The Cooler Ring: Urban Alaska Native Women and the Subsistence DebateAuthor(s): Molly LeeSource: Arctic Anthropology, Vol. 39, No. 1/2 (2002), pp. 3-9Published by: University of Wisconsin PressStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/40316562 .

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THE COOLER RING: URBAN ALASKA NATIVE WOMEN

AND THE SUBSISTENCE DEBATE

MOLLY LEE

Abstract: This article examines the putative effects on urban Alaska Native women of the proposed rural-residence option to the long simmering legal and political debate over Alaska Native subsis- tence rights, interweaving high points of the debate with vignettes from the life of Flora Mark (a pseudonym), a Yup'ik Eskimo artisan living in Anchorage. Beginning with the Alaska Native Land Claims Settlement Act of 1971 and continuing up to the present, the stalemate has pitted state

against federal law, Natives against non-Natives, and commercial against family-based interests. One major - and often overlooked - stumbling block is the contradictory definitions of subsistence held by Natives, for whom subsistence is a collective right based on sharing, and non-Natives, who consider subsistence to be the satisfaction of minimal dietary needs.

Introduction Several times a year for the past five years, I have set out with Flora Mark, my Yup'ik Eskimo collabo- rator, on a long-term field project in southwestern Alaska. Flora was born in this area, and there she married and had her children, before moving to An- chorage (Fig. 1) in 1993. On these trips Flora and I travel from village to village, usually by the four- or six-seater aircraft known as bush planes, but some- times traveling on sleds or four-wheelers. A few years into the project I realized that, despite the dis- comforts caused by carrying more than minimal gear on these cramped, sometimes primitive modes of transport, Flora never left home without her bat- tered red and white industrial-sized Coleman cooler.

On our field trips, cooler comportment follows a set routine going something like this: the day before departure Flora corrals one of her friends with a car and "runs around," as she describes last- minute errands. One stop is at a supermarket, where she loads up on three or four dozen day-old donuts.

On departure day, Flora stashes the donuts with other essentials in her cooler, snags a ride to the air- port, and bursts through the front door of the depar- ture lounge, out of breath, dripping tote bags, and towing the cooler behind her like a disabled Bay- liner (Bayliner is the brand name of a small, inele- gant pleasure boat). Flora checks the Bayliner with the rest of our luggage onto an Alaska Airlines jet bound for Bethel (Fig. 1), the regional hub of south- western Alaska. From this point on, transport space shrinks and the difficulties of cooler logistics bal- loon exponentially.

For its first sortie the cooler is tied into the gaping trunk of a claptrap Bethel taxi for a round of visits. As we move through the morning, Flora drops off donuts with friends and relatives and re- places them in the cooler with gifts of delicacies such as duck or caribou ribs. Back at the airport, the cooler is tossed aboard the first of five bush planes that will take us from village to village. In Tununak (Fig. 1) our first rural stop, it is piled onto the air- line agent's sled and dumped off on a snowdrift

Molly Lee, University of Alaska Museum, Fairbanks, AK 99775-6960

ARCTIC ANTHROPOLOGY Vol. 39, Nos. 1-2, pp. 3-9, 2002 ISSN 0066-6939 © 2002 by the Board of Regents of the University of Wisconsin System

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4 Arctic Anthropology 39:1-2

Figure 1 Map of Alaska area.

outside the house where we are to stay. She hands out more donuts and the next morning before we leave, more oddly shaped packages (containing seal meat and torn cod) take up residence in the cooler. A few days later, down the coast in Goodnews Bay (Fig. 1), a seal skin and an ice cream container full of salmon berries replace the last of the donuts. When Flora returns to Anchorage, the cooler bulges with an assortment of Native foods. The contribu- tions from our trip will take their place in her freezer alongside others procured on Flora's visit home the previous summer, when she returned to participate in subsistence harvests. The food will be brought out for sharing with friends and family at future meals.

Thinking through my exasperation with cooler logistics forced me to come to terms with the cool- er's true significance as an apt, if ungainly, meta- phor for the centrality of subsistence - both practice and product - to urban Alaska Native women. The red and white cooler is a reminder of the ties that bind these women to the land. Hauling along a hun- dred pounds of shin-barking dead weight on our ex- peditions makes a lot of extra work for Flora, yet she carries it uncomplainingly, and all the members of her social networks in the city and the bush co-

operate without question, as do Alaska Native taxi drivers and bush pilots . . . everyone, in short, but qassaqs (non-Natives) such as I.

While the circulation of day-old donuts in one direction and Alaska Native foods in the other hardly replicates, in cultural significance or com- plexity, the Trobriand Islanders' legendary exchange of shells and shell necklaces (Malinowski 1961:81- 104), such a comparison underscores the focus of this paper on urban-rural connectedness as revealed by food sharing among Native women in Alaska's cities. The urban-rural dynamic explored here also raises a red flag about the rural-residence priority proposed as a compromise to the current legal and political stalemate over Alaska Native subsistence rights.

In this article I will summarize the background of the idea of rural-residence priority, and its effects and implications as suggested by the life of my friend, Flora Mark. These observations are based on our regular visits to the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta taking place twice or three times a year over the past five years, as well as on periodic visits with Flora in Anchorage, and interactions with her and with other Alaska Native women at the Native art fairs I attend several times annually.

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Molly Lee: The Cooler Ring 5

Between a Rock and a Skyscraper: Urban Alaska Natives and the

Rural-Residence Priority To appreciate the centrality of subsistence to urban Native women and the concern it raises about the proposed rural-residence priority, it is first neces- sary to understand the major milestones in the long and complex history of the rural-residency issue and its implications for urban Alaska Natives. Several articles detailing the tangled web of the subsistence controversy are already in print (e.g., Kancewick and Smith 1991; Thornton 1998), so I will limit my reconstruction to the legal and politi- cal events with a direct bearing on rural-residence. The relevant milestones are: The Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act (ANCSA) of 1971, The State Subsistence Act (1978), The Alaska National Inter- est Land Conservation Act (ANILCA) (1980) and McDowell v. the State of Alaska (1989).

When Alaska was admitted to the Union in 1959, areas of state and federal control over its 378 million square miles were not clearly differentiated; nor had the land claims of the aboriginal peoples whose homelands were within its boundaries been settled. Furthermore, the Alaska State Constitution contains no provision for managing Alaska Native subsistence, and Alaska Natives, unlike Native Americans elsewhere in the U.S., are not protected from State interests by the federal reservation sys- tem (Kancewick and Smith 1991:652). In the 1960s, as plans for the Trans- Alaska Pipeline progressed, it became expedient to resolve these issues. In 1971 Congress passed the Alaska Native Claims Settle- ment Act (ANCSA). Among1 its provisions, Alaska Natives ceded their aboriginal hunting and fishing rights on public lands, in return for one billion dol- lars, mineral rights to some areas, and - a detail conveniently overlooked by many - assurance that the Secretary of the Interior and the State of Alaska would "take any action necessary to protect the sub- sistence needs of the Natives" (Kancewick and Smith 1991:645; Worl 1998:77).

In 1978, in an attempt come to terms with the subsistence issues at the state level, the State of Alaska passed the State Subsistence Act. The law identified subsistence as the highest priority use on public lands and waterways, above commercial and sport hunting and fishing. The law, however, failed to define the State's understanding of, and position on, Native subsistence rights. To accomplish the lat- ter the State Subsistence Act would have had to re- solve the inherent differences between Native and non-Native definitions of subsistence, for these lie at the heart of the controversy. Whereas Euro- Americans define subsistence as "minimal eco- nomic security" (Kancewick and Smith 1991:648), the Alaska Native definition is almost the opposite.

For them, subsistence is collective in that it is based on sharing, one of the most deeply held cultural values. As a rule, then, when Alaska Natives prac- tice subsistence for the nuclear family, the extended family, and for others of the community in need, they are fulfilling cultural values; when non-Natives hunt or fish for these same purposes it is a personal rather than collective decision (Kancewick and Smith 1991:647-650).

The state was probably reluctant to face the matter head-on because acknowledging the differing definitions of subsistence between Native and non- Native user groups would have served to highlight these differences and might have prevented non- Natives from equal access to subsistence activities. Instead, the law defined subsistence as: "customary and traditional uses of ... wild, renewable re- sources within Alaska" without specifying ethnicity or rural location" (Kancewick and Smith 1991:663). This definition undoubtedly placated the strong non-Native equal-protectionists in Alaska but did little to reassure Alaska Natives that their interests had been taken into account (Kancewick and Smith 1991; Thornton 1998:30).

The 1978 Subsistence Act was only the first move in an extended state and federal chess game that has yet to conclude. In 1980 the Federal Gov- ernment entered the fray when Congress passed the Alaska National Interest Conservation Act (ANILCA). One goal of ANILCA was to clarify the Alaska Native subsistence-rights issue left vague un- der ANCSA, but it only succeeded in compounding the problem. In Title VIE of the Act, the Federal Government balked (as had Alaska when debating the subsistence law) at defining subsistence on the Native/non-Native basis and even went a step far- ther, making the rural-residence priority explicit. The Title VIII definition of subsistence read: ". . . customary and traditional uses by rural Alaska resi- dents [italics mine] of wild, renewable resources for direct personal or family consumption" (Kancewick and Smith 1991:646; Thornton 1998:31).

Subsequent legislation has moved the two sides even farther apart. In 1986, in order to bring state law into compliance with ANILCA, the State of Alaska amended its 1978 Subsistence Law with a rural-residence clause. In 1989, however, McDowell v. the State of Alaska overturned the rural-residence priority on the grounds that it was discriminatory and therefore unconstitutional (Kancewick and Smith 1991:671-672), thus giving all Alaska resi- dents equal access to subsistence activities regard- less of ethnicity or location of domicile. In the interim, numerous attempts to bring the matter be- fore the voters have been blocked by the State legis- lature. Most recently, in 2001, Alaska Governor Tony Knowles, in an effort to settle the simmering debate, appointed a bi-partisan commission on sub- sistence to frame a state-constitutional amendment

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6 Arctic Anthropology 39:1 -2

to put before the voters. The compromise "en- shrines a rural subsistence priority and allows a sec- ondary priority to urban Alaskans who demonstrate a customary and traditional use of subsistence re- sources" (Office of the Governor 2002). In other words, the proposal favors rural residents regardless of ethnicity and makes no distinction between ur- ban Native and non-Native usage. Wording of the proposed amendment aside, many Alaskans are convinced that the State Legislature, with its close ties to urban non-Native hunting and commercial guiding interests, will block any effort to put the is- sue on the ballot, even though "72% of Alaskans polled last year [in 2001] . . . believe that there should be a public vote on a rural preference" (Of- fice of the Governor 2002). Whatever the politics, the language of the proposed amendment suggests that urban Alaska Natives' access to subsistence would be more limited, if not endangered, by the proposed legislation. It is clear to many of them that the subsistence issue will continue to be shaped more by the unequal power relations between Na- tives and non-Natives than by respect for cultural difference, relative need, or even the spirit of com- promise.

Looking Back While Facing Forward: Alaska Native Women

in Anchorage In a pattern repeating itself across the Inuit area of North America as a whole (Kishigami 1999:88-89), recent decades have witnessed a dramatic upsurge in the relocation of Alaska Natives to Alaska's urban centers, particularly to Anchorage, Alaska's largest city. Among the many reasons for flight are dimin- ishing fish stocks; lack of wage employment to fi- nance subsistence necessities like boats, gasoline and ammunition; escape from unsatisfactory rela- tionships or substance abuse; and the absence of educational opportunities. A look at the rising per- centages of Alaska Natives in Anchorage alone tells a dramatic story. In 1980, 8,933 Alaska Natives lived in Anchorage (US Census Bureau 1980); by 1990 the figure had risen to 14,569 (US Census Bu- reau 1990). In 2000, 67% of the Alaska Native pop- ulation lived in cities or towns, and 18,941 of them in Anchorage (US Census Bureau 2000), making modern Anchorage the largest Alaska Native village in the world (Fienup-Riordan 2000:151). Predict- ably, the gender ratio of Alaska Natives in Anchor- age is significantly skewed toward a female majority. Though my aim here is to document the continued importance of subsistence in the lives of urban women, it is important to point out that de- nial of access would affect urban Alaska Native men at least as profoundly. The urban woman's continu- ity with the past is asserted every time she flenses a

seal on the laundry-room floor, or stirs up a pot of basket dye on the kitchen stove. Alaska Native men's identity, however, depends on their abilities as hunters. Their ability as hunters, in turn, de- pends on a highly sophisticated understanding of an ecosystem. Such an understanding requires years to master (Hensel 2001) and does not transfer readily to unfamiliar environs. It is still possible to shoot a moose on the streets of Anchorage, but only a fool would try it. Not surprisingly the difference in adaptability is reflected in the statistics. In the year 2000, there were 7,189 Alaska Native women over the age of 18 living in Anchorage but only 5,769 Alaska Native men in the same age group lived in the city (US Census Bureau 2000).

To appreciate the economic and cultural hard- ship that the rural-residence priority might impose on Alaska Native urbanites, one has to look no fur- ther than at the life of Flora Mark. A gifted and hard-working artisan specializing in dolls and finely woven grass baskets, Flora has put three sons through college with the money she earns from the sale of her work. She moved in to Anchorage in 1993 to take advantage of the numerous Native art sales held there throughout the year. Her husband, also an Alaska Native, is a construction worker in southwestern Alaska. He joins Flora in Anchorage when he has time off. The Marks live in a rented apartment in town, but think of their house in their rural Alaskan village as their true home. Flora re- turns to the Yup'ik area several times yearly to take part in subsistence activities. Like other urban women who can afford the airfare,2 she exploits re- sources in different parts of southwestern Alaska, picking berries and gathering basket grass around Goodnews Bay, cutting and drying salmon in Quin- hagak (Fig. 1), or fishing for halibut off Nunivak Is- land (Fig. 1).

In the city as in the village, subsistence prod- ucts figure prominently in Flora's social life. Her immediate circle of friends consists of a dozen or so Yup'ik Eskimo women. Although a full discussion of the differences and similarities between urban and rural social circles is beyond the scope of this article, Flora's social circle in Anchorage essentially replicates her friendships in rural Alaska, consisting mainly of friends from her village or her husband's. In town, however, the circle has been enlarged to include other women Flora has met at craft fairs, at the Alaska Native Hospital where she visits patients from "back home," and sometimes, on the city bus, which she takes when no rides are available. These women, who are almost always Yup'ik, have come to the city for a variety of reasons. Some have accompa- nied family members with jobs in the city or who need long-term health care unavailable in the villages. Others have found jobs of their own in the city or, like Flora, have learned that the urban arts-and-crafts mar- ket is more dependable than in rural areas.

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Molly Lee: The Cooler Ring 7

Despite her busy schedule, Flora communi- cates with someone in her circle almost daily, to "touch base," as she puts it. Usually such interac- tions are connected with the cooking and sharing of Native foods or the processing of subsistence prod- ucts. Recently, for example, Flora visited her best friend, who has a big kitchen, in order to dye her basket grass. Often, someone in her network will pick her up for errands, and these too are apt to be subsistence-related. On my last trip to Anchorage, for instance, I was tapped to "run around" with her, and our errands were probably typical of a day on the town. We began with a stop at K-Mart to buy warm pants for an upcoming trip out to southwest- ern Alaska to harvest basket grass. After that, we stopped for the donuts. From there, we went to the tannery to drop off a seal skin Flora will need for her art work. Finally, we called at the Alaska Air- lines freight office to retrieve a sea otter pelt sent in by a relative for Flora's new parka, currently under construction.

As important as subsistence activities like grass cutting are to Flora, it is Native foods that bind her urban friends to each other and to the rural villages where they were born (Kishigami 2002). In the city, as out on the land, they consume store- bought food routinely, but like Westerners' com- plaints about Chinese takeout, they maintain that store-bought food leaves them hungry again soon after they have finished eating. So, a phone call an- nouncing the arrival of delicacies from the bush stirs up a flurry of activity. One afternoon I arrived for a visit and found Flora rushing out the door: "Gotta go. She [a friend from Nelson Island] has blackfish from home," she said, hurrying over to a waiting car. 'Tm gonna eat over there tonight. Sorry, bye." On another occasion when I was in town, she telephoned me: "You gonna come over and eat today? There's bird [duck] soup," which she knows I love. Often, there are other women at the table, but sometimes she has cooked especially for me. "Sharing food is what is 'best' about village life," Bodenhorn reminds us, "in many ways it seems a more profound symbol system of ... iden- tity even than language" (Bodenhorn 1998:104; see also Searles 2002). This is equally true in the city.

For Native urbanites like Flora, however, the social focus on wild food is by no means confined to whatever is brought in from rural Alaska. The women also put their gathering skills to good use nearby. Not long ago, for instance, my telephone rang late one night. It was Flora calling from some- where along the 300-mile stretch of highway that separates her home in Anchorage from mine in Fair- banks (Fig. 1): "We'll be there in an hour - we've been berry picking. Can't talk, gotta go, love you, bye." As I made the beds I wondered who and how many "we" were. I hadn't asked, knowing I'd only get the nosy-question rebuke. An hour later Flora

and a friend appeared at the door carrying three- gallon plastic pails of low-bush cranberries gathered along the highway at spots identified on earlier trips. They make similar forays to the Kenai Penin- sula (Fig. 1) south of Anchorage to dig for clams and or dip-net for smelt.

As Fogel-Chance also points out, such urban sharing networks are not patterned after the redistri- bution of scarce resources prevalent among the ur- ban poor (Fogel-Chancel993:102). Flora and her friends do not fit that picture, and neither does the urban-based Native Alaskan politician who recently listed for me the contents of her freezer. It boasted all manner of subsistence delicacies, from North- Slope maktaq to a supply of gum boots, the rubbery, much-loved mollusk from southeastern Alaska. With little time for subsistence activities herself, she relies on grateful constituents for her stores (Rosita Worl, personal communication). Rather, these urban food-sharing practices, as anyone who has experi- enced the 24-hour ebb and flow of social life in ru- ral households knows, more or less reproduce those of the village. By comparison, it is striking to note the challenges of time and distance that urbanites must surmount in order to replicate village sociabil- ity. The high cost suggests that the sharing network is a powerful strategy for adjusting to urban life (Fogel-Chance 1988; 1993:97-99). One of Fogel- Chance's informants expressed it best: "Sharing is what we do," she said, "It's who we are" (Fogel- Chance 1993:101).

Urban Native Women and the Rural-Residence Option

How might a rural-residence priority affect Alaska Natives living in urban areas? Legally, the worst that could happen is that in times of need, urban Na- tives along with urban non-Natives would be unable to pursue subsistence activities until the needs of rural Natives and non-Natives had been met. Of greater concern is the power differential between the two groups and the possible effects on urban Natives if urban non-Natives are denied the same rights as their rural-resident counterparts. This group of urban non-Natives, consisting of big busi- ness, guiding interests, state and federal legislators, judges, and their friends and constituents, arguably represents the largest single concentration of power in Alaska. If alienated by a rural-residence priority, they would almost surely see to it that urban Alaska Natives would be likewise disadvantaged. Moreover, this backlash would pose at least as serious a threat to the subsistence rights of urban Alaska Natives as the rural-residence proposal itself.

Denying urban Alaska Natives access to the land would affect not only access to available food for those with few alternative resources, but could

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8 Arctic Anthropology 39:1-2

also be damaging in other ways. As Hensel (1996: 13; 2001:24) has shown, the complex of skills re- quired to master subsistence activities, whether it is bringing down a caribou or cutting basket grass, is a source of cultural pride within Native cultures and one of the few indigenously generated practices that fosters respect from the culture at large.

Yet a workable compromise is hard to come by. As Kancewick and Smith point out, there are four possible alternatives: (1) leave the situation as it is, and allow both rural and urban Alaskans to con- tinue over-harvesting, thus further endangering the already drastically low fish stocks, (2) amend the State Constitution to allow a rural-residence priority in compliance with ANILCA, (3) overturn ANILCA's rural-residence priority in the courts, ruling it a vio- lation of the US Constitution, or (4) amend ANILCA and the Alaska State Constitution, substituting Alaska Native priority for rural priority (Kancewick and Smith 1991:674).

From the perspective of urban Alaska Natives, amending the State Constitution with an Alaska Na- tive priority would be highly desirable. If such an amendment were to adopt a group approach, eligi- bility could be determined by tribal rolls and would include urban Natives3 who vote in tribal elections and return home for subsistence purposes (Kance- wick and Smith 1991:674; see also Bryner 1995). Only if such an amendment were to be enacted could Alaska Natives at last fall heir to the safe- guards implicit in ANCSA. As illustrated by the case of Flora Mark, the passage of any compromise legislation that leaves Alaska Natives, rural or ur- ban, without access to the subsistence resources on public lands would cause a profound loss, economi- cally, culturally, and spiritually. Not only would it do away with Flora's livelihood as a Native artist, which depends on having access to basket grass, seal and caribou hides, sinew, and other subsistence products; it would also jeopardize her sharing net- work, for the binding agents of this network are the ducks, geese, swans, blackfish, seal oil, and walrus flippers that today regularly make the trip from rural Alaska in her cooler.

Acknowledgements. I am grateful to the National Science Foundation (OPP95-0154, 97-25668, with extensions and renewals) for their long-term support of my research. Special thanks and gratitude to my collaborator, known here as "Flora Mark," for per- mission to write about her life. She allowed this breach of privacy in hopes that the Alaska Native perspective on subsistence - especially the problems that the rural-residence option could pose for urban Native women - would become more widely under- stood. I also thank Margaret B. Blackman, Nelson Graburn, Chase Hensel, John Kawula, Nobuhiro Kis- higami, Angela Linn, Phyllis Morrow, Rosita Worl,

and two anonymous reviewers for comments on earlier drafts of this article.

End Notes 1. Title VIH of ANILCA included "the making and selling of handicraft" among its original menu of subsistence uses (quoted in Kancewick and Smith 1991:659), but arts and crafts are not mentioned in State legislation pertaining to subsistence.

2. Fienup-Riordan, citing a personal communica- tion with Pamela Stern, points out that the differen- tial access to travel money may lead to reproduction of the consumption-based class stratification charac- teristic of industrial cultures (Fienup-Riordan 2000: 279, n.13).

3. Such legislation could also include non-Natives who qualify for tribal membership by tribal defini- tion (Kancewick and Smith 1991:674). This would include non-Native spouses in rural areas, probably the largest percentage of non-Natives living in rural areas.

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