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TIME: Almanac 1990
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1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso
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041789
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1990-09-17
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ENVIRONMENT, Page 62A Tale of Two Villages
One of Alaska's treasures -- and a major center of the dispute
over oil exploration -- is a park the size of eight Yellowstones.
Within this vast preserve, called the Arctic National Wildlife
Refuge, lies a 1.5 million-acre section of the coastal plain that
the oil industry insists has the greatest potential of any land in
the U.S. Only two native villages abut this vast park: Arctic
Village, on the southern border in the foothills of the Brooks
Range, which is home to 100 Gwich'in members of the Athapaskan
Indian group; and Kaktovik, on Barter Island, far to the north at
the edge of the Beaufort Sea, where 200 Eskimos live. These two
villages, divided about the wisdom of oil exploration, are
microcosms of two positions in the battle for the future of Alaska.
When they abandoned their nomadic ways in the early part of
this century, the Gwich'in Indians settled on an ancient hunting
site in the foothills of the Brooks Range, smack in the middle of
the annual migratory path of the Porcupine caribou herd. Prompted
by fears that proposed oil development on the coastal plain would
interfere with caribou migration and calving, the Gwich'in nation
last June convened its first gathering in many generations, and
passed a tribal resolution calling upon the Government to prohibit
oil exploration or development in the refuge. Says Abel Tritt, a
Gwich'in elder: "We don't worry about ourselves but about the
herds, a`nd the animals that depend on the herds. If the herd goes,
they go, and then we go."
Surrounded by vast, empty wilderness, the Gwich'in have only
grudgingly allowed the intrusions of modern life. They have moved
from caribou tents to log homes, from bows and arrows to rifles,
from dogsleds to snowmobiles. But they argue that they can pick and
choose from modernity without losing their soul. In 1971, instead
of participating in the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act, the
Gwich'in Indians chose to retain their Delaware-size (1.8 million
acres) reservation extending south from the Arctic refuge. Today
they have little cash, but Trimble Gilbert, their newly elected
chief, believes that history has vindicated their choice. "Money
is not really good for native peoples," he says. "Here you don't
see drugs and alcohol, or suicide and murder. Here people walk
around proud that we have our land."
Still, says Gilbert, the land is nothing without the caribou.
"Ever since they are little, Gwich'in are hungry for caribou," says
the chief, speaking of a hunger that is more than a physical
appetite. "If there are no caribou, people will not want to live
here anymore." It is for this reason that tribe members oppose oil
development. Caribou will not calve near rigs or pipelines, they
argue. "Oil does not combine with living things," says Tritt.
The Eskimos in Kaktovik also hunt caribou, but they depend more
heavily on the sea, where captains like Isaac Akootchook go out in
18-ft. boats after seal and bowhead whale. The Inupiat (as they
prefer to be called), who chose to participate in the 1971 claims
settlement, have benefited from oil revenues in the form of a
school, a community center and other projects. "We feel caught in
the middle," says Akootchook. "We don't like exploration, but if
we oppose it and they impose it anyway, we get nothing."
Thus the Inupiat formally support exploration of the coastal
refuge, but with less certainty than before.r Their opposition to
offshore drilling remains steadfast. What the caribou are to the
Gwich'in, whales and seals are to the Inupiat. Some of the
village's ten whaling captains say seismic activity during oil
exploration two years ago drove off the bowheads, and they fear a
catastrophic spill. "If a well blew here with the wind at 40 knots,
how are they going to clean that up?" asks Akootchook.
In the wake of the Valdez spill, many of the villagers have
begun to re-examine their backing of drilling elsewhere in the
refuge. One of them is Captain Isaac's daughter Susie Akootchook.
"Traveling to and from our camp, I saw how beautiful the refuge
was," she says. "And now with that spill in that beautiful sound,
I have changed my position. I would like to see the village vote
on it again."
In both villages there is a feeling that voices are not being
heard. "People think, Why fight if it's going to come anyway?" says
Flossie Lampe. The 23-year-old Inupiat, a technician in a plant
that manufactures sealed windows, recently bagged her first
musk-ox. Now she opposes oil development. "Jobs won't always be
here," she says, "but you can always go out and hunt."