The following article has been written collaboratively reflecting Indigenous historical methods, with the first section by Christina Williamson, Beth Greenhorn, and Carol Payne, and the essay (Twenty Reasons and Beyond) which follows by Inuit Elder Ann Meekitjuk Hanson.
Can archives decolonize their holdings? This question relating to colonial photographs of Inuit held by Library and Archives of Canada (LAC) began to be considered in the 1990s. Students at the post-secondary Inuit college Nunavut Sivuniksavut (NS) would bring a physical copy of an archival image home to Nunavut over the holidays with the goal of identifying the unnamed individuals in the photographs. Year after year, students would record their conversations with community Elders. The students derived great value from the experience as they renewed confidence in their cultural identity and Inuktut language skills, strengthening their community bonds. Connecting with their ancestors and discovering their names, along with their stories, had great power to create alternative meanings for those colonial images – they were now family photographs.
The success of these conversations led to NS initiating a pilot project in 2001 with support from the Government of Nunavut to work with LAC. LAC digitised archival photographs of unnamed Inuit for NS students to bring back to their communities during their winter break. The initiative became known as Project Naming, a subversive reference to the 1970 Canadian federal government initiative, Project Surname, in which surnames were imposed on Inuit, in turn replacing the personal identifying numbers that had previously been used for identification purposes from 1941-1978. Names matter.
During its first decade, Project Naming focused on images of Nunavummiut (people from the territory of Nunavut). Over the years the project expanded to include a “Do you know your Elders?” feature in Nunavut newspapers and a very active Facebook page that continues to name Inuit. Now in its twenty-third year, it has since expanded nationally to include First Nations, Inuit from all four Arctic regions, and the Métis Nation.
The 2022 book Atiqput: Inuit Oral History and Project Naming was one of many initiatives that have grown out of Project Naming. The book’s title Atiqput, (“our names” in Inuktut, the languages of Inuit in Inuit Nunangat (“Inuit homelands” in what is now Arctic North America). The title, atiqput, was suggested by Inuit Elder, Piita Irniq, a former Commissioner of Nunavut (2000-2005) as well as Member of the Legislative Assembly of the Northwest Territories, he was an early supporter of Project Naming and also contributed to the book.
The essay below, Twenty Reasons and Beyond was written by Inuit Elder and contributor to Atiqput, Ann Meekitjuk Hanson, a celebrated writer, journalist, and former Commissioner of Nunavut (2005-2010). Here, Ann Meekitjuk Hanson reflects on a subject at the core of the book Atiqput, the history of Inuit naming practices, their cultural significance, and how they adapted over the course of the twentieth century. She also discusses her own contribution to Atiqput, the chapter ‘A Story About Names’, which included a conversation with her three grandsons. Like many Inuit Elders, Hanson shares her knowledge through stories that connect family and personal relationships with the broader movements of change. Her essay exemplifies the kinds of conversations that are sparked when Inuit engage with colonial
photographs, choosing to tell Inuit stories on Inuit terms. We learn through her that atiqput also indicates responsibility. Each Inuit name carries within it every person who held the name before and all those who carry the name after. History and heritage are embedded within every name.
While it may or may not be possible for a national archive in a settler colonial state to truly decolonize; an archive can look to Indigenous communities to lead the way in creating new approaches and new ways to engage with the effects of colonization, including the colonial photograph. Project Naming shows that providing Indigenous Peoples’ own names in archival records supports reconciliation and fosters new ways of approaching the archive.
Twenty Reasons and Beyond
When I was asked to write about Inuit traditional naming of newborn babies, I was grateful beyond gratitude with a gnawing feeling of “will I do justice and do the right thing”? With the truth and experience on my side, I agreed. Thus, working with Carol Payne, Beth Greenhorn, Deborah Kigjugalik Webster, and Christina Williamson, a long-time project naming old photographs became no longer a project but a reality with a big book called “Atiqput”, meaning “Our Names”.
I was born when naming babies was very much in practice the traditional Inuit way. It was the only thing our people knew. Except, when it was time to baptize the infant or a toddler, the attending minister would give the baby a new name he could pronounce, usually someone from the Bible. Quickly, when the parents got home, they pronounced the name in our language. For example, when the minister named a baby James, it was pronounced by parents and family “Jaimisie”. The old spelling was Jamesie. Or for a baby girl, Ruth became Ulutie, because we don’t have the letter R or a ‘th’ in our language.
We have lost a lot of the traditions we had when we lived on the land, along with their names and terms, mostly because they do not fit the times. They have become obsolete or too cumbersome or almost unpronounceable for these faster times. One good example is having a dog team. Fast and effective snowmobiles are now the norm for hunters. Just like the dog teams we once depended on so much, we are about to lose the traditional way to name our babies if we don’t use it. It is practised in small ways now. We, the elders still name the newborns, meekly saying ‘can this name be one of the names?’ Or they become a second name. At least we have that, and it pleases us.
My aunt Kimalu (Annie is her baptized name) remembers asking an elder to name her newborn. The elder came quickly with a name. My aunt told the elder to make sure the minister can pronounce it and that the name will be easily recordable in the government papers. The elder came up with a name “Lisa”, my aunt was pleased. Pleasing the minister and the official government forms also helped to lessen the traditional names.
I wrote the story “A story about names” in the book Atiqput mainly for my grandchildren and their children. The three grandsons and I had a nice discussion about their Inuk names and how much they know about their namesakes. To my pleasant surprise, they knew a lot! All three of them have an English name and an Inuk name as a second name or one of the names.
When we ignore traditions because they are too hard for others, it is helping to lose one more tradition that is still usable! Naming our babies keeps the tradition going. The Inuk names tell us who we are, where we come from, who our ancestors are, good or bad. The names keep the history going on and on when the stories behind the name is told over and over, even when the story is not heroic, epical, or interesting. Of course, it helps to have interesting stories about a name that belonged to a famous and brave leader who saved a lot of people from starvations. Or a person who had many adventures, found new places, invented qajait (kayaks), new and improved kakivat (fish spears), helped foreign whalers find more whales, or got too rich and got killed by his own people.
Writing and talking about naming babies with tradition in mind helps to keep the legacy of names going from generation to generation. This may be hard to understand for some, but simply talking with family members saves what we have left. There are always one or two people who will remember! Books like Atiqput are good examples for modern times. My generation relied on good and honest memory. Today, we are very fortunate we can read and write. In my time, living on the land, we probably had one little pencil with yellow coating on it. We had no paper, but old cardboard papers from Hudson’s Bay Company stores were kept, never thrown out. They were used to write something on with that little worn out yellow pencil which was borrowed by other families in the village.
When we are young and naïve about many things, we are too shy and embarrassed to ask so we go on being ignorant on many useful things, such as knowing our own history and its traditions. For some, there is no one to ask. In my case, it was being an orphan, too scared to ask questions so I didn’t know who my ancestors were, who my relatives were, who my siblings are. This is where books, magazines and modern means of communication are convenient. I am grateful for this because it has helped me a lot in the past.
Names that tell us subtly where we come from keep our legacy going. One of my daughter’s first name is Neevee. Niviuq means to nurture and protect, so her name Neevee (spelled this way from baptism) expresses without explanation in our language, that she must come from the north. We know in our Inuit traditions, some birds migrate from the south each spring and then go away in the autumn. We know that these birds nurture and protect their eggs and then protect the young birds from animals. One day, Neevee wanted to know what her name meant in Inuktitut, when I told her, she said with a big smile “cool”! Well, we come from a cool place!
Urqsiut, Mialiralaq, Quvianatukuluk, Udloriak and Neevee. These are my daughters. Their first names are all Inuit names, except the first two older daughters, their first names are Kathleen and Mary, and their Inuit names are second names.
Akumalik, Ningiurapik, Tusiagaq, Ashevak, Malituq, Anitituq, Sagiatuq, Arnakalak, Ituangat, Isuqangituq (this last name means eternity). These are my grandchildren. They all have English first names and Inuit second names.
Okpik, Ainiaq, Pailimuni, Arniniq, and Ashevak. These are my great-grandchildren. They all have English first names and Inuit second names. These are the reasons why I wrote “A Story About Names” to continue our legacy and heritage.