening, and sharing refreshments – were enacted. As the community seeks to overcome the impacts of colonialism, néwhehtsı̨ nę increasingly has come to be understood as a process of healing, and under the spiritual leadership of Charlie Neyelle has incorporated elements of more recently introduced therapeutic techniques. Conclusions: A Strategic Framework for Dene Ts’ı̨lı̨ What emerged from the three focal points of the research was a framework or model for strategic thinking about the Sahtúot’ı̨ nę social economy – a framework for Sahtúot’ı̨ nę survival and well-being, for 25 The Délı̨ nę experience would support Shawn Wilson’s (2008) assertion that, for Indigenous peoples, “research is ceremony.”

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Dene Ts’ı̨ lı̨ (“being Dene”).26 Sahtúot’ı̨ nę are centred as self-determining agents, and their conceptual language and experience are privileged. The framework operates at four levels: 1) a spiritual/philosophical level where néwhehtsı̨ nę (spirituality), ɂeɂah (“law”), and dırın̨én̨é (“land”) combine to provide Délįnęot’ı̨ nę the values needed to move into the future; 2) a social and cultural level where governance combines with the structures of relationships, sharing patterns, harvesting protocols, and concepts in the Dene language; 3) a knowledge/experiential level at which the genesis of leadership, meaning, and identity in relationship to the land takes place; and 4) an expressive level involving a variety of articulations, of which story, song, and place names are three key examples. This model is dynamic, incorporating the reality of continuity and change that has been affected historically by colonialism and that now is being redefined in the context of a comprehensive land claim agreement, the transition to self-government, interactions between local and externally driven economies and cultural practice, and environmental change. Kuokkanen (2011, 231) argues that non-commodified subsistence economies “offer an alternative perspective and critique to the selfdestructive growth logic of capitalism.” Moreover, as forms of social organization, these economies offer structures and processes of governance. They do not exist in isolation from the state and capital; rather, they offer a self-determining response to the pressures to develop and modernize. The challenge now is to explore the Sahtúot’ı̨ nę framework within the context of policy development in self-governance, and at regional, territorial, and federal scales of governance. We are convinced that, although it might often be a struggle, Sahtúot’ı̨ nę maintain Dene Ts’ı̨ lı̨ as a source of continued well-being, as evidenced by the vitality of the processes we witnessed through our research in 2009–11. Presently, the Sahtúot’ı̨ nę social economy exists in the interstices of institutional life, and so is not easily recognized by standard research and policy frameworks. For this reason, we have developed an agenda for research entitled Stories and Songs as Policy: Addressing Change and Continuity in Indigenous Governance. It is our hope that this research will deepen and broaden understanding of what it means to maintain and support the collective vision for Dene Ts’ı̨ lı̨ . 26 The framework builds upon the earlier model sketched by Bayha in collaboration with Fink et al. (2011), drawing in part from knowledge shared by Bayha’s grandfather.

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REFERENCES Abel, K. 2005. Drum Songs: Glimpses of Dene History, 2nd ed. Montreal; Kingston, ON: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Abele, F. 2009a. “Northern Development: Past, Present and Future.” In Northern Exposure: Peoples, Powers and Prospects in Canada’s North, ed. F. Abele, T.J. Courchene, F.L. Seidle, and F. St-Hilaire, 19–65. Montreal: Institute for Research on Public Policy. Abele, F. 2009b. “The State and the Northern Social Economy: Research Prospects.” Northern Review 30 (Spring): 37–56. Aurora Research Institute. 2004. Délįnę Knowledge Centre Concept and Initial Business Feasibility Study. Délįnę, NT: Délįnę Land Corporation. Bayha, W. 2012. “Using Indigenous Stories in Caribou Co-management.” Rangifer 32 (special issue 20): 25–9. Blondin, G. 2006. Trail of the Spirit: The Mysteries of Medicine Power Revealed. Edmonton: NeWest Press. Blondin, G., and Dene Cultural Institute. 1996. Medicine Power. Hay River, NT: Dene Cultural Institute. Caine, K.J. 2008. “Water Hearts and Cultural Landscapes: Practical Understanding and Natural Resource Management Institutions in the Canadian North.” PhD diss., University of Alberta. Caine, K., M. Salomons, and D. Simmons. 2007. “Partnerships for Social Change in the Canadian North: Revisiting the Insider-Outsider Dialectic.” Development and Change 38 (3): 447–71. http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/ j.1467-7660.2007.00419.x Canada. 1993. Department of Indian Affairs and Northern Development. Sahtu Dene and Métis Comprehensive Land Claim Agreement. Ottawa: Minister of Public Works and Government Services Canada. Available online at https://www.aadnc-aandc.gc.ca/eng/1100100031147/1100100031164; accessed 29 August 2014. Canada-Délįnę Uranium Table. 2001. Action Plan to Address Concerns Raised by the Community of Délįnę about Risks to Human and Environmental Health from Exposure to Radiation and Heavy Metals from the Former Port Radium Mine, Great Bear Lake (NWT), 2nd ed. Ottawa: Supply and Services Canada. Canada-Délįnę Uranium Table. 2005. Final Report Concerning Health and Environmental Issues Related to the Port Radium Mine. Ottawa: Department of Indian Affairs and Northern Development. Available online at http://www .andra.fr/dvd_radium/pdfs/Canadian-D%C3%A9line%20Uranium%20 Table%20%28CDUT%29.pdf; accessed 5 February 2012.

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Délı̨ nę Ethics Committee. 2003. Surí Bek’ǝ́ Ghálatseda K’é Go Ts’erǝchu/Working Together to Go the Right Way. Délı̨ nę, NT: Délı̨ nę Dene Band. Délįnę First Nation. 2005. Bek’éots’erazhá Nįdé /If Only We Had Known: The History of Port Radium as Told by the Sahtúot’įnę. Délįnę, NT: Délįnę First Nation. Délįnę Knowledge Centre Action Group. 2003. Délįnę Náowéré Dáhk’é / Délįnę Knowledge Centre Strategic Plan. Délı̨ nę, NT: Délįnę Dene Band. Délįnę Knowledge Centre Action Group. 2004. “Délįnę Knowledge Centre: From Vision to Reality.” International Journal of Circumpolar Health 63 (1): 102–4. Délįnę Knowledge Project. 2009. Lamǝ́ Zhįnę́ – Dene Prayer Songs performed by Leon Modeste and Rosie Sewi. Déline, NT: Délįnę First Nation. Fink, I., W. Bayha, E. Mackeinzo, and M. Neyelle. 2011. “Language, Music and Place: Building a Foundation for Self-Government in Délįnę, NWT, Canada.” Poster presentation to Strategies for Moving Forward, 2nd Annual Conference on Language Documentation and Conservation, Manoa, HI, 11–13 February. First Nations Centre. 2007. OCAP: Ownership, Control, Access and Possession. Ottawa: National Aboriginal Health Organization. Fumoleau, R. 2004. As Long as This Land Shall Last: A History of Treaty 8 and Treaty 11, 1870–1939. Calgary: University of Calgary, Arctic Institute of North America. Gordon, S. 2011. “Health, Healing, and the Stories of the Sahtúot’įnę.” Bloomington: Indiana University. Unpublished. Kulchyski, P. 2005. Like the Sound of a Drum: Aboriginal Cultural Politics in Denendeh and Nunavut. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press. Kuokkanen, R. 2011. “Indigenous Economies, Theories of Subsistence, and Women: Exploring the Social Economy Model for Indigenous Governance.” American Indian Quarterly 35 (2): 215–40. http://dx.doi.org/10.5250/ amerindiquar.35.2.0215 Legat, A. 2012. Walking the Land, Feeding the Fire: Knowledge and Stewardship among the Tłįchǫ Dene. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. McGregor, D., W. Bayha, and D. Simmons. 2010. “Our Responsibility to Keep the Land Alive”: Voices of Northern Indigenous Researchers.” Pimatziwin 8 (1): 101–23. Modeste, J., and Délįnę Knowledge Project. 2009. “…In the Eyes of God: Ɂehtsǝ́o Erǝ́ya.” Poster. Déline, NT: Délįnę First Nation. Nahanni, P. 1977. “The Mapping Project.” In Dene Nation: The Colony Within, ed. M. Watkins, 21–7. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Natcher, D. 2009. “Subsistence and the Social Economy of Canada’s Aboriginal North.” Northern Review 30 (Spring): 83–98.

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Neyelle, C. 2009. Dene K’ę́ Kats’eretį - Dene Prayers. With A. Taniton, A. TakVazo, L. Modeste, E. Mackeinzo, and J. Modeste. Pamphlet and audio compact disc. Déline, NT: Délįnę First Nation, Délįnę Knowledge Project. Northwest Territories. 1990. Education, Culture and Communications. Reports of the Dene Standardization Project. Yellowknife: Government of the Northwest Territories. Ryan, J. 1995. Doing Things the Right Way: Dene Traditional Justice in Lac La Martre, NWT. Calgary: University of Calgary Press. Ryan, J., and M.P. Robinson. 1990. “Implementing Participatory Action Research in the Canadian North: A Case Study of the Gwich’in Language and Cultural Project.” Culture 10 (2): 57–71. Ryan, J., and M.P. Robinson. 1992. Participatory Action Research: An Examination of Two Northern Case Studies. Calgary: University of Calgary, Arctic Institute of North America. Simmons, D. 1995. “Against Capital: The Political Economy of Aboriginal Resistance in Canada.” PhD diss., York University. Southcott, C., and V. Walker. 2009. “A Portrait of the Social Economy in Northern Canada.” Northern Review 30 (Spring): 13–36. Tuhiwai Smith, L. 1999. Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples. New York: Zed Books. Wilson, S. 2008. Research Is Ceremony: Indigenous Research Methods. Halifax, NS: Fernwood Publishing.

13 Some Observations on the Social Economy in Northern Canada CHRIS SOUTHCOTT

The research conducted by the Social Economy Research Network of Northern Canada (SERNNoCa) has shown the strength, diversity, and uniqueness of the social economy in the Canadian North. The projects detailed in this volume together show that communities in the region rely heavily on the social economy to deal with the day-to-day issues they face. Despite the evident strength of the social economy in the North, SERNNoCa researchers have identified the existence of barriers and obstacles to the further development of its potential. These observations lead to a necessary discussion of what governments could be doing to support and enhance the work of social economy organizations in the North. Finally, the chapters in this book also indicate the need for further research to elaborate these policy discussions. Although the individual researchers have arrived at a number of different findings, it is interesting to note that at least three common themes emerge from this research – themes that are shared by most, if not all, projects. The first is the rather straightforward but vital theme of the importance of social economy organizations in helping northern communities deal with the problems they face. The second theme is the emergence of the contemporary social economy in the North as a reaction to the unique conditions communities in the region face and that is, in turn, shaped by these conditions. Although geographical conditions are important, it is the socio-historic conditions of resource dependence, the special role of the state, and the importance of the mixed economy that are the most influential in this regard. The third, and perhaps most important, theme is the linkages that exist between the two types of phenomena that use the term “social economy” to describe themselves. The sharing relationships that characterize what anthropologists refer

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to as the social economy of Indigenous communities in the Canadian North influence and shape the contemporary formation of “third sector” social economy organizations in the region. In addition to these themes, the SERNNoCa findings point to the existence of barriers to further development of the social economy in the region, given the difficulty organizations have in obtaining funding and their lack of human resource capacity. In some regions cultural obstacles limit the ability of social organizations to develop. These issues also necessarily lead to a discussion of policy implications. The Importance of the Social Economy in Northern Canada The social economy is an important part of how communities in northern Canada deal with problems they face. The portraiture research outlined in the chapter by Southcott and Walker notes that, on a per capita basis, social economy organizations are more numerous in the North than in other regions of Canada. Even excluding the informal aspects of the Indigenous social economy, and taking into account regional differences, formal social economy organizations represent a significant portion of the regional economy and regional employment. The portraiture research also indicates that the social economy is growing in importance in the region. These findings are confirmed in various ways in the other chapters, but several detail the various ways the social economy is important in the North. McClelland and Johnston demonstrate the importance of volunteering in the Yukon. Their research shows that volunteers themselves are fully aware of the need for what they are doing in order to fulfil community needs and to support community goals. MacPherson notes the importance of cooperatives in the North and their role in providing retail and other services to communities. Rodon details how modern Land Claim Organizations are using the social economy as an alternative means of economic development. The central place of the Indigenous social economy is a key finding of many of the researchers in this volume. Abele, Simmons, and Natcher, Castro, and Felt make this point the most forcefully. The Indigenous social economy might have been transformed by interaction with forces from outside the region, but it continues to function as a foundational element of northern Indigenous communities.

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The Social Economy Helps Northern Communities Deal with Unique Conditions The research in this volume also indicates that the northern social economy emerged as a reaction to the unique conditions communities in the region face. In turn the social economy shapes and is shaped by these conditions. The first of these conditions is dependence on natural resource extraction. Parlee shows how the social economy is being mobilized to deal with problems associated with resource dependence. The social capital associated with the social economy becomes a key tool helping communities adapt to the negative impacts of natural resource development. Boutet, Keeling, and Sandlos describe how aspects of the Indigenous social economy are shaped by mining. The subsistence activities of Indigenous communities continues to exist around mining sites and are an important way for communities to soften the boom-and-bust cycles associated with mining. Another unique aspect of life in the Canadian North is the historical role of the state. The colonial influence of the federal government has left its mark on the region, and several of the researchers note the role of the social economy in helping northern communities deal with this legacy. Abele shows how social economy organizations have played a political role in helping the region struggle against colonialism, a struggle that continues to be reflected in the activities of many contemporary organizations. Rodon notes the importance of the treaty organizations that emerged in response to colonial pressures and how these organizations are looking to the social economy as a more culturally appropriate tool for economic development. Finally, SERNNoCa researchers have shown that the continuing importance of the mixed economy has resulted in the creation of a unique blend of social economy organizations. Rodon and Natcher, Castro, and Felt show how contemporary treaty organizations are creating new social economy organizations that support the mixed economy. Bennett and Lemelin show how the subsistence economy has influenced the evolution of eco-social economy organizations in northern communities, while Simmons et al. describe how the mixed economy shapes a wide range of cultural considerations associated with the social economy.

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Northern Communities Are Shaped by Linkages between Two Visions of the Social Economy SERNNoCa’s research was complicated by the fact that two separate discourses on the social economy exist in the region. The project was originally structured around the contemporary third sector notion of the social economy that framed research on similar projects in other regions of Canada. Here the research meant to examine the issues surrounding organizations that are neither profit oriented nor government based. Although the term “social economy” had rarely been used in northern Canada to refer to these types of organizations, the essence of the term’s meaning was known in the region – most commonly under the name “community economic development.” We wanted to examine the importance of these organizations for communities in the region and to find ways they could be better supported. At the same time we were faced with the fact that another conceptualization of the social economy existed in the region, and although it too was not used very often in northern communities, its use was relatively common among certain social scientists, primarily anthropologists. This sense of the term is used to describe the social and cultural relations that are part of the traditional subsistence economies of the region’s Indigenous communities. The term is meant to highlight the altruistic elements of these relationships, where individuals participate in the traditional economy not primarily for their own personal benefit, but as part of a commitment to the community. Originally we faced the prospect that we were dealing with two entirely separate visions of the social economy. We assumed that third sector social economy organizations would be found primarily among the non-Indigenous peoples of the region, and that the anthropological vision would be the dominant among Indigenous peoples. We quickly found, however, that, although it is important to separate these two phenomena from an analytical perspective, there were constant and close linkages between them. In most instances it was a case of the Indigenous social economy leading to the development of formal, third sector social economy organizations. These organizations would then be used to mobilize resources to help communities deal with rapid social change. Parlee notes the important role Traditional Knowledge, a product of the Indigenous social economy, plays in helping to monitor resource development and how new third sector organizations have developed

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to mobilize this knowledge. Abele highlights the importance of the Indigenous social economy in helping the Indigenous peoples of the Canadian North deal with change and the negative impacts of colonialism. Aspects of traditional culture and activities were crucial in helping to create the political organizations that led the struggle for new treaties and self-government. Rodon shows how third sector social economy organizations are being developed by Land Claim Organizations as a more culturally appropriate way of economic development and as a means of enhancing the economic importance of traditional activities. In a similar fashion, MacPherson describes how cooperatives are used as a means of economic development by northern Indigenous communities because they are seen as more aligned with traditional cultural values. Natcher, Castro, and Felt note the convergence of both visions of the social economy in their research on the development and use of Hunter Support Programs. These programs and the organizations that operate them are the product of the subsistence economy and the desire of Indigenous communities to continue to support that economy. At the same time the authors note that the Indigenous social economy is in turn being shaped and transformed by these new organizations. In a similar manner Bennett and Lemelin show the relationships that exist between the cultural traditions arising from the subsistence economy and the development of a new eco-social economy in Canada’s northern communities. Indeed, they suggest that the eco-social economy is a way to bridge differences between the two visions of the social economy. Finally, Simmons et al. go the furthest in tracing the relationship between these two visions. They argue that the interaction between the traditional Indigenous social economy and outside forces has created a “hybrid” Indigenous social economy, one that is still quite separate from the third sector social economy but nevertheless shaped by it. Barriers to the Northern Social Economy Although the research conducted by SERNNoCa clearly shows the importance of the social economy to northern communities, it also notes the presence of barriers to its further development. The portraiture research conducted by Southcott and Walker indicates that finding funding is the biggest problem for most northern social economy organizations. Many note that government funding is being cut back

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and that it is becoming more difficult to obtain base funding for their activities. When funding is available, it is only for a short period of time, forcing them to devote more of their resources to making funding applications. When they do obtain funding, they must spend more resources on fulfilling reporting requirements. Training is often a problem for northern social economy organizations. Faced with small populations in isolated communities, such organizations find it difficult to train staff and volunteers. For those that require paid staff, it is often difficult to find people with the necessary qualifications. Related to this issue in some communities is the problem of transience, as people come into a community, become involved in social economy organizations, then leave, forcing organizations to look for and train replacements. SERNNoCa research has highlighted other barriers to the development of social economy organizations in the North. Lionais and Hardy have found that the development of cooperatives in the Yukon, with its majority non-Indigenous population, is limited by a number of factors, perhaps the most important of which is a cultural prejudice against cooperatives, a by-product of the foundational period of frontier capitalism marked by the Klondike gold rush of more than a century ago. The indication here is that cultural values can play a role in whether a social economy organization is seen as a viable option for dealing with social problems. In regions where the Indigenous culture is politically strong, social economy organizations are considered more culturally appropriate than are private, for-profit solutions and have an easier time developing. Policy Implications The research conducted by SERNNoCa has enabled us to gain a better understanding of the importance of the social economy in Canada’s northern communities, of how the northern social economy has been profoundly influenced by the interaction of Indigenous social economy and the contemporary third sector social economy, and of how the northern social economy has been shaped by certain forces unique to the region. At the same time the research has revealed certain findings that are important for the development of policies to assist social economy organizations help their communities. With more appropriate policies, the social economy can help governments increase the level of well-being in the North.

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The first implication concerns funding. As McClelland and Johnston indicate in their chapter, funding is a double-edged sword. For certain volunteer-based groups, limiting funding is necessary – indeed, the lack of funding can be seen as a form of strength. At the same time, many social economy groups require a certain amount of financial resources to carry out their activities. Key paid staff can serve as a base to rally voluntary resources. When financial resources are necessary, groups have indicated that it is often difficult to get. When it is available, the amount of work required to get the funding cancels out much of the benefit that comes with the funding. Groups have noted the need for multiple-year funding to give greater long-term stability to organizations. They have also noted the need to reduce the amount of work required to apply for this funding. Many groups have stressed the need for simplified reporting mechanisms to allow organizations to spend more time doing the things they were created to do and less time on administrative tasks. Training has been shown to be an important requirement for successful social economy organizations. The size and location of northern communities often means it is difficult for organizations to find people with the necessary expertise to ensure the success of their activities. It is also difficult to provide the necessary skills development to both staff and volunteers involved with social economy organizations. Those individuals with key skills are often hired to work either for governments or resource companies – groups that can afford to pay more than the low wages that are characteristic of social economy organizations. Here, territorial governments should continue to work with their respective colleges to provide the necessary skills required by the social economy. Governments also need to recognize the importance of the social economy in northern communities. Some governments, indeed, already do: Nunavut, for example, has made the social economy (in both its Indigenous and third sector forms) a key part of its economic development strategy (Southcott 2010). Nunavut’s difficult economic conditions have led the territorial government to rely on the traditional development values of the Inuit, which clearly regard the social economy as a more appropriate way to ensure the long-term sustainability of northern communities. In the Yukon, in contrast, recent territorial governments have tended to highlight the importance of private sector mineral development as the solution to the region’s long-term economic sustainability, and the social economy sector does its job with little recognition from the territorial government. A more sympathetic

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approach to the social economy on the part of the Yukon government would stimulate good work in that sector. Theoretical Implications A clear theoretical implication of the research done by SERNNoCa is the way social economy organizations are shaped by the specific socio-economic conditions of the communities in which they are created. Although there are common elements in the social economy of all regions of Canada, social economy organization in the North have many unique aspects, which are the direct result of three major influences that are cultural, economic, and political in nature. One influence is the strength of Indigenous culture and the continued desire of Indigenous peoples to maintain and develop their culture and way of life. As many SERNNoCa researchers have noted, the importance of Indigenous culture in the region has resulted in the development of innovative forms of social economic activity. Another major influence is the dominance of natural resource extraction in the economy of the region. Resource dependence means that the North’s economy is much less diversified than that of other regions of Canada, and this in turn affects the northern social economy. The theoretical implication of this dependence is not clear. As Parlee states, there is an assumption that the North’s social economy is weaker because of this dependence. Boom-and-bust cycles and the dominance of a wageearner culture can be seen to restrict the development of social economy organizations in the North. Yet, as Parlee points out, the northern social economy actually could be stimulated by the need to deal with the many negative impacts of resource dependence. The third influence is the continuing legacy of colonialism. The North’s dependence on, and its control by, government undoubtedly has had a negative impact on the region’s social economy. At the same time, as Abele, in particular, shows, the reaction to these conditions has produced a range of politically oriented social economy organizations that have been able to obtain new comprehensive treaties for the region. These treaties have led to the creation of Land Claim Organizations that are extremely active in promoting social economy–type solutions to regional problems. Most of the research done by SERNNoCa confirms how these three conditions have had an influence on the development of the northern social economy. An understanding of the history of communities

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and their unique socio-economic conditions is therefore important for understanding more clearly how the social economy works in these societies. From a theoretical perspective, it is important to understand that the influence can be seen to come from a range of forces – cultural, economic, and political. The other important theoretical implication that needs to be mentioned is the relationship between the two visions of the social economy that exist in the region. The two phenomena are clearly distinct, and yet they are linked in many ways. Although students of the history of the social economy are able to discuss the roots of contemporary social economy organizations in associational relations going back to classical Greece, there has been comparatively little work on the relationship of the modern social economy to non-Western associational relationships. Nor has there been as much work as necessary on the wide range of contemporary associational relationships that have been influenced by the Indigenous social economy. A full understanding of the state of the social economy in northern Canada requires a theoretical foundation that goes beyond the limits of “Western” influences. Future Research The work summarized in this volume represents an initial step in understanding the northern social economy and determining how best to support the organizations and relations that make up this important part of northern communities. Although the base funding from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC) that allowed us to undertake this research came to an end in 2012, SERNNoCa continues to exist as an organization, and researchers and partners continue to discuss new ideas and projects. Many of the ideas for future research are a logical continuation of the findings discussed in this volume. One research question is related directly to the portraiture research conducted by SERNNoCa. Although researchers were able to obtain a picture of the state of social economy organizations in the region, the picture could be made clearer by a further development of the tools used in the research and by a more elaborate comparison of the situation in the North with that in other regions of Canada. This indeed was an objective of the initial “Social Economy Suite” program, but capacity issues restricted the ability of the different regional research nodes to address this goal. Although the research tools varied between regions, it

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is possible to take data from the various regional portraiture initiatives and compare and analyse them in a systematic manner. A more systematic analysis of the portraiture work across regions presumably would lead to the development of more efficient and more effective research tools with which to examine changes in the social economies of the various regions. Social economy groups in northern Canada have indicated a desire to continue to have their portraits taken and to see how their activities and conditions change over time. The research tools SERNNoCa used for this purpose were relatively effective, but the development of more efficient methods of surveying organizations would enable the research to continue with less research funding. The nature of the relationship between Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples in the northern social economy is a question of particular interest to people outside the region, although interestingly, this was rarely mentioned as a topic of importance by northern social economy organizations themselves. The existence of two different visions of the social economy could lead one to presume that this division is based solely on Indigenous/non-Indigenous lines, yet the research conducted by SERNNoCa shows that this would be an oversimplification. The Indigenous social economy interacts with the third sector social economy, and in so doing each shapes and is shaped by the other. NonIndigenous peoples support and enhance the Indigenous social economy, just as Indigenous people support and enhance the third sector social economy. At the same time, the legacy of colonialism is still a problem for relations between Indigenous and non-Indigenous people in the region. Political empowerment of Indigenous peoples has improved relations between the two, but differences still exist. Research that allows us to better understand how their evolving relationship affects the northern social economy could be useful for helping organizations that must deal with this issue in their communities. Such research would also help us to better understand the cultural preconditions for successful social economic development. Here, an internal comparison of cultural conditions would be useful. Continuing to develop the findings of Lionais and Hardy that social economy organizations depend on sympathetic cultural conditions would enable us to understand how and why this is the case. Rodon, Bennett and Lemelin, and MacPherson all indicate that Indigenous cultural values

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were at least partially responsible for the successful development of social economy organizations in Indigenous communities. It would be useful to isolate those cultural preconditions in a more precise manner. More research also could be done on the impact on the social economy of changing political trends. The gradual withdrawal of government funding and services is putting increased pressure on social economy organizations, which often must deal with the problems such “downsizing” creates, yet government offers little in the way of policy to help them handle their increased responsibilities. Although the research avenues mentioned above are important to gain a better understanding of the social economy of northern Canada, it is interesting to note that, during the course of the research conducted by SERNNoCa, representatives of social economy organizations often highlighted the need for economic development, in any form, in their communities. Social economy organizations are active in the North because numerous issues facing northern communities require their attention. A belief exists in these communities that many of the problems arising from these issues could be alleviated by enhanced economic development. Yet few options for economic develop exist. Northern communities are told that natural resource exploitation is the only viable economic opportunity available, but these communities are well aware of the devastating impacts of past resource developments. Naturally, representatives of social economy organizations wonder if things have changed. They want to know if resource development actually can bring benefits to northern communities and thereby lessen the workload on social economy organizations. In a series of workshops that SERNNoCa conducted in northern communities, representatives spoke of the desire to have social scientists look at these questions. Indeed, one concrete plan for future research that has resulted from the SERNNoCa project is the development of a research project to answer these questions. In 2010 many of the researchers associated with SERNNoCa joined together to create a project called Resources and Sustainable Development in the Arctic, or ReSDA. In 2011 this project received funding under SSHRC’s Major Collaborative Research Initiatives program. Researchers are now working with social economy organizations and other partners to determine if the Arctic’s natural resources can be developed in a manner that ensures increased benefits to northern communities and that eliminates or at least mitigates the negative

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impacts of such development. It is hoped that a continued focus on the importance of social economy organizations in these communities will allow researchers to better understand the possibilities, and pitfalls, of resource development as an economic development option for the Canadian North. REFERENCE Southcott, C. 2010. “The Social Economy and Nunavut: Barriers and Opportunities.” Research Report RR1-2010. Whitehorse YT: Social Economy Research Network of Northern Canada.

Contributors

Frances Abele is a professor in the School of Public Policy and Administration at Carleton University, and academic director of the Carleton Centre for Community Innovation. She was coordinator for SERNNoCa Theme 3: The State and the Social Economy in the North. Most of Walter Bayha’s early years on Mother Earth were spent on the land with his grandfathers, travelling and learning the Dene traditions of Sahtú (Great Bear Lake) in the Northwest Territories. After thirty-two years in the resource development field with both the federal and territorial governments of the day, he switched to the private sector for a few more years, mainly with First Nations governments. He has been implementation director for the Délı̨nę Governance Office, Chair of the Sahtu Renewable Resource Board, and member of the Sahtu Land and Water Board and the Mackenzie Land and Water Board. Bayha has been actively involved in a caribou Traditional Knowledge study in the Sahtu Region since 2006, and is a founding member of the national Learning Communities Network, oriented to understanding the role of communities in resource management. He is author of “Using Indigenous Stories in Caribou Co-Management” (Rangifer 2012) and co-author of “‘Our Responsibility to Keep the Land Alive’: Voices of Northern Indigenous Researchers” (Pimatisiwin 2010). Nathan Bennett is a Social Sciences and Humanties Research Council post-doctoral fellow in the Institute for Resources, Environment and Sustainability at the University of British Columbia and a visiting research fellow at the Centre for Global Studies, University of Victoria.

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Jean-Sébastien Boutet holds a master’s degree in historical, cultural, and environmental geography from Memorial University of Newfoundland. His current research interests include the historical and contemporary effects of large-scale mineral development for the Aboriginal communities of Quebec-Labrador. Damian Castro is a doctoral candidate in the Department of Anthropology at Memorial University of Newfoundland. Lawrence Felt is Professor Emeritus in the Department of Sociology at Memorial University of Newfoundland. His research addresses the human dimensions of wildlife and fisheries management. Ingeborg Fink is a doctoral student in linguistics at the University of Cologne, and part of the Language, Music, and Place in Déline, Northwest Territories, research and archiving project funded by the DoBeS (Documentation of Endangered Languages) program of the Volkswagen Foundation. Through a series of four extended visits to the community, she has investigated the use of spatial expressions in the Sahtúot’ı̨nę dialect of the Athapaskan language known to linguists as North Slavey. Sarah Gordon is completing her doctorate in Folklore and teaches at the Student Academic Center at Indiana University. She spent a total of twelve months in Déline, Northwest Territories, during two visits in over the 2009–11 period, conducting dissertation research on cultural resilience. Gordon collaborated with the Délįnę Knowledge Project, working on maintaining and updating the Traditional Knowledge database, facilitating Elder-youth workshops on climate change, and lending support to Elder-scientist workshops on the same topic. Gordon earned her MA in Comparative Literature from the University of London (University College London) and her BA (Hons) with distinction in English and Philosophy from Queen’s University in Kingston, ON. Prior to her work in Déline, she worked as a field researcher at Traditional Arts Indiana. Kim Hardy is a program officer with the Tides Canada Foundation. She has worked extensively with First Nations, development corporations, and rural communities on community-based economic development projects in British Columbia and the Yukon. Hardy completed her MBA in Community Economic Development at Cape Breton University after

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studying psychology at the University of Victoria and completing the Community Economic Development certificate at Simon Fraser University. She has been an active member of the Canadian Community Economic Development Network, participating on the BC/Yukon Council, and is currently contributing to Genuine Progress Pacific as a board member. Margaret Johnston is a professor in the School of Outdoor Recreation, Parks and Tourism at Lakehead University. Arn Keeling is an associate professor of geography at Memorial University of Newfoundland. His current research explores the historical and contemporary encounters of northern Indigenous communities with large-scale resource developments. He is also interested in historicalgeographical approaches to environmental science, political ecology, and industrial pollution. Raynald Harvey Lemelin is the Research Chair in Parks and Protected Areas and an associate professor at Lakehead University. His research interests are the management of parks and wildlife. Doug Lionais is an associate professor in the Shannon School of Business at Cape Breton University. He teaches within Cape Breton University’s MBA in Community Economic Development program. The late Ian MacPherson (1939–2013) was Professor Emeritus of History at the University of Victoria and a long-time supporter of the cooperative movement. From 2005 to 2013 he served as co-director and principal investigator of the National Hub of the Canadian Social Economy Research Partnerships. Carrie McClelland received her Masters of Environmental Studies in Nature-based Recreation and Tourism from Lakehead University. After graduation she moved to Whitehorse, Yukon, and now works as a naturalist and interpreter with the Yukon government. She spends much of her free time volunteering. David Natcher is Senior Research Chair with the Global Institute for Food Security and a professor in the Department of Bioresource Policy, Business and Economics at the University of Saskatchewan. He was

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coordinator for SERNNoCa’s Theme 4: Indigenous Communities and the Social Economy in the North. Brenda Parlee is Canada Research Chair in Social Responses to Ecological Change at the University of Alberta. She is also an associate professor in the Department of Resource Economics and Environmental Sociology and the Faculty of Native Studies. She was coordinator for SERNNoCa’s Theme 2: Resource Regimes and the Social Economy in the North. Keren Rice completed her doctoral research in linguistics in Fort Good Hope and Délı̨nę, Northwest Territories, during the 1970s. Her research led to mapping out Dene grammar, a learned book on Athapaskan verbs, and a training program for Aboriginal teachers in Dene languages. She is now a world leader in the study of Indigenous languages and the winner of multiple research prizes and awards. She renewed her relationship with Délı̨nę in 2002, working with the Délı̨nę Uranium Team fieldworkers. Since 2006 she has been an important mentor and collaborator with the Délı̨nę Knowledge Project and, more recently, the Délı̨nę Language and Stories of the Land program. Thierry Rodon is an associate professor at the Political Science Department and holds the Research Chair on Northern Sustainable Development at Université Laval. He is also the director of the Centre interuniversitaire d’études et de recherches autochtones de l’Université Laval (CIÉRA). John Sandlos is an associate professor of history at Memorial University of Newfoundland, where he co-directs the Abandoned Mines in Northern Canada research group with Arn Keeling. He is a former fellow of the Rachel Carson Center for Environment and Society in Munich, which granted time and space to complete editorial work on this article. Deborah Simmons is executive director of the Ɂehdzo Got’ı̨nę Gots’ę́ Nákedı (Sahtú Renewable Resources Board). She was raised in the Northwest Territories and completed her doctorate in the field of Native Studies at York University, and has since specialized in social and environmental issues relating to Indigenous peoples. Simmons has been involved in Traditional Knowledge research in the Sahtu Region since 1999, including work for the Sahtu Land Use Planning Board, the Délı̨nę Uranium Team (Dene Náowéré Chets’elǝ), and the Ɂehdzo

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Got’ı̨nę Gots’ę́ Nákedı (Caribou Traditional Knowledge Study). From 2006 to 2010 she was principal investigator with the Délı̨nę Knowledge Project, and worked with SENES Consultants Ltd. She is assistant professor in Native Studies at the University of Manitoba and in Aboriginal Studies at the University of Toronto. Chris Southcott is a professor of sociology at Lakehead University and principal investigator and chair of the Resources and Sustainable Development in the Arctic Project. He was the principal investigator of the SERNNoCa Project and coordinator for Theme 1: Profile of the Social Economy in Northern Canada Doris Taneton’s first job after graduation from high school in 2007 was as research trainee with the Délı̨nę Knowledge Project. During that time, she played a central role in creating a digital oral history archive and database for the community. After a year’s maternity leave, Taneton resumed work with the Délı̨nę Knowledge Project. She played a key role in coordinating Elder-youth activities at Ɂehtséo Ayha School. Her impressive academic achievements include courses at the newly established Dechinta Bush University Centre for Research and Learning, and university courses in the Northwest Territories Aboriginal Languages Revitalization Program. She now works as justice coordinator with the Délı̨nę First Nation. Valoree Walker has a PhD from the University of Alberta. Raised in Cambridge Bay and Yellowknife, Northwest Territories, she was previously director of the Aurora Research Institute in Inuvik. She was the national coordinator for the SERNNoCa project, and is currently coordinator for the Resources and Sustainable Development Project at Yukon College, Whitehorse.