Post by Okwes on May 16, 2007 10:15:09 GMT -5
Dancing with traditions
By JODIRAVE
Lee News Service
EMMONAK, Alaska - It is winter, and the Eskimos are dancing.
I can still see them, and hear the timeless rhythm of their singing and
drumming. The men's voices rising and falling as they hit upon flat,
wide, handheld drums. Bom, bom, bom ... Bom, bom, bom - Bom, bom, bom
...
Now, as ever, dance remains at the heart of the Yup'ik culture.
<http://adsys.townnews.com/c6611351/creative/bismarcktribune.com/bismarc\
ktribune.com+archives30day+bigad/16802.gif?r=http://bistrib.dotphoto.com\
> The Yup'ik people of western Alaska are gathering in their villages
during these long winter nights to practice traditional dances. While
their dance halls may be warm, the day I arrived in Emmonak, the wind
chilled the air to 27 degrees below zero.
No roads lead to Emmonak. In the winter, people travel by snowmobile. In
the summer, they use the rivers to travel to one another's villages.
When I stepped off the plane late last month, I wasn't sure what to
expect.
I was on assignment for an international magazine to write about
violence against Native women. Even then, it was possible to find light
in the dark. My guide was Lynn Hootch, a Yup'ik sister born and raised
in the Yukon Delta region, which lies parallel to the Bering Sea.
After a long day of interviews, she invited me to join her at the
community hall for a night of singing and dancing.
The Emmonak villagers call themselves Kuigpagmuit or "people from the
Yukon River." This winter, the people are meeting at the community hall
four nights each week in preparation for an annual potlach celebration,
which takes place in February.
The potlach provides a platform for the Kuigpagmuit to dance for and
share with neighboring villages. The people will give away material
goods, fish and other harvested foods to visiting guests. In the Wade
Hampton region of Alaska, Natives make up about 94 percent of the 8,000
residents. In this land, the people rely on harvests of wild food -
including salmon, whale, seals, caribou and berries - amounting to
nearly 700 pounds per person.
Hunting, trapping, fishing and gathering accounts for about 44 percent
of villagers' economic income. The potlachs allow them to share
harvested food. The generosity is a quality I've seen among indigenous
people all across North America.
But it's a practice that has long confounded outsiders.
"In accordance with their Eskimo philosophy, no one ever hordes
anything," said the Rev. Ferdinand Drevis in 1918. "If one has more than
the other, he is supposed to share. So they do not see why we should
have a supply of water and wood on hand to last for months when they
have none. We have to convince them that with our mode of living, we
need more water and wood than they do.
"The people have already given up their masked dances, however they
continue to hold their potlachs - although we discourage the
extravagances of giving. In their estimation, I am considered rich. But
I'm not willing to part with any of my belongings just for the glory of
giving."
Christian forces in the area eventually blotted out many village potlach
festivals and other dances in the Yukon Delta. But the dances in Emmonak
have remained. As I sat in the community hall and watched, Hootch could
see I liked the sound of the drums.
She invited me to dance with her and the other women. Hootch tried to
encourage me. "You can say you danced with the Eskimos," she said.
I asked her if they really called themselves Eskimos. Yes, she said.
I guess it's kind of like us Lower 48 tribes collectively calling
ourselves Indians. Even though it's a general term that doesn't describe
our diversity - ranging from the Navajo and Lakota to the Ojibwe and
Seminole - it works.
Although I wanted to, I didn't dance with the Eskimos.
I was too shy. It's not like dancing in a powwow arena where dancers
make up their own moves. When the Eskimo women dance, each takes her
place and they move in unison, as if walking in each other's footsteps,
or as if shooting the same bear or rowing in same canoe up the Yukon
River.
Instead, it felt good just to watch the Eskimos dance.
By JODIRAVE
Lee News Service
EMMONAK, Alaska - It is winter, and the Eskimos are dancing.
I can still see them, and hear the timeless rhythm of their singing and
drumming. The men's voices rising and falling as they hit upon flat,
wide, handheld drums. Bom, bom, bom ... Bom, bom, bom - Bom, bom, bom
...
Now, as ever, dance remains at the heart of the Yup'ik culture.
<http://adsys.townnews.com/c6611351/creative/bismarcktribune.com/bismarc\
ktribune.com+archives30day+bigad/16802.gif?r=http://bistrib.dotphoto.com\
> The Yup'ik people of western Alaska are gathering in their villages
during these long winter nights to practice traditional dances. While
their dance halls may be warm, the day I arrived in Emmonak, the wind
chilled the air to 27 degrees below zero.
No roads lead to Emmonak. In the winter, people travel by snowmobile. In
the summer, they use the rivers to travel to one another's villages.
When I stepped off the plane late last month, I wasn't sure what to
expect.
I was on assignment for an international magazine to write about
violence against Native women. Even then, it was possible to find light
in the dark. My guide was Lynn Hootch, a Yup'ik sister born and raised
in the Yukon Delta region, which lies parallel to the Bering Sea.
After a long day of interviews, she invited me to join her at the
community hall for a night of singing and dancing.
The Emmonak villagers call themselves Kuigpagmuit or "people from the
Yukon River." This winter, the people are meeting at the community hall
four nights each week in preparation for an annual potlach celebration,
which takes place in February.
The potlach provides a platform for the Kuigpagmuit to dance for and
share with neighboring villages. The people will give away material
goods, fish and other harvested foods to visiting guests. In the Wade
Hampton region of Alaska, Natives make up about 94 percent of the 8,000
residents. In this land, the people rely on harvests of wild food -
including salmon, whale, seals, caribou and berries - amounting to
nearly 700 pounds per person.
Hunting, trapping, fishing and gathering accounts for about 44 percent
of villagers' economic income. The potlachs allow them to share
harvested food. The generosity is a quality I've seen among indigenous
people all across North America.
But it's a practice that has long confounded outsiders.
"In accordance with their Eskimo philosophy, no one ever hordes
anything," said the Rev. Ferdinand Drevis in 1918. "If one has more than
the other, he is supposed to share. So they do not see why we should
have a supply of water and wood on hand to last for months when they
have none. We have to convince them that with our mode of living, we
need more water and wood than they do.
"The people have already given up their masked dances, however they
continue to hold their potlachs - although we discourage the
extravagances of giving. In their estimation, I am considered rich. But
I'm not willing to part with any of my belongings just for the glory of
giving."
Christian forces in the area eventually blotted out many village potlach
festivals and other dances in the Yukon Delta. But the dances in Emmonak
have remained. As I sat in the community hall and watched, Hootch could
see I liked the sound of the drums.
She invited me to dance with her and the other women. Hootch tried to
encourage me. "You can say you danced with the Eskimos," she said.
I asked her if they really called themselves Eskimos. Yes, she said.
I guess it's kind of like us Lower 48 tribes collectively calling
ourselves Indians. Even though it's a general term that doesn't describe
our diversity - ranging from the Navajo and Lakota to the Ojibwe and
Seminole - it works.
Although I wanted to, I didn't dance with the Eskimos.
I was too shy. It's not like dancing in a powwow arena where dancers
make up their own moves. When the Eskimo women dance, each takes her
place and they move in unison, as if walking in each other's footsteps,
or as if shooting the same bear or rowing in same canoe up the Yukon
River.
Instead, it felt good just to watch the Eskimos dance.