All language subtitles for Martha.Of.The.North.2009

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- Some people call it
"the roof of the world."

For others, it's the North Pole.

This is where I grew up,

in the northernmost
inhabited place in Canada,

Grise Fiord.

We came here
when I was just a little girl -

me and my family.

That was many years ago,

so some of my memories
are clouded.

But others are still vivid.

So that's how
I will tell my story -

with some chapters crystal clear
and others a bit hazy.

My name is Martha -

or "Maata,"
as we say in Inuktitut.

I was born in 1950

in Inukjuak
in northern Quebec,

on the shore of Hudson Bay.

Not many people
have heard of Inukjuak.

But they've seen it.

The famous film
"Nanook of the North,"

directed by Robert Flaherty,

projected images of Inukjuak
on screens all over the world.

Back when the film was made,

the Inuit had very little
contact with white men

beyond the fur trade.

The rest of the world
barely knew the Inuit existed.

"Nanook of the North"
is still considered

one of the greatest films
of all time,

a cinematic masterpiece.

"Nanook" introduced the world
to the magnificent,

untrammelled wilderness
of the North

and its hardy,
cheerful inhabitants.

The film has been translated
into many languages

and been shown
on every continent.

"Nanook of the North"
premiered in New York in 1922

and was an immediate hit,

turning its creator,
Robert Flaherty,

into an international celebrity.

- Hi.

1922 is also the year
my father was born

in the small settlement
of Inukjuak.

My father was called Josephie,
or "Josepie."

Josephie grew up
to learn about the land

in the exact location
where "Nanook" had been filmed.

- My father spent
his first few years

in the bosom
of his maternal family,

mainly with his mother,

Maggie Nuyurlutuk.

He was still a toddler

when she fell ill
and died very young.

Then, his stepfather,

Paddy Aqiatusuk,

adopted my father,
who was now an orphan.

Paddy was known
as an amazing carver.

His works
have been exhibited in Europe

and have a prominent place in
major collections of Inuit art.

- Paddy was also
a skilled hunter.

He taught my father everything
an Inuk man needs to know

about hunting and fishing
and his ancestral land.

When Josephie grew up

and started a family with Rynee,
the two men stayed close

and were always there
for each other.

- My father knew
the lay of the land

like the back of his hand.
He had travelled

every square inch of it
by kayak, dogsled and on foot.

- He was a very good hunter.

He could run like the wind.

When I walked with him,
he was so quick,

I had a hard time keeping up.

- Like the other men,

my father would return from
the hunt with plenty of game,

happy to be able
to feed his family.

Being a good hunter
is a necessity,

as well as a source of pride
for the Inuit.

In Inukjuak, when I was small,

I loved to go blueberry picking
with my mother.

On Sundays,
we'd all go visit family members

who all lived
within walking distance.

I used to have lots of fun
with my cousins,

and play with the dogs.

We also loved
to look after the younger ones.

In those days,

we were a happy family.

My parents
were a fun-loving couple.

I remember my father's laugh
and the way he smiled.

He smiled a lot back then.

But life in Inukjuak
was never easy.

The winters were long and harsh.

In "Nanook,"

Robert Flaherty praises
the courage of the Inuit.

- Robert Flaherty
also pointed out

that in Inukjuak and across
the Ungava Peninsula,

the climate is so severe
that our people

are the only ones
who can survive there.

And as he said,

"they do it with a smile."

This film may well
have been instrumental

in convincing the world
that only the "Eskimos,"

as they were called,

could ever cope with the harsh
conditions in the far North.

It may have just been
a coincidence,

but the same year
"Nanook" was released, 1922,

a project began to take shape
to move Inuit families

from northern Quebec
to the high Arctic.

- But it wasn't until
the early 1950s

that the RCMP officers
approached families in Inukjuak

to tell them about the project.

In 1953,
my cousin John's family

was one of those asked
to undertake the "experiment."

- They told us
that it was for our own benefit,

for our own good.

That our lives would improve

and that we would be living
in a better place.

- Family and community

are the heart and soul
of Inuit life.

Moving far away from loved ones
and familiar territory

must have been frightening
even for the most adventurous.

The RCMP
reassured the worried Inuit

they were being relocated
to a place chosen by people

with expert knowledge
of the Arctic.

A place
where game was plentiful.

- They told us that there were
a lot of animals,

and that we would have
an opportunity

to catch a lot of foxes

and make some money
if we wanted to.

So they described it
in very glowing terms.

- Paddy, my dad's stepfather,

also took up the offer
to go north.

He left with his wife

teenaged Minnie
and little Larry.

- I was not quite four

when we got moved,

I was just about four.

- I remember that time.
We were getting ready to go -

people were busy packing
and families being left behind.

There was a lot to do,

because we were taking
all our belongings with us,

even our dogs.

As well as the plentiful game,

the Inuit were promised

they could return home
within two years

if the new place
wasn't to their liking.

And since the group was assured
they would be settled together,

they could continue
their age-old custom

of "lending a hand."

- Inukjuak wasn't very developed
at the time,

but there was a health clinic,

a store, a school.

We left all that behind.

- On July 26, 1953,

seven Inukjuak families
boarded the CD Howe,

an enormous icebreaker,

for the 2,000-kilometre journey
north.

♪ Left our home on Hudson Bay

♪ On a ship that took us
all the way ♪

♪ Sailing through
the broken ice ♪

♪ Towards the shores
of paradise ♪

♪ Where they say
our new life will begin ♪

♪ I can't wait
until my ship comes in ♪

- From the moment
they were separated,

Paddy must have started
to miss Martha's father,

Josephie.

He thought about him
all the time,

and within a few months,

he sent a message
asking Josephie to join them.

He wanted him by his side.

To honour
his step-father's request,

Josephie agreed
to make the trip to the Arctic.

- In July 1955, my parents
and we three children -

Peter, six months old;
Mary, three years old;

and myself, aged five -
boarded the CD Howe,

the same ship that took Paddy

and the other Inukjuak families
away two years earlier.

- I had no idea what to expect.
But I wasn't worried.

I brought along

our tent, pots and pans,
blankets.

- Several other families

were also going
to join relatives

who'd been relocated
to the Arctic.

They'd all been told

their relatives were eager
to see them again

and wanted them to share
in the bounty of this new home.

- But no one could tell us

the name of the place
we were going.

- All they said
was that it was great

and there was lots and lots
of game.

- Like most Inuit,
we didn't own much,

so there were few material
possessions to worry about.

The main thing we left behind
were the people,

people who were dear to us.

♪ Left our home on Hudson Bay

♪ On a ship
that took us all the way ♪

♪ Sailing through
the broken ice ♪

♪ Towards the shores
of paradise ♪

- As we sailed away,

I watched the land
where I was born disappear.

♪ I can't wait
until my ship comes in ♪

♪ Landing on the edge
of Ellesmere ♪

♪ Wondering
if we could survive here ♪

♪ We were told
that half would stay ♪

♪ The rest of us
were on our way ♪

♪ Will I see my family again

♪ I can't wait
until my ship comes in ♪

- The heaving ship
made everyone seasick.

We all felt vulnerable.

And in stormy weather,
things got even worse.

- I remember the ship
listing from side to side

and being tossed around

in the storm.

Dishes flew all over the place
and everyone was throwing up.

All our dogs
were chained up on deck.

We could hear them howling.

- On the long journey north,

people looked for ways
to break the boredom.

One RCMP officer
thought it was a big joke

to pretend
to throw me overboard.

He'd grab me and dangle me

over the railing
above the raging waters.

I screamed
and I struggled for dear life.

The fear of open water
stayed with me for a long time.

As did my mistrust
of white people.

I was scared to death
of the ship's doctor.

I wouldn't let him near me.

- You screamed and cried.

You ran away.

He wasn't a very nice man.

You ran and hid under the bed.

- I have horrible memories
of that crazy doctor.

He was so afraid
of a lice infestation,

he decided to shave off
all the kids' hair.

I ran for my life.

I was the only one to escape
with my braids intact.

But I was about to lose
something much more precious.

- When the boat docked
at Churchill,

they made us all
get chest X-rays

and they said that three of us

me, my little sister

and Martha's little sister,
Mary.

I cried my heart out

when we were separated
from our family.

My parents
had to get off the boat

to make camp at Churchill.

I had to stay on the boat
with my sister and Mary

until we were taken away.

I was only 10.

It still hurts
when I think of it.

- Nobody told my parents

when or if we'd ever
see Mary again.

I didn't understand.

All I knew was,
when the white men were around,

no one could protect us,
not even our parents.

When we got
to Cornwallis Island,

we found out that the group
of Inuit who'd left in 1953

had been divided and dropped off
in two different locations.

- That was always in their plan,

but they lied to us...

when they told us
that they would not separate us,

that we would all stay together.

That's what they told us
before we got on the ship.

But they finally told us

that one group would be
dropped off at the next site

and the other half would be
taken to another place.

One group,
including John and his family,

had been left at Resolute Bay,

while the rest were taken
400 kilometres further,

to Ellesmere Island.

- It was a complete surprise
and shock to us

when they told us

that we were being
divided into two groups.

- On this trip,
we were the only family

going all the way up
to Ellesmere Island,

because that's where Paddy
and his family had been put.

But we did have
a one-night stopover

in Resolute Bay.
It was a short visit.

But one thing I remember
is walking in mykamiks

over the sharp rocks
of Cornwallis island.

I cried with the pain.

I already missed the soft grass
of Inukjuak.

At Resolute, we found relatives
we hadn't seen

since they left
two years earlier.

Among them was my cousin John,

who was so skinny and pale
he looked like a ghost.

- Well, the two first years
were very, very difficult,

because we didn't know
this new environment.

It was totally new to us.
We didn't know

where to go hunting
for certain species of animals.

We were used to a wide variety
of different things

that we could harvest.
But up there,

there was almost no vegetation,
it was very, very cold,

and all the animals
that they had described to us

were not there.

There were hardly any animals.

And the only animals
that we initially saw

were starving musk ox
and that was about it.

What they had described
was a total lie.

- The people were in bad shape

and their stories
of their first two years

terrified us.

We didn't know what to expect
on Ellesmere Island.

At last,
after one month at sea,

we finally reached
our destination.

It was not the wonderful spot
they'd described;

it was a wasteland of ice.

In Inuktitut,
the word for this place

is "Aujuittuq,"
the place that never melts.

- In Inukjuak,
there's no ice in the summer.

You can even swim in the sea.

The families who had
been settled here for two years

were waiting on the shore
to greet them.

- I remember the day
Martha's family arrived.

I was so happy
they'd come to join us.

- When we landed,
the dogs weren't tied up;

they were running
all over the place.

I remember
I was afraid of the dogs.

Aside from the small RCMP post,

no permanent housing
had been built.

And the people
didn't look any healthier

than those they'd met
at Resolute Bay.

- They told us the winter
had been tough.

Those people
had really suffered.

They were miserable.

They spent the winter

living in tents
made of musk-ox hide.

- But as we looked at the people
who came out to greet us,

Paddy, the person
we had come to join,

was nowhere in sight.

Paddy Aqiatusuk had died

exactly one year
after arriving on the Island.

- We learned that on reaching
Ellesmere Island,

Paddy had become
so discouraged,

he'd quickly requested
to return home.

- The only reason
and the main reason

why we went willingly
was the two-year promise.

Because the promises
made it sound so simple

and we would only be gone
for two years.

They promised us two years
and we believed them.

In stark contrast
to the promise,

Paddy was informed
that if he wanted to go home,

he would have to cover the cost
of the return trip

for himself and his family.

Which would simply
have been impossible.

- If you want to ask me
what was the RCMP like,

in terms of the relocation,

they were the government agents.

Ottawa dictated
how they should treat us

through the RCMP

that was
their own administration.

And they were not very good
that way.

They were very condescending,

they were very bureaucratic.

So the first two RCMP
that were involved

with our coming up...

No, I have
very little respect for them.

- From the start,
Paddy was not himself.

He had no one
to tell his troubles to.

He fell silent
and stopped carving altogether.

- My father must have known,
you know,

"Oh, my God, I'm in a situation
I'll never go back to Inukjuak."

And I'm sure
that was contributing

to his short life up there,
you know.

- Like Paddy, I wish
I'd never got off the ship.

I would have liked
to turn right around

and go back
where we came from.

For a long time, I was numb.

Many of my memories
are lost in a thick fog.

Like the others,
Martha's family

would have to spend
their first months in the Arctic

in a canvas tent.

And the deep cold
had already set in.

- In Inukjuak,
at that time of year,

it was summer.
It was warm.

There was grass growing
and flowers.

We thought about it
all the time.

- In northern Quebec,

we were used to living in a tent
for a few months of the year.

But it's much warmer
in Inukjuak

than it ever gets
north of the Arctic circle.

The average temperature

in their new environment

is 15 degrees Celsius colder
than Inukjuak.

Even in summer,
it rarely gets above freezing.

The terrain, the animals
and hunting methods

are also entirely different.

- The men from Inukjuak

were used to having
plentiful game to hunt,

just like
in "Nanook of the North."

They were renowned
as excellent providers.

That's an important part
of their identity.

Ellesmere Island

is 200,000 square kilometres
in area.

It is a land of mountains,
glaciers and fjords.

Even seasoned hunters

struggled to get around
in this inhospitable terrain.

- Despite the severe conditions,
the men got busy hunting

and trying to store up
as much game as possible

before winter set in.

It seemed that life
might get back to normal.

But many other
obstacles soon thwarted

the good intentions
of the new settlers.

The Arctic Islands had been
decreed a wildlife reserve.

Therefore, it was forbidden
to kill musk ox,

and the caribou hunt
was strictly regulated.

There was a quota

of only one caribou
per family per year.

- I guess everyone was afraid
of the huge fines

and of the RCMP officers
stationed on the island,

because even starving families
obeyed those crazy rules.

Rules which no one mentioned

until the Inuit had arrived.

- When the ships
were being unloaded,

the government official
voluntarily said,

"By the way,
the caribou season is finished.

No more hunting caribou now,

it's late,

you're gonna have to live
with seal skin out of clothing."

My uncle said, "What?! No!

Not good enough. We'll freeze!"

In extreme cold temperatures,

like those found
in the polar regions,

humans require three times
the standard caloric intake

simply to survive
in the harsh conditions.

- Seals were our main source
of pelts and food

for a good part of the year.

And often our only source.

But they were never enough.

Even the families
who'd been there for two years

were hard put to find
enough food for themselves.

Josephie was determined

not to become a burden.

He borrowed dogs
to go seal hunting

and tried to get to know
this daunting new terrain,

so different from the land
he knew so well.

But even the best of hunters,
like the famous Nanook,

need help to catch a seal.

- My father couldn't hunt
for seal alone.

My little brother Peter
was too young,

and my mother too busy
looking after him

and managing
all her other chores.

So I became
my father's hunting partner.

I was only six or seven.

He and I
took on the responsibility

of feeding our family.

We spent long hours in the cold
crouched over a breathing hole.

My father never got used
to the new environment.

He stopped smiling
and started shouting.

And I usually bore the brunt
of his tirades.

When we went out hunting,

he never wanted
to return empty-handed

and he'd fly into a rage
if I dared to ask to go home.

If, as often happened,
we went home

with nothing
to show for our efforts,

he couldn't look my mother
in the eye.

He couldn't bear
to see her disappointment.

He was mortified,

seeing his dignity wither away.

I wanted to help,
so in my childish way,

I did my best to shoulder
part of my parents' sorrow

and helplessness.

- She had
a very difficult childhood.

You know,

she was the oldest child
of that family,

and she had to take on
heavy responsibilities

when she was still young.

And being in a place
like Grise Fiord

makes it
that much more difficult.

The people
who'd been moved to Resolute Bay

were somewhat less isolated,

because they were close
to the military base.

But game was even more scarce
at Resolute

than on Ellesmere Island.

- Our friends who lived there,

like John and Dora
and their family,

didn't have any more to eat
than we did.

My older sister and I
would walk along the shore

looking for anything
we could find to eat.

Because there was nothing

no game
and nowhere to buy food.

There was only
the RCMP garbage dump.

The RCMP didn't let us go there,
but at night, in the dark,

we'd sneak over
and root through their trash

looking for food scraps.

To this day, I can't figure out
how we managed to survive.

"Qausitaluk" means
the long polar night

that descends
north of the Arctic Circle.

On Ellesmere
and Cornwallis Islands,

there are three full months
of complete and utter darkness.

- Where we come from,
there are days and nights.

The sun rises and sets
every day.

Here, it's always night.

We didn't know what to do,

where to go,
or where to hunt in the dark.

- This long period
of continuous darkness

begins in mid-October
and lasts until February.

It makes life
even more difficult.

With no sun,
the temperature plummets.

It's much too cold
to live in a tent.

But in the early part
of the winter,

fierce winds
prevent snow buildup,

so there's not enough snow
on the ground to build igloos.

In the meantime,
the Inuit would put up qarmaqs,

dwellings covered with hides
that provided better shelter

against the incessant,
bitter winds.

- Our first winter there,

two families lived in one room
with no window.

It was about 10 feet square.

It was dark and stuffy,

but we were very grateful
to the family who took us in.

- We had to lend
each other a hand.

It was the only way to survive.

When there was
finally enough snow,

each family was able to build
their own igloo.

- So we kept moving like that,

from one makeshift shelter
to the next,

depending on the season.

I may not remember
all the details

of the different places
we lived in,

but I remember exactly
how cold and hungry I was.

All the time.

There was no milk
for my baby brother,

so my mother
had to fill his belly

by feeding him flour and water.

She'd pack a baby bottle
full of snow

and melt it in her armpit.

Water was a constant worry

for the Inuit.

It required tremendous effort
to get,

especially during the winter.

Fresh-water icebergs can
be identified by their colour,

but in the dark,

they are hard to distinguish
from those made of salt water.

- Sometimes we'd even mistake
a rock for an iceberg.

We'd often break our tools

or cut ourselves.

- Martha was really close
to her mom.

She followed her everywhere.

She felt
she was in a strange place,

very desolate,

where there was nowhere to go,

so she stayed glued
to her mother's side.

- I tried not to show it,
but most of the time,

I felt as helpless
as my little baby brother.

When the igloos
were no longer habitable,

families had to move back
into tents,

frail protection against
the elements and their fears.

- After our qarmaq
was destroyed by fire,

my family moved close
to the RCMP barracks.

The RCMP post
was deliberately located

a good distance
from the little community.

That meant we were now quite far
from the other Inuit families.

In exchange
for a roof over our heads,

my father would do odd jobs
for the RCMP.

Sometimes he'd take them
by dogsled to Resolute Bay.

He might be gone for weeks

and my mother and I
would be all alone

and worried sick
the whole time he was gone.

We were stuck living
two or three hours' travel

by foot or dogsled
from the Inuit community.

With no other kids around,
I felt lonelier than ever.

Not far
from where Martha was living

was a site where ancient
human bones had been found.

- I believed that the spirits
of these people

were still around

and that the noises we heard
at night were their groans.

I was little
and I was terrified.

I'd talk to myself for hours
or to imaginary friends.

My mother was worried about me.

And about my father.

He was beginning to frighten us

with strange,
unpredictable behaviour.

My mother said that the place
drove people crazy.

- Whenever he got sick
like that,

his personality changed.

He heard voices.

I stayed out of his way,
but I made sure

there was always
somebody with him.

- I'd also started to spend
a lot of time with the dogs.

Then one day,
I got my very own puppy.

I felt invincible.

Like I'd sprouted wings.

But that didn't last long.

One afternoon,
a chunk of ice

fell on my little puppy
and killed her.

I was beside myself.

I cried my heart out.

But I knew that no one
could feel sorry for me.

What's the life
of one little dog

when everyone's life
was hanging by a thread?

Eventually,

the Kayaks.

The father
was an RCMP special constable

and the whole family was hired

to help the officers
at the post.

One of the children

was a little girl
about Martha's age.

- I was so happy
to have a friend to play with.

Lili Kayak and I
were inseparable.

We spent all our time together,
as long as we could.

But they lived
across the river from us,

so when it thawed in the summer,
we couldn't get together.

When the river
was too wild to cross,

we'd tie a note around a rock
with string.

We'd throw the rock
across to the other shore.

That's how we communicated.

The CD Howe
was the little community's

only tangible link
with the outside world.

It came once a year, in August,

the only time it could weave
a passage through the ice.

- It was the event of the year.

But it was sad, too.

- The summer
when the ship came,

I have hard memories of it,

because you saw
your parents changed.

They'd be wishing to go back.

I think they always asked
to go back

and they always say no.
Years to years.

And to see their faces so sad.

As a child,
you know these things.

As it made its way north,

the ship dropped off supplies
to the various camps

and mail for the RCMP officers.

Occasionally,
there'd be letters for the Inuit

or messages from loved ones.

Along with
the yearly medical visits

and shipments of flour,
the CD Howe brought news -

both good and bad.

- I remember seeing the pain
on my mother's face

when she heard
that her father had died.

I think her pain was as great
as the distance

that separated her
from her family.

My mother was never one
to talk about the hardships.

- That was the way it was.

I tried not to think about it.

- We felt we'd been forgotten
by the universe

and betrayed by the people
who brought us here

with false promises
of a better life

or of the possibility
of returning.

It was a hard life for everyone,

and no doubt even harder
for the children.

Two boys,
just a bit older than Martha,

drowned trying to bring food
back to their family.

- They were my...
one year older than me,

the other boy
was three years older than me.

After they're gone,
I have no one.

On the death of a child,

Inuit custom requires
that the body be buried

and all the clothes be burned.

It's a solemn ritual that helps
the people cope with their loss.

- Our family still had no news
of my little sister, Mary,

who'd been taken away.

We didn't have her body to bury

or her clothes to burn.

Mary remained alive
in our thoughts,

like a ghost haunting us.

More than two years
after she'd been spirited off

to hospital,
she finally came back to us.

- Yes! They told us
a plane would be coming,

bringing Mary.

It was one of the very first
planes to land here.

- And I remember a little bit
going on the plane,

from Resolute to Grise Fiord.

But I don't remember
seeing my parents...

uh...

meeting me.

- She didn't want
anything to do with us.

She wouldn't let me hug her.

She wanted to get back
on the plane

with the white people.

She didn't remember
who we were.

- My sister Mary was so young.

She doesn't remember
much of what happened.

She hardly ever speaks
about those years.

- I thought
they were not my parents.

- Mary didn't recognize me,
either.

It was very upsetting.

But it was normal for a child
who'd spent

half of her short life
separated from us.

What we didn't know then

was that since
she'd been taken away,

she had endured
a series of painful separations.

Little Mary
had been kept

in the TB sanitarium
for only six months.

Once recovered,

she was taken to Montreal
for several months

to await
the once-yearly departure

of the C.D. Howe,

which would return her
to her family.

The ship dropped her off
by mistake in Inukjuak.

But, of course,
the family wasn't there.

The following summer,

a full year later,

the C.D. Howe picked her up
in Inukjuak

and dropped her off
in Resolute Bay,

where her family
was thought to be living.

Wrong again.

Months later,
she was finally put on a plane

for the last leg of her journey
to Ellesmere Island.

- She was gone for two years.

And not once in all that time
did we have any news of her.

We didn't know
she'd been taken to Inukjuak,

and then to Resolute Bay.

- We still can't understand

how the people
who had uprooted us

and brought us
all the way up here

didn't even know
where they'd put us.

Their incompetence
and indifference

made my little sister
a stranger in her own family.

- I was not speaking Inuktitut,
I was speaking only English.

So there was no food, I guess,

and all I said
was "water, water,"

and they understand
what water means.

- She eventually
got used to us,

but she called us dirty.

- I called everybody "dirty."

Maybe I was down south and...

maybe they had no power,
nothing.

"dirty."

"Dirty" and "water."

- I thought that Mary's return
would mean

that I'd have a playmate
at last.

But like the child
and the trapped fox

in Robert Flaherty's film,

we came
from two different worlds

and it took a while
to learn to get along.

- She'd gotten used to the way
the white people live.

You and Mary
didn't get along very well.

- We fought over two dolls

she'd brought from down south.

She'd let me play
with the blonde one,

but she would never let me have
the one with dark hair.

- She was a tiny thing,
but she managed

to get that doll back
every time.

- I don't know
what happened to it.

There was no toys.

- At Christmas, the only plane
that came this far north

overflew Grise Fiord
and dropped a bag

full of different things -
toys for the children.

They were usually broken.

- Sometimes the RCMP
would invite us all

to their post

for a Christmas party.

- I don't remember the party,

but I remember the food.

For once we had lots to eat.

- I can't remember
how many shacks,

qarmaqs and igloos
my family lived in

between the time
we arrived in 1955

and the early '60s.

It wasn't until 1962

that a permanent settlement

was established.

The Inuit village
and the RCMP post,

until then several hours apart,

were moved to the site

now known as Grise Fiord.

Small prefabricated houses
were shipped in and assembled.

- The houses were small
and very basic,

but they meant
a great improvement

in living standards
for the Inuit in the community.

Our family kept on growing,
so things got pretty crowded,

but at least
we had a real house.

And that wasn't
the only change in 1962.

Okay, once again.

The hamlet
of Grise Fiord got a school.

Two teachers came up
from the south

to teach
all the school-age children.

- It was the major turning point
of my childhood at Grise Fiord.

We, displaced children,

deprived of education
for all those years,

were finally going to learn
to read and write.

For me,

it was a refuge.

School meant
I didn't have to go hunting,

to be yelled at by my father.

When Martha turned 15,

she was informed
that she was being sent

to high school in Carcross,
in the Yukon.

- Even if no one asked me
my opinion,

I'll admit I was delighted
to get away.

Later,
all alone on the journey

with nothing to eat
and only a few words of English,

I quickly realized
that getting out of hell

doesn't guarantee
a ticket to heaven.

I spent a long year
in Carcross,

homesick and bullied
by other kids.

There, and in
the two residential schools

I attended later,

I learned more
about racism and cruelty

than I ever did about academics.

I spent a lot of time wondering

if there was anywhere on earth

where an Inuk girl
had the right

to live without dying
of cold or hunger,

without being bullied
and battered

by the elements
or by human beings.

Most of the children
relocated to Grise Fiord

or Resolute Bay
endured similar hardships.

Many died young.

And more than a few
committed suicide.

Some families
were cruelly hard hit.

- The Kayaks,
our former neighbours,

saw over half their children die
before the age of 30.

Including my dear friend Lili.

Why such a waste?

What were all
those broken lives for?

For survivors,

there are still
many unanswered questions.

- Why bring somebody
way up there?

Why didn't they send
geologists or armies

to look around first

to see if it's safe?

Why bring families?

- They used us
and forgot about us.

They gave us nothing.

They didn't care about us.

They just plunked us down
on the land.

- It was decades later

that we learned
that the real reason

why they wanted...

to relocate us
to the high Arctic

was to affirm Canadian
sovereignty on those islands.

An international
tribunal had ruled

that only the presence
of permanent citizens

could affirm
a country's sovereignty

in a given territory.

Relocating Inuit
from Northern Quebec

to the High Arctic

seemed an ideal way
to deal with the issue

of the vast,
uninhabited Canadian north.

- Finding out
that we had been used

to affirm
Canada's Arctic sovereignty

ignited the anger that had
been smoldering for years.

- The government people
who did it are no longer living,

but others have replaced them.

They ought to come up here
when it's cold and dark

to see what it's like
to live here.

- Not many people know
what we've been through.

And trying to portray reality,
especially of the past,

is no easy task.

Even for the most accomplished
filmmakers.

Robert Flaherty
set out to present

a faithful portrait
of Inuit life,

but he was not
a documentary filmmaker.

People still mistakenly refer
to "Nanook of the North"

as a documentary.

Few would argue its greatness,
but a documentary it is not.

The man who plays
the valiant hunter

is not really named Nanook,

nor is he the father
of the children in the film.

- It's obvious
that the filmmaker

often idealized Inuit life.

But in every frame,

you can feel the love
Robert Flaherty had

for my people.

The woman
who plays Nyla in the film

is Maggie Nuyurlutuk.

In real life,
she was not the hunter's wife.

In fact, after the day's shoot,

she took the filmmaker
to her bed.

- Maggie Nuyurlutuk
was my grandmother.

For over a year,

she was the companion
of the strangekablunak,

which is our Inuktitut term
for white people.

When filming finished,

she was pregnant with a son,
my father,

whom she named
Josephie Flaherty,

in honour
of Robert Joseph Flaherty.

Once the film
was finished,

Robert Flaherty never returned
to the place

where he'd created a classic
and fathered a son.

- So my father only ever saw
his biological father

in a photo.

And I didn't learn
of my own connection

to the famous filmmaker
until I grew up.

I think Josephie
forgave Robert Flaherty

for abandoning him.

And, today, I can understand

that my father's aggression
that scarred my childhood

was the result of years of pain
and misery.

He was shattered,
psychologically broken

by separation
from his loved ones

and by guilt
at having brought us here.

The doctors said he died
of lung cancer.

We believe his lungs
were destroyed by the cold

and by his relentless efforts
to keep us alive.

What is certain is that he died

without ever returning
to Inukjuak,

the beloved land of his birth.

In 1987,

a full 34 years
after the relocation,

the government
finally allowed people

to visit
their families of origin.

- When my mother saw
her family again in Inukjuak,

it was very emotional.

In addition,
all the displaced Inuit

were allowed to resettle
wherever they chose.

- What should have been
good news

once again
tore the small community apart.

- Like, my kids were born
and they grew up...

they've grown up there
and I don't want to uproot them.

- I live here with my husband;
he doesn't want to leave.

My kids don't want to leave,
either; they were born here.

- My immediate family
all moved back to Inukjuak.

I'm the only one left
in Nunavut.

- My sister, brother
and my step-sister,

and their families,
they all moved back down.

We got left behind.

Martha's mother
left Grise Fiord,

along with
the entire Flaherty family.

Rynee settled in Iqualuit,
as did a number of her children.

- Even in her old age,

she still looks after Peter,

who has been
intellectually challenged

from infancy.

Some believe his condition

is a result of poor nutrition
as a baby.

That is one
of the many questions

that will never be answered.

In 1993,

partly as a result of pressure
from young Inuit activists

like John, Larry and Martha,

the Royal Commission
on the Inuit Arctic relocation

was created.

Forty years after the fact,

these hearings made public
the multitude of injustices

that occurred in the autocratic
deportations of the 1950s.

- There was
a financial settlement

for the relocated group,

but an apology
from the government of Canada

was something
that was very important to us.

And it hasn't come.

They have not apologized.

Robert Flaherty died in 1951,

and so he never knew
about the deportations.

But it's ironic
that the descendants of the man

whose work made the Inuit known
and beloved around the world

ended up victims of one
of the greatest injustices

in recent history.

- I hadn't been back
to Grise Fiord

since my father's death in 1983,

and I was apprehensive.

But while working on this film,

I've learned that revisiting
the past and talking about it

are essential
to the healing process.

I can now reclaim

the breathtaking beauty
of this place.

But it's hard to forget

that in the shadow
of these mountains,

on the jagged edges
of these glaciers,

at the tender age of five,

my childhood was taken away.

CNST, Montreal