“Radio check, anybody copy?” That’s how Anchorage based Iñupiaq media maker Alice Qannik Glenn always starts her podcast Coffee and Quaq. Glenn says it’s a phrase that often crackles through the walkie talkies Iñupiaq people use on a hunt. And it frames from the get go that her podcast is “for Indigenous people, by Indigenous people to help provide an accurate representation of Alaska Native life in urban and rural settings.”
True to her podcast's name, Glenn was drinking coffee when we recently caught up with her (the beans were sent to her by Inuit roaster Kaapittiaq in Nunavut, Canada). She was not chewing quaq, the Iñupiaq word for frozen or raw meat or fish.
We talked about her recent reporting on Iñupiaq community resilience in the face of climate change. She interviewed brothers Jack and Brower Frantz, Iñupiaq whalers who are seeing more open water and less ice when they go out on hunts, which is draining the community’s food supplies. “Peoples freezers are empty.”
Glenn said Iñupiaq community members are taught growing up to be good listeners first, and so sometimes being interviewed can be awkward. But she’s found creative ways to get people to talk, like offering the Frantz brothers homemade stew to create a comfortable interview environment.
This month we’re featuring indigenous female media makers in our newsletter- voices that we all should be listening to, following and FUNDING!
Pat Matt leads the grand entry dancers into the arena during the annual Arlee Esyapqeyni Celebration in July 2015 in Arlee, Montana.
Tailyr Irvine is a Salish and Kootenai photojournalist born and raised on the Flathead Indian Reservation in western Montana. Her photos have been featured in the Smithsonian, the Washington Post, and the New York Times. But knowing there are hundreds of tribal outlets providing crucial information around the US, we wanted Tailyr to tell us about her experiences working for her home newspaper, the Char-Koosta News, which serves the Flathead Indian Reservation:
"My internship at my tribal newspaper was my first job in journalism. I was still a student, I don't think I was even accepted into the journalism program at the time, and I begged the tribal education director to find funding and hire me for the summer at the paper. I had no idea what to expect. I had never set foot in a newsroom and I honestly had just learned most of the settings on my camera. I was so green. I remember bringing my intro to journalism textbook with me on my first day. It was a great experience seeing how the paper I grew up reading was made. I think tribal newspapers are crucial to the communities they serve.
During my time at the Char-Koosta News I realized how important it was to have a trustworthy source of information explain what is happening with the government, not only at a tribal level but at a state and federal level too and then humanizing the politics and telling the community how it will affect them. I worked at the paper during a tumultuous time in our community. There were a lot of complex issues being discussed and voted on and I realized how much our little paper mattered. It put me on the path I’m on today. Working at the Char-Koosta News made me want to be a better journalist so I could tell our stories and bring accurate representation of our people to national outlets and the rest of the world."
Tailyr was kind enough to also share a few photos that are meaningful to her.
Michael Irvine hunts to feed his family and donates meat for funerals and tribal events. His father taught him where to hunt on tribal land, what trails to follow, and how to shoot and dress an animal. Learning these skills from his father is among Irvine’s most cherished memories, he says. As only members of the Confederated Salish and Kootenai Tribes are allowed to hunt on the Flathead Indian Reservation, once his daughter Nizhóní Irvine is an adult, she will not be able to accompany her father on his hunts. “I wanted her to participate in the things I did growing up,” says Michael. “I’m going to teach her our culture, and she’s going to learn from me when we go hunting. But not being able to hunt on tribal land after she turns 18 means she can’t put into practice what she learns in our own home,” he says. “That is how traditions die.”
Prairie Cocowee Antoine sleeps in the cradleboard her maternal grandmother made for her. Prairie’s middle name, Cocowee, is the original last name of her mother’s family before in the early 1800s a Jesuit priest changed a relative’s first name to Antoine, which his children adopted as their last name. Her parents, Tiana Antoine and Nathan Drennan, decided that Prairie’s last name should be Antoine because they wanted their daughter’s name to reflect her family history; Drennan is the name of Nathan’s adopted mother and doesn’t reflect Salish and Kootenai culture.
Environmental reporter Stella Paul conducts an interview as part of her coverage of climate change issues in her native India.
Lastly, we wanted to share an essay from Hyderabad-based Stella Paul, who is a member of the Bishnupriya ethnic minority group in India. Paul works with our sister project Earth Journalism Network and wrote about her path to covering climate issues:
I grew up in Manu valley – one of the most picturesque places in northeast India. From our courtyard you could see the blue mounds of the Langtarai and Sakhantang hills on the horizon and lovely green rice paddy fields stretching all the way to Bangladesh. Yet, when I close my eyes and think back to that time, the first image that I see is this: Me and my three siblings squatting on a wooden bed in a flooded mud house; my mother trying to cook us a meal on a kerosene stove. I also hear the terrifying roar of the Manu River with the occasional sound of a house caving in.
These images were part of my reality for at least 12 years. Every monsoon, our village flooded, and we would live for a couple of days in the waist-high water before taking shelter in a nearby school building.
When the schools reopened, the teacher would tell us that the Manu River flooded because there was a lot of logging in the hills and that made the rainwater rush downstream with doubled force. Sometimes he would also say that the government built an embankment to ease the flooding, but the floodwater gates were not manned properly. What I never heard, however, was that none of these disasters were supposed to happen in the first place."
As part of our Index this month we wanted to share some additional links to check out from indigenous women-led outlets and reporting.
The news site Buffalo's Fire is run by reporter Jody Rave, who is Mandan-Hidatsa and Lakota. In addition to her great reporting Rave works to support independent tribal media. Also, check out her state of Native media guide published by the Democracy Fund.
And you know the radio waves are full of talented Native female voices. The Southern Ute Tribe of Colorado helped pioneer tribal radio, and its station manager Sheila Nanaeto continues to create original programming like the show Native Braids. NIIJII Radio in northern Minnesota was founded by Winona LaDuke and broadcasts some of its content in Ojibwe.
The Listening Post Collective provides journalists, newsroom leaders, and non-profits tools and advice to create meaningful conversations with their communities. We believe responsible reporting begins with listening. From there, media outlets and community organizations can create news stories that respond to people’s informational needs, reflect their lives, and enable them to make informed decisions.
