The last place I expected to find myself this summer was on the banks of the Porcupine River in Old Crow, the northernmost community in the Yukon and the traditional territory of the Vuntut Gwitchin First Nation.
I was there as part of the 2019 Stories North team—camera in hand—excited and scared.
Launched in 2017 by Carleton professor Kanina Holmes, Stories North is a reconciliatory initiative that brings journalism students to the Yukon for a month.
This is a prime location for learning, as the territory offers a different perspective on Reconciliation and self-governance than Ottawa, the federal seat of power. In this context, Stories North challenges students through on-the-land learning of what it means to be a respectful and engaged reporter.
The true meaning of this program was perhaps best summarized by Louise Creyke, a community member of Old Crow. After hearing me bumble my way through a wordy explanation of what Stories North aims to do, she concisely declared:
“So, you’re reporting with the community instead of about the community.”
When Creyke said this, it suddenly made sense. I was able to grasp exactly what it was that Stories North was teaching me.
Despite having in-class experience with crafting stories in Ottawa, I was embarking on a journey that was entirely different.
It forced me to forge a connection with my subjects, and to immerse myself in a community and culture in a way that I hadn’t previously had the opportunity to do.
It stripped me of the hit-and-run journalism I had been trained for, and reconstructed my ideas of what it means to be a journalist.
We spent nine days in the tiny fly-in community, and in our time there, I learned more than I ever had in my three years of university preceding the trip.
In class, I’d been taught about the horrors of residential schools, about the pain and trauma caused by these institutions whose purpose was to “kill the Indian in the child,” as Canada’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) reported in 2015. I’ve been told to exercise mindfulness and empathy in my writing, because words have power.
In Old Crow, I spoke with community members who were residential school survivors themselves, and told me about the shame the schools put inside them, how this shame made it hard for them to connect with their own children.
This was more impactful than any statistic or policy statement could ever be. I had to exercise mindfulness and empathy in my writing, because I was confronted with the power of words and history every day.
In class, I’ve learned about the dangers of climate change. I have learned about how much water such-and-such a place has lost, what percentage of waste ends up where. I have learned to be precise and data-driven in my reporting on the issue.
In Old Crow, I saw how the threat of climate change directly affects the community. The caribou herd the Vuntut Gwitchin people have traditionally relied on is threatened as increasingly unpredictable weather change their migration patterns. The salmon population that runs the Porcupine River is, on average, getting smaller as waters warm.
Yet, I also learned about the power of a community threatened by colonialism but standing strong in their traditions and values. I saw the pride and comradery that comes with sharing the land and passing on knowledge. I was shown that although a place may be hurting, it is still full of life, passion and strength. Our team was humbled and grateful to be welcomed with kindness.
I saw all of this while being on the land, prompted by my surroundings to dig for these revelations and incorporate them into my storytelling as a white settler. This was an opportunity to question what I’ve learned in school. Needless to say, Stories North was the most invigorating experience of my academic career.
Of course, these opportunities aren’t readily available. I understand my privilege in being able to participate in Stories North. Not all students, whether it be for financial, practical or personal reasons, can be so lucky.
However, this reality points to a larger problem with our modern education system, which heavily lacks the incorporation of experiential learning in our curricula. These opportunities are few and far between, and lack of financial and material support from educational institutions ensures only more privileged students can take them.
Carleton’s School of Journalism’s home page says, “We train the truth-seekers, change-makers and storytellers for the digital age.”
While this is partially met with foundational exercises, no class in my time at Carleton has prepared me to be a truth-seeker and change-maker in quite the way Stories North has. In fact, comparatively, many of my experiences in J-school been in a vacuum, cut off from realities in our colonial country.
The TRC’s final report includes 94 Calls to Action, the 86th of which calls upon Canadian journalism programs and media schools to require education for all students on the history of Indigenous peoples and residential schools.
This is exactly what Stories North aims to do. Its foundations in long-term experiential learning are grounded in the experiences and stories of communities. It challenges ignorance within education and fills a gap in the way most of us are taught to be journalists.
If my time in the North taught me anything, it’s that true learning happens when you have meaningful experiences and can link them to each other, to an issue, and to the wider world.
The greatest teachers are not the professors or contract instructors who helped you chase a story, but the community surrounding you that challenges your thinking and compassion the most.
This is something that a place of higher education should be striving to include, especially Carleton’s School of Journalism, if the school is serious about its promise to push the next generation of “change-makers” into the world.
