Interview: Poet Joan Naviyuk Kane About 50 years ago, the native Alaskans were forced to leave their ancestral home on King Island, in the Bering Sea. Now, an Anchorage poet has crowdsourced enough money to bring a group of former King Islanders and their descendants back for a visit.
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Ghost Island Looms Large Among Displaced Inupiat Eskimos

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Ghost Island Looms Large Among Displaced Inupiat Eskimos

Ghost Island Looms Large Among Displaced Inupiat Eskimos

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  • <iframe src="" width="100%" height="290" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" title="NPR embedded audio player">
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This is ALL THINGS CONSIDERED from NPR News. I'm Robert Siegel.


And I'm Melissa Block. Out in Alaska's Bering Sea, about 90 miles from Nome, sits a small rocky island called King Island. It used to be home to a couple of hundred Inupiat Eskimo who lived in houses built on stilts, perched on the rocky cliffs, but it's been a ghost island for about 50 years now. The residents relocated to the mainland. Well, now, a poet whose ancestors were from King Island has raised money through a crowd sourcing campaign to bring 20 people there, former King Islanders and their descendants, on a weeklong visit. Joan Naviyuk Kane joins me from Anchorage to talk about it. Welcome to the program, Joan.

JOAN NAVIYUK KANE: Thank you. (Foreign language spoken)

BLOCK: That's welcome in Inupiat?

KANE: It is.

BLOCK: Oh, OK. Thanks. I gather you have never been to King Island, but your late grandparents were among the last people who lived on the island. What have you heard from your family about what it was like to live there, what daily life was like?

KANE: Well, there's a couple of things. One is the astonishing beauty and also the astonishing harshness of the conditions on the island itself. But, you know, for millennia it was regarded as one of the prime marine mammal hunting spots, which really enabled King Islanders to develop a very complex arts, culture, hunting culture and kinship culture, which actually we still retain to this day and my children are a part of. But daily life was marked by subsistence activities: by hunting, by gathering, by watching the weather and ice conditions. And the simple act of survival was enough to keep most people busy.

BLOCK: You mentioned the language, and I was curious about what the name of the island is in the Inupiat language. We've been talking about it as King Island. It was named for a European who sighted the island back in the 1700s. What is the name in Inupiat?

KANE: Ugiuvak is the name of the island in our dialect, which loosely translates to a place of the big winter, and it referred to King Islanders overwintering on the island, although they'd go and trade on the mainland and up and down the coast for thousands of miles.

BLOCK: If I understand this right, relatively recently, there were people from King Island who would come to the mainland, to Nome, for the summer months to sell ivory carvings and things like that but would go back to the island in the winter for hunting.

KANE: Yes. Typically, in the summer, King Islanders wouldn't remain on the island. Some people would, but most people sustained a winter lifestyle on the island, and the hunters hunted on the moving sea ice as it traveled through the Bering Straits.

BLOCK: You know, I've been looking at some images, and it looks spectacularly beautiful but also really forbidding with these jagged rocks and these houses that are just improbably set into the rocks, on stilts. It's hard to imagine how people actually could have made a go of it there.

KANE: It is difficult to envision, you know, a thriving culture that survived for millennia there. But part of my interest in returning is actually seeing firsthand what it's like, and I've been told by my relatives that, you know, we'll be physically exhausted just from going and getting around the island itself.

BLOCK: Well, explain what happened to the Inupiat people who lived on King Island.

KANE: Well, some people, especially the elders, say that it was a choice that people made to leave King Island. Of course, there are others that say, you know, that portray it very differently. But it really comes down to the fact that in 1959 the Bureau of Indian Affairs had said that there was a large boulder on top of the island that was poised and ready to fall down and crush the school, which was their justification for closing the school, and when you shut down a school and require children to be in school, of course, families feel tremendous pressure.

Of course, too, there was the Indian Health Service in Nome that people were able to obtain health care. There was also a tremendous cash economy based out of Nome, and people wanted to participate in that as well. It's a complex story, and part of my return is just to listen to people's memories and recollections and share their experience.

BLOCK: What have your relatives told you about that moment when they realized they were leaving this island behind?

KANE: Well, they range quite a bit. I mean, there's a tremendous amount of sorrow and trauma, but, you know, probably the most significant recollection that I've heard actually comes from my mother. And she recalls when her parents left her to go to King Island for the winter and she was wading out into the Bering Sea, which, you know, in September is not as warm as it is in June, even this year, but trying to wade as far as she could into the Bering Sea and just crying and screaming for them and flashing a flashlight until she could see the umiak, the skin boat, no longer on the horizon, hoping that her parents would come back and get her. You know, and there's also this belief that perhaps it was a temporary relocation, a temporary closure of the school. Things were very uncertain at that time.

BLOCK: Well, you're planning to bring your relatives back to King Island in July. It's going to be really hard to get there in the first place, right? How are you going to do it?

KANE: Well, I will be taking a boat across. It's about a nine- to 12-hour journey by boat. Others will be taking helicopters. There's a place to land a helicopter atop the island. There's no place, of course, for a landing strip for an airplane. Typically, our ancestors would go by the large umiak, large skin boats. But I'll be - I think I'll be heading out on a crab tender and then lightering into shore on a smaller boat. I think it's important to travel by boat myself because I think it will give me the best sense for what the actual journey was like on a seasonal basis that my family members made, our ancestors made for thousands of years.

BLOCK: And once you get there, what do you want to do?

KANE: Well, there's a couple of things. One, you know, I just - I've heard so much and in such great detail about almost every detail of life on King Island, whether it's the types of greens that grow in abundance, the types of birds that make their homes there in the summertime. But, you know, I have a tremendous curiosity about seeing the house where my mother grew up, although it is in disrepair. It's basically in ruin. But then, too, I'm just curious to see certain spots of the island where, for instance, my mother tells me about when her father would get a polar bear, how they would ask the children to clean the polar bear hide by using it as a sled and sliding down the island. Things like that, I'm really curious to see. I've seen pictures, I've heard about them, but, you know, I'd really like to take what essentially has been an intellectual, abstract notion of King Island and experience the physical reality of it.

BLOCK: And does it become part of your work as a writer, your experience there?

KANE: I think, essentially - I mean, I don't have any direct outputs planned, but, you know, as a writer, I think I've contended with this issue of identity and this narrative of my family's relocation, displacement. I look at my community and see how the various ways in which we've adapted or tried to adapt to this trauma, which actually is quite recent in our history. But I think for me, even from my earliest memories as a young girl, I knew that I was a King Islander. And in a way, I've been writing out of nostalgia or a way to recover or a way to get at some of those memories that I've heard people talk about.

I think everything that I see will certainly inform my writing, will inform my sense of self, will help me explain to my children who we are, who we will continue to be, and make sure that although we have been removed from King Island, our identity and our culture, in particular, our language, our dialect remains intact for future generations.

BLOCK: Best of luck with the trip.

KANE: Thank you. (Foreign language spoken)

BLOCK: That's poet Joan Naviyuk Kane. Next month, she'll be bringing a group of Inupiat Eskimo to visit their abandoned ancestral home, Alaska's King Island.

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